August 14, 2005 – Taking a Turn at Performing

August 14, 2005 – Taking a Turn at Performing

A squad of sailors in dress blue uniforms three columns wide by four rows deep, each with an M1 Rifle held at a 45 degree angle over their right shoulder, the rifle butt secure in each sailor’s white gloved right hand, right forearm perpendicular to the ground, right elbow rigid to left side. Each sailor’s white cotton twill rounded crown cap resting squarely on the head with the lower front edge approximately 1-1/2 inch above the eyebrows, each set of eyes fixed in at the back of the head of the sailor in front. The 12-man formation is moving in unison but with the mechanical cadence of toy sailors, their black boots and white leggings sliding left leg forward unbent at the knee, followed by right leg. Their progress is the same as a normal march, but somehow it seems to happen in slow motion. The scene is the Merced County Fair Parade down 17th Street (now Main Street) on a weekend in the middle of September 1963. It’s got to be in the low 90s Fahrenheit—typical late summer in California’s Central Valley, a slight breeze with the hint of cool in it just perceptible. The main street of Merced is right out of early 20th Century California—two- and three-story buildings line the parade route: a J.C. Penney Department Store, Bank of America in a solid brick structure with high ceiling main floor topped by two stories of office space, Ingraham’s Jewelers, and other business. Along the parade route with small American flags in one hand, fans in the other, are families: men in short sleeve sport shirts and gabardine or some such material pants; women in floral designed, light summer dresses and shod in sensible flats; and kids dressed much like their parents.

As the toy Navy formation reaches the reviewing stand and slows, the squad leader gives the command “halt” followed by “order arms.” He then issues the command “left face.” As the team executes the command, the sailor in the second row of the column closest to the reviewing stand abruptly falls backwards and lays on the pavement unmoving, stiff as a plastic toy sailor toppled from an upright position. He is face up, his team members staring blankly at the reviewing stand. The sailor is one of two black men in the ranks and he is the tallest member of the squad. He makes the fall because his action will create the greatest tension in the audience. Did he make a mistake? Did he pass out? Is he hurt? All these questions immediately flood the mind of those watching, especially those in the reviewing stand—of many groups in the parade they will remember this one. The squad leader out in front of the formation does a mechanical left face, takes three steps forward, does another left face, marches to the downed sailor and in mechanical movement, rights the fallen sailor who remains rigid at attention as all this occurs.

Once the fallen sailor is back on his feet facing the reviewing stand, the squad leader retraces his steps to the front of the squad, issues a series of commands that has the team running through the M1 Manual of Arms—a sequence of movements that brings the rifle to the left shoulder then the right shoulder. In between the two shoulders the rifle is twirled with the ease of a majorette’s baton. Once the rifle is back on the right shoulder after the demonstration is complete, he issues the command “right face” then orders the squad “forward march!” The formation resumes its mechanical shuffle march in perfect synchronization, the fallen sailor none the worse for the fall, is completely unaffected. The crowd applauds its approval as the sailors move along. The fall was rehearsed and was part of the drill. The black sailor appears to fall flat, but in reality he bends his body at the waist just before impact and takes the fall with his butt keeping his upper body completely tensed so that the momentum of the fall is offset by the tension and the torso has a soft landing.

I had just joined the U.S. Navy Treasure Island Drill Team toward the end of August and this was my first chance to see the team perform before an audience. I was supporting the sailors in formation. Some of the eight of us that accompanied the marchers were understudies to those in the parade, ready to take over if one of the first string had to bow out. We were behind the reviewing stand and watched our comrades go through their performance as they had been doing since the drill team was formed, long before I ever arrive on August 10th. It was warm in our dress blue uniform and we had little to do except watch. The glory all went to the sailors on the street. At the end of the parade, we would all be loaded back on the Navy bus that brought us here earlier in the day and returned to our barracks on Treasure Island, another perk of being on the team was sharing the team’s barracks, off by itself and only half full and no one to tell us what to do except the squad leader who was responsible for discipline of all the members of the team. His second in command ruled the roost when he had shore leave and vice versa. The squad leader was mixed Asian American born in Hawaii, his second in command also from Hawaii an Anglo. The two knew each other in the islands and acted more like brothers than friends. Besides the two black guys and me—a Pacific Islander, the rest of the squad were Anglos from Nebraska, Iowa, Ohio, New Jersey…

I had arrived early to the U.S. Naval Training Center at Treasure Island for a school that would train me to be a radio technician. The class would not begin until the first week of November. In the meantime, I was being given “make work” jobs while I waited. When I met one of the drill team members, he invited me to try out for the team where I would spend the day practicing drills, something that seemed more rewarding than serving in the work detail. Joining the drill team reminded of my childhood days in the Boy Scouts and Little League baseball. You became part of the team, which had its own set of rituals for initiating you into the group. Once you were in you learned the jargon, the secret signs, the mannerisms that identified you as part of the group. Members of the group formed friendships for a night of drinking and searching for possible dates. Most of the team members were at least 21 and nights of drinking left the underage guys out. I went into town a couple of times with other underage members of the team to bowl or roller skate—back then there were rinks where you paid to rent skates and took to the floor hoping to find someone to take to the movies or meet later at the rink or a bowling alley.

A typical day reminded me of boot camp in the amount of drills we did. The performing team members were the drill instructors and they would begin the day running though all the maneuvers each new trainee needed to join the ranks or those performing. Each day, I would practice the mechanical walk while holding the bearing of the mechanical sailor we were supposed to be. Details such as keeping eyes completely fixed and unmoving on a space in front while observing the visual and audio cues from men in front and to your left and right to ensure you were exactly synchronized to their movement. During the parade in Merced, the squad acted as a single body and the audience suspended belief and began to believe that these were toy sailors not real sailors putting on an act—the team was that precise in its collective motion. The routine also included performing the Manual of Arms with the drill teams own interpretation. The team’s manual is performed with the mechanical movements expected of toy sailors as well as the added twirls and other embellishments to make it more appealing to an audience. I practiced the manual with the same repetitive zeal that a weightlifter does reps in front of a mirror. We were performers and what we saw in the mirror was what the audience would see when we took our act public.

I enjoyed my time on the team, but when my class began on November 11th, I had to make a choice, split my energy between endeavors or concentrate on one. The decision was an easy one to make. I realized after many weeks of work that I couldn’t get the emotional excitement about the performance that the other members of the team seemed to have. Without that fire in the belly, that need to convince the audience that you were a mechanical sailor, I knew I was shortchanging the audience as well as my fellow team members. For that short two months, I had the closest thing I would ever come to joining the circus, which is what the team reminded me of. Our act was marching toy sailors that performed a set of stylized standard military maneuvers for an audience. It was a thing of beauty to watch and it took dedicated performers willing to sacrifice to make it beautiful. I took my leave of the group, wished them continued success, and never saw them perform again.