IN basic training, at Ft Bliss, in 1966, we had two groups in our barracks. A contingent of Texas NG, and a handful of 17 year olds.
I got stuck with Coon. We didn't have "battle buddies" back then, I just lucked out and he took the top bunk, I got the bottom. I was across from a guy who turned out to be a lifelong buddy, (Rex in the opposite top bunk), and Gentry, who looked and was built like Broderick Crawford. Gruff like him too.
It didn't take long to decide that everybody hated Coon. He knew everything, had been everywhere, knew how to do things better, and even had a semester of High School ROTC. He thought he should be the Platoon Leader. I am a forgiving guy, but even I started hating him.
After about a month and a half of this guy, we started getting some breaks in training on a rare Sunday. So Sunday afternoon, Gentry and Rex had snuck up to the PX, got some beer and smuggled it to the barracks. Coon talked them into giving him one, so they did. He promptly took a nap. I look up and realized that Rex and Gentry were standing there staring at Coon, and talking to each other soto voce. I got up and the yboth said to me, "Look at that puke. He looks like a dead cat, I hate him." Gentry and Rex exchange a look and decide "Lets fuck with him".
So ensued the usual tickle with a feather while the outstretched hand is filed with shaving creme game. Eventually Coon swipes his face, and smears the shaving creme all over the place. Every body starts laugh, including all the NG's who had up to now been watching from a distance, and not wanting to get involved.
Coon gets up and goes to the head. By now it is fully dark outside, so only the "fire lights" are on above every other bunk. We can hear Coon in the latrine cleaning up, and Gentry gets a brilliant look on his face.
Gentry grabs Coon's bed, rolls up the mattress sheets and all, after dumping Coon's laundry bag onto the bed.
Now, mind you Gentry is in just his boxers. He is built like a huge silver-back ape. Covered with hair, bandy legged, stocky build. about 220. He rolls up the bed, tosses it up on his shoulder and like a big ape, goes shambling the length of the building to the rear entrance, kicks the push bar with a bare foot, and it slams open. He tosses the entire rolled up bed off the rear stairs, and the fire light out back illuminates the scene as clothes, sheets and mattress go flying in all directions. The door slams shut! It was a miracle of athletic timing.
Gentry runs for all he is worth, back to his bunk telling the guys as he passes, "Shut off your fire light!"
I reach up and shut off the one over Coon's bunk, and dive into my own bed and pul the covers over my head, but not before noticing that through the soft light filtering through the windows, that all Coon had to wait for him was the metal springs that lay under the mattress.
Gentry in the meantime had done a power dive into his own bed, and shut off his light. It was pitch black, for Coon, coming from the brightly lit latrine. He paused, feeling the end of his bunk, and then leaped up. The springs cried out in protest, "Shing-shing!"
Coon screamed as his skin hit the cold springs, and sharp points, and the barracks erupted in laughter. Must have laughed for 15 minutes. Aching sides and all that.
A couple of us helped the poor guy get his stuff but we never let him live it down.
Funny, the DI never came out to see what the hell was going on.
