Time In The Military...

Time In The Military In Bathrooms

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Leaving the sheltered life at home at 18 by enlisting in the US Air Force in 1962 I experienced lots of incidences not normally encountered in the USA.

October in San Antonio, Texas is hot. Not as hot as July but still the 100 plus degrees were still difficult for any outdoor activities. Therefore, physical training (PT) just knocked the stuffing out of us. All the other regiments and demands were just added demands and degradations.

Lights out by 10 PM was welcomed but the up by 4 AM was not; but just for prospective, at 4 AM in San Antonio, it’s mighty cold at 40 degrees.

“Falling out” and into formation and at attention while the drill sergeant inspected the troops was not much fun. The drill sergeant’s mission was to “break” us and then reform us as a cohesive unit ready to do whatever was ordered. The yelling and screaming, in your face, all sorts of abuses and invented infractions was just part of the agenda.

Then we were off learning to march as a squadron to the drill sergeants cadence. Any and all infractions were cause for marching to cease and running to commence. Needless to say, most of us had never run ½ a mile so the first half dozen attempts were just brutal. Soon enough running a mile was no big deal but running 5 miles in the southern desert of Texas was exhausting. We had lots of “drop outs” some of which took a less than honorable discharge just to get away from it all.

After 8 week of this “orientation” the tech school assignments were issued and the squadron was dissolved. Some of the troop went to Illinois, some to Louisiana, others to Kansas and I was sent to Amarillo, Texas for electronics tech school. Amarillo Texas is a real garden spot where the wind blows constantly because, as the saying goes, “there’s nothing between Amarillo and the north pole except a barb wire fence…and that was knocked down in 1943”.

Marching was not over for us because we marched to the chow hall from our barracks; we marched to the tech school from the chow hall and so on and so forth. You get the picture. Tech school ran from 9 AM to 4 PM then we had to do homework and study. My tech school classes ran 6 months so by mid June I was given my PCS (permanent change of station) orders.

Well, don’t you know, I was off to another garden spot: George AFB in Victorville California. Another frigging desert!

But the good news was that now everything and everyday became like a job. The work day ran from 8 AM to 5 PM, then it was over for the day. The only differences were we went to work in fatigues and we worked 7 day a week.

The smart money in the military says “don’t volunteer for anything”, well I volunteered for every assignment. Therefore I went to Alaska, Greenland, North Dakota, etc..

Don’t give up on me yet…the bathroom humor is about to begin.

Well, don’t you know that in October 1962 the “draft” was in full swing. When your number was called, it was into the army and off to Vietnam. So I joined the Air Force to avoid the draft. Once in, the Cyprus situation developed and the Turks were bombing the Greeks and versa visa. Our entire squadron of (fighter bombers) F100 and F105 were sent to Incirlik Turkey.

The journey to Turkey began with C123’s and C130’s loaded with spare parts, electric generators and lighting units, hydraulic units and then about 30 troops per aircraft. These all went out in waves at 2 hour increments heading North East. I was on a C130 that went to Wichita Kansas, Limestone Maine, Toole Greenland, The Azores, Seville Spain. Athens Greece, Incirlik Turkey. If memory serves it took about 7 days.

But the fun began in Seville Spain where we went to town and were drinking beer for hours when I asked for the toilet and was pointed towards a wall in the back. I headed that way but only found a hole in the wall that was knocked out. So I assumed (correctly) that one simply peed out the hole in the wall…which I did. But I was soundly cursed by passers by that apparently were dosed by me. I hurriedly fixed myself and rushed back to the guys to tell the story.

Athens Greece was the next bathroom encounter when a group of us went to the USO Club. The USO Club was in a beautiful marble building in downtown Athens. We had been drinking beer for a few hours when we went to the USO Club which only served coffee and soft drinks but the damage had been done…I had to pee. I asked for the rest room and was directed to a door. As I opened the rest room door I was struck with the size and beauty of it all.

White marble everywhere just a huge open room!!! No partitions, no urinals…just a vast expanse of marble. But on the floor were these strange foot prints straddling a good size hole in the floor. I looked around, gazing at the walls and ceiling as I walked around and turning and gazing and turning. All of a sudden my foot slipped into one of these holes. The holes were full of water and poop cause there was no flushing mechanism. My foot and shoe was soaked and smelled bad. I was mortified and pissed off!

I shook my shoe off and wiped it down as best I could, took a leak and went out to join my crowd to tell the guys to be careful in the toilet. There were holes in the floor! I was the butt of jokes for quite awhile.

Fast forward to Yokota Japan where once again beer and bathrooms were the main issues. Japan is a marvelous place but the natural order of things, as we know them, are different. In Japan it’s unusual to see the nape of a woman’s neck or the ankles of the female but it perfectly acceptable to have a unisex bathroom or a communal bath. Go figure!

So back to the beer and toilet, called a bengo. Well I asked for the bengo and was directed to a door (if you could call several planks nailed loosely together, a door). Entering I saw a ditch or trough, so I unzipped and soon started to pee. I heard the door open and felt some body next to me but no one seemed to be around, so I looked down and there squatting down but looking up at me grinning was a woman. Well I tried to get myself together but only managed to get myself totally wet. Not expecting that.

Later as we continued to drink beer several of us decided to head back to base. We had to walk; so off we went, not to steadily I must add, down the path or berm toward the base. As a side issue…Japan in the early 60s had open sewage cannels called bengo ditches. Walking along I soon found myself “limping” along, first a regular step then all of a sudden a low step on the other side, again and again high the low…until I looked down to find on foot on the berm and the other foot in a bengo ditch. What a mess!!!

I stopped drinking beer.

By Philippe R Hebert

From: United States