Day 2

Day 2: Moving to California, Pro and Con Life Assessment, A dead year WC: 1804

That first year in California, from age 18 to 19, was a very hard one. It was necessary to sort out the changes made in my life, the move from one state to another and the end of high school with no job skills to offer for salary. I spent the first six months babysitting the younger children while Mother and Dad set out to find work and to settle into a place to live that at least seemed permanent. We rented a house in Garden Grove. It had those louvered windows, a design I had not seen before. It seemed odd not to be able to completely open a window. Each day as I did the housekeeping and childcare tasks, I wondered when some sort of opportunity would come to save me from the highly restricted life I was living. When I joined the Job Corps and completed the nurse aide training, that opportunity presented itself in the form of a job at a nearby hospital. I still had no car and not even a drivers license, but after the first few months when Mother drove me to the job, I found a small studio apartment only a couple of blocks away. I then was able to walk to the hospital and moved out of the family home. When I did, it was a distressful situation. My father had given me the old station wagon, signing the pink slip to me, since Mother now had a different car. I could not yet drive so I was not able to get it to my new apartment. Mother was angry with me for having moved out (to avoid conflict with her, I had moved out during the day while she was at work at a department store). She did not want me to have the car, so when a friend helped me by driving it to my apartment parking space for me, Mother came to the hospital and made a huge crazy scene, claiming I had stolen the car. She even called the police. When they arrived, the head nurse helped to protect me and helped me to explain the circumstances and to show them I had the pink slip and the car was in my name as owner. My mother was so very angry, and she threatened to come back later when my work shift was over. She said she would be waiting for me. Poor Mom, she was always under such a work load and such stress. I do not hold anything against her for that craziness. She was driven almost mad by the burden of so many children, so little money, and such a low ambition, uneducated husband. I forgive her completely. Anyway, after a few years she had completely forgotten about it and she has always love me as her daughter. B ut I digress..
back to my story..
A little Italian woman who worked at the hospital, as an LVN I believe, was concerned for me. She was from Brooklyn originally, and had a marvelous Brooklyn accent. She encouraged me to join the service (sorevoice, she pronounced it) as a way to get a start in life, since I could not go to college. I was working the swing shift at the hospital, from 3 pm til 11 pm. I had to sleep during the day so I was not able to attend any classes then. I had to work evenings so classes were also not possible then. So I was not able to start college, even if I had enough money. I took her advice and went to talk to a Navy recruiter. He told me I was too little, not enough weight to meet the entry requirements. So I went to talk to a Marine recruiter. He sent me to a doctor for a physical exam, and the doctor entered my weight as more than it was. So the following month off I went to Los Angeles with recruiter to be sworn in for a three year term of service. I was excited; I had taken my future into my own hands and was off to a good start. I would get job training, learn about life and the world of work, and then have the benefit of the GI Bill to help me pay for that college education I wanted so much.
In February of 1967 I was sent to Parris Island for my boot camp training. I flew to South Carolina, then was loaded onto a military bus with other young women, all of us still in civilian clothes, the dresses and makeup we had all grown accustomed to. We were all so young, less than 20 years old. The bus trip was a long one, and it was late. Dark, and in the wee hours of the morning we arrived at Parris Island. It was about three in the morning as I recall. We were all ordered from the bus and lined up alongside it. A male sargeant came and barked out directions to us about what to do with our luggage and things we had brought with us. I remember feeling very embarrassed as the male soldiers talked about us and laughed. I felt humiliated. They were using us as a source of male amusement. It was not a very nice feeling. I was tired and it was not only dark, it was cold. The fog was thickening. Parris Island is surrounded by swamps and the fogs can be quite thick at times, especially in the early morning hours as the land begins to heat up with the pending rising of the morning sun.
We were taken to a barracks and assigned bunks. We all fell into the bunks and slept deeply. In the morning we had our first taste of military life. At breakfast we were guided to the mess hall, where we went through the line for the hot trays of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, toast, and fruit. The coffee tasted wonderful, and I felt that things were going to be okay. The other girls at the table were all in a state of semi-shock to actually have gotten to this point in the decisions we had all made to serve in the military. I was just a little girl, really, barely 80 pounds and still looking like I was fifteen. I had no makeup on; we had all been told that no makeup was permitted. We were also told to keep talking to a minimum at the table of four each. And I was told to take a helping of everything.. and to eat it all. Evidently they could tell someone had falsified my weight just by looking at my small frame. I ate all I could.
Boot camp was nine weeks long. There was a woman squadron commander who was in charge of our group. She had the most brilliantly blue eyes I had ever seen and she was petite, with an angled face, delicate jawline, and a short face framing haircut. I was very impressed with her discipline and air of power. When she stood in front of me during morning inspection, she stared directly into my eyes and never flinched. It was wonderful, this strength of will she had. I wanted to be like that. And there was a male drill instructor, Sargeant Thibodeau. He took us through marching practice and drills every day, singing out in cadence the old Marine marching verses like “you had a good home and you left, you left, you left !” while we stepped on our left foot each time he said “left”.
We also attended classes during the day, on Marine Corps history and other things that were need to know information. We were given aptitude tests and I scored very highly on the mathematical and logical reasoning portions. They assigned me to be trained in computer operations. I was pleased to have affirmed once again that I had a very good mind, capable of learning complex technical material. Marching drill practices were not so easy for me however, as I was so short and my legs proportionally short that I had trouble keeping up with the longer legged girls. Sometimes I had to double time my marching, just to catch up. It made me feel like a kindergarten child skipping to catch up with the older children. But as for self discipline, I caught onto that right away. due to having had a strong self control naturally. For example, I had learned to delay gratification, and beyound that to delay re3tribution. As a young child, when one of my siblings had done a wrong to me, I would at times wait for weeks until I was certain they had forgotten completely about it. That is when I would take my revenge, with a slap or a punch.. and they would have an instant puzzled look on their faces.. at which I would say “Remember three weeks ago when you... (whatever they had done was recited from memory at that point). Ah yes, I knew at an early age the sweetness of revenge is greater when it is served cold.
During boot camp training, we did exercises, including 100 sit ups, running a quarter mile in as few seconds as possible, and push ups as well. I have never been in as good a shape. Some girls could not do it. Swimming for a number of laps across the pool was also one of the things required; that one was hard for me as my lung power is not what it ought to be. I had a hard time staying afloat and getting enough air. At one point, I headed for the edge of the pool, but the instructor pushed me back out with a long metal pole. It was tough.
Swearing was not allowed and we had to take showers rapidly. All the young women boot camp candidates had to line up and undress as we moved toward two sided showers.. we would be totally nude by the time we got to our turn to the shower. and we had one or two minutes to shower and go out the other side. As we disrobed, we dropped our clothes on the floor. All of our clothing was marked with our names, and other young women scooped up the clothes and took them to the washing machines, washed them and dried them and then delivered them back to us. It was a very efficient method of personal bathing in a military setting. At first I admit I was shy of being naked among all the others, but since they were naked as well, I got over that quickly.