Pugil Stick Fighting in Army Basic Training

When I was drafted into the army, in 1969, I was the oldest man in the platoon at 23 years old.  Also, I was the only married man (I got married six days before my report date!) so my platoon cadre chose me to be the "Platoon Guide", which is an honorary position; it means that I was responsible for anything BAD that happened in my platoon.  I had no actual power, except that I would assign platoon members to all the shit details that were assigned to my platoon.  This did not make me the most popular guy in the platoon.

The Cadre made the appointment before we showed up for Basic Training at Fort Lewis, Washington (just outside Tacoma), so they didn't actually know that I was a physical weakling, and total wimp.  They only knew I was a college graduate, old, married, and they assumed I had something going for me.

They may not have noticed that I only weighed 126 pounds, and that I was 6' tall.

Which was not all that bad a thing, because I was able to accomplish administrative tasks remarkably well.

But I didn't know how to fight.

Then came the day when they introduced us to PUGIL STICK TRAINING.



Pugil sticks are 4' sticks with thick padding on both ends, so you can beat the crap out of your opponent but they don't really hurt anyone (both fighters have thick gloves and football-style helmets for personal protection).  The goal is to teach us to fight, to take a hit, and not to quit.

About the padding:  it doesn't work for shit.  When you get hit, you get hit HARD, and even if you don't get bruised (hah!) you can get knocked down to your knees and ... believe me, when you're down, your opponent doesn't stop hitting you.

Here's what Pugil Stick fighting looks like, among gentlemen:



The problem with this video  (these videos) is that it was filmed sometime after 1969; in my era, the 'referees' (NCO cadre) didn't have a whistle.  They keep you fighting until one fighter was driven to his knees, and he was so thoroughly pummeled that it was obvious that he was not able to continue fighting.

That would be me.

Our platoon had never been introduced to pugil stick fighting until that fateful (for me) day, and we had absolutely no instruction in how we should proceed.  They just put the helmet and gloves on, gave us a pugil stick each, and told us to go at it.

I, being the Platoon Guide, was one of the first contestant.  There were three "falls" (or "Kills"), and I was the lightest man there.  The first guy outweighed me by 20 pounds.  But he was slow.  He pounded me for about 12 hours (or 40 seconds ... I kind of lost track of time) and then the Platoon Sergeant called a break so I could get back on my feet.

And he knocked me down again.

And again.

Whew!  I figured I had done my bit for God and Country, and was prepared to take a breather to let the next pair go at it; I though I might learn something by watching how they managed the unfamiliar pugilosity of it all.

Silly me, I forgot:  This Is The ARMY!

I didn't get to take my helmet off; the next guy wasn't as big, but he was a lot tougher.

Two minutes later, I was a blob of gelatinous mass on the field, and my opponent was doing the "ROCKY CHAMPIONSHIP DANCE" all around me.  And the Sergeant blew his whistle for the next two opponents.

One of which was ... me!

(WTF????)

That's right, they then got the toughest man in the platoon to go against me.  He refused the helmet .. he already knew that I couldn't hit him hard enough to hurt him, and I couldn't even raise my arms to defend myself. Did I mention, no rest breaks between bouts?  The guy beat the crap out of me.  Three falls out of three, and like a fool I didn't have enough brains to NOT get up again and square off against him.  (The rest of the platoon was lining up to take a shot at me .. it's nice to be appreciated!)

Not that it did me any good, but I'm pretty sure it would have looked good in the video.  I may have been would like to think I was channeling my inner  Cool Hand Luke, I guess.  Either that, or I'm just stupid.

Oh, right.  This was 1969.  No videos.  (I think I'm grateful, I'd hate to have my grandchildren exposed to the gruesomeness of watching their much beloved grandfather having the stuffing knocked out of him nine falls out of nine!)

Oh, but I was never that cool.  Just that fucking stupid!



I would like to say that I gained a lot of respect from my platoon that day, by not staying down when i was beaten.  I'd like to but I can't.
They were just so glad to see everyone kick the shit out of me that .... well, after a while, it wasn't so funny. We were all glad when it was over, and someone else got to be the platoon punching bag.

(Nobody was happier about it than I was!)

And nobody was telling me to "stay down".  They loved to see me on the ground.   Hey, I'm no Paul Newman.

 Sure, they all cheered for the other guys (all 3 of them, ultimately) who kicked my ass so thoroughly that day.   And I learned an important lesson:  Losing Sucks!

Then we went on to advanced training, and although I lost track of most of the other members of the platoon, I know that we all went to Viet Nam, sooner or later.  I ended up a platoon sergeant in the First Infantry Division, and never ran into any of my friends from Basic Training, until long after I got back Home.

Aftermath:

I went to visit one of my squad leaders from Basic about 30 years ago.  He had a nice house and owned a jaguar XJE.  He was very proud of it, and I was pleased for him.  He had fulfilled his dreams, against all odds.

I drive a Ford Explorer.

And I've avoided fighting,

If you get into a fight, and you're a wimp, and you don't have the option to kill your opponent ... well, you know:  It's not worth the ass-whipping you get.

Wimps don't have a lot of options.

But we do get to write the history.