A Young Man Turns His Shaky Past Into a Solid Future

My wife and I went to Georgia a weekend ago for a rite of passage.

Our grandson Chris, 21, was graduating after 16 arduous weeks of basic infantry training at Ft. Benning, and we wouldn’t have missed it.

We went with his parents, our son Doug and daughter-in-law Jacqueline. We flew together to Atlanta, rented a car and drove to the Hilton Columbus in Columbus, six miles from the fort. The hotel is charming. It is built on the site of a Civil War warehouse and employs some of its original bricks. At dinner we learned that Georgians talk different. They do not say “you all,” as I supposed, nor even “y’all.” They say “yaw.” “Yaw enjoy your dinner now.”

The ceremony was to start at 9 o’clock the next morning. The fort lies on green rolling hills surrounded by piney woods. Fortunately, we arrived early. We parked and were standing on a hill above the assembly hall when we heard a distant chorus of male voices chanting in cadence. It was thrilling.

Soon a company of soldiers in dress greens topped a rise, marching in ranks. Their shoes fell on the road in rhythm with their chant. They sang:

I got a letter in the mail

Go to war; go to jail;

And it won’t be long ‘til I get back home.

Mama don’t you cry.

Your little boy ain’t gonna die.

The company marched past us, eyes straight ahead, arms and legs swinging in unison.

Another chorus sounded in the distance and soon another company appeared in the road and marched toward us. As it neared, we saw our man, on the edge of a rank. He grinned. His eyes moved briefly toward us.

As an ex-Marine I was shocked. If only slightly, he had broken ranks. Thank God his drill instructor, marching to the left of the front rank, had not noticed.

The hall was crowded with relatives and friends. The two graduating companies were seated up front in the wings. We made eye contact with Chris again, and this time he smiled and waved with impunity.

The fort band was at the back, blasting out military marches. We stood for the “Star-Spangled Banner” and the invocation. A colonel talked briefly, a French liaison officer made a speech about brotherhood. Now and then the soldiers would express their approval or disapproval by barking--one short bleat, in unison.

Afterward we met Chris briefly outside and then followed him back to his barracks. His comrades were packing their bags for their various assignments. Chris told us he had been assigned to Panama, and had to leave that afternoon. His mother was dismayed. Panama seemed like the end of the world to her. Besides, she had hoped he would be able to spend two days with us.

We drove him into town for lunch, then took him to the hotel, where we had adjoining rooms. He was repentant over his lapse of discipline. “When I saw you I just couldn’t help it,” he said. “If the DI had seen me I’d be doing pushups for a week.”

We reminded him that he was through with his DI forever. He was going to a new world. He was a soldier, not a boot. He said he had to repack his bag. He dumped everything on the floor, including four camouflage uniforms. He said he had to get one pressed. The hotel didn’t do pressing, but they said they could send up an ironing board and iron, which they did. My wife wound up ironing the young man’s uniform. She is an expert.

He had to be at the airport at 4 o’clock. He was flying to Charleston at 4:30 and on to Panama at midnight. The Army doesn’t fool around. Only two other men from his company had been assigned to Panama. It was not regarded as easy duty.

We said our goodbys and watched him vanish into the boarding tunnel. He had had his troubles as a teen-ager. But he had a sense of honor and a sense of humor. In a recent letter to us he had griped about the hardships and humiliations of basic training, as all soldiers do: “It’s been one hell of a 16 weeks here, but then I wasn’t going to straighten out my life overnight. I’ve learned here to appreciate the values that freedom carries. And it feels good to know that I’m able to contribute to keeping this country free.”

We waited in the terminal, looking out the window, as the plane taxied to the end of the runway, turned, and took off. We watched it rising into the sky and vanishing over the horizon.

We knew, as the Army says, that he was going to be all that he can be.