Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other :. Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Preview — Class by John Carl Roat. Class The Making of U. It seemed to help. Working in squads and platoons that make up SEAL teams, they are trained in everything from underwater demolition to high-altitude parachute drops.
Now John Carl Roat, graduate of Class, one of the earliest SEAL training classes, has written the only book devoted to the training of that exclusive warrior force. With unflinching honesty, Roat describes the brutal six-month program that took young men well beyond the endurance limits even of gifted athletes and created warriors who could proudly take their places in the teams. It was a program so demanding that by the end of Hell Week, the third week of the course, the original class of one hundred and thirty-four physically fit young men had been sliced to sixty-two.
After retelling his own class's experience, Roat visits today's SEAL program and reveals how the program has changed over the last thirty-five years to include more classroom training and better and more sophisticated equipment-- without at all lowering the physical demands. SEAL training is still the best, and the toughest, training in the world. Get A Copy. Paperback , pages. More Details Original Title. Other Editions 2. Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Class , please sign up. Lists with This Book.
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List of United States Navy SEALs
There are many legendary heroic figures, known for their brilliance in combat. Who are these men? What distinguishes them from others in the military? Ex-SEAL Roat gives us a panoramic view of the program, its history and what it's like now in his book that describes his own training.
I couldn't find any date in th There are many legendary heroic figures, known for their brilliance in combat. I couldn't find any date in the book, so I assume his class took place in the s. Or thereabouts. Then, the candidates were issued worn out equipment because of insufficient funds. The training was so stressful, mentally and physically, that most dropped out before completing the program.
Constant running and exercising, little rest or sleep, the men learned to function as a team. Success followed those who gave a fellow classmate a hand up or even something as simple as a wink. These little encouragements pulled some from the brink of quitting.
- Jim Hawes, the Real Deal | SEALs Goad North Vietnam | Bradley West.
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David is one of those guys you just have to like, and Waddell did. He liked to give Janke push-ups, squat jumps, eight-count body builders, and the dreaded duckwalk. I suspect I'm not the only one who enjoyed Janke and Waddell's conversations; after all, if Waddell was fucking with Janke, he wasn't fucking with me. The third officer who came into focus for me was Ens.
James M. When I saw him, I thought he looked like a college professor. He should have had a pipe in his mouth.
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Hawes became a big part of the reason I made it through training; he passed energy to me with his voice. I was in his boat crew throughout training. There is no more important thing in training than your boat crew; if you don't learn to work as a team, carry your share of the boat, the rest of the crew will make sure you're gone. Hawes was not an open person. I don't mean that he was sneaky, but like a good poker player, he didn't let you see on his face what was on his mind.
He would blend in, almost disappear, then, when needed, bam! Ensign Hawes was an officer in the best sense of the word; he always took care of his men, even when he knew damn well the instructors would make him pay. Hawes could look broken-down, decrepit, dilapidated, extremely dingy, and still project strength with his voice. I had never done well in a group unless I'd had a good leader.
In Hawes I had one—tough, demanding, always willing to put his ass where he would put yours. The first guy I got tight with was Jack Lynch. He had a quick, funny mind and mouth. God bless him; he could make the whole class laugh at our pain. Jack and I started harassing each other from day one, kept it up right through training, and on into the teams.
I think Jack needed to be mad every once in a while, deep down pissed off, and I have always been able to piss him off. What are friends for if not to help you through life? From day one, the instructors started getting us in the condition of pain and introducing us to all their tools.
The sand, running in sand. They loved to get us wet, roll us in the sand, then run us up and down, over and over, the biggest sand dune around. The damn thing even had a name, Mount Suribachi. At times, we were required to carry sand up the damn thing and deposit it at the summit; we didn't want it to get smaller, did we?
Strange, I had spent a good part of my youth with sand in my shoes and every other uncomfortable place I can think of, but that damn mountain of sand was the worst thing they could do to me. Our first assault on Suribachi was gut- wrenching, but worse was the men who were falling all over each other. Sand was kicked down my throat while I gasped for breath; trainees stepped on each other's feet and hands. If I remember right, that's where the first man quit.
Class 29 by John Carl Roat - Penguin Books Australia
The obstacle course was another of the instructors' tools of pain. So was just getting there. The instructors never took the shortest route anywhere.
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We might run past the obstacle course a couple times before we actually arrived at it. On the third or fourth day of training, I was trying to improve my time on the course when I scared the shit out of myself and came very close to wiping myself out of training. One of the obstacles was a cargo net stretched between two large trees. The top of the net was suspended from a taut cable about fifty feet up.
We went up one side, over the top, and down the other. I had seen one of the faster guys kind of roll over the top. It looked much faster than getting one leg over, then the other. I went up the net. When my chest was level with the cable, I reached across the top, put my chest hard against the cable, pulled and twisted at the same time. As I went over the top, I lost my grip.
Oh well. The only thing that saved me was my leg's getting caught in the net about halfway down. I wasn't hurt, but that net had put the fear of God in me; I knew that if I'd fallen all the way to the pit, training would have been over. Worse was to come, back at the obstacle course that afternoon. I went through the obstacles before the cargo net with no problem. I had a plan.
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It is amazing how dumb fear can make you. My plan was simple: I would climb the net close to one of the tree trunks, go to the top, but never cross it, just come back down the same side. My stinking thinking had been, there were so many trainees climbing that the instructors would never notice.
It worked; I got off the net, stepped around the tree, and finished the rest of the obstacles. Home free! Not quite. John Carl Roat - About the author -.