Pretty much all I've got from my Devens Daze are some old pictures. I was in D Company because I signed up for the Continental Army, affectionately (well, maybe not so affectionately, come to think about it) known as "Fortunato's Faggots" because of our illustrious leader, Sergeant Fortunato.
The Continental Army was skate duty. No extra details because we were busy showing the flag at all of those Revolutionary War events that dot New England, or cleaning our Continental Army gear, or whatever. Those marches on weekends were a good deal, because there was beer to be had, and people got off on the boys in uniform. At least in 1973, they got off on the boys in Continental Army uniforms -- it wasn't such a good time for olive drab, what with the Viet Nam wind down.
Anyway, it was skate duty. I was in the cannon corps eventually, which meant on marches I was one of the guys dragging our cannon around.
This is what our cannon looked like. I can't really make out the faces after all these years, although I think that is Mike O'Barr on the far right. I remember the guy to O'Barr's right (3rd from the left -- are you confused yet?) but I can't remember his name. I remember the face of the guy on the far left, but the name escapes me still, and I just flat can't make out the second guy in line. It could be me, but even with my glasses, I just can't tell.
We actually fired that cannon once while I was there. We went to a cannon shooting contest in York, Maine, one weekend. The cannon fired those little grapefruit juice cans like you used to get in box lunches on Air Force flights (don't get me started on THAT!). They were maybe two inches wide and four inches long, or something like that. Anyway, we scoured garbage cans on post to dig out a whole bunch of those cans (and found bags of disposable diapers while we were at it -- digging through dempsty dumpsters was pretty ugly) and took a weekend to drive out into the countryside and make cannon shells. You filled the can half full of sand and then filled it the rest of the way with cement. We made 40 or 50 of those little bastards, and were off to the cannon shoot the next weekend.
Didn't hit diddly. We were in a big open field, and there were actually a lot of cannons out there shooting. The targets were big squares of cardboard 150 or 200 yards away. There was big old Civil War job that was shooting quart-size cans, and hitting the target with them, I might add. Most of the cannons were our size, though, and we basically hit the ground. Accuracy was never a strong suit in the Revolution anyway, which is why they issued everybody a bayonet. Anyway, we had a high-high, marched through York, went to a dance, drank some firewater, and shot off all of our cannon shells. The only other distinct memory I have of that weekend is that the field in which we were shooting was covered with spiders, these long-legged colorful little buggers, and you would be carrying cannon shells or going through crew drill and the damn things would crawl up your leg. Eeeeeewwwwwwwhhhhhhhh! Still makes me squeal like a girl when I think about it.
When I wasn't playing Continental Army, I was playing 98C school. I don't remember the instructors real name, but everyone called him Snake. I don't remember much of the class, either, but about half of the guys ended up with me in Korea.
My other poignant memory of Devens was actually in Ayer -- Mr. Tom's Sandwich Shop (or something like that), which is where I first learned what a grinder was. Now don't get me wrong -- I detest Massachusetts, and Fort Devens don't hold a lot of warm and fuzzies for me, but those grinders were the best damn food I had ever eaten up to that point. I still get hungry when I think of those, but you just can't get them here (or anywhere else, come to think of it).
One of my best buddies at Devens was Mike O'Barr. He was a character, from California if I remember right, but he talked like he was from Jersey. He was at Devens when I got there, and he was still in D Company when I came back through two and a half years later for another school, still in D Company.
He went with me to Boston when I shipped out on Greyhound to Fort Meade for some special super-spy training enroute to Korea. We were hiking around downtown Boston when one of the local bums came up and asked for money. Gave him a quarter, and then he started yelling at the top of his lungs, "GOD BLESS THE U.S. ARMY! I WAS IN THE ARMY, TOO, BUDDY, AND I AM GRATEFUL FOR YOUR SUPPORT. GOD BLESS THE U.S. ARMY! GOD BLESS..." and so forth. Downtown Boston early on a Saturday morning near the bus station, you don't necessarily want to draw attention to yourself.
I was only 17 at the time, and looking back on these pictures, I'm kind of surprised at how young I looked. I was a fierce Sigint Warrior, but all of my peers were still in high school. I graduated early in March so I could go off to tilt at windmills, while most of them elected to go to college. I don't know if mine was the wiser choice, but I'm willing to bet money that I had a better time over the intervening years.
Here are some people pictures from my Devens Daze. The names are fuzzy after all these years, other than Mike O'Barr, although the big goofy guy in the blue shirt was named Dave something-or-other (Brandenburg??) and I think he got orders to the 7th RRFS. He was an 05H, if memory serves me correctly.
