Barracks Life and Beyond

By John Hicks

September 2001

At the other end of the spectrum was a big Greek guy who shaved his head like Mr. Clean. He was a fanatic about cleanliness and I bunked with him for a time. I remember an entire shelf in his locker devoted to neatly stacked bars of ivory soap. He complained to the CO about my laundry sack tied to the end of my bunk, particularly my socks. I got moved out of the room. He would only eat soup and bread in the mess hall. I bought a small sack of cow eyes from a butcher in the Bosch and slipped them into his soup when he got up to refill his glass of milk. I think he gave up soup after that.

Even I found barracks life disgusting at times. One morning I threw my legs over the side of my bunk and pushed my feet into my boots down into the cup of puke deposited there by some late night drunk. (Or maybe this was Mr. Clean's revenge?) I started plotting with friends for an off-post house. Someone in the group found the old Belgium consulate for rent - a huge place with separate servants' quarters. Five or six of us pitched in for the rent I guess. We adopted a teenager named Tekle representing himself, in very clear English, as an orphan and a high school student. He served as a privileged houseboy and guide. We paid him small wages and were pooling some cash to see him through the rest of high school and college. One weekend we all went down to Misawa leaving Tekle to watch the house. When we returned, Tekle had sold all of our stuff - cameras, hi-fi, clothes, whatever - and had thrown a mass house party. The thing we couldn't understand was that he was waiting for us in the empty house (never much furnished) as if to say welcome home. He never showed a shred of remorse or even fear. He also never got another ethie or dime from us.