It was the spring of 1985 and I had just dropped off my brand-new flight of rainbows at Clothing Issue after taking them to get their haircuts, and walked across the street to the BX to pick up a pack of smokes. I was walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street directly across from the barber shop entrance where another MTI from another squadron had just parked his flight of rainbows before going in to get their haircuts and heard the MTI, a little guy around 5'8" and maybe 165 pounds soaking wet, giving one of the trainees hell about something. I looked over and saw the MTI going at the trainee, a big ol' country boy who stood about 6'2" tall and every bit of 220 pounds. The MTI had broken the cardinal rule for dealing with new trainees - he was standing directly in front of the rainbow about six inches away from him. You never, repeat, NEVER, stood directly in front of a new trainee, much less closer than arm's length away. What the MTI couldn't - or didn't - see was the trainee flexing his hands into fists the size of a country ham over and over again. This trainee was about to lose it, so I figured I'd better get over there and give the MIT a heads-up.
I got about halfway across the street when it happened. The trainee looked down at the MTI, his face a massive scowl, reached out and grabbed the MTI by the front of his shirt with his left hand, held the MTI at arm's length, cocked his right fist back, and WHAM! The MTI's hat and glasses went flying, the trainee released his grip, and the MTI fell to the ground like a sack of wet noodles. I broke into a trot at this, and the trainee heard my heels clicking on the asphalt and turned to look at me. He was breathing hard because of the adrenalin rush he was going through, and when I got onto the sidewalk I stopped. "Are you okay, airman?" I asked, making damn sure I stayed well out of this gorilla's reach. "Yes, sir," he said, "he made me mad!"
"I see that. Who's the acting dorm chief?" I asked, and an airman spoke up from the back of the flight. "Take this airman into the barber shop and get him a drink of water, then sit him down somewhere until I get there. Tell the barbers I told you to."
"Yes, sir!" the dorm chief said, taking the gorilla into the barbershop. I walked over to the inert form of the MTI laying on the ground, his nose a flat, bloody mess, and knelt down on one knee next to him. "You stupid son of a bitch!" I said as I took off my campaign hat and retrieved an ammonia capsule I always kept attached to the screw of my cap device for just such an occasion. I popped the capsule under the MTI's nose and he came to, asking what had happened.
"You got what you asked for, that's what!" I said. After he composed himself he went into the barber shop and called his unit to have someone come take his flight because he had to go to Bldg 6612 to get medical treatment. As for me, I walked back to my unit and pretty much forgot about it.
Until the next day when I got called down to the Section Supervisor's office to pick up a new trainee. Three guesses who was sitting on the bench outside of the Section office in his brand-new, shiny green fatigues, a full duffle bag sitting next to him. Yep, Magilla Gorilla himself. His unit decided it would be in everyone's best interest if he was transferred to another unit for training, and my flight just happened to be in the same day of training so I was it. Seems that the flight he was in hadn't been given their Military Law Briefing before he punched out his MTI, and since he didn't know that it was illegal for him to assault his MTI he couldn't be prosecuted.
But he damned sure wasn't going into MY flight because now he thought I was his friend since I didn't chew his ass for hitting his MTI. I told the Section Supervisor the whole story, and they shipped the airman off to another squadron to be trained.
Was I relieved? You bet your ass I was, and I'm not ashamed to admit it!
Never saw the MTI again, and I've often wondered if his unit booted him out for his mistake. Guess I'll never know.
Deo Vindice
IHC
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