Vietnam, Larry Collett

Editor’s note: Larry Collett served a year in Vietnam. He was an infantry platoon leader for the 11th Brigade, Americal Division for four months, before he was wounded. After recovery, he worked various jobs in Vietnam including psychological operations officer, night tactical operations center commander and battalion logistics officer. He was honorably discharged in January 1972. But it all started, like it does with most servicemen and women, with boot camp.

“Line up on the numbered squares and face the center,” said the sergeant in a monotone voice. “Place your file on the floor in front of you, turn around and face the wall.” The authoritarian tone encouraged obedience.

We were in groups of 20 being in-processed in April 1968 at the induction center in downtown Oklahoma. Some of us were there willingly; however, most were there because they received a nice letter from their draft boards requesting their presence. The lay-off from my job a few months earlier, coupled with my car being repossessed, my landlord wanting rent money and a divorce made volunteering in the Army seem like a good escape.

“Drop your pants, bend over and spread your cheeks,” continued the sergeant.

A medical person wearing a white coat and mask walked down the line of bent-over men, stopping on several occasions to make a note in the file. Those with no obvious medical defects were sworn in. A bus ride to the airport and a flight in a well-worn DC-3 operated by Trans Texas Airlines got us to Fort Polk, La.

We were met by a group of sergeants who yelled — a lot. The reception station handled groups of 200 men at a time. We were issued clothes that were too big and given haircuts that were too short. The only thing they made an effort to get right was the fit of the boots. This was basic training and they figured we could train with baggy clothes, but not sore feet.

The first morning at the reception center was spent filling out forms and taking tests, administered by partially deaf sergeants. I assumed they were partially deaf because anytime they asked you a question, and you answered, they always yelled, “I can’t hear you!”

The sergeant told us to fill the occupation part of the form with our former jobs. He continued to say, “Now I don’t want to see any guys from Chicago putting down pimp or pusher as your occupation, even if that was what you really did.” I guess the sergeant was making a joke, because he got a few laughs. Several guys from Chicago didn’t laugh.

After lunch we were required to report for work assignments, which included digging ditches, painting, cleaning latrines and pulling kitchen duty. Some jobs were more desirable than others.

“We need someone who has a college degree, especially an engineering degree,” the sergeant yelled.

“How about a degree in math?” someone responded.

“You’ll do; step over here. I need a couple more people with college degrees,” the sergeant repeated.

“I’ve got two years of college,” someone said.

“OK, over here with the other college guys. I need one more. Anyone else have college?” he said.

“I have a year of college,” I said.

“That’s close enough. Over here with the others,” the sergeant said with a slight grin.

We thought this would get us a desk job at headquarters for the afternoon. Not so. We were the group assigned to the most undesirable job imaginable, cleaning the grease traps in the kitchen. You soon learned not to volunteer for anything.

On the third day of testing, I was called with about 50 other men to take additional tests. These tests weren’t given by the sergeants. These people wore military uniforms without stripes on the arms, talked without yelling and seemed to dress better. The next day, I took more tests with about 20 guys, and the exams became progressively harder.

During morning formation on the fifth day, I was called with five other men to report to headquarters. We were told that we qualified for officer candidate school. I asked what that meant and was told if I successfully completed the six months of OCS, I would became an officer in the Army. This sounded like a good idea to me. I figured as an officer, I wouldn’t have to go to Vietnam. I could get a stateside job or be sent to Germany.

Wrong. The only OCS that was open to me as a non-college graduate was infantry, which guaranteed me almost a 100 percent chance of going to Vietnam. At the time, the Army needed small unit combat leaders in the jungles of Vietnam.

Had I not chosen to go to OCS, I would have had a fair chance of an assignment to Germany. My test scores on mechanical aptitude would have qualified me as a mechanic, which was in demand with the mechanized units in Europe or at least as a mechanic assigned to the rear area in Vietnam. However, I chose to go to OCS, after I completed basic and advanced infantry training.

The OCS at Fort Benning, Ga., wasn’t hard for me. I could handle the academic and physical part. The hard part was mental. Sleep deprivation and harassment made dealing with even simplest tasks difficult. Functioning under stress was part of the training. Leading a platoon in the jungle under combat conditions could be stressful.

My advanced age of 25 helped me endure the mental stress of OCS. Most of the guys were 19 to 20. The average wash-out rate for OCS was 35 percent to 50 percent of each class. Our class started with 220 and graduated 150. The younger guys usually couldn’t handle the pressure.

I will admit, there was a lot of B.S. involved. It was sometimes hard to understand how it could be part of the training. Staying up most of the night scrubbing the latrine with a toothbrush caused many of the candidates to decide they really didn’t want to be an officer in the Army.

There were others who were asked to leave because the staff, referred to as tactical officers, determined they did not have the leadership qualities needed to be an infantry officer.

Our final grade for OCS was a combination of the academic grade determined by our test scores and a leadership grade that was a subjective evaluation provided by the tactical officers. Two days before graduation, we were told our overall class standing.

I was in the top third. I was disappointed. I didn’t understand because my academic grades had always been in the top 10 percent of the class. I questioned my tactical officer about the difference. He said although my academic grade was high, my leadership performance was mediocre. I requested a further explanation, and he told me that my appearance was sloppy.

I took my baggy fatigues to the tailor for modifications before reporting to my first assignment as a second lieutenant at Fort Bliss, Texas.