Jan. 30, 2004 - 19:18 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Another Beginning

I think my Dad was wise and more realistic about things than I, and realizing that I was not particularly proficient at sports and things like that, as well as thinking war was pending, he convinced me to put in for the military training program in high school. I liked it because Gym period in junior high school was miserable for me. I was physically active but my ablilties didn't entail many of the activities in gym. So I followed his advice.

In high school things were all new to me but ROTC was way far out. A wool uniform, brass buttons, big leather belt, all to be kept in tip-top condition. As well as becoming used to wearing wool which I didn't really like. But the class had its compensations. I began to learn military lore. I was fascinated with every aspect of ROTC.

I began to see the best aspects of discipline as taught from the books, the need for it and the advantages of it. Made sense rather than what had been automatically thrust on me at home and at school.

Most kids are fascinated by firearms, I know I was. We were issued rifles, old World War One Enfields (Think that was their name) which seemed to weigh a ton and later on we got the Springfields which were lighter and easier to handle.

I ate it up. Learned to clean, strip, re-assemble in a timely manner and maintain my rifle and realize it was a tool of self defense and defense of others in the group. I was soon practicing the Manual Of Arms diligently.

The uniform was good for me, in that I learned, with difficulty, that being dressed up and spiffed up all day was possible for even me. Keeping my brass glistening , my leather polished and neat and my uniform clean and pressed added romance as well as pride in myself to the whole schmear.

The book work fit into my Boy Scout learning and carried me further yet in knowledge and kept me in a learning mode.

The parades downtown were great fun. I loved the marching in cadence and in perfect formation, every foot in a sharply creased pant leg moving forward at exactly the same time. There was my feeling of unity with the group, all of us doing the same things in unison.

It was great fun for me especially with the band playing that moving military music along with the hypnotic, compelling beat of the drums. That was one thing that made me understand things I had read about drums and military bands luring young men to join the parade and sign up. Even in later years when as a mere sideline spectator at a parade my heart would throb and the urge to march with the group was near overpowering. There is something about a military band and the drums that strikes to my heart yet.

So parades were big events for me.

Once a year, in cool weather it was the full dress ROTC Ball. All cloth freshly cleaned, pressed immacuately, buttons and buckles shined and gleaming, with fresh haircuts and clean fingernails we tried to dance, some of us quite well, but the event was a happy one for all. It was an event even pickier than what occurred for parades. Although the picky-picky we imposed on ourselves was somewhat greater.

Of course it is impossible to have a ball without the ladies, at least it was that way back then. Wooing our ladies and making the firm date way ahead of time was part of the excitement. All of this seemed to be sheer torture for the bashful guys, torture which ended for some only when on the way home after the grand event judging by their attitude as they left. But first sight of a date appearing freshly coiffed dressed as well as her parents could afford was a sight I remember well, it was breath takingly wonderful.

The great thing was choosing the corsages, much thought went into that as well as all the money we could afford.

Clumsy old fumble foot here assaulted no feminine feet and did an almost passable step on the dance floor and had my uniform and appurtenances glittering and big belt polished perfectly, even gave me a feeling that I was an appropriate gentleman to the lady whose company I was enjoying.

I do remember one ball that by a quirk of fate, every girl sported a gardenia corsage. The pleasant scent of a gardenia multiplied by a hundred or more became overpowering in that heated ballroom. Even non-smokers were standing out in the cold to catch their breath.

Over the course of my maturity I found much of what I learned in ROTC useful. That includes my way of thinking too. According dignity and respect to those of upper rank regardless of personal opinion made for a much more peaceful life for me and learning to treat my peers with respect and dignity comes in handy too. Somewhere I once read the bit, "Don't salute me, salute the uniform," still has a lot to do with the way I feel about things until I see that it is not warranted.

One might say with a degree of accuracy that ROTC gave me Another Beginning . . . . . .

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