Durwood A. Durst, CTRCM, USN, Retired Jan 1962 - Jan 1992

 

Jan 31, 1962 ~ Recruit Training Center, United States Naval Training Center, San Diego, Ca. 

 

An ominous day.  Only a few weeks earlier, I hadn’t a care in the world, had time off to myself 
because my boss, Dale Hunt, didn’t have anything for me to do.  So, what do I do?  First day it 
snows at home in 30 years, I, in my most infinite wisdom, drive into Hanford and stop by the 
recruiter’s office.   Actually, the Navy recruiter was the third one I went to.  First, I stopped 
by the Air Force and told there was a waiting list.  Humph, not me!  I stopped by the Marine 
recruiter’s office and he wasn’t in.  As I stepped into the Navy’s office, I also found it empty 
and had decided it was time to leave (go home)!  As I was leaving, here comes this Navy Chief out 
of the bar across the street.  My kind of guy!  We step into his office and he flat out tells me, 
if you don’t know what you want, go home, figure it out and come back later (Navy apparently had 
enough recruits at this time without me).  Of course, I wasn’t going to admit that I didn’t know 
what I was doing, so I said sure, I want to enter the construction field (CB).  I told him I had 
experience around heavy equipment and carpentry and that’s what I would like to do.  After many 
tests, some given there, and the battery of tests in boot camp, it was determined I would be more 
use to the Navy in the communications field.  I think my choices were Radioman, Sonar, Communications 
Technician (CT), and maybe several others.  When I asked what a CT was, I was told nobody knew, it was 
classified and that when I got to school, I would be indoctrinated.  As I was already sure I didn’t 
want to spend my life learning and copying morse code (introduced to it in boy scouts) and that I 
didn’t want to go into some secret office (they had already told me I couldn’t go into construction) 
I chose Sonar!  Yes, maybe even get on submarines when I passed school.  When my orders came in, they 
were for CT school in Pensacola.  Well, I think this was the first time I almost got kicked out of the 
Navy as an undesirable.  I kind of lost my cool with the classification people (one in particular) and 
when I got through with him, the only reason I wasn’t released I guess was because my company commander 
went to bat for me real strong!  And it was drilled into me at that point that I wasn’t allowed to 
speak to anyone superior to me that way.  Well, this was a recurring problem I seemed to have the rest 
of my career!  I found out early on that you could say anything you wanted to in the Navy as long as you 
were willing to suffer the consequences.

 

With the recruiters’ tests out of the way, it was physical time, which was completed in Fresno.  
And what you saw in the movies about how they all lined up and the doctor walked through was true.  
We were mass-produced that day.  When it was all over with, we were sent home and told to come back 
the next day.  We were then given the Oath (you know the one) and then placed on a Greyhound bus to 
San Diego Recruit Training Command (RTC).  I mean this bus had a stewardess (hostess?), bathroom – 
all the amenities.  No reason to stop for anything.  We were very tired puppies when we finally arrived 
at RTC, after dark!  It was even later when we finally got to bed.  After all the shouting was over and 
we were formed into provisional companies (all they did later was remove the word provisional), we were 
marched off in a gaggle (100 or more people moving together in some fashion) to a temporary shelter.  
Hereafter known as barracks and later as BEQ, Bachelor Enlisted Quarters’, but that’s all later on and 
a different story.  I think it was about 2 am.  We were back up and at it, showered, shaved (yeah, right) 
and on the street and in formation marching to chow (breakfast) by 6 am.  Over the next three days, 
we were outfitted, tweaked, peaked, tested and decreed.  First order was our seabag issue.  Long lines 
are formed (I don’t remember what kind of order) and we all went through, one at a time and were issued 
each peace of clothing that was to belong to us (remember, we are still in civilian clothes).  After 
getting our issue, we were reformed, double arms length apart and our issue was gone through one piece 
at a time, held over your head, to ensure we had one, or however many, of what we were suppose to have.  
Wow, what a thrill.  When we were through with this, then we stuffed it all into an issued, 1 each, seabag.  
I have no idea how long this took, but after we were finally finished, it was time for shots and haircuts 
(I already was sporting a crew cut).  This is where they tried out the new air gun for shots.  You ever 
try to get up when your real tired (average 3 hours sleep a night) and take tests (the General Classification 
Test, which would follow us the rest of our Navy careers).  These three days (actually the whole boot camp 
period) became a blur – but we finally wound up marching over the bridge to our own lonely island for the 
next few weeks, Camp Nimitz, where you get to do your initial training and was moved into our new home.  
This island was used for new recruits I think so that the more advanced recruits, the ones that had been 
determined had a chance on making it through boot camp, couldn’t hear the crying! 

 

Meanwhile, the time spent on Nimitz Island (as we called it) was extremely busy.  They literally tore 
you down and rebuilt you in the Navy image.  Learning that everything has a proper place!  Besides 
washing clothes by hand and hanging them up to dry with clothes stops (which had to be tied a specific way), 
you learned how to hang and fold (so clothes didn’t need to be ironed) and stow them in the locker properly.  
How in the heck did we ever get all that stuff in that little locker?  Then you also had to know the layout 
of gear when we had seabag bunk inspections.  We even had to have our carbine (ME) tied and stowed under 
the rack (bed) correctly. You also learned how to stand watches (inside and outside), how and who to report 
to.  Clothesline watch?  Dempsty Dumpster watches?  You bet, that’s where I got my first Navy Lcdr (literally). 

 

·         One late, rainy Sunday afternoon – talk about wet and miserable.  It was near dark and I had someone 
(unauthorized) in my clothesline near the dumpster when I made my challenge.  Needless to say, the challenge 
was not properly countered and when the man broke through the clothesline, I stopped him, one gentle tap along 
the jaw line with the butt of my M1 carbine.  Needless to say, there was excitement and talk around the company 
for several days (and a little worry on my part when I found out I had cold cocked one of the regimental elite)! 

 

In the meantime, when we weren’t in the barracks learning hygiene or laundry tips, we were doing close order 
drill on the grinder.  Or marching to chow, or just marching to be marching.  Believe it or not, you do enough 
of this, you get pretty good at it.  Well, most people do.  Sometime during the first day when we were first 
formed, our company petty officers which included the RCPO (Recruit Chief Petty Officer), who reported to the 
Company Commander, TMC Arthur W. Smith, were selected.  Anyway, the first RCPO (Waters) was chosen on his word 
that he had some ROTC training in college prior to joining the Navy.  Well, he didn’t last too long.  Let’s 
just be nice and say his voice didn’t lend to healthy command leadership (he sounded like a girl)!  A few of us 
(of course me too) went to the company commander and requested he replace him as he was embarrassing us whenever 
we were near any other company and they could hear him.  It’s funny now, but it wasn’t then.  Believe it or not, 
while the chief wasn’t very happy with this turn of events (a mutiny?), he was happy that we had a viable 
candidate to take over and Allen Johnson did a great job (for what he had to work with). 

 

·         When I said most people do, well, we had this one kid who could not (and never did) learn how to march.  
Guess who got the sad duty of marching behind him and correcting his step (by kicking the bottom of his foot)?  
I bet this kid hates me even to this day. 

·         Ever march through large piles of bird dung until your thoroughly filthy from head to toe at 2 am?  
And then you’re told that you will be standing inspection in the uniform your wearing at 6 am prior to going 
to the mess hall?  This can sometimes happen when your company commander is upset with the troops!  I never 
knew seagulls shit so much!  In the sack at 10 pm (lights out), lights on at 12:30 am for remedial marching 
on the grinder and then because he wasn’t happy with the way we were progressing at that time of the morning, 
over to the seagull pits!  We did learn how to march and never had to return there!  Shortly after this is when 
we had our small mutiny on the RCPO. 

·         I guess the scariest time while on Nimitz Island was when a couple of cases of spinal meningitis 
were reported in the company next to ours.  If I remember correctly, we were quarantined for several days. 

·         Second scariest - watching someone get yanked out of the chow line when they made the mistake of 
trying to talk to someone lined up next to them (he was from company 4014, the Punishment Company)!  A bad 
mistake, this is the one place in the world you did not want to be!  This actually happened.  They kept this 
young man for 72 hours before returning him.  Believe you me, he didn’t talk in line for chow anymore!

·         I guess around this time we were introduced to the firing range, after we had spent an afternoon 
learning how to strip and clean our weapons (yes, you had to memorize all the parts).  Not much else to 
remember about this except I assume I qualified. 

 

Once it had been determined that you had a chance of making it through boot camp, then as a company 
(usually in the 3rd or 4th week), you packed your seabag again, marched back across the bridge and 
then you were housed in another dilapidated barracks near Bainbridge Court. It didn’t hurt that Nimitz 
was getting over crowded and that helped us move a little early (3rd week).  The barracks near 
Bainbridge Court were built to hold 4 companies.  The one we were to be housed in, because the 1st deck 
had been condemned only held company 104 (ours) and one other, our sister company.   At least life was 
a little better on this side, off the island.  Over here, you could get a chance to go to the PX, or make 
a phone call home if the company commander was in a good mood and you had been a good boy during the week.  
The only thing I can truly say is it’s a good thing boot camp wasn’t any longer than it was.  By the time 
it was over with, the company commander and I were better off that we parted company.  I guess you could 
say I was one of the hardheaded ones.  It was really great that I made the color guard, which took me away 
from the company most of the time except for mandatory classes. I think this is what really pissed the 
chief off, because he had just told me that morning that there was no way I would be selected for the 
color guard who was looking for some sharp individuals.  In fact, if I remember correctly, he’d said the 
same thing like that to the other kid who made it with me.  Oh well, who can tell.  The benefits were worth 
the grief from the chief, permanent-walking chit (which meant you didn’t have to be with the company to be 
out and around).  You know, like extra trips to the PX, library and such?  The flip side though was that 
when you did manage to get into trouble with the company, punishment was swift and severe. 

 

·         Like the day I was on fire watch and was caught sitting on a table – I forget how much that M1 weighed, 
but it is a terrific amount when you have it on the end of your fingers with your arms stretched out in front of you.

·         When one of the guys I was being punished with dropped his M1 (better known as a piece), a shoe brush 
came flying out of the office and hit him in the forehead.

·         The lion sleeps tonight!  Great song.  Came out while I was in boot camp, usually played around taps 
(about the only time we got to listen to a radio, just before taps, which by the way was at 10 pm with reveille 
at 04:30 am).  It’s also the only song I remember clearly from this time frame.

·         Going through fire fighting and the gas chamber were also at the top of my thrill list.  
While I believe these happened around week 7, I mention them here along with being hauled around in 
a cattle car only because this is what I remember about them.

·         That, and moving mattresses from the old jail to someplace else!  Always some type of working party, 
but this one came in the last few days when we had run out of training and were waiting to graduate.  This is 
the time frame when they were making sure all your paperwork was taken care of and you ready to leave (yeah)!

 

Travel/Leave: April 20, 1962 – Departing RTC, San Diego, California.  What a day ~ now I know what being 
released from prison must feel like.  It felt like all day was spent standing in line (we were) until we 
had finally received enough paperwork (orders, etc.) and we were finally allowed to get on the bus!  I say 
that only because I don’t remember if I rode the bus back to Fresno or flew.  Two whole weeks leave!  
All right!  You know, I think it was during this leave when we were at supper (the first night I think) and 
I asked for the “Fn” butter!  Oh well, might as well get it out of the way early right?

 

As my leave was running out, I caught an airplane from Fresno to Pensacola, Fl.  I guess the only bright spot 
in the whole trip was that I got to spend the night in New Orleans (not scheduled).  Here I was a salty sailor 
(we always traveled in uniform at that time) with two stripes on my arm traveling across country.  We had a short 
layover in New Orleans, supposed to be about an hour, so, naturally, I decided I could wait in the bar and have 
a beer while waiting for my flight to continue.  Guess what, next thing I know, my airplane had taken off (early).  
It was then that I realized that the noise level in the bar was sufficiently high enough that you couldn’t hear 
the announcements.  Oh well, I did spend the night in the nearest Y, got to see Bourbon street and made it to 
Pensacola the next day with no problems.  But I am glad I took the advice of an old salt (sailor) and left a day 
early and had the extra day of travel time.