IF YOU WANT TO ENJOY THE TRUE DELTA DIVER EXPERIENCE . . . or JUST NEED GLASSES

Cadence Calls were a big part of my life in the ’60s and ’70s.

First in Basic Training at Ft. Ord in early ’67, while the Army tore us down to build us back up as soldiers.

Then in Navy Dive School, where cadence calling took on a whole new meaning, when the Petty Officers made me the cadence caller.

And finally, when I was in the Police Academy on my way to becoming a Harbor Patrolman driving the Fire & Rescue boats in Dana Point and Newport Beach, California. Same thing. I ended up leading a bunch of cop candidates in Cadence Calls. I threw in a few Jody Calls too — just for shits & giggles.

We called them Jody Calls. The Army called them Cadence Calls.

Cadence Call? Jody Call?

A lot of people think they’re the same — but they’re not.

One is filled with heartache. The other — Doom.

Cadence Call is the broader term. It’s the rhythmic call-and-response used to keep troops moving together while marching or running. One person calls a line; the formation answers.

Jody Calls are a particular tradition within cadence calling. “Jody” is the mythical guy back home.

Recently, I ran across a young Army Engineer Vet who has taken Cadence Calling to a new art form on YouTube.

I have to thank this young man for reminding me of what it was like to sing myself to war . . . back in ’67–’68.

Ok, we explained Cadence Calls — Now onto Jody Calls. Mat Best of the Black Rifle Co. does a damn fine job on this . . .

I Even approached the topic in my book.

Here’s what I wrote about cadence calls at Navy Dive School in my upcoming book, The Delta Divers of Vietnam.

We had all — at least us Army dudes — just come off ten weeks of cadence calling in Basic. There, we were just another platoon or company amongst many singing these songs to ease the pain.

Here on a Navy base, it was almost as if we were a form of entertainment. Thirty-eight guys running around, with a nucleus of eight men in Army fatigues . . . sticking out like sore thumbs. Pounding our chests in cadence as we passed all the ships on our runs, telling all the swabbies on the base how tough we were.

It was an easy transition from the cadence calls we had sung in basic training to the new ones the Navy Petty Officers introduced us to on our morning runs.

The structure was simple — call and response. One man would throw out a line, and the rest of the formation would answer it.

On the surface, it sounded basic, but it did more than fill the air. It built camaraderie, kept us moving as a unit, and locked everyone into the same rhythm.

These calls go back to WWII and a young Black private by the name of Willie Lee Duckworth at Fort Slocum, New York. According to the Army's own history of cadence calling, Duckworth improvised a rhythmic chant while his unit was returning from a long march. His "Duckworth Chant" became influential in formalizing what the Army eventually called cadence.

These calls even had a subset—“Jody Calls.”

“Joe the Grinder” came out of Black folklore and blues — the man who took up with your woman while you were away. During World War II, Black soldiers carried the character into military culture, where “Joe the Grinder” became “Jody Grinder,” and eventually simply “Jody.”

“Jody” was the guy back home — the one who didn’t go to war. He got everything the soldier left behind, including, more often than not, the soldier’s girl.

Ain’t no use in goin’ home.
Jody’s got your girl and gone.
Ain’t no use in goin’ back,
Jody’s got your Cadillac.
Ain’t no use in feeling blue,
Jody’s took your checkbook too.

I enjoyed singing Jody calls in basic, but they took on a whole new life in dive school. Somehow, I became the guy leading them — a long way from my shy, stay-in-the-background days of high school football and my failed attempt to become a jock.

Nothing put a smile on an Army Diver’s face faster than leading a mixed group of Navy, Air Force, and Army divers running past a Marine standing guard at a Navy base, singing:

If I had a low I.Q.,
I could be a gate guard too.
I don’t want no BAR,
All I want’s a candy bar.
Lead me to the Coke machine,
’Cause I’m a candy-ass Marine.

Simply walking around the Navy base in our Army fatigues also had its moments. Somewhere along the line, someone explained the concept of a Navy Lieutenant Junior Grade — Lt. JG — and, more importantly, the “custom” of saluting them with your left hand and giving them a wink. That was all we needed. The looks we got were worth it — especially when it was in response to the strange Army visitors on their base.

On our runs, or walking around the base, we drew plenty of strange looks, along with a quiet kind of respect passed along in a glance or a nod.

The fun nearly came to an end one afternoon as we ran in formation past a woman sitting in a red Mercedes convertible stopped at a crosswalk. We happened to be right in the middle of one of our favorite calls:

If I die in Vietnam,
Bury me with Suzie Wong.
Come back home with medals galore,
To impress the hometown whore.

It turned out the lady in the car happened to be the base commander’s wife.

By the time we got back, Chief Petty Officer Crooks was waiting. He lit into us for using foul language in front of a lady, doing his best to look genuinely pissed off. Then, just as quickly, he wrapped it up with a wink and dismissed us before he broke into laughter.

We got the message.

From that point on, we kept an eye out for that red Mercedes on our runs.

All this said, I never felt more macho than when we ran past all the ships tied up to the piers and bulkheads singing:

I look to the left and what do I see,
A bunch of Mop Jocks gawkin’ at me.
We’re the things they’ll never be . . .
Scuba, Recon, UDT.