Fourteen years, total, in the military. Lots of hard work, moments of ecstatic joy over a job well done, particularly with the hurricane evacs in Biloxi, and upper echelon briefings in DC. And some great life-long friendships, not to mention (but I will) some killer lunchtime games of double-deck pinochle.
Recent stories of abuse in the military led me to review my enlistments. I can honestly say there were only two times I was ever really afraid. Oh, I had heard several horror stories from both women and men in the military, and lived through a few trying times with a couple of gals who were active duty at various bases while I was just a wife. But despite being so closely aligned with the military before I actually joined, there was nothing that could have prepared me for real, up close and personal, actuality.
A young woman in my basic training flight took it into her head that she didn’t like me. And she made it known to anyone who would listen that “dumb chief” was headed for a fall - - literally - - if she could ever find me alone on the stairs. Of course, this meant I was extremely hesitant about going to the basement to launder my clothes. Necessity being a mother, I discovered I could wash items while I showered, wring them out by hand, put them in a bucket, dress, and then hang them on the clothesline in the yard. It took a little longer for things to dry, but the amount of time was practically negligible considering the weather in San Antone. The situation resolved itself when Donna, from Pearl, MS, bless her, decided that even though she couldn’t put an end to the nonsense she could, at least, affect the outcome, and so, whenever she headed for the laundry room, she came by my bunk and got my stuff, too. But the fear for me was still there, and graduation day was more than just the relief of finishing basic training, it was an end to that situation. Oh, I saw her again, the Air Force at that time was still pretty small, and there were a limited number of bases where women served. But by the next time she was on "my turf" and it was my ball, my game, my rules, my outranking her, and she left me alone.
Assault of any kind, sexual or otherwise, is not limited to women. Even less likely to report abuse are the men, but it happens to them, too. As one COB told me, “There are places on a ship you simply do not go alone; and you better really know the guy going along with you.” For that matter, even a 24/7-armed Marine is not immune. One friend related a time in the Med when he was “propositioned” by a Marine Corps major. No way to resolve that sorta thing equitably, so friend told Major he’d kill him and dump his body off the boat if he ever again tried anything.
But I was a landlocked old frog and pretty much thought myself out of harm’s way. Until, that is, my second instance, a day when I was on library duty at NAS Millington. Two young sailors with too much time on their hands, way too much testosterone, and the mentality that after all I was only a woman (it didn’t matter I wore more rank than the two of them put together) and therefore they could do as they pleased. They were loudly vocal in their explicit plans for me after my shift ended. Ah, but those guys had no idea with whom they were dealing! I had a whole “boatload” of buddies, and a single phone call brought three of them to serve as my escorts.
The way I got through the first example was by constantly telling myself that my enemy was not an actual enemy, but a DI plant, simply a training device, to help me learn how to handle threatening situations. And, indeed, it did just that. Because by the time the second instance rolled around, I had learned to always have not just a plan but also at least two backups for every situation. And when you absolutely cannot anticipate, you adapt and overcome.
Brother Larry had a pocketknife. On one side was written TRUST IN THE LORD. On the other side was BUT KEEP THIS HANDY. Good advice. These days when I’m out running around I have to leave my pistol in the car. But there’s always a knife in my purse. And a cell phone in my pocket.
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