I have around 25 more notes on things I want to write about, and I keep adding to that list now and then when something comes to mind, but it's been hard to get to it after the first few.
Then I remembered that Dad wrote to me about some of his experiences in the US Marine Corps. His time in the USMC something he was especially proud of, and these came about because I told him I wanted to know more about what that time was like. Here's the first one.
Regrettably, after getting these, I failed to follow up and ask more about it, so the four essays he wrote only cover his time in the beginning of his enlistment, while he was still in training and stateside. I got these all the way back in 2007, and always figured there'd be time to ask him to continue, but it always slipped my mind, and now the stories of his time overseas are lost. I'm having a hard time knowing my responsibility in that. But at least we have these, instead of nothing at all.
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It is May 25th, 2007, the beginning of the Memorial Day 2007 weekend, and I have just discovered that F-4 is interested in the USMC part of my life. Perhaps the interest has been there all along and I was oblivious to possible hints or signs? I don’t know, but a chance statement of his recently led me to ask him about it. And he was. So here we go.
By the way, this will, at least in the beginning, probably take the form of random thoughts set to paper. Perhaps as the thing begins to fill out, more organization will appear. Who knows?
How it began
The first thing that occurs to me is to answer the question “At what point in my life did I become aware of the existence of the Marine Corps?”
The short answer is “I don’t know.”
The next thing is to answer the question “What led me to chose the Marine Corps?”
Read on…
I honestly cannot tell you when I became aware of the fact that The Marine Corps even existed. Maybe it’s buried somewhere in my sub-conscious; I don’t know.
Practically every kid - at least when I was a young boy growing up back in the 40’s and early 50’s - just seemed to be aware of America’s military forces, whether they’re imagining themselves in the cockpit of a fighter plane, on the deck of a ship, or crawling through the bushes with a rifle about to capture a hill somewhere. In all cases, the ‘pretend’ role is that of an about-to-be hero. Maybe it was due to how recently we were involved in WWII. Back then, the enemy was the “Japs” or the “Germans.” I don’t know why kids didn’t refer to the Germans as ‘Nazis’. And in my sheltered innocence, I was mercifully unaware of the atrocities being committed against the Jews and other selected minorities by the Nazis, or against the captured Allied prisoners of war by the Japanese.
But there’s one thing that I do remember. Once in a while, walking the four blocks home from Boy Scout meetings at Ainsworth school at eight o’clock at night, singing the Marine Corp Hymn at the top of my lungs! Go figure.
Another little bit that I recall was having a squarish shield-shaped decal of the Marine Corps mascot - a very fierce-looking bulldog - centered on the headboard of my bed. Not a very respectful way to treat a family antique. I think that my father bought it for me at my request.
And the funny part of it is that I don’t care for that particular representation. Maybe it’s because I’m a ‘cat’ person…
When I first entered high school - Benson Tech - I had great hopes and plans of going on the college. But I didn’t easily catch on to the academic aspects of education and either flunked most of my classes or passed them with 4’s (“D’s” to you guys). On the other hand, I did really well in my various shop classes, mechanical and architectural drawing classes, and art classes - or anything else that was more of a hands-on type of thing. Those classes I passed with 1’s (“A”) and the occasional 2 (“B”).
Didn’t find out what was behind that problem until many years later when ADD and ADHD was identified as a cause of son Daniel’s inability to stay focused or concentrate on the task at hand. It suddenly hit me that we were hearing the same thing from his teachers that I recalled my teachers tell my mother - - and son Jamie’s teachers tell us! “He’s such a bright/intelligent child! If only he’d apply himself!”
Then everything fell into place!
Keep in mind that back then, ADD kids were regarded as goof-offs - or worse. Because of my mediocre grades, my mother transferred me to our neighborhood high school - Lincoln. But it didn’t really make much difference. If anything, my grades got worse. Great in the various shop and art-type classes; horrible in academic classes.
As the end of my senior year approached, my counselor (a family friend but I can’t recall her name any more. Nice lady, though!) told me that even though it looked like I was going to be a credit and a half short, I would be allowed to graduate. Then, my Senior English teacher told me that she was going to have to flunk me. Can’t blame her; I wasn’t doing the work.
Favors and natural charm aside, that ended any possibility of getting a high school diploma, let alone any thoughts of college.
So - - - now what?
Then, like now, you couldn’t get much of a job other than pushing a broom (figurative AND literally) without a high school diploma. That pretty much left enlisting in one or another military service.
Stanley, my step-father, suggested that I’d be happiest in the Coast Guard - -even going so far as to take me to the C.G. recruiting office in downtown Portland and arranging for me to take the equivalent of today’s ASVAB test. “So what is he suited for?” “From these scores, just about anything he wants to try!”
I had read a lot over the years, science fiction, action/detective, westerns, and a lot of military/war as well. I had a better idea of what life was like in the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force. But the one that left a lasting impression on me was “Battle Cry”, by Leon Uris. Marines seemed to be the ones who always faced the toughest odds, (mostly) won what seemed to be hopeless battles, and had by far the best self-esteem - or as the Marines call it, “Esprit” - about themselves and their service. I’d have to say that’s probably what made me decide on the Marine Corps.
I had to have a parent sign for me since I was only 17, but enlist I did. Now I was a Marine, complete with serial number, #1910900. They weren’t using Social Security numbers back then. I had to report for active duty (read = Boot Camp) about a week after the end of the school year.
There was one detail, however, that I have kept to myself for years. I regarded enlisting in the Marine Corps as a kind of personal test. I had always been somewhat overweight, and as a basically quiet person, I felt that if I could make it through Marine Corps Boot Camp, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t accomplish in my life!
I, along with about a dozen other foolish young men were put on a plane (four engine propeller-driven) and were flown to San Diego. We were met at the Lindbergh Field terminal by a couple of DI’s and herded onto what were referred to as “Cattle Cars” - these can only be described as school bus bodies converted into semi-trailers - and trucked a short distance to the main gates of M.C.R.D. (Marine Corps Recruit Depot), San Diego and delivered to the Recruit Receiving Barracks. And that’s where the infamous ‘horrors’ of Marine Corps Boot Camp began!
We were literally screamed at non-stop for the next umpteen hours. “You maggots get off that bus NOW!” “Not fast enough - get back on!” Now, get off that bus, NOW!” “What’s the matter, pansies, not used to doing what you’re told?” Get back on that bus, and when I say ‘Get off’, I want to see nothing but a blur of assholes and elbows movin’ so fast that your eyes will be watering!” Now get off that bus and each one of you worthless excuses for human beings stand on a pair of those yellow-painted footprints over there!”
We’re talking about three or four rows of pairs of yellow-painted shoe outlines in the precise position of attention. Each one of us - and there were others already there - were to stand at rigid attention, one person per pair of outlines, until the DI’s were good and ready to have us do something else. Needless to say, we were all scared shitless!
“No, asshole, right shoe on the right outline, left shoe on the left outline!” “What’s the matter; can’t you tell your right from your left?” “Well let me tell you, you’d better learn REAL fast or I will make you the most miserable turd on the face of the planet!”
I don’t remember how long we stood there. I do know that from time to time, more of the Cattle Cars would pull up and another ten or a dozen guys would get off, only to be greeted the same way, and found themselves in short order standing in quivering fear on those notorious yellow shoe outlines.
Eventually we were ‘herded’ off to receive what is known as a “Bucket Issue”. This is a collection of basic needs, soap, toothpaste, razor, shaving lather, official USMC Boot Camp notebook, mechanical pencil, a set of USMC underwear, utility trousers, a tan web belt with a brass buckle, a red sweatshirt with the USMC emblem on the front, a utility cover (hat), a pair of Marine Corps green cushion-sole socks, a pair of boondocker shoes - all kinds of stuff to tide us through the first day. And oh yes, a galvanized bucket. We carried all of that stuff in it.
Next we were taken to the barber shop, where our hair all hit the floor in short order - zip, zip, zip, in about 15 or 20 seconds - just like you see it in the movies! Then to the showers.
Once we were all clean-shaven and had dressed in our uniforms - buttoned all the way up to the neck - we were taken into a kind of auditorium where we were to take everything that we’d brought with us out of our pockets. And I mean everything. All pocket knives were confiscated, along with any medications. (I’d brought along a very nice switchblade knife that I’d just rebuilt with a slightly stronger spring - gone forever. Tsk, tsk!)
We packed all of our civilian clothes, shoes, etc into boxes and addressed them back to our homes. The boxes were all collected and mailed off. Mine was waiting for me when I got home in December for Christmas leave.
Off to the (temporary) recruit barracks where we were issued two sheets, two blankets, a pillow and pillow case, and shown how to make up our ‘racks’ (beds). You know the story about how a military bed isn’t made up properly until a quarter will bounce on it? One of the DI’s who was demonstrating how to make up our racks did exactly that - bounced a quarter off of the extremely taught bedclothes. Of course, he immediately tore the demo bed apart and instructed the recruit to do it himself - no free rides! And we all had to do it over and over again until his quarter would bounce. We were at it for at least an hour. By now it’s probably 3:00 AM - oh three hundred by military time.
We were all exhausted - and scared. What had we let ourselves in for???
The lights came back on at 0430, accompanied by the DI walking down the length of the squad bay, rapping his swagger stick along the metal bunk frames and screaming at us to get out of the racks, get dressed, and fall in outside. And oh by the way? We had two minutes to do it in. Of course, most of us didn’t make it. More screaming. The beginning of how it was going to be for the next twelve weeks, as members of Recruit Platoon 353.
