Primal Ham and Cheese Cucumber Sub

I don’t know where you live, but chances are it’s hot today. With this sandwich you will stay cool as a cucumber, maintain your primal lifestyle and walk away totally satisfied. Of course, you can make it Paleo by leaving off the cheese. But for me, a ham and cheese sub without the cheese just doesn’t get it.

Ham and Cheese Cucumber Sub

I used Swiss cheese and red leaf lettuce on this bad boy and spiced it up with a little tzatziki sauce. Just a wonderful combination of taste and texture.

I’m sure the variations for this “sandwich” are pretty much endless. If you come up with a good one, drop me a line. I’m always eager to try new recipes.

Easy Rider And The Future Caveman

Six months into my Army career and other than shooting my Drill Sergeant in the head during basic training and narrowly escaping prison for harboring hippy protesters in the barracks, my life was pretty calm. I worked Monday through Friday in the Pentagon from 9:00 to 5:00 as a clerk typist. I still didn’t have a typewriter so my job was fairly easy.

Fortunately, there was a shopping mall in the Pentagon basement so I at least had something to do. Evenings and weekends were spent drinking 25 cent beer from the barracks Coke machine. At night we drank on the bus that ran in a loop from North Post to South Post. If you had to pee, the bus driver would slow down and open the door. All in all, it could have been be worse.

This would be a good time to tell you a little bit about the South Post barracks.  The North Post barracks were new and made of brick. The South Post barracks, behind Arlington Cemetery, were made of wood and were very old. I lived on the South Post.

When we first arrived a sergeant told us that these were temporary wood barracks from World War One. (Personally, I believe they might have been even older. They might have been from Fort Whipple during the Civil War. At any rate, they were old, dry and obviously wood.)

Another thing to consider. In 1970 smoke alarms hadn’t been invented yet. So,  safety was of the utmost importance. Hence, the fire safety speech from our sergeant:

“Ok guys. These are old wooden barracks. Last year one caught on fire and it burned down to the ground in five minutes.”

He paused while he let that sink in, “See those but cans?”

In the middle of the room there were several hand hewn posts that seemed to be holding up the roof. Nailed to each one was an old coffee can painted red with the word “BUTTS” drawn  in black letters.

“At all times I want you guys to use those butt cans!”

That was the fire safety speech. Seemed simple enough to me. Besides, with a little practice, most of us could hit the butt can from our bunks anyway.

I was in routine. Get up in the morning. Walk over to the Pentagon. Hang out in the mall. Come home. Drink beer, maybe ride the bus, try to hit the butt can with my smokes. It was all good. I might even consider this as a career.

Then came the BIG inspection. For some reason our barracks were going to be inspected by an actual general. The whole place had to be spit shined and squared away. Our base commander expected us to make this two hundred year old building look like garden beautiful.

And you know what? We did it. We even scrubbed and repainted the butt cans. I don’t think that place looked so good since Abe Lincoln last inspected it. We were all happy with our work.

Our sergeant came through for a pre-inspection before the big day. He was happy with everything except for my Easy Rider poster.

“Kymla, that poster needs to go.”

“Sarge, Army regs say we can have one piece of artwork on our wall.”

“So find something more artistic. That guy on a motorcycle giving us the bird is out of here.”

That night I took down the poster and put together a little something more artistic. I caught a few cockroaches, pinned them to a poster board, made a nice little frame and hung them on my wall. This was art. Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. I just wondered if the roaches would still be squirming around when the general got here.

The inspection was going pretty good until the general got to me. His eyes widened a little. His complexion turned from tan to a shade of purple and I swear there might have been a little drool from the corner of his mouth. I wasn’t an expert on body language, but I knew this couldn’t be good.

” What the fuck is that?”

“Sir! What the fuck is what… Sir!”

He just glared at me. Shot a look at my commander and stormed out.

So ended the South Post inspection. I don’t know if we passed it or not. However, I do know for a fact that it was the last inspection the South Post at Fort Myer ever had. How do I know that? I’ll tell you.

About an hour after the general left a somewhat shaken sergeant grabbed me by the throat and suggested I relocate my “art work”. Of course, I complied. I took it off of the wall and put it in my briefcase. I was ordered to relocate the art and I knew the perfect place.

The next morning, as I was going to work, I hung it on the bulletin board in the lobby of the Pentagon. I labeled it “Artwork Compliments Of South Post”. It looked good….I was following orders… and most of the roaches had stopped wiggling around.

The next day our sergeant told us that we had to move. For some reason, the Army had suddenly decided to tear down our barracks and because there wasn’t room for us on the North Post we could live off base at the governments expense.

I teamed up with three of my barracks buddies and with our combined money we rented a very nice place. Our base commander tried his best not to recognize his new neighbors.

Viet Nam War Protesters

I was the last guy to get drafted into the United States Army. Well, I can’t say for sure if I was the exact last one, but the draft ended the next day. After that it became a volunteer army. I can say one thing for sure though… I was less than thrilled.

Now that I think about it, I can say two things for sure. The first, of course,  was that  I was less than thrilled. The second was that I  was a college student two weeks away from graduation.

I was in a pre-med program with a major in Biology and minors in both Physics and Chemistry. In my last year of college I worked the night shift in the medical surgical unit of a mental hospital and went to school during the day. I didn’t get much sleep. It’s tough working a full time job at night and going to school full time during the day. I was doing it though and I only had 14 more days to go. Then I won “THE” lottery. I was drafted.

How could this be? I had an exemption from the draft as a student. I was almost done with school. Obviously there was a mistake. Soooo  I made a phone call to the draft board.

“I just got my draft notice. I think there is a mistake.”

“What’s your name?”

I told the voice on the phone my name.

“You need to be at the induction center tomorrow morning at oh nine hundred hours. If you are not at the induction center tomorrow morning at oh nine hundred hours we will send  the Military Police to pick you up.”

“Wow! I mean, like can’t we talk about this?”

“Do you still live on Willow Road?”

“Yes”

“Hon, just show up at the induction center.”

“ok”

I showed up at the induction center along with maybe fifty other unhappy guys. I was pretty sure there would be someone there that I could talk to to streighten out this mess. Nope. They just put us all on a bus and shipped us out to Fort Knox. I was allready beginning to see how this was going to go.

We arrived at Fort Knox about 3:00 AM. They gave us some of the worst coffee I’ve ever had, said welcome to the Army and led us to our barracks. After a restfull three hours of sleep I met drill sergeant Butcher. I think it was about 4 weeks later when I shot him in the head. You can read all about that here: http://cavemanhomecompanion.com/?p=570

The first thing  that Drill Sergeant Butcher told us was  that basic training was going to last for 10 weeks. I’m here to tell you that the first week totally sucked. Up early in the morning, getting yelled at and exercising all day long and then cleaning all of the mud off of your boots and clothes at night… exhausting.  One week down, 9 to go.  Happy me.

Up at dawn. Us drowsy troops lined up out there in formation just trying not to fall over. Drill Sergeant Butcher…crisp…perfectly pressed…looking like he just stepped off of the cover of a military version of GQ screams:

“Somehow you maggots made it through zero week. Now drop down and give me 20.”

Zero week?

I managed to finish basic training. The Army then decided that I would be best suited to be armed with a typewriter rather than a gun. So, they sent me to typing school and shipped me off to work for Military Intelligence in the Pentagon. My new home was the South Post of Fort Myer in Virginia.

This was a pretty cool place to live. There was the North Post that was fairly new. Then you had the Arlington Cemetery and tucked away behind that was the South Post. The barracks I lived in were from the old Fort Whipple and were built during the Civil War sometime before 1863.

How cool was this! I suddenly found myself working for Military Intelligence in the Pentagon and living in some barracks built during the Civil War! Let me try to explain this better: You had the modern North Post. Behind that was the Arlington Cemetery. Way behind that was the old Civil War remains known as the South Post.

I remember the first day that I was there and I put a quarter in the Coke machine and a Budweiser came out. I knew right then that I was home.

Obviously, I wasn’t happy being in the Army. But I had a nice place tucked way behind the cemetery and a good job as a typist for Military Intelligence in the Pentagon. (Actually, I didn’t do much typing because they didn’t have a typewriter for me when I got there. I ordered one, but for some reason it was never delivered, go figure.)

I worked in the Pentagon 5 days a week waiting for my typewriter, drinking Buds from the Coke machine on the weekends. All in all life wasn’t that bad. Then I got a call from one of my hippy college friends. It seems that they were going to have a huge protest march against the Viet Nam war on Washington. They wanted to know how I could help? Well…lets see…I could let you guys stay here in the barracks with me?

There wasn’t much security in the South Post. As a matter of fact I’m not sure many people even knew it was there, or even cared. Besides, it would be nice to see some of my old friends. So,  invited them over for the weekend.

It was way cool! They all piled out of an an old VW Beatle, we drank beer from the Coke machine, talked about old times most of the night and had a great time. In the morning I took them over to the mess hall for breakfast.

That’s when things went sour. The mess sergeant asked who Jim was. He said, “I beg your pardon, I’m Admiral Coullard.”

There hadn’t been an admiral on the South Post since before the Civil War.  In as much as we didn’t have any oceans nearby and Jim kinda looked like an admiral, but they were on the lookout for protesters, the mess sergeant wasn’t buying into it. He called the MPs.

My friends were escorted off base. I was escorted to the base commander. He told me that if I ever let a bunch of hippies spend the night with me in the barracks again I would be in big trouble. I promised to do better, they drove me back to the barracks and I put a quarter in the Coke machine.

My hippy friends went on to end the war.

Caveman Kit

Have you ever forgotten to check your lottery numbers? As unlikely as it seems, every year millions of dollars go unclaimed. The Caveman is  here to give you a little help.

Now, every Tuesday and Friday night he will text you the winning numbers immediately after the drawing. You’ll have the winning numbers right on your cell phone moments after the drawing. Best of all, it’s a free service.

Here’s all you need to do:

Text the words: The Caveman

To the number: 90210

Obviously, your normal text messaging rates (if you have any) will apply. You will only receive a text with the lottery numbers Tuesday and Friday nights. If you win the lottery or just want to opt out of this free service you can always do that too.

Sometimes I might send you a coupon for free or discount stuff along with your lottery numbers. We can’t all win the lottery, but it’s nice to at least get an occasional coupon for something we like.

Good luck and grok on!

Caveman Planked Pizza

My daughter just moved back to Michigan from Colorado. New apartment, new job and in a few months a new baby. Very nice.

She stopped by the other day and we were sitting out there on the deck enjoying the warm spring afternoon and a glass of iced tea when she asked,

” Hey dad, how is your new fish plank business going?”

“So far….pretty good”

“Pretty good? How many planks have you sold?”

“Ummmm….none.”

Megan gives me one of those eyerolls, leans towards me and whispers, “You want to know why you haven’t sold any fish planks?”

“Ummmm….sure”

“People don’t like fish. You should be making pizza planks. Everyone loves pizza.”

Pizza planks? That’s something I’d never considered. Then again, why not? If you can plank a trout, why not a pepperoni pizza? I decided right then and there I’d call my partner and give this a shot.

So, the next morning I called Ed over at the used car lot.

“Hey Ed, wanna stop by after work for some planked pizza and beer?”

“Did you say planked pizza? Mr. Caveman, it’s a little early in the morning for the single malt, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m not drinking and I am serious. I’m pretty sure that pizza planks could be the new Hula Hoop. People don’t like fish but everyone loves pizza. Dinner starts around 6 or so. See you then.”

I soaked the plank for 8 hours before Ed got here. I started a fire in the BBQ and I also set out the pizza dough, toppings and a case of beer on the counter. It’s all good.

Ed cruises in the front door, I hand him a beer and he asks,

“Pizza planks?”

“Well, to be honest, I got the idea from my daughter. You know, she just got back from college.”

“I know, but didn’t she major in dog grooming?”

“Look Ed, we haven’t sold a single fish plank yet. Lets give this a shot.”

Ed smiles, takes a sip of his beer, “You know, pizza isn’t Paleo? However, I think if we put enough olive oil on it, it might balance out. Lets do it!”

Planked Pizza First Attempt

Actually, after a few tries, and several beers, the pizza was great. As the above picture demonstrates, we had to cut back a little on the olive oil. Before this picture was taken Ed had eyebrows and a full head of hair.

Personally, I think in the future I’ll stick to pizza stones. There are some things from the stone age that just can’t be improved on.

Side note:

We still make fish planks, but we have decided not to produce pizza planks. However,  there is one slightly used pizza plank left in our inventory that we are offerring at a 50% discount. Click on the “Caveman Fish Plank” tab above to order.

50% Off deal on this pizza plank

Caveman Planked White Fish

“Honey, I just heard something explode out there in your BBQ”.

“That’s ok dear. I’m just heating up my plank. I have a special treat for you tonight. It’s a 10,000 year old technique for cooking fish.”

“Really? A 10,000 year old recipe? Think maybe it could wait another 6 months until your Medicare kicks in?”

Before we had pots and pans people cooked in a lot of different ways. Planking was one of the best. Because the wood plank is soaked in water, the fish is partially steamed, partially smoked, partially baked and completely immersed in flavor.

Here is how it’s done:

First thing you need to do is soak your plank in water. I put mine in a tub of water with a big rock to hold it down. I leave it in there over night. (A lot of people will tell you to just soak it for 3 or 4 hours. Trust me, it needs a good overnight soaking. The steam from your plank is an essential part of the cooking process. Also, your plank will last a lot  longer if it doesn’t burn up while cooking your fish.)

Next, prep the plank for cooking. If grilling outside, put it on a rack above the coals in your BBQ, close the lid and let it cook for 15 minutes. If you are cooking indoors, bake it in the oven at 350 for 15 minutes. (By the way, when the steam expands the plank might make a loud pop. I’ve never seen one actually explode……..yet.)

Now that your plank is ready, brush some olive oil over the top surface of it and put on the fish skin side down. Be careful, that board is really hot! Return to the heat until the fish looks done, probably about 15 minutes. Poke it with a fork to see if it looks flaky.

Here’s how to make Charlevoix-style planked whitefish:

Prepare plank as described above.

Brush fillets with olive oil and season to taste with sea salt, powdered garlic, white pepper and paprika. Place skin side down on heated cedar plank.

Spoon cooked garlic mashed potatoes around the edges.

Put the plank on the second rack of the BBQ grill or under the broiler and cook until done.

Serve right on the plank. That’s all there is to it. (You thought this was going to be really tricky, didn’t you?)

The flavor is remarkable, your presentation will be unique, and you never need to tell your guests how easy this 10,000 year old cooking technique really is.

Need a fish plank? Just click on the above tab “Caveman Fish Planks” and I’ll make you one.

Friday 13th RaccoonFriday Relocating

Yesterday was Friday the 13th. I wasn’t superstitious before yesterday and I’m not today. However, the next time that day rolls around I might just stay in bed.

“Anything I can get for you while I’m out hon?”

“Nope. You and Bev have a nice lunch. Be careful though, today is Friday the 13th.”

“That’s a myth”.

“Last September the Concordia sank on Friday the 13th. All I’m saying is be carefull.”

Michele rolls her eyes, “If anyone around here needs to be careful, it’s you.”

“Honey, I’m just going to do some research on French lilacs, specifically Galega officinalis. After that I’m going to have a glass of Merlot on the deck. What could possibly go wrong?”

Michele leaves and the house is still. As much as I love companionship, I equally love peace and quiet. Especially when I’m doing research, and this research is of particular interest to me. I may have stumbled across an herbal remedy for prostate cancer.

I’m experimenting on myself and so far the results are encouraging. I used to have to get up every hour and a half to two hours to go to the bathroom. It was exhausting. Now, after three days of my herbal treatment, I can sleep through the night. This isn’t a cure yet, but it sure is an improvement for me.

WOW! It’s noon and I can hear a bottle of wine calling my name. I can also hear something… rapping… rapping…rapping at my chamber door. Hmmmm? The wind? I doubt it…I better check.

A raccoon about the size of a small dog knocking on my back door.

“Hey! You guys are supposed to be sleeping in the daytime?”

He cocked his head, studied me for a minute and then slowly walked across the deck. He sat down in the sun, stretched out his legs and started grooming himself. It actually looked a lot like a cat grooming itself. This sure isn’t what I had planned for today.

I grabbed a broom and banged it on the deck!

“Hey! Back in the woods! This is my deck!”

He ran to the edge of the deck, assumed  a defensive posture, and was obviously ready to stand his ground.

Not to be deterred, I grabbed the hose. With about a gazillion psi of water pressure  I blasted that sucker right off the deck. Victory was mine.

Ain’t no raccoon gonna push me around. I went back inside, opened up a bottle of Merlot, poured a glass… and ….what the heck? I looked out  the kitchen window to see him attacking the broom I left standing up against the wall. Geeze! He bit the bejeezus out of the broom and then drug it down the steps and under the deck. Then he walked over to the hose, bit the nozzle and gave it a few shakes. Then he walked up to the kitchen window, gave me a look, and then over to my chair and sat down under it.

This guy sure made quite a statement.

I called the cops.

“911… what’s your emergency?”

“A raccoon bit my hose and drug my broom under the deck.”

“Sir…have you been drinking?”

“Not yet. Maybe I need an animal control officer?”

“Sir, is the raccoon on private property? If it’s on private property you have to call a professional animal trapper.”

“Thanks. I think I saw one on the Science Channel the other night. I’ll try him.”

I Googled it. Sure enough, somewhere right below “Dog The Bounty Hunter” I found a listing for professional raccoon trappers. I’m ready for professional help.

“Hello, I have a raccoon problem.”

“Thanks for calling. Don’t worry, we can help.”

“Cool. How much to get this guy relocated?”

“$159 to set up the trap and $69 for each animal we catch.”

“Each animal? How many do you think there are? I only see one?”

“Lets see….you live in Oakland County? The raccoon population is estimated at just under one million. Of course, we can’t catch them all. <sweet smile> By the way, do you have any liens on your house?”

The next call I made was to Jean’s Hardware. They rent raccoon traps for $10/day or $20/week, or you can buy one for $78. I’m all in.

I rented the trap for 10 bucks, threw in a can of sardines for bait and had the little bugger under wraps in less than 20 minutes. I relocated him in a nicer subdivision with a stream and a few nice vacant forclosed homes. It’s all good.

“Hi honey, I’m home! How was your day?”

“It was good. Just did some research. You’re right… Friday the 13th is a myth.”

Deer Camp

November 15th is a big day for Michigan deer hunters. It’s the opening day for the firearms deer hunting season. It’s also the day that guys can get together and do guy stuff. (Like drink beer… play poker…cook.. and eat.) I never shot a deer, but one time I did beat 4 queens with a straight flush.

Actually, none of us ever shot a deer. I did shoot a chicken once. Well, technically I didn’t shoot it. I bought it from a farmer in the 211 bar who shot it for me. He shot it right between the eyes. It was a great shot. I’m not sure, but we may have had the only buck pole in Michigan with a chicken hanging from it.

When we first started deer hunting we stayed in a cabin, set our alarms for early in the morning and then drove out to our hunting area in the cold dark. Not only didn’t we see any deer, but this was a painful way to start out the day. Obviously, it would be better to just live in the woods. Get up in the morning, grab your gun and walk out the door. Perfect!  So, we bought an Army surplus mess tent.

The next year we moved into the woods.  We set up the tent, acquired an old Amish wood cook stove, a pot belly wood burner and built some bunk beds.  Jack built kitchen cabinets and a table. John found an electrician that knew how to drop a line down from the power cables to the tent. I organized a crew to build an outhouse.

This was deer hunting at its best!

Well, almost. I had one concern.

“It’s totally dark out here in the woods at night. How are we going to find the tent when we come home from the bar?”

Jack twisted the cap off of a bottle of Jim Beam, took a sip, tossed the cap into the camp fire and smiled. He walked over to his truck and returned with about 10,000 Christmas tree lights. A few minutes later and our tent could be seen for miles. (I later learned that pilots used us as a landmark to find the airport.) I think we finally had this deer hunting thing under control.

Jack Making Soup

I still can’t figure out why we never saw any deer. I suppose it could have been from the gun shots though.

I was out scouting one day when I found an old deer carcass. The head was all bleached bones and antlers with a few pieces of fur stuck to it. It looked like something from out of science fiction movie. I brought it back and nailed it to the tree next to the outhouse.

Late that night when we were playing poker, Marty felt nature call. He grabbed a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper, and his pistol and headed for the outhouse. Two minutes later we heard five loud shots from his 357 Magnum. A minute after that he ran back into the tent, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

I looked up from my poker hand and said, “I only heard 5 shots?”

“I was saving the last one for myself. There is something unnatural out there.”

Jack slices off a chunk of salami and stabs his knife back into the table, “Are we playing poker or what?”

We didn’t get a deer that year. We brought home some good memories though. All in all, it was a good deer camp.

I'll See Your Fish And Raise One Pterodactyl

The cavemen probably had more free time than most of us do. You know that when one of them speared a 600 pound antelope they feasted and relaxed for days. And then, there were those long nights sitting around by the campfire. When they worked, they worked hard. But, what did they do in their off time?

We know that some of them drew pictures on the cave walls. Others made drums and started rock and roll bands. I believe that a lot of them played poker. Well, maybe not poker, but I bet they played games.

People have liked to play games for as far back in history as we can tell. Even animals like to play games. (I’m sure you’ve seen a dog fetch a ball.) I’ve done a lot of research on game playing and now I think I know what the big attraction is. Games are fun.

One of my favorite games is poker. I just love the bluffing part. The biggest problem I had though, is that when I bluffed my left eyebrow would shoot to the top of my forehead. For a while there, I would just put my hand over my eyebrow when I was bluffing. That really didn’t work for very long either though. Then I discovered Internet poker.

Now I can bluff, my eyebrows can shoot all over the place, and I can still have the perfect poker face. I still can’t win, but at least I have my eyebrows under control.

The other nice thing about Internet poker is that I can play with my friends from all over the country, all over the world even. We just pick a day and time, get our snacks organized, and play poker. If I decide to have an extra adult beverage I don’t even have to worry about driving home.

Sometimes we just chat online with each other during the game and sometimes we use Skype. (When we are Skyping though, I always turn it off for a minute when I’m bluffing.) It’s pretty much just like being there with the guys, except for I don’t have to share my beer.

Do you have some friends that you would like to get together with for a friendly game of poker? It’s a lot of fun and now  the Caveman is in a position to lend you a hand. I can set you and your friends up with a private online game any time you want. I’ll do it for my Caveman Home Companion’s for free. I’ll provide the private “Caveman” poker room, dealer and play money, but you guys are going to have to buy your own snacks.

Here’s all you have to do. Just click on the “Caveman Poker” tab on the top of my home page. If you have any questions just leave me comment.

By the way, you guys can always invite me to play in one of your games. Now that I have my eyebrows under control, I’m a lot more confident.

Agent Double Oh Rock

I was one of the last guys to get drafted. I’m not saying that I was responsible for ending the draft, but I will take responsibility for being one of the first guys in basic training to shoot his drill sergeant in the head. I’ll try to explain.

Looking at me today, I know it’s going to be hard for a lot of you folks to believe, but in 1970 I was one of those hippy protesters. I marched for everything from saving the Timber Wolves to ending the war in Vietnam. Free love…rock concerts…Boone’s Farm Apple wine…tye died shirts…protest marches and sit ins. From what I can remember, life was pretty good. Then I got my draft notice.

Next thing I knew I was on a bus to Fort Knox. Shortly after that I found myself shipping my blue jeans and cowboy boots home in a cardboard box. A quick visit to the “barber”, a new outfit from the Quarter Master and I was looking quite squared away. Who knows, this might not be so bad after all?

Then I met Drill Sergeant Butcher.

His boots gleamed in the morning sun. He must have ordered triple starch when he had his uniform pressed and I’m certain he wore it during the pressing process. I had never, in my life, seen anyone that looked this perfect. And then he boomed:

“I’m Drill Sergeant Butcher. When I speak you will answer “Yes! Drill Sergeant!”

“Do you understand?

“Yes! Drill Sergeant!”

“Good. Now lets go outside and I’ll try to teach you sorry asses how to march. Few months from now, most of you worms are going to be dead anyway.”

Dead? Somehow, this kind of took the edge off of how I was starting to feel about the  military. Anyway, I was glad to be able to go outside. How hard could marching be?

“Private Kymla! You F..ing bounce when you march! Stop doing that!”

I knew I bounced when I walk. I always have. Never having marched before, I had no idea. The problem here is that I was throwing the guys behind me out of step. Mr. Perfect didn’t like that.

“Get in front of the line! I’ll teach your ass not to bounce! Just keep in mind not to anticipate a command. When I say HARCH LEFT you turn left, HARCH RIGHT  you go right. Think you can do that?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant”

So now I’m out front. I’m trying my best to keep in step, not to anticipate a command and not bounce. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. This was just like in the movies. Drill Sergeant Butcher was calling cadence.

“Your mother was there when you left!”

“Your right!”

“Jodi was there when you left!

“Your right!”

Ummm…..we were coming up to a sharp right turn in the road. Don’t anticipate a command. Don’t bounce. Keep in step. My drill sergeant was busy talking to one of the other sergeants. Now what?

Being the dutiful soldier that I was, I didn’t anticipate a command. I was waiting for a HARCH RIGHT that never came. I kept marching straight ahead. The road turned right. I led the column straight ahead. The drop off was only about 10 feet and the mud at the bottom broke my fall. The rest of the troops followed me like lemmings over a cliff.

Drill Sergeant Butcher was less than pleased. I was dug out of the mud and tossed into the back of a jeep. I spent the next week washing dishes in the mess hall.

When I rejoined my platoon I was placed at the end of the line where I was told that I could bounce to my hearts content. They marched us to the armory where we were issued an M-16 and a clip of ammo. M-16? Apparently these guys had moved up in the world while I was gone.

We marched about three miles in freezing rain to the shooting range. At least the mess hall was warm. This just plain sucked. We all lined up on what they called a firing line. If there was a target down there to shoot at,  I couldn’t see it. It didn’t matter though…I had no clue as how to operate an M-16. They didn’t let us have them  back in Detroit.

Over a loud speaker I heard a voice say, “Lock and load!”

I watched the guy next to me put in his clip and pull back the bolt. OK. No prob. I too was locked and loaded. We all fired a few rounds down range into the fog. Still freezing rain. We were coated in ice.

After this little exercise they lined us all up and a lieutenant walked up to me and asked me if my weapon was unloaded.

“Yes sir!”

“Is there a round left in the chamber?”

Hmmmmm? Good question. My hypothermic brain instructed me to pull the trigger to find out. Loud noise. Out of the corner of my left eye I could see Drill Sergeant Butcher flying in another direction. The lieutenant’s face went white. I dropped to the ground and started doing push ups.

Push Ups? Well, I had to do 100 push ups for marching the guys off the cliff. I figured shooting your drill sergeant was more than that. I thought I might as well get started.

Lucky for all involved, they had issued us blanks that day. None of us knew that. Drill Sergeant Butcher had to be held back when he regained consciousness. I was tossed in the jeep and back to the mess hall.

That was the last time I was ever issued an M-16. I remember doing guard duty a few times with a broom. Ultimately I was sent to the Pentagon to work for military intelligence, but that’s another story.