A Fat Man at War

I weighed 210 pounds when I joined the Army after graduating high school. I went to basic training and was always the target of the drill instructors. I was different. I was the one who would cause problems in combat. At the start of basic, I failed the PT test. If a person didn’t score at least 350 on the test, they had to repeat basic training in the “fat guy” platoon. I had no intention of going through basic twice. I lost 25 pounds and passed the PT test and went home on leave a lean, clean, fighting machine.

I was sent to Germany to fight the Cold War. I weighted 175 pounds when I got to Germany. 18 months later, I tipped the scales at 250 pounds. It was the beer and sausage that I had consumed to defeat the boredom of fighting communism. I was too fat to be in the Army, however, no one said a word. I got orders for the Vietnam. I figured I could get out of going to the war because of my weight. I imagined there would not be combat fatigues big enough to fit me at 300 pounds. I was wrong. I was issued XXX jungle fatigues and sent off to fight thin communists. Perhaps, I would be used as a secret weapon, falling on the enemy and squashing them to death. I shaved my head and the locals soon started calling me Buddha.

I spent a year in the heat and humidity and didn’t lose a pound. When it was time to come home, I ran into a problem I hadn’t counted on. Soldiers leaving the war traded their fatigues in for khaki dress uniforms. Khaki uniforms didn’t come in XXX. The Army had fatigues big enough to send me to war. But the Army didn’t have a uniform my size so I could leave the war. I was 20 years old but I had the body of a 50 year couch potato and had no business being at war but there I was with all the fit people.