Stories
No No-Gos
I arrived by Bus at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, on January 6th, 1976, eight days before my 23rd Birthday. The Reception Station was a blur of equipment issues, shots, paperwork, and boot polishing. About three days later, we met our Drill Sergeant.
They loaded us onto Busses with our kit in duffle bags, wearing our new OD green fatigue uniforms. A striking black soldier in a Drill Sergeant Hat and Mirrored Sun Glasses stepped up the steps of the bus. He stood there, not saying a word. The entire bus went silent.
He was magnificent. His uniform was highly starched; his Jump Boots were like mirrors. On his uniform, he wore the Combat Infantry Badge and Master Parachute Wings. On his left shoulder were the Ranger Tab and TRADOC patch, and on his right, the 101st Airborne Division combat patch.
After what seemed an eternity, which scared me shitless, he spoke, almost in a whisper, "I am Drill Sergeant Nickerson. I will have no NO-GOs. Do You Understand?" I didn't know what in the hell a no-go was, but if this scary dude didn't want one, I quickly resolved never to present him with one. A very few of us meekly answered, "Yes, drill sergeant."
Drill Nickerson stiffened.
"I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Still hardly more than a whisper, but spoken through clenched teeth.
We rocked the bus, "YES, DRILL SERGEANT!"
Satisfied, he sat down. The bus driver took us on the longest, most confusing bus ride ever around a military post. We later discovered we were less than a mile from the PX.
Arriving at what looked like new barracks, which they were, I remember thinking how this wouldn't be so bad. At least we weren't in the old WWII barracks I had seen in the movies. I was looking forward to a good night's rest and the beginning of training in the morning.
Silly Joe.
As the bus pulled to a stop across the street in a big parking lot, Drill Nickerson stood and softly commanded, "When I tell you to get off of the bus, you will get off of the bus and Fall In." He stepped off, walked about forty feet from the right side of the bus, and commanded, in a voice no louder than before, "Get off the bus."
Chaos! Bodies crashed into each other, bags entangled, hats fell off, guys stumbled, tripped, and fell down the stairs. Forty-four idiots were trying to be first out of the door. Some forgot their bags.
"Where are your bags? When I tell you to get on the bus, you will get back on the bus."
"Get on the bus."
"Those without bags rushed back on the bus."
"Why are you standing here? Get On The Bus.
Why are your bags still out here? Get Off The Bus.
I told you to form up. Get back on the bus.
You will form up in four equal lines of eleven, facing me, with your bag resting on your toes, open end to the left, name facing up. Get off the bus.
Too Slow. Get on the bus."
Soon, we were soaked with sweat and getting very good at loading and unloading a bus with our gear.
Now came the workout.
"You people are not motivated. If you continue to perform like this, you will all be No-Gos. See That Hill?"
Behind us was an imposing hill behind the parking lot.
"Get Up That Hill! Why are your bags down here? Get your bags. Why are you standing here? Get up that Hill.
Too Slow. Fall In."
We continued until we were all dragging our bags up and down the hill. We didn't quit.
We all learned later that No-Go was the failing grade on all Army tests, Go or No-Go. Drill Nickerson's demand of No No-Gos was a specific reference to the performance test we all took to pass Basic Training, which covered all training. In our platoon, we had No No-Gos.
I never wanted a workout like that first night again, but I was motivated to show Drill Sergeant Nickerson that I was worthy to be a soldier in His Army.
I wish I could find him to tell him I made Sergeant Major and served for 24 years.