“Another beer?” Jackie asked his one and only customer. It was close to three in the afternoon, the lunch crowd had all returned to work and the happy hour crew wouldn’t be in for another two hours.
“Sure,” the smartly dressed soldier said as he looked through a day planner that lay on the bar in front of him.
“This one’s on me,” Jackie said as he set the frosty mug in front of the Army recruiter. “My dad was Navy, 27 years.”
The sergeant wearing his green long sleeve shirt with black tie and all awards thanked the bartender and took a healthy swig of the cold Budweiser draft.
“How about you? You ever do any time in uniform?” he asked.
“Naw, probably should have but things just didn’t work out that way,” Jackie answered with a hint of embarrassment.
“How old are you?”
“25.”
“You getting rich tending bar?”
“Pays well enough.”
“You the owner?”
“No but I might marry his daughter,” and they both burst into laughter.
Staff Sergeant Lewis lit up a cigarette and said while blowing out a lung full of smoke, “Just hear me out Mr.…?”
“Jackie. Jackie O’Shea.”
“Chris Lewis,” the recruiter replied extending a hand.
For the next two hours Jackie and Chris talked about what the Army had to offer, both good and bad. Jackie admitted feeling somewhat insignificant since the terrorist attacks of September 11th the previous year still working in the restaurant/bar business and had recently begun questioning his future. In the end, Jackie agreed to look into the Army further.
Two weeks later, he was at the Military Entrance Processing Station on White Avenue in Brooklyn getting a physical exam, taking an aptitude test, and meeting with another Army sergeant called a “guidance counselor.” Chris had put him on the Long Island Rail Road at six the evening before with instructions to stay at the Howard Johnson’s Hotel, all expenses paid and not to get drunk that night. “Wait until you get back, drinks will be on me.” Chris had taken a liking to Jackie. They were about the same age, both enjoyed a sarcastic sense of humor, and shared the same taste in women. Chris genuinely liked the guy and had talked with his first sergeant a few days prior about Jackie, asking to help him get the job he wanted.
Jackie had told Chris that he would join the Army if they offered him a job in aviation. He wanted to fly helicopters. The recruiter of course said that he couldn’t make any promises, but that Jackie would have to meet all the qualifications for whatever specialty he went into. “I’ll see if I can call in any favors for my favorite prospect,” he said reaching into Jackie’s fridge grabbing another bottle of Budweiser. “Hey, the ‘born on’ date is a bit old on these.”
“I get a deal from the guy who drives the truck, just drink it. And get me one, the oldest one in there, the older the better,” Jackie said grinning from ear to ear. “What the hell’s a prospect?”
“You’re a prospect,” Chris answered. “Someone who ‘might’ join the Army.”
“A cavalry scout is one of the most highly trained soldiers in the Army,” the guidance counselor explained to Jackie for the thirteenth time that afternoon. “And it comes with a $10,000.00 cash bonus if you sign up for 5 years.”
Jackie had gotten up at 4:00 that morning, had a bagel and three cups of coffee at the hotel restaurant, if you could call it a “restaurant,” and caught the bus at 4:30 taking him and 17 other applicants to the MEPS. Just as he stepped onto the train at Southampton Station, Chris had said, “Oh, Jackie, you’ve moved from being a prospect to an applicant now, see you tomorrow.”
“In front of you is a No. 2 pencil and a stack of papers, DO NOT start writing until told to do so, are we clear?” the crusty old hung over retired Marine barked to the 18 applicants sitting in the room, most half asleep. They filled out form after form from 5:30 a.m. until 7:15 a.m. when they were given a ten minute smoke break. “Don’t be late or you won’t be joining the military today, are we clear?”
“Who are you an ‘applicant’ for?” Jackie asked a kid who looked to be all of 15 years old.
“I’m joining the Navy Seals, just like my dad,” the 15 year old said oozing of piss and vinegar. “He already gave me his knife, the same one he used in ‘Nam. How ‘bout you man? What’re you signing up for?”
“Peace corps,” Jackie said stomping out his cig on the sidewalk. “C’mon ‘Seal’, we don’t want to be late and miss our boat.”
After giving four vials of blood, a cup of urine, and a swab from inside his mouth for a DNA sample, Jackie stood in a room wearing only his boxers when two docs in white lab coats carrying clipboards entered. “Squat, jump, walk a straight line, walk like a duck, raise your arms, turn your head, cough, get dressed and wait in the next room.”
“The cavalry scout is sent to every school the Army has to offer, airborne, commo, survival, air assault…” the guidance counselor went on.
“Fourteen.”
Stopping in mid sentence and looking up from his computer screen and into Jackie’s eyes for the first time in nearly two hours the counselor asked, “what?”
“Fourteen. That’s fourteen fucking times you’ve tried to sell me on ‘cub scout’ when I explicitly said that I wanted something to do with helicopters,” Jackie blurted feeling his blood beginning to boil.
“Mr. O’Shea, though you are qualified, we don’t have any aviation slots available, but if you…”
Jackie O’Shea stood up and walked out of the MEPS wondering if he was again a prospect or relegated back to space cowboy. “There goes the free beer from Chris,” he thought as he started walking towards the train station.
Sgt Hook out.
Editor’s note: You’re probably saying “Hook you’ve lost it man, what the hell…?” The following links should get you on track with the adventures of Jackie O’Shea.
Jackie O’Shea- Space Cowboy
Jackie O’Shea- Barkeep
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