Go ahead, hate me for it
The best words of advice I received when people heard the news that I enlisted in the Air Force were, “Don’t lock your knees,” and, “If you hear anyone ask the question, Who can play a musical instrument? – raise your hand!”
The first words of advice came none too soon, on the night I was delivered to the doorstep of my training squadron, as a matter of fact. They came from the technical sergeant who left me there. He sat at the front of the bus with a clip board, making sure each newbie was getting off the bus at the correct training squadron. The last stop of the night was at the 3708th Basic Military Training Squadron, where I got off with the only other guy left on the bus. Before the technical sergeant got back on the bus to disappear forever from this story, he said, “Good luck, gentlemen. Don’t lock your knees.” It was the only thing I heard him say all night.
Don’t lock your knees is one of the critical rules of basic training. Newbies who are just learning how to stand at the position of attention will naturally lock their knees to appear ramrod-straight, but you can’t stand at attention that way for long. You will pass out. I don’t know why. It’s just one of those unbreakable laws of nature, like the way gravity always makes your toast land butter side down. Time after time I’ve seen guys keel over and bust their face on the pavement for no apparent reason other than they’d been standing there, knees rigidly locked, for too long. Horses can do it; people can’t. So if you should happen to find yourself standing in formation with a hundred other people, keep telling yourself: Heels together, shoulders back, knees slightly bent, don’t lock your knees. It helps if you twiddle your toes just a little bit, too.
My Dad was the one who told me, If you hear anyone ask the question, Who can play a musical instrument? – raise your hand! I don’t remember how he came by this wisdom, and he didn’t put any particular importance on it. He was very offhand when he offered it to me, tossing it out as if it were a trivial thing. Oh, by the way… And I had a hard time believing that, during the chaos of basic training, I would ever find myself in a situation where it would come in handy, but it turned out to be even better advice than Don’t lock your knees.
There I was, waiting in line to get my head shaved and wondering, not for the first time, why I was doing this, when our training instructor – the Air Force doesn’t have drill sergeants, it has training instructors – shouted, “Listen up!” and introduced the master sergeant standing beside him as the leader of the base drum & bugle corps. I don’t recall his name, but I clearly remember the contrast between his very casual, even relaxed, manner and the rough-edged way our TI, Garcia, growled at us all day long.
And then it happened: “Who here has played a musical instrument?” the master sergeant asked us. My ears perked up like an Irish Setter’s. What? I couldn’t believe this was happening. An amusing story my father told about his military service was somehow coming alive! Or maybe I was hallucinating. I took a quick look around to see if anybody else in the room would respond and saw … several hands going up! They heard it, too! I was so excited that I almost didn’t put my hand up, until the master sergeant began to make his way toward the newbies, asking them one at a time what instrument they’d played and how long ago. My hand shot up. Me! I did! I played the trombone in high school marching band! Come talk to me!
What followed was a transfer to the base drum & bugle corps, the beginning of a lucky streak of great assignments that would have me believing maybe a career in the Air Force thing wasn’t such a bad idea. The drum & bugle corps was different from the other basic training squadrons not only because we played the music for the graduation ceremonies, or played taps at the end of the day, or marched in parades through downtown San Antonio, it was different because we had to meet daily for practice. Maybe it’s different now, but back then they carved time out of the schedule for us to practice by exempting us from extra duties like KP and squadron clean-up.
While the rest of the newbies were scrubbing crusty gunk off dishes and cook pans or pushing lawnmowers across the yard under a blistering Texas sun, we were in an air-conditioned room honking our horns. Thank you, Dad.