From just about the first moment I entered Tracen Alameda in August of 1974, it was obvious that anyone from Texas would ultimately have a bigger hill to climb in getting to the end of boot camp than everyone else. Insult upon insult was thrust upon anyone admitting they were from Texas. Guys had to do extra pushups just because they were from Texas. For reasons I’ve never understood, Texans drew more attention from the Company Commander than non-Texans. The first time I saw the movie Full Metal Jacket, I howled out loud as senior drill instructor GySgt Hartman berated some poor recruit after learning he’s from Texas, “Holy dogshit! Did you know that the only difference between a Texan and a five-gallon bucket of shit is the bucket?”
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