He woke up an hour before the alarm went off, feeling refreshed. He was looking forward to joining the Army in a few hours, no longer worried, or second guessing, or nervous. Jackie O’Shea felt clarity, a sense of purpose that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He rolled onto his left side and kissed her exposed right shoulder. “I’ve got to get going babe, I’ll give you a call later,” he whispered.
“Good luck soldier boy,” Trish mumbled, still half asleep.
Jackie had called her earlier in the week and asked if he might meet her for dinner in the city Thursday night. She readily agreed having not seen him since the previous week in Montauk just before Jackie had nearly burnt himself to a crisp rescuing her neighbors from a burning house in the midst of a snowstorm. Trish had wanted desperately to rush out to the Hamptons to wrap her arms around him and make sure that he was OK, but Jackie insisted that he was fine and would call as soon as he could arrange another day off to visit her in the Big Apple, if she was agreeable. She was.
Jackie had a difficult time giving Mr. Buckley his two week notice informing his fatherly boss that he had decided to join the Army. Mr. Buckley was very understanding and told Jackie that if things didn’t work out, he’d always have a job at the Irish Pub and Grill. After asking for Thursday off, Jackie hugged the old man, thanked him for his patience and advice and set to work behind the bar for the first of his final shifts. He had decided that even if First Sergeant McGowan was unable to get him the aviation job, he was still signing up.
He hailed a cab to take him to the Brooklyn MEPS, a feat made easy by the early morning hour, it was just after 4:00 o’clock. Along the way, Jackie thought about his evening with Trish the previous night. She had met him at Penn Station and adamantly refused to go out to dinner with him. Instead, she insisted he allow her to cook him a meal while he entertained her with tales of rushing into burning buildings to save the sick and the elderly and added, “after dinner you could do me a huge favor by slaying a dragon that has taken up residence on the roof of my building.” Her smiling eyes damn near brought him to his knees, he accepted her invite, though apologizing for forgetting to pack his sword.
Jackie was impressed with Trish’s culinary skills as she prepared a meal of veal scaloppini, tortellini in cream sauce with diced pancetta. Jackie offered to help, cutting the onion, tomato, and mushroom for the salad. Trish was impressed with his handling of a chef’s knife. “I’ve decided to join the Army,” he blurted while dicing tomatoes.
“I kind of figured,” she replied. “Will you leave right away? Or will we have some time together to make memories for you to long for?”
That was a question he intended to have answered in a couple of hours. The thought of “making memories” with Trish excited him. She wasn’t like other women he had dated, she didn’t try to change him or judge him, at least not to his face.
“That’ll be $17.57 Mac,” the cabbie said leaning over the driver’s seat.
It took much longer than he had expected to finally sit down once again with the guidance counselor, a title Jackie found amusing recalling his high school days. Then again, he was essentially doing the same job as his high school guidance counselor had, though he didn’t remember the Army or the military mentioned as a possible career choice seven years ago. After verifying that all the information provided the previous week was still accurate and speaking with a doctor ensuring that nothing had changed in his health status since he was last probed, poked, and prodded, Jackie O’Shea was sent to the friendly counselor’s office.
Master Sergeant Nichols was sitting at his desk, the computer screen already filled with Jackie O’Shea’s data, “Have a seat Mr. O’Shea,” the counselor said without looking up from the monitor.
Jackie was worried that this was going to get ugly. “Good morning sergeant,” he said hoping to sound pleasant and respectful rather than disdainful.
“How does a medium helicopter repairman job sound?” Nichols asked getting right to the point.
Surprised, Jackie said that it sounded pretty good. He had been instructed by First Sergeant McGowan the day prior to call him if the guidance counselor gave him any difficulties. “If Master Sergeant Nichols starts giving you any shit, politely ask to use his phone to call First Sergeant McGowan, and when he offers to call for you, respectfully decline the offer as you were told to call First Sergeant McGowan on his personal cell phone,” the seasoned NCO stated.
Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go that route, Jackie asked what exactly a “medium helicopter repairman” was. Master Sergeant Nichols continued typing on the keyboard as he talked about the job and the training that Jackie could expect to receive. Then he went into the specific details of the enlistment contract that Jackie O’Shea was about to sign, a binding agreement between he and the United States Army. As Nichols was talking, Jackie, with pen in hand, was reading over the agreement, printed on white paper, carbon copied on pink paper, eight pages in length.
“What have we got here Nichols?” Command Sergeant Major Raymond Marconi asked as he walked into the counselor’s office.
Master Sergeant Nichols stopped what he was doing, looked up and answered, “Good morning sergeant major, Mr. O’Shea was just about to sign his contract.”
Command Sergeant Major Raymond Marconi felt the blood in his veins begin to boil at Master Sergeant Nichols’ failure to show the proper respect for a senior noncommissioned officer, especially a command sergeant major. It is customary for anyone junior to stand up when the senior enters the office, at least on the occassion of the first time said senior enters said office that day. “The sonofabitch didn’t even make an effort to get on his feet,” Marconi thought to himself. “I ought to tie a knot in his ass right in front of the kid, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything except making me look like my ego needed stroking.”
“Good. We can always use a few more good men in our formations,” the sergeant major said placing his hand on Jackie’s shoulder. “Is Master Sergeant Nichols taking care of you son?”
“Yes sir.”
“First bit of advice young man, never call a noncommissioned officer ‘sir,’ Marconi offered, his hand still on Jackie’s shoulder. “NCOs work for a gottdamned living so address them by their appropriate rank which you don’t yet know. Nichols here is a Master Sergeant, that’s an enlisted grade of eight, I am a command sergeant major, an enlisted grade of nine, you following me?” Jackie nodded. “Now, officers we call sir, as often as we can fit it into a sentence,” the sly sergeant major said wondering if the sonofabitch Nichols caught the hint. “Let me take a look at your contract Mr. O’Shea.”
“Yes si…sergeant major,” Jackie corrected himself and handed the stack of yellow and pink papers to the senior noncommissioned officer.
“Aviation huh? Medium helicopter repairman, great job. I loved every chance I got to fly in the old Hueys back in my day. You happy with this O’Shea?” Ray Marconi asked.
“Yes sergeant major, aviation is exactly what I was hoping to get,” Jackie replied.
“Let me see his packet Nichols,” Command Sergeant Major Marconi ordered, noticing something missing in the contract that he had expected to be in there. Looking at Jackie O’Shea’s enlistment packet, an abundance of documents that were required for any young man or woman to join the military, including a birth certificate, high school diploma, social security card, security questionnaire, college transcripts, etc. “I see you were born in Norfolk, Virginia.”
“Yes si…sergeant major, my dad was in the Navy, stationed out of Norfolk back then,” Jackie replied, oddly feeling a sense of pride in his father he’d not felt before.
“Your dad was a Senior Chief, enlisted grade eight, just like Nichols here,” Marconi said. “How’s he feel about you joining the Army instead of Navy?”
“He’s OK with it,” Jackie lied.
“Good,” the sergeant major said and suddenly turned his attention to Master Sergeant Nichols. “Nichols, why doesn’t this contract reflect Mr. O’Shea’s proper rank upon accession? His packet lists ‘82 college credit hours’ which if memory serves me, entitles him to enter the Army at the rank of Private First Class.” Turning momentarily to Jackie he added, “Enlisted grade three.”
“I noticed that too sergeant major, but there weren’t any transcripts in the packet so…” Nichols started to explain.
“Mr. O’Shea, did you provide your recruiter,” pausing to look at the enlistment packet, the sergeant major continued, “Staff Sergeant Lewis, enlisted grade six by the way, with a certified copy of your college transcripts from,” looking again at the packet, “Syracuse University?”
“Yes I did sergeant major, it took two weeks to have the official copy mailed directly to Chris, I mean Staff Sergeant Lewis,” Jackie answered.
“And did you explain that to Master Sergeant Nichols this morning Mr. O’Shea?” an angered Marconi asked.
“No sergeant major, the subject never came up.”
Command Sergeant Major Raymond Marconi of Flatbush, Brooklyn had a case of the ass. “Stand up Nichols.” It was time to restore some order and discipline to this sonofabitch. “You mind telling me whatinthehell is going on here?”
“Sergeant Major,” Nichols now standing started but stopped abruptly as the palm of Command Sergeant Major Marconi suddenly appeared a half inch from his face.
Ray Marconi dropped Jackie’s packet and contract on the counselor’s desk while staring intently at something in the corner behind the Master Sergeant Nichols. He walked behind the still standing Nichols, never taking his eyes off of whatever had captured his attention, bent over momentarily and came up with a blue official looking sheet of paper in his right hand. “Mr. O’Shea, is this your college transcripts from Syracuse University?” he asked Jackie.
“Yes it is.”
“Mr. O’Shea, would you mind terribly stepping out of the room for a few minutes, maybe grabbing a cup of coffee in the break room please?” Marconi asked with all the restraint he could muster.
As soon as Jackie had left the room, Command Sergeant Major Marconi, still standing behind Master Sergeant Nichols leaned closer to his left ear and said as evenly as possible with his boiling blood, “You miserable piece of shit. How dare you dishonor my recruiting battalion and my Army with your petty, childish, bullshit! God only knows how many kids you have screwed over during your tenure here but rest assured Nichols, God and I are gonna have a sit down and when we’re finished, I’m gonna fry your ass you bastard.”
“Now, here is what is going to happen, while I stand behind you and watch, Mr. O’Shea will come back in here and you will apologize for being a waste of your daddy’s sperm, then you will proceed to print out a new contract for Mr. O’Shea, complete with all the entitlements he is eligible. You understand me Nichols?” Ray Marconi asked through clenched teeth.
“Yes CSM.”
“You’re a disgrace to the gottdamn uniform Nichols.”
Two hours later, Jack O’Shea stood, flanked by the American Flag, in the rear of an austere room with a lush red carpet, a copy of the Constitution of the United States hanging on the wall in front of him, General George Washingtion’s portrait hanging on the wall to his left, and President George W.Bush’s photograph on the wall opposite. With his right hand raised, facing a tall, serious looking Army Major, whose right hand was also raised, Jackie O’Shea suddenly felt the hair on his neck stand up. “Repeat after me Mr. O’Shea,” the officer of the United States Army said.
“I, Jack O’Shea, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”
His heart swelled with pride as he swallowed hard to rid his throat from the lump that had suddenly parked there.
“Congratulations Mr. O’Shea,” Major Anderson said offering his hand. Jackie took it, and that of Command Sergeant Major Marconi’s, First Sergeant McGowan’s, and Staff Sergeant Lewis’. All showed up to witness his taking the oath of enlistment into the United States Army.
“Jackie, let’s get some lunch and that beer I owe you, my treat,” Chris Lewis said to him as they walked out of the MEPS.
“You two don’t mind if an ugly old first sergeant and a young handsome sergeant major join you, do you?” CSM Marconi asked walking behind them, 1SG McGowan to his left.
Two minutes later, Jackie called Trish to tell her that he had joined the Army. She noted how happy he sounded and was sincerely pleased for him. He excitedly told her that the Army had indeed given him two weeks to create some memories before shipping out, she promised to do her best to assist with that creation. Ray Marconi called his brother-in-law, regretting to inform him that he needed to hire a new bartender. Mark McGowan called his driver, Staff Sergeant Hamilton, telling him that he’d be a little late as he was grabbing lunch with the CSM and their newest DEP, Mr. O’Shea, and for Hamilton to wait for him at the car.
“Chris,” Jackie asked as they sat around the table at La Terraza Restaurant on 6th Avenue, a favorite of Ray Marconi’s, “what the hell is a ‘DEP?’”
“You are a DEP, Jackie.” Chris Lewis answered. “When anyone enlists in the Army but hasn’t yet shipped out, they are in what we call the Delayed Entry Program, and since we have to assign a title to everyone in, or almost in, the Army, you’re title is ‘DEP.’”
“Enlisted grade zero Mr. O’Shea,” Command Sergeant Major Marconi added with a smile.
Sgt Hook out.
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