Biloxi Blues

I don't think much about the big war anymore,

the one they call The Second One,

because the small wars that came after it

seem a lot bigger now than the big war was.

Most people today look back at the big one

with sort of fond memories.

It was, in a sense, an okay war.

We knew why we were fighting it and we felt pretty proud

of ourselves for being in it.

We liked the songs. We liked the uniforms.

We liked the girls and liked that everyone liked us.

So, looking back, it really was one of your better wars.

Except if you were just a kid, a year out of high school,

heading south in a troop train, knowing that in two months

you'd be in some mud hole fighting for your life.

We were in a filthy train

heading for basic training in Biloxi, Mississippi.

And on the entire trip in the train, nobody washed.

We were getting ready to fight Germany and Japan,

but instead we were stinking up America.

Hey, what the hell's with you?

You talkin' to me, garbage face?

Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, pisshead!

Who are you callin' pisshead, jerkoff?

Knock it off, shit brains.

Up your keister with a meat hook, Wykowski.

It was my fifth day in the Army and so far I hated everyone.

Where the hell are we, anyway?

Hey, Shakespeare, where the hell are we?

West Virginia.

No shit. Where is that near?

You don't know where West Virginia is?

Didn't you ever take geography?

I was sick that day.

Hey! Hey, what's for chow?

Turkey breasts and white wine.

In a pig's ass.

Right, that's how they serve it.

You better eat, guys, 'cause it ain't gonna be this good in Mississippi.

Joseph Wykowski, from Bridgeport, Connecticut,

had the stomach of a goat... he could eat anything.

His favorite was Hershey bars with the wrappers still on them.

Arnold Epstein, an intellectual from New York,

was my only hope for intelligent conversation.

Hey, Arnold, if I wanted to become a writer,

who do you recommend I read?

The entire third floor of the New York Public Library.

Hey, Epstein, you wanna read somethin', huh?

Read this!

It was hard to believe that these guys had

mothers and fathers who were worried about them.

Shut him up!

Wake him up, for Christ sakes.

It's 2:30 in the goddamn morning and you were singin' again.

I was not.

You was not? You practically made a record.

What was I singin?

Chattanooga Choo Choo?

I don't even know Chattanooga Choo Choo.

Whoa, Goddamn it! Ohh!

Somebody let go!

Hey, was it you, Carney?

No, I was singin'. I'm not gonna do that when I'm singin'.

Maybe you sang to cover it up.

Hey, Jerome, write this in your diary... "Major fart in West Virginia."

Wait a minute... it's coming from up there.

Hey, Bombardier, kill Germans, not Gls.

Oh, brother.

I'm sorry, I'm not feeling very well.

Yeah, well, now we're all not feeling very well.

Does anyone have an Alka-Seltzer tablet?

Pluggin' it up ain't gonna help, Epstein.

Boy, it's hot.

This is hot.

Find your company! Company letters are over the door!

You will form a single line.

Then prepare to give your name and serial number to the men at the desk.

What the hell you think you lookin' at?

You just dig! You don't stop diggin'!

Where are you guys from?

Fort Dix, New Jersey. What's it like here?

It's real rough... we've been here a week,

10 guys died from malaria. Buryin' 'em in here.

Are you serious?

Aw, he's full of shit. It's a drainage ditch.

I didn't know it was gonna be this hot.

This is really hot.

Hey, watch out for the pole!

Jesus! Did you see that?

That pole just went down, whack!

Everything falls here... telephone poles, flag poles.

Bugs eat 'em. Pretty soon we're all gonna go.

It never got this hot in Brooklyn.

This is like Africa-hot.

Tarzan couldn't take this kind of hot.

Better get a shine on those shoes, rookie.

I think they've taken us to a German prison camp.

Detail, halt!

You men fall out and fall in on me. Column o' twos, down here.

This here platoon is assigned to this barrack.

You will remain here until further instructions from your sergeant.

You will remain on your feet,

no smokin' and no goddamn tobacco chewin'.

At ease.

No tobacco chewin'? He must think we're stagecoach drivers.

Shut your ass, Jerome. These non-come hear everything.

Perfect. It only took the Army five minutes to turn Wykowski into a robot.

Jesus, I'm drippin' wet. This place is like a steam bath.

I don't know if I can stay here if it's gonna be this hot.

I should've joined the Navy. The Navy's cooler.

Navy's for homos.

I pictured the Army different.

I pictured a lot of doughnuts and USO dancers.

Hi, how are you?

Good to see you.

Hello, soldier.

Hello. Hi, Sergeant.

One, two, three, four!

Hmm.

One, two, three, four!

Detail, attention.

Sorry, men, perhaps I didn't make myself clear.

Detail, ten-hut!

Good. Good. At ease, gentleman.

My name is Toomey,

Sergeant Merwin J. Toomey,

and I'm in charge of this platoon during your 10 weeks

of basic training here in beautiful Biloxi, Mississippi,

after which you'll be sent to some shit island in the Pacific

or some turd pile in Northern Sicily.

In either case, returning to your mommas and papas

with your balls intact in highly improbable.

I speak from experience,

having served 14 months in the North African campaign

where 73% of my comrades are buried,

having donated a small portion of my brains to this conflict,

the other potion being protected

by a heavy steel plate in my head.

I'd like you to answer when your name is called.

The answer to that question is "ho."

Not "yes," not "right,"

not "here," not "sir"...

any other unacceptable form of reply

except the aforementioned "ho."

Am I understood?

Peek, David P. Ho.

Hennessey, James J. Ho.

Wykowski, Joseph T. Ho.

Selridge, Roy W. Ho.

Carney, Donald J. Ho.

Jerome, Eugene M. Ho.

Epstein, Arnold B. Ho, ho.

Are there two Arnold Epstein's in this company?

No, Sergeant.

Just give me one goddamn "ho."

Yes, Sergeant.

Epstein, Arnold B. Ho.

One more time. Ho.

Do I make myself clear, Epstein?

Ho.

Do I make myself clear, Jerome?

Ho, yes.

Ho, what?

Ho, nothing.

You having trouble understanding me, Jerome?

Ho, no.

I mean, no, ho, Sergeant.

It's just plain ho.

Hey, Fred Astaire, are you tryin' to tell me somethin'?

I have to go to the bathroom, Sergeant.

How you gonna do that?

We don't have bathrooms in the Army.

They had them in Fort Dix.

Not bathrooms, they didn't.

Yes they did. I went in them a lot.

I'm tellin' you, we don't have any bathrooms on this base.

You doubt my veracity?

No, Sergeant.

Then you got a problem, haven't you, Epstein? Ho, ho.

You bet your ass, ho, ho.

You know why you got a problem, Epstein?

'Cause I have to go real bad?

No, son, you got a problem because you don't know Army terminology.

The place where a US soldier goes to defecate,

relieve himself, open his bowels, shit, fart, dump,

crap and unload is called a latrine.

Latrine, from the French.

Do you want to tell us what's funny about that, Jerome?