P.A.M.A. Files: Episode One – How This Fat Kid Survived His First Day at Military School

For my Friend Jay Russio – Because you asked me Dude. And for All Former Cadets who attended PAMA – Guys I Salute You!

Introduction: How I survived my first day at Military school and lived to tell the Tale.

Upon the Northern California Peninsula, there once existed a Boys Private School called “The Academy” in the University Town of Palo Alto. 

The school itself resided not far from Stanford University and the Stanford Shopping Center. Academia aside the Stanford Shopping Center was the Mecca for every single Housewife in the surrounding Bay Area. The merits of the University are so well known that they preclude me from mentioning any of them in my story.

The School was several wooden buildings painted white. There were two-three playgrounds, a large field for Sports and Parades. The buildings themselves housed boarding students, had offices, a band room, classrooms, and a Mess Hall.

The school was a Military School that had been in existence for what seemed to be hundreds of years and it showed. The buildings were well seasoned with discipline, sweat, hard work and more often than not, tears.

The Buildings were three stories high, with hallways painted a beigish brown, with names of former “Cadets” painted in a modern script on them. There were a lot of names.

Coaches and retired Army Personnel rotated in shifts in the dorm areas to keep an eye on the boys, break up fistfights, enforce reveille, daily formations, mealtimes, study hall, sporting activities or PE and taps. They were there to make sure Cadets followed the rules.

The days were highly structured. There was a morning formation, breakfast at the mess hall, room inspections, academic classes, noon formation, a second round of academic classes, PE, showers, evening formation, study hall, free time and taps at 10 pm when lights were turned off.

Discipline was strongly enforced by a demerit system – if you screwed up, mouthed off to the staff, didn’t follow orders given by Senior Cadets, failed inspections, failed your classes, missed formations – you got demerits. If you accrued more than 20 demerits in one week all privileges were taken away, you couldn’t go home for the weekend and in short, you had a boring, mind numbing, crummy week of school, formations, inspections, food, and sleep. 

The school’s motto “Give us a Boy, and We’ll Give you a Man” was printed on brochures and on one billboard I think that was on Hiway 101. This motto proved to be true for a small percentage of students who thrived on the structured lifestyle, the other percentages of students either scraped by or sunk to even further lows of mediocrity or worse deemed unfit to attend the school.

The school thrived on Tradition. It had been around for a long time so there were a lot of spoken and unspoken rules a Cadet had to follow. 

Some of the Holiday Traditions offered a welcome break for the students as Holiday decorations were put up for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. As a bonus, the Mess Hall would offer a Holiday dinner which added to the festive spirit of the occasion. There was also a short vacation right after Christmas so the students could go home for a couple of weeks.

The school excelled in Academia compared to public schools at the same grade levels. There was a posting of one’s grades on a bulletin board periodically. Students who wanted to avoid having to attend Study Hall and study in the privacy of their dorm rooms had to maintain a certain grade point average. If one got good grades one received privileges, if one was doing poorly or failing – privileges were taken away.

The school had a 1st-9th-grade program. Fortunately for some or unfortunately for others, the school graduated its students at ninth grade meaning you were set free and able to attend a public or private high school which was a welcome relief after enduring such a rigorous program. Some graduates continued to excel in school, others without the structure of the Academy were lost, confused by new social norms and led astray by temptations of indolence, flesh, drugs and rock n’ roll.

Times they were a-changing back then.

Music had long morphed from teenage angst love songs into bluesy psychedelic rock, profanity was now being uttered on-screen by movie stars, nudity or more skin shown was being accepted more commonly in public places. It was a time of the tube top, funky bell bottomed jeans, the celebration of the mini skirt, the scandalous bikini, and the frighteningly ugly Polyester Leisure Suit. Divorce rates were up, Long hair was in, kids were defiantly singing anti-war songs and openly smoking pot, and there was a definite anti-war and anti-military sentiment throughout the country, especially in California.

And while the world changed outside the gates of The Academy, the school itself changed very little over the years inside, as if indifferent to anything other than a major world catastrophe. It’s weathered buildings stood traditionally proud, its gates stood firm. It was a world unto itself.

This was how I would remember the School years later.

And this is the world I entered back in the Fall of 1969.

Back then, I was a very screwed up kid. A real sad mess let me tell ya. I was boy who lived primarily in a dream world, spending hours, sitting on his bed, rocking himself gently back and forth, humming snatches of his favorite songs, daydreaming of doing some fantastic thing or attaining some special recognition that would redeem the miserable worthlessness and shame I constantly felt.

I was more fat than chunky, unable to focus in school, destined to flunk another grade – setting me back two years in my age group, I was a monster to my brother, a fat Nero to my Mom, a schizophrenic owner of my dog “Star,”  I eschewed hard work, and became neurotically obsessed about keeping my hands clean.

My Mom, a single woman who had immigrated from England to the United States at age 30 was adrift and inept as could be in raising me. So, as the years passed I became worse, not better. Things did not bode well for my future and I tremble some times when I contemplate how bad I might have turned out.

Then Rick came into our lives.

He married my Mom (her 3rd husband) and for better or worse proceeded to set things straight in the household. He was quite a character, a Conman extraordinaire, a salesman for Norelco in the city of San Francisco.

Since I have been writing other stories about Rick I’ll skip any more details. The reader of this story can refer to them in my other tales regarding this fascinating, complicated man.

I’ll never forget the first time he saw Matt and I rocking in our separate beds, singing. He yelled, “I’m Living in a Nut House!” And that was such a mortifying moment for Matt and I that we both discontinued engaging in that fashion of self-comfort from that day on. Singing and rocking in bed was out.

Rick soon discovered that Matt and I were pretty messed up. Since it would be easier to enjoy living with Mom without us in the picture he devised a Machiavellian strategy to get us out of the house – Military School. (For details see my story “Rick! Conman Extraordinaire!!!”).

And so it was early in the Fall of 1969 that Matt and I were dropped off to at 1129 Parkinson Avenue in Palo Alto, CA where the Palo Alto Military School resided.

I remember wearing itchy cotton and wool clothing that caused me to sweat considerably. I had to wear a tie. My hair was cut in a ridiculous crew cut that made my head resemble a misshapen pumpkin. Perched on top of the “pumpkin” was a small-cap. 

When I look at pictures of myself taken that day I see a very young boy who looks slightly addle-brained, wearing a goofy grin, and was trussed up like a Squat Christmas Tree – all I needed to complete my tableau of idiocy was some presents strewn around my feet.

Well, it was a start of my transformation from boyhood to manhood albeit a humble one.

Once parked, bags unloaded, we checked in, my brother was quickly whisked away to his section of school while my bags were grabbed by Senior Cadets who led me and my parents to the top of Encinita Hall to what was called “The Squad Bay.”

Rick, Mom and I were then introduced to Coach C., who was having some kind of wrasslin’ match with a Cadet named Elmo. I then I met some of other kids I’d be bunking with in the large dorm room. The kids all seemed to be veterans of the school, having attended the Academy previously. I felt pretty overwhelmed by it all, but since my roommates seemed pretty nice I felt Okay at the same time.

The first thing I noticed was we were now referred to by our surname, rather than by our first. So I was no longer called “Charlie” or “Chuck” instead I would now be called Cadet “Malbeck” which was my step dad’s surname. This was a puzzler since legally my last name was “Bucklin” but as this was one of “Rick’s deals” – I didn’t really question it – even though there had been no formal adoption.

When you’re a kid sometimes you had to go with the flow Man.

Besides, like any ritualized initiation – taking on a new name was a sign of the candidate’s willingness to leave the past behind and make a fresh start. And People if anyone wanted to leave his past behind or get a “do-over” it was me! My childhood had been so heartbreakingly wretched that I was ready to try just about anything.

My bags deposited, hugs given, promises to be picked up on Friday, Rick and Mom left me to get acquainted with my roommates.

Let me step out of the story for a moment.

Hello Friends out there in Readerland! It’s me your Author Charles Bucklin!  I’m here with a mighty important note regarding this Fractured Fable. But first, I wanna see how many people are enjoying my story so far? So who’s with me? Let me see a show of hands? Gee…kind of a small group….Ok, how many people Are Not enjoying this story? Gasp. Ok, Ok, Ok. You Guys can put your hands down. Put ’em down I said! Thank You!!!

For all you who are enjoying my tale hang on for a sec, and for all of you who are not – you can turn off of your PCs and cell phones – cause I ain’t going to turn into Herman Melville any time soon. BUT I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! DON’T THINK I DON’T?!!! YOU NAY SAYING, CASUAL PERUSERS YOU!!! I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE, SITTING IN THE DARK, IN YOUR BATHROBES AND UNDERWEAR. HIDING IN YOUR KITCHENS, TRYING TO SNEAKILY READ MY STUFF AND PRETENDING YOU AINT! YA SLOBS YOU!! JUST BEAT IT!!!
…muttering…goddamn blog cruisin’ dilettantes…crapulous internet trolls!…breathing heavily… i thought i took my meds this morning? … HA! HA! HA! SOMEWHERE…OVER THE RAINBOW! Hold on … goddammit!…sounds of pill bottles being opened, water swallowing noises… Gulp, gulp… a long sigh…”Ahhhhh, that’s better.”

Ahem. Sorry Folks! Ok then… Now where was I? Right. To continue…

Now at this juncture – since I want to protect the privacy of some of my fellow cadets and former instructors I’m just going to refer to them by pseudonyms or nicknames. But I’m sure attendees of the Academy during the time period of 1969-1972 will be able to figure out whom I am writing about – since it was such a small close-knit school. Anyhoo, I’ll do my best Guys to throw some camouflage your way and spare anyone any embarrassment.

Okay? Let me step back in to the story and continue.

John N. seemed to be the most senior of my roommates. He was from Canada and a hell of a nice guy. He showed me where to store my gear, as everything had to be refolded, shoes arranged just so, PE stuff – shorts, jockstrap stashed, uniforms hung or folded, etc. He then introduced me to the rest of the guys. I believe there were four other cadets besides John N. and I. I’ll try to name them. Let’s see… There was Hump, T.K., Link. and…”I-Don’t-Remember-Your-Name” – Sorry Dude!

Down the hall in other rooms, I was introduced to other Cadets whose names were Clint Muir, Henry Chang, Bill Hurds., and Jay Church.

There was also this skinny kid I later started calling “Pinecone” – because he had this irritating habit of pinching us whenever he got mad. The pinches were irritatingly prickly so hence the nickname – ‘Pinecone.” Pinecone got mad a lot much to the consternation of his fellow students.

I would love to bait this skinny guy in future interactions by saying in this mock french cartoon voice – “Ahh, my Little Pinecone!” This would really set him off Man and he’d chase me around the playground trying his best to give me a really killer pinch. Ha! He never could get me to stop teasing him.

I instantly hit it off with Clint and Henry. They seemed stable and smart and we would later become good friends. And if I owe anything to my success at school, I owe it to them. They inspired me, they emotionally supported me through the rough patches, and they helped me with my homework. So Amigos if you ever read this – Thank You. You both really saved my ass!

But I digress.

Gear stowed, introductions made, I settled in and awaited evening formation which happened a few hours later.

Evening formation preceded Dinner at the Mess Hall and it was here that heads were counted, hands were inspected for cleanliness, shoes and belt buckles inspected for shine. We all had to line up in platoons and stand at attention. Once the heads were counted, inspection completed we were told to make a “Left Face!” and marched into chow.

We all had assigned tables and seats. Food was brought out from the kitchen in dishes by workers and food was dispensed by the Senior Cadet who sat at the head of the table. Now, if you ever hear how lousy the food is in the “Real Military” those stories are probably partially true – it would just depend on which branch you served under – but at the Academy the food was great!  We had meat and potatoes aplenty, real milk and dessert or fruit cocktail at every meal unless it was breakfast – then it was eggs, toast, sweet rolls, cereal or oatmeal. If it was some kid’s Birthday his table would get to share this Awesome homemade chocolate cake. Too bad there weren’t more birthdays at dinner cause that cake was near ambrosia, the Food of the Gods!

During that dinner, we were suddenly snapped to seated attention by a man I’ll refer to as “The Captain.” The Captain was this wiry looking man, a real Bantam Rooster, with a stern expression. When he smiled he made a kind of skull-like grimace. He was head of school discipline and he scared the crap out of me. Upon seeing him for the first time I made an inner vow to stay on this man’s good side as he looked like he could be one mean Son-of-A-Gun.

The Captain barked “At Ease,” meaning we could relax, he then made a few opening comments – welcoming us back to school, and blah, blah, blah. At the conclusion of his little welcoming speech he finished with an ominous – “I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you “New Cadets” very soon.” He then made that scary grimace again, which passed for a smile. (“Holy Crap! Mommy!!!”).

That kind of welcome put me off from eating any more and I kind of shrunk into my seat, trying to avoid The Captain’s x-ray vision, afraid he might single me out for being a fat screw-up or trouble maker. Well, I was certainly not in any hurry to “get to know” him.

The Captain barked us back to seated attention and then stalked like a panther out of the mess hall.

At Ease was given – and Dining resumed till every cadet was done eating at his assigned table.

Once we were done eating we excused to go to our rooms to prepare for school, shine our buckles and shoes and socialize for a while before lights out and taps was blown by an assigned bugler.

Laying in my bed later I lay awake for what seemed hours listening to my roommate’s snores and occasional farting in their bunks. I was pretty buzzed from the day’s excitement, so I couldn’t fall asleep even though I was beat.

“I wonder what tomorrow is going to be like?” I thought. So far things hadn’t been too bad here – that is – if we didn’t include that Scary Captain Guy in the picture.

Finally after what seemed to be an eternity my eyes closed from exhaustion.

Blessed sleep took me.

5 minutes later a bugle blew.

Lights came on.

And a whole bunch of yelling started.

About This Story

Unlike some of my other Tales – This is a True Story. If there are any inaccuracies it is due to lapse of memory and a few poetic liberties taken by this Author. Names have been changed to pseudonyms or nicknames because – One, I wanted to protect the privacy of my classmates and teachers. And Two, it gives me a little more freedom to write something about these individuals and hopefully not cause any embarrassment or hurt anyone’s feelings. I have also changed my Surname in the story. When I attended The Academy (aka Palo Alto Military Academy) in 1969-1972 my last name was not “Malbeck.” However, those individuals who knew me back then will remember my name and those who didn’t – let it remain a mystery.