大象传媒

This story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Robert H Allison.

Bus transportation took us to the University of Iowa campus where we were assigned rooms in the Hillcrest dormitory. Once again being alphabetically number one on the list I was assigned to a four man room in which there was already a cadet from a previous battalion, This was John Horn. John had been in the 16th battalion when he came down with spinal meningitis. He very nearly died but bore it out and was now reassigned to the 20th battalion, company C, 1st platoon. Also in the room the first night was one of my Norfolk classmates, Clyde Clifford Cavitt. The fourth bunk would not be occupied for a couple of days when we were to receive the late arrival of Benjamin J. Moise.

A word or two about my roommates. John Horn was from St. Cloud, Minnesota, a fun loving guy who was as weak as a cat from his sickness. So weak that when we had to take a five minute step test he was on the verge of passing out and falling. I was along side of him and was able to support him without being caught by the instructor. Only had one complaint about him; he kept washing his balls in the sink in our room. We kept jawing the hell out of him until he quit. Upon leaving preflight he went to NAS Minneapolis for primary. Never heard of him again. Cavitt was from Colfax, Iowa, about sixteen miles from Des Moines. His nickname was Cactus because of his hair. It was thick, coal black and stood straight up on his head like a porcupine. Never saw or heard of him again after preflight. B.J. Moise was from New Orleans, Louisiana. He was the only one of the whole platoon who had not gone to CPT/WTS, which was too bad because if there was anyone who ever wanted to fly it was B.J. B.J. had not been in the V5 program as long as the rest of us because of an accident in which he was involved. While waiting to be called for CPT/WTS, B.J. and a friend of his were out on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico taking target practice on sea gulls with their 22 caliber rifles. B.J. was lying in the sand sighting on a gull and pulled the trigger just as his friend raised up in front of him. The bullet struck his friend in the back of the head. He was killed instantly. B.J. was in such deep depression that his father, an influential man in New Orleans, was able to get the Navy to take him early to help get his mind off the accident. B.J. had been to Tulane University, had taken mathematics through calculus. He, through carelessness, failed a simple math test so badly that they wouldn't even let him take a make up. He was gone. One thing B.J. was good at was aircraft recognition. We were required to be able to identify all military combat aircraft, both the allies planes and those of the enemy from all angles: front, astern, from the sides, top and bottom. Not only identify them but do it in one seventy-fifth of a second. This is about as fast as you can blink. B.J. knew them all. On one test twenty photographs of various planes were flashed on the screen at this speed. Only one cadet of the whole class got twenty right answers- that was B.J. The hooker was that a photo of a cat had been inserted. He was the only one who identified it as an old tomcat. Everyone else had been looking for an airplane.
Preflight school was scheduled for a three-month period of a half-day of ground school and a half-day of physical education. Supposedly to sharpen your reflexes, both mentally and physically. Maybe so! Physically maybe it did, but mentally I was still left with a lot to be desired.

The first thing we received was another physical followed by being issued naval cadet uniforms. These were genuine real to goodness officer's uniforms minus the rank stripes. They not only made you look good but gave you an air of confidence and maybe a little or a lot of ego. This was especially true after the uniforms we had been issued in WTS which were the forest greens that were used by the CCCs (Civilian Conservation Corps) in the mid thirties.

The 20th and 21st battalions received the Army winter olive fatigues with Army boots. All other battalions received Marine greens and Marine brogans which probably didn't look any better but they didn't make you stand out like a diamond in a goat's butt as the Army uniforms did for us for about a month. New comers were known as "Boots"-we were pegged!

This was basically three months of just plain fun, nothing but every sport in the books, inter-platoon, inter-company, inter-battalion and inter-regimental competitions. Was great! Ground school was not much of a challenge for me. But there were several cadets who fell by the wayside because of it. The only thing that caused me a problem was that I was not able to take Morse code as fast as required. Flunked the test first time. So as not to flunk it the second time I conned Cactus Cavitt to taking it for me. We passed with flying colors. If we had been caught we would have still been flying-off the end of a boot. The only time I ever remember taking advantage of a test was in the first physical I took in Des Moines. This was the depth perception test. This was the ability to line up a stationary wooden peg with one that was controlled forward and backward by the use of two strings at a distance of 20 feet. I happened to notice that as the moveable peg passed the stationary one that had a light behind it cast a faint shadow. I used the shadow but it wasn't necessary to do this, I would have passed anyway.

One of the more pleasant things about preflight was the study hour from nine o'clock until "lights out" at ten. Just before nine we would dash down to the ship's service, load up on apples, oranges, crackers and any thing else that looked good. Get back to the room and pretend to be studying when the inspecting officer came by. After he had made his check, it was "party time". Well, maybe not party time but it was sure a relaxed, peaceful time of day. Study? Didn't know what the word meant.

Another source of pride and pleasure was each Sunday morning when the entire regiment marched in a parade to the athletic field next to the athletic field house for inspection. There were 2000 cadets in dress blues or in dress whites, in rank and file formation. It was impressive to me and even more so to my mother, father and two sisters, Marilyn, 16 and Helen, 11. They had driven from Des Moines just to witness this parade and attend Navy chapel in the field house following the parade. And I like to believe that, maybe, they glowed a little bit with pride for their son and brother. I think I had an ego problem. Besides, one of my mother's friends whose husband happened to be my father's boss and a twin brother to my uncle the husband of my mother's sister, had said to her that neither my brother nor I would make it because it was too tough a grind and we weren't up to it. Because of that "snob" there was no way I was going to fail.

Continued.....
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