Watching the Netflix series “Boots” resonated with me. It brought back memories of my military service as a Reservist in the Canadian Army. I joined the Canadian Army as a recruit in the 30th Field Artillery Regiment in Ottawa, Ontario, late in 1978, at seventeen–a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday. Unlike the characters in “Boots,” I was not a professional soldier, and neither did I experience boot camp. I served on weeknights and weekends, and with the Regular Force during the summer months. I had the opportunity to serve with the Regular Force on the UN Peacekeeping deployments or with the Regular Force in Europe for extended periods, but chose not to. I was a closeted gay youth serving in the Canadian Army when male homosexuality was grounds for dismissal from the service. I overheard once an NCO mention the dismissal of a man from the service because he was caught “butt fucking” another man. Like the protagonist in “Boots,” Cameron Cope, I chose military service because I wanted a change and hoped to form a more positive view of myself. My father was ex-military and hated the Army. He tried to talk me out of it. Interestingly, my high school music teacher, a veteran, also told me I was not suited for military service.

Like the character Cameron Cope, I experienced culture shock when training began. Military culture is gruff and unforgiving. I started training in January 1979. A few weeks into training, a call went out for volunteers to join a winter exercise at Canadian Forces Base Petawawa. I did not volunteer, but at the end of training that night, the Sergeant addressed us and declared that he was pleased that we all had volunteered for the exercise. I was less than thrilled, but decided I had better go through with it. I was scared shitless as we rode the bus from Ottawa to CFB Petawawa. On the way, we drank and sang Army songs to boost our morale. We were quartered in a barracks overnight when we arrived, and the revelry continued until the Deputy Commanding Officer roared at us to “settle down!” It was bitterly cold that weekend. We left the vehicles running, as they would have broken down if we had turned them off. Once the exercise began, I relaxed a little. The temperature was -40 °C, and frostbite took hold. I was among those who were stricken. My nose was frozen, and the Battery Sergeant Major ordered me off the line to warm up. I completed the exercise and felt a newfound confidence.

Still, as I completed my basic training and continued training as a basic artilleryman, I found it stressful. Despite being closeted, the other young men in the regiment suspected that I was a homosexual. I came into the classroom one day and found a caricature of me as a pink bunny drawn on the blackboard with anti-gay slurs and comments on my character written around it. Our Instructor, whom we do not call drill instructors in the Canadian Army, chastised the others, stressing that the prank distracted from the cohesion that our training was meant to instill. To their credit, the other young men told me it was a gag; that they liked me fine. I struggled with anxiety, and taking tests was difficult. I spent a lot of time on the defaulter’s parade for messing up in drill and talking back to my superiors. I fared better in my training as an artilleryman. Late in the summer of 1979, I went to a National Guard camp in Grayling, Michigan, with my regiment for an exercise. The accommodations were like those on “Boots.” There were rows of bunk beds, open toilets, and showers. The Bombardier woke us up early every morning, entering the barracks and blowing a whistle, ordering us to get up.

I qualified as an artilleryman on that exercise and earned the rank of Gunner. It was a proud moment. Unfortunately, I went out with others and got shitfaced–they told me that American beer was not as strong as Canadian beer. I was detained for being drunk and disorderly. I was scolded by the Commanding Officer, who told me, “You’re a man, start acting like one.” The Battery Sergeant Major, who had taken an interest in me and helped me through training, was disappointed. He asked, “Why do you pull these stunts?” I was given a week of extra duties as a punishment and lost the confidence of the Battery Sergeant-Major. After completing my punishment, I was given a leave pass to leave the base with the other men and enter the town. I remember the Regimental Sergeant Major telling me as he handed me the leave pass, “And Wale, if they have to carry you back here tonight, I’ll bounce your ass all over this camp.”

As I continued my service in the 30th Field Artillery Regiment, I struggled with my mental health. I did not understand why I was attracted to other young men in the regiment; it horrified me. Suspicion that I was a homosexual lingered. I transferred into an infantry regiment in my last year of service, the Princess of Wales Own Regiment, where I heard that a Sergeant said behind my back that, “Wale is a stereotypical homosexual.” I applied to train as an officer and was turned down. That was a brutal blow, as many of the young men I rose through the ranks with were accepted into officer training. In September 1982, I was mustered out of the regiment because of a clerical error. I had requested a leave of absence earlier in the year, and the paperwork was misfiled. The regiment assumed that I had deserted, and so, I was slated for release. Thus, my undistinguished stint of service in the Canadian Army ended abruptly. Looking back, maybe I should have heeded my father’s and music teacher’s advice and not entered military service. I was never a good fit in the military culture; it had nothing to do with my homosexuality. No, I discovered that my talents as an actor, writer and thinker were better applied outside of the military. That said, I am proud of having served my Queen and country in my youth and have the utmost respect for the men and women who currently serve their King and country in Canada’s service.

Posted by Geoffrey