Stuff My Uncle Sam Taught Me

I joined my Uncle Sam’s Army when I was 20 years old and fresh off the boat from the fatherland. I could not speak English. Well, I did know four words – yes, no, thank you and f—k off. So it may not come as a surprise to you, that I encountered some problems communicating with my betters in the early days of my indenture.

The first thing my Uncle Sam taught me is that every action or inaction has a consequence. I was familiar with the physics axiom that every action generates a reaction, but I didn’t realize that this rule also applied to the military. My Uncle Sam’s Army was very high on cleanliness, neatness and, of course, order and he believed in issuing demerit points, gigs, we called them, if you didn’t measure up to his high standards. If your boots were not spit-shined or your belt buckle polished to your platoon sergeant’s high expectation, you could look forward to policing the parade ground for cigarette butts or cleaning the barracks latrine after everyone else had gone off duty. If you overlooked some dust particles on the mantel over the door during an inspection of your quarters, you could expect to spend hours in the mess cleaning pots and pans and being the cooks’ flunky. If, God forbid, there was dirt or rust on your rifle, you were guaranteed hours of extra drill on the parade ground with full field pack and your rifle at port arms, while your buddies slept.

The second thing my Uncle Sam taught me is that it is beneficial to obey orders, no matter how stupid they may seem to you. When a superior in those early days called me to attention and gave me an order, my lack of understanding and vocabulary sometimes was quite a nuisance. I learned quickly that f—k off was not a good answer, even though it entertained my fellow recruits greatly. It took me about six months to get a bit of a handle on the King’s English. Then I saw the light. I learned that the best response to an order, no matter what, was “Yes, sir” and then make sure your butt was below the horizon, to avoid getting it shot off. This insight served me well.

The third thing my Uncle Sam taught me was to never volunteer. If you volunteered, the chances of getting your butt shot off increased exponentially while your buddies were back in camp relaxing and sucking back Budweisers.

My Uncle Sam taught me how to shoot neat stuff – rifles, pistols, machine guns, BARs, bazookas, 120mm tank guns. And, if you were good at it, this earned you privileges. Like, if you were good with a machine gun – and I was pretty good – you got to go out by yourself to an exposed position and become the target of all the guys on the other side, who were trying to kill you, before you did them in.

My Uncle Sam taught me how to drive stick, how to drive a deuce-and-a-half and a Sherman tank. He taught me how to fly an airplane. All pretty useful skills. But he also taught me how to blow up stuff and I haven’t found a good use for that skill yet.

My Uncle Sam taught me that vodka is a great soother of both mental and physical pain and that Aqua Velva filtered through your gasmask charcoal filter and mixed with Coke will give you a pretty good jolt. The consumption of alcohol sometimes had bizarre repercussions, like the time two of my buddies and I tried to milk a cow, but hit on a bull instead, due to our blurred vision. Bulls don’t like to be milked.

My Uncle Sam taught me to avoid the company of bible thumpers and square-headed butt clenchers at all cost, because they had a tendency to be heroes and get you involved in their foolish quests for glory. If you wanted to survive, it was better to be invisible then to charge headlong into disaster.

My Uncle Sam taught me to treat my rifle like my bride, to love her, clean her, even sleep with her. I never had a bride, so this was new to me. He also insisted that you treat this bride vigorously, like in closed order drills, where you had to slap her and jerk her this way and that, to twirl her in the air, to thump her onto the ground with resolve, in unison with your mates. Perhaps that explains my initial awkwardness and difficulties when I did find a real bride later.

My Uncle Sam taught me that everything is done better in a group, like marching, eating, sleeping, tending to your bodily functions. If you did not adhere to this policy, there were always ramifications, none of them pleasant. Those of you who have ever dug a regulation latrine trench know whereof I’m speaking.

My Uncle Sam taught me how to kill. He taught me to do this without a second thought, without remorse. He taught me that the only thing that mattered was the man standing at the end. He didn’t teach me how to deal with the aftermath, the nightmares.