A Barracks Wakening

(Killdeers)

Some things are hard to forget. One of my persistent memories is how mornings began in basic training at Fort Leonard Wood in 1970. I imagine some of this would be familiar to many young guys from that era. (I say “guys” because women were barely a presence in the force at that time. I’d see that change just a few months later when I got to medic training.)

At any rate, some shared memories might be squeaking bunk beds as squad members restlessly slept, or snores, or sundry odors. We’re talking 50-60 guys in a quonset hut in 90-degree weather. Far worse were the quietly spilled tears, particularly from my bunk mate below. Hard to forget. It would all end when our drill sergeant entered, turned on the glaring overhead lights and banged on a trashcan lid with a metal bar. “Everyone up.”

That never really worked for me. I set my inner clock to wake at least 30 minutes before the ruckus began. I’d lie still and follow my mind to the sounds of Killdeer calling as the sky just began its earliest glow. Imagine a plaintive “Killdeer, Killdeer,” growing louder, then fading as several birds circled near the barracks. They carried me to a place of calm, of wonder, of temporary peace as each day began.

I loved those birds.