The Charcoal Sketch

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The evening breeze felt good as our platoon staggered into the company street and lined up, hoping for a quick order to fall out. It was the start of our third week of basic training, and we had just returned from our trip to the rifle range. 

It had been a long march of nearly four miles and mostly on sand. Everyone was tired, especially the kids who were not conditioned. I looked down at my combat boots. Returning them to the required sheen would take a lot of spit and polish.

The First Sergeant called the company to attention and then bellowed, “Fall out.”

Our DI was quick to hold us in position for a few minutes.

“Make sure you guys shake all the sand out of your clothes and boots before you go into the platoon bay,” the DI said. “It will make cleaning the floor a lot easier. And right after dinner, everyone should clean their rifles. I will be checking them when we wake up in the morning. I will be in the barracks after dinner tonight, just to make sure everyone is set to clean your rifles.”

Finally, we were dismissed. We stomped our boots to dislodge any sand and took turns brushing each other’s back. After getting as clean as possible, I headed into our platoon bay.

The company barracks were relatively new, at least built in the late 1950s or early 1960s. The building had three stories, with large open bays on each end of the upper floors. The bottom had one platoon bay on the east end, the mess hall, and other offices on the west side. As the fifth platoon, we occupied the bay on the first floor. Everything in the bay was painted a pale green.

After dinner, most of the guys were working on their rifles. I started with my boots. I figured I would do my rifle when almost everyone was done with theirs, so there would be less chance of mixing up parts.

I finished the first boot when Sergeant Boles, our DI, entered the bay. He was more casual than I had seen him before.

“Do we have anyone in this group who has any artistic talents?” Sergeant Boles asked.

John, a big, tall blond kid from Montana, stepped forward.

“Actually, I’m a pretty good artist,” John said.

“I’m thinking we need to have a drawing on one of these center pillars to give us something to liven the spirit of things up around here,” Sergeant Boles said. “Maybe draw something done in charcoal.”

“Sure,” John said. “I have done a lot of stuff with charcoal. Maybe not as large as one of these pillars, but I could do it. I might need a little help, depending on your thoughts. Do you want an original work?”

“No, I was thinking about doing the centerfold out of the new Playboy,” Sergeant Boles said as he held open the centerfold.

“You want that life-size, or bigger, done on this pillar?” John asked. “Sure, I can do that. It will be fun.”

John’s bunkmate said he could help, and we all agreed to help with John’s evening chores of working on his uniform, boots, and rifle while he was doing the drawing.

“Okay, I will bring you some charcoal to work with tomorrow,” Sergeant Boles said. “And I will make sure you’re not on any of the duty roosters while you’re working on this drawing.”

So it began. Every evening, John toiled over this charcoal sketch of the centerfold. He almost brought her to life. She stood a striking six feet on the concrete pillar. John was definitely an accomplished artist.

Finally, she was done, with pointy nipples and all. I have to admit, she did lighten the tone in the barracks. 

Sergeant Boles was sincerely impressed, or so it seemed. This was indeed a work of art. He brought all the DIs from the other platoons in to see our lady.

“I am going to have to bring the First Sergeant in to see this work,” Sergeant Boles said.

It wasn’t long, and Sergeant Boles was back with the First Sergeant in tow. The First Sergeant thought it was a great drawing.

“The Old Man (company commander) is going to have to see this,” the First Sergeant said.

Everyone in the platoon was impressed with all the attention the drawing was getting. John was feeling pretty proud.

A couple of days later, the Company Commander came into the bay with the First Sergeant and Sergeant Boles. He expressed surprise and praise at the drawing. 

“What an amazing talent you have, John,” the Company Commander said. “It’s too bad we can’t leave this on the wall.”

Shock waffled over the platoon as the Commander turned and departed the bay.

“I guess we will have to paint over it,” Sergeant Boles said. “I will pick up a little can of paint tomorrow.”

Everyone was upset over the plan. John was almost in tears; he had spent hours doing this drawing, and now we would have to paint over the whole thing.

The following morning was a Saturday. Sergeant Boles dropped off a can of paint and a brush.

“Just pain over the drawing,” Sergeant Boles said. “You should probably paint the entire pillar, just so it matches on all sides. Make sure you don’t get any paint on the floor.”

John insisted that he do the painting himself. He was upset, but he did an excellent job painting the pillar.

On Monday, Sergeant Boles had the First Sergeant back to check on the paint job covering the drawing.

“This looks good,” the First Sergeant said. “But now, this pillar doesn’t match the rest of the bay. I think you guys will have to paint the entire bay.”

Now, the light came on in my mind. It had been a setup from the start. It was a cruel hoax to get us to paint the bay for a reason other than an Army order. But John was the butt of the scam, all sorts of BS in my mind. But the following weekend, we were supplied with paint and supplies, and the entire platoon spent all day Saturday and most of Sunday painting the whole bay.

“Looks great,” Sergeant Boles said. “But I see a couple of spots of paint on the floor. Looks like we will be stripping and waxing the floor next weekend.”

Photo by Playboy, October 1965.