Weathering Life's Blows

I went to Navy Boot Camp in 1981.  I recall many funny, scary, and even sad episodes, during those eight weeks.  This story is one of the latter.

Boot Camp served several purposes, but with the Navy the major one was to find out if the recruit would break under pressure.  The physical fitness part wasn’t bad, if you were in decent shape, but the head games were a pain in the butt.  The only razor you were allowed to use was the small Bic style, and even then some recruits tried to slit their wrists with the small blades.  If you were reasonably well adjusted, the life was bearable, but for some it wasn’t.

One Friday evening, we were relaxing in the barracks.  We had just finished a grueling week of preparing for marching, personal, and barracks inspections.  That Friday we had been through them all, and even though as a group we had passed them all, we were drained physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Several friends and I sat together, reminiscing of home, and wishing for the end of boot camp.  Suddenly a loud THUMP, THUMP, THUMP was heard.  We looked at each other in confusion.  Then I heard this low moaning, that grew louder and louder.  If all the pain and misery of the world could be given sound it would have been that steadily growing wail.  Shivers went up my back, and what little hair I had stood up on my neck and arms.

The sound apparently was coming from the bathroom area.  I stood up and ran to the doors, several other recruits on my heels.  As I neared the restroom doors the moaning stopped and the banging returned. 

I ran through one of the doors, and on the other side one of my fellow recruits stood where he had been beating his head against another steel door.  He looked toward me, eyes glazed, and vacant.  Then he started that God awful moaning again.  I stood for a moment in shock, watching the blood run down his face, from his lacerated forehead.   After a moment he stopped moaning and turned to begin beating his head against the door once more.

I snapped out of my trance, and ran forward to grab him, yelling for help as I did.  He fought us wildly for a while, then dropped to the floor sobbing uncontrollably.  While I tried to stop the bleeding one of the others ran to call for help.

An eternity later (about ten minutes), an ambulance and two corpsmen arrived to take him to the hospital.  We all breathed a sigh of relief when they took him away.  No one knew why he had broken down, but we were glad professionals would take care of him.

The next morning he walked into the barracks, and went to his rack.  His head was bandaged, and he looked horrible, but would not speak to anyone, other than to say the hospital had released him.

That evening the events of the night before were repeated.  He went to the bathroom to try to bash his head in, and the wails resumed.  Once again my fellow recruits and I rushed in to try to calm him, and save him from permanent harm.

The ambulance arrived and they took put him in a straight jacket and led him to the ambulance.  A few moments later, one corpsman returned and asked for me.  Apparently the anguished recruit had asked for me to go with him to the hospital.  I did not know the young man, and to my shame I can’t recall his name, so I was confused as to why he asked for me.  It seemed he had formed some kind of bond with me, while I was trying to sooth him.  As we rode to the hospital, and later as we waited for the doctor, he told me his story.

It began two years prior when both of his parents had died in a fire.  He grieved for them, but got better and moved on with his life.  A year earlier he met a girl and fell in love.  They made plans to marry, after boot camp; tragically she died in a car wreck, two months prior to his arrival.  The stress of basic training had reopened old wounds and life was more than he could bear. 

The doctor arrived soon after our talk and told me to go back to the barracks.  I never expected to see the poor man again.

During our final week of basic, we were allowed to go alone to pick up our records and begin the checkout procedure.  I was walking to an appointment when I saw a lieutenant screaming at a recruit for walking uncovered (hatless).  As I neared I saw it was the tragic recruit, formerly of my company.

He stood slump shouldered and glassy eyed, staring straight through the lieutenant.  I stepped up to her and said “Excuse me, ma-am.” 

She glared at me and said, “One moment, recruit!” She turned back to the young man.

“Ma-am?”

“I said, in a minute!”

“Please, ma-am.  It is very important!”

She stormed over to me, and demanded to know what couldn’t wait.  I looked at the my fellow recruit and said “Ma-am, that recruit was in my company.  He had a nervous breakdown, and is in the process of getting a mental, medical discharge.”

She stared at him and turned back to me, a frightened look on her face.  “Is he dangerous?”

“I don’t know for sure, ma-am, but he very well might be.”

In a small voice, she said “Thank, you!”  She turned to the recruit and said “Carry on.”  As he walked away, she hurried in the opposite direction.

That was the last time I saw my fellow recruit.  It has been thirty-four years, but I can still remember his face and those screams.  I often wonder what happened to him, and pray he found peace.