Truthfully,

1. I did this for only one month's time;
2. I only drilled perhaps 48 guys in our barracks, where I was "Barracks Chief", and I had nothing to do with their further training -- as drill sergeants ordinarily do in "Recruit Camps";
3. I was able to "get away with it" because of a trick I knew and because of help from a Superstar.

In September, 1943, I became a member of a Cadre of Air Corps Flying Cadets, subject to further testing for qualification. While waiting, I attended classes, in Lubbock, at Texas Institute of Technology (later renamed "Texas Technological Institute" because of the original initials). As a result of these classes -- and my Army Physical Training -- I was able, later, able to transfer 18 credits upon entering Columbia University School of General Studies in 1948.

My fiancee talked me into applying for Flying Cadets -- trying to turn me into "the man who got away". I was a fool. At that time, I couldn't even drive a car, let alone be prepared for the 12 (terrified) hours I logged in an L2-A. Also, she foolishly insisted that Your Friendly Fool married soon after entering Cadets, dooming my "Cadet career".

Right after Xmas, I arrived at Santa Ana Air Base, California, for qualification testing. My marital status and low scores on the Technical Tests and my signing that I did not want assignment to Navigator or Bombadier School led to my flunking out at the end of February, 1944.

I wrote letters to try to get back into the Weather Corps. Meanwhile, I got back my Technical Sergeant stripes and was made Barracks Chief of other flunkers.

The Captain in charge heard from some of the guys that I'd had experience in drilling squads back in Lubbock. He appointed me "Drill Sergeant" and ordered me to drill "the men" for one hour every morning. He enjoyed my "drill-trick" so much that he watched us every day.

My trick was that I could

1. march four columns of soldiers up and down the Parade Ground;
2. then, one by one, send each of the four columns off in different directions and keep them marching in single column around the Parade Ground;
3. finally, I could bring them back together into four columns and march them around, ending in "Halt".

This always brought applause from the Captain and from some of the crowd of soldiers goofing off around the Parade Ground.

Now, I was about "to get away with this" because -- if they behaved and marched with swagger -- I could then turn them over to the PT coach, for playing baseball.

The PT coach was JOE DIMAGGIO!

Since that time, I've often read that Joe could be very severe with any teamate who did not do his best during practice or during a game. They were professionals, and he expected them to behave so.

But with the klutziest soldier-ballplayer -- showing how to hold a bat, swing at the ball, make a catch, run to a base, slide, whatever -- Joe was as patient as a loving mother with a baby!

The only trouble was that LITTLE BALLGAME GOT PLAYED. Whenever Dimaggio stopped the play to give a tip, all the players came in from the infield and the outfield and the bench to get a close look -- along with dozens of "goofers".

Years later, when I became a teacher, I sometimes remember the patience and loving care of Joe Dimaggio and tried to emulate him in dealing with any temporarily klutzing student.