Iwo Jima

65 years ago, the Marines raised the flag on Mount Suribachi. Many men died on this island. Too many.

While I was stationed in Japan, I ran into another poor leader. I checked into 3rd Maintenance Battalion and was sent to the Battalion Supply shop. I knew a lot of Marines that were already on Camp Kinser in my battalion, and they all recommended me to be the Battalion Supply Chief for Maint Bn. So, I went to check in and met the GySgt I was replacing. I was a Sgt. The Gunny was really done because he briefed me on absolutely nothing that was going on. On the day he was done, he came in to pick up a few things. Most of the Marines, including one of my Corporals, were drunk when they showed up to work. They had been partying all night with the GySgt. The office the Supply Chief had shared a door with the Supply Officer, a 1st Lt. I scanned my office and saw Marines with their heads down, unable to function. I went into the office and shut the door behind me. I said, "What the fuck was going on here?" The GySgt looked at me like I had just shit on his hat. He say's, "What the fuck did you just say?" I told him, "Look out in that office. 3/4 of the Marines aren't able to function at all. They are still drunk because they were all out drinking with YOU until 3:30 this morning. Now I have to try and get them to do SOMETHING, and god forbid someone with some brass on their collar walks in. From what I understand, you were drinking buddies with these guys instead of their leader. They didn't need another friend, they have one another, they needed a leader, and I inherited a shop that's a mess because you couldn't get them to do anything except drink with you." The Lt. was listening through his open door, and I caught him smiling. The GySgt didn't know what to say or do, and he got his stuff and left. I had my work cut out for me.

The Corporal who was passed out on his desk, well, come to find out he and another Cpl. from my shop had gone to Kadena Air Force base the weekend before I got here and gotten into a fight. One broke a bottle over another guys head, then the other jumped up as the guy drove a car at him and he kicked out the windshield! I had to go with these two Cpl's to see our Company Commander who was a Marine Captain. Because I was the senior Sgt in the Company now, he made me the Platoon Sergeant and the Deck NCO in my barracks. So, now I had all these billets, and I was loving it. Lots to do to keep me occupied because I was without my family. Anyways, the Capt wanted to hear the Cpl's stories. They each told their version, which they had had 2 weeks to prepare, and they told a story that made them the victims, of course. I did not know these guys, and the Capt asked me what my recommendation was. I told him that since the Marines were NCO's, that I trusted what they said, and if they had done something wrong, I would take care of them and steer them in the right direction. He told me that's what he wanted to hear.

The Cpl who was passed out on his desk got promoted to Sgt eventually and did an OK job for me. He would make comments about the GySgt who left, and how he had kept morale up by drinking with others, but I told him he should have stuck with his own rank. This Sgt left Japan and went to I&I duty in Marietta, GA. He committed suicide after he became involved in an investigation on hit and run. The other Cpl ended up a Private. Twice. He got caught in the PX trading shoes in boxes. he took a $90 pair of shoes and put them in a $30 box. Then he got caught having an affair. These Marines were supposed to be leaders. Non-Commissioned Officers.

Well, I was the Supply Chief for a month and they decided that they were going to merge Maint and Supply BN. They created Material Readiness Battalion out of the two. They moved a GySgt over to our shop from Supply BN, thereby making me the Supply Admin Chief. That meant I had to oversee the daily operations of the office only and was not completely responsible for the whole supply account. No biggie. It was bound to happen anyways, just ended up being sooner. Well, this guy was a piece of work. Supply work was all he had. He was in the midst of an ugly divorce and buried himself into his work, as well as all the Twinkies and pizza he could muster. PT was not a priority for him, so I had to take control and make the Marines PT. He would work the Marines until 10 at night, not giving them a break for dinner. I had to argue with him and tell him he was wrong. We bumped heads a lot, but he realized I was right. We compromised and let the Marines eat but they had to come back and work late most nights. The Marines were pretty stressed out and were leaving work at 10 and going out and drinking. I had to finally convince the GySgt that we needed to change the routine so the Marines weren't so stressed. So, he let me take over and we got a good PT program going, Marines got their meals on time, etc. Morale picked up a little, but the GySgt was still being an angry troll.

I was selected to be the Supply Chief for a Combat Service Support Detachment by the old Supply Officer, who had since been promoted to Captain. I got to go to Hokaido, Japan to support an artillery shoot. It was a good trip and worthy of its own blog sometime later. During this trip, I found out I was selected to the rank of Staff Sergeant. A week after we got back from Hokaido, I was promoted. And HERE is where I started to see the corruptness of the system.

As a Sergeant, I was in charge of everything and everyone! I got promoted and became in charge of no one but myself. A Sgt was given the Platoon Sergeant position, I moved into the SNCO barracks and did not have to be the deck NCO anymore. It was a welcome break, don't get me wrong. But the corruptness was soon evident.

Before I went to Hokaido, I went to swim qualification for a week straight. I worked my way up to the highest level, Water Survival Qualified (WSQ), and was told that it would be sent to my unit to be run in my record. Well, I got back from Hokaido and checked my record and it had not been posted. I went to my training section and was told that they had no record of me doing the swim qual to WSQ. The SSgt looked at me and said, "There's a form on my desk. If your name and qualification shows up on it before I get back, it will be taken care of." He then walked out of the office. Knowing I had done it and deserved the qualification, I put my name on the paper. I felt really weird about it, but I knew it was justified. but it also made me wonder what else this guy was doing for folks who DIDN'T deserve it.

We had a Battalion formation once a month for promotions and awards. I showed up 15 minutes prior just like I was supposed to, having been taught that as a Marine. Most of the other SNCO's rolled up just minutes before the formation. I was told it was the "SNCO" privilege. I didn't understand how I was given a higher rank and more trust, yet was actually being held to a lower standard than the younger Marines, who would have had their asses handed to them for rolling up minutes before. Hell, I was the one handing them their ass just weeks before for doing it. Now I was told to leave the leadership to the Sgt's. Very confusing to me.

I was also told that I no longer had to show up for shop PT unless I wanted to, as the Cpl's and Sgt's were in charge of it. I still went, I just stood back and let them run the show. I had never really paid attention to those higher than me before in these regards, but it was all becoming apparent to me now. SNCO's had their own little club in the Marine Corps, and I was part of it. If I wanted to show up to work at 8 instead of 7, no one cared. This didn't make any sense to me at all, but I was leaving soon for Drill Instructor school back in the states. So, I hit the gym with a vengeance, even more than I already was. It was really hard to let go of control, but I did.

I hope these ramblings make sense. Sometimes I feel like they don't, because I want to write so much more and it's hard to pick which stories to focus on. I have to remember that I am trying to get across how I went from a Marine who used to cut his hair every two or three days to getting one every week and half to two, and why it became that way.

Semper Fidelis WW-II vets.

After all that I just wrote, I just remembered when I was stationed at Fort Lewis in WA state, we awarded an Iwo Jima veteran with a Navy-Marine Corps Commendation Medal for his actions during the battle. After they awarded him his medal, we all got in a circle and listened to him tell a story. But instead of telling us about his exploits on the island, he told us a story of the Sgt that was in charge of him. This Sgt was the type of man who told his Marines to do something and then would be right there helping. Like digging fighting holes, or holes for shitting and pissing in. This Sgt was always checking on his Marines and always by their side. One night there was an incredible firefight and bombing run brought on by the Japanese. As the Marines tried to gather themselves together and were piling up the dead bodies for transport out of there home, the Marine saw his Sgt lying amongst the bodies, flies buzzing everywhere. He fell to his knees and cried for what he said seemed forever. He then took his poncho out and covered the Marine Sgt so the flies stayed off of him.

To me, this story epitomizes what the Marine Corps is about. He didn't tell us stories of great things he did, he told us a story about a Sgt who took care of him, was a great leader, and how he took care of him in the last moments he got to see him. Semper Fi to that Marine and his Sgt.

Motivation

Sorry it's been a few days. I have been off track on a lot of things, and trying to think of things to write for this was one of them. I initially had a good flow, but seemed to hit a block. I will try and get back there.


As a leader of Marines, it is your job to find what motivates people. Some need no other motivation than the fact that they're getting a paycheck and 30 days of paid leave a year. Others, not so much. As I became a leader of Marines, I found that sometimes a good swift kick in the ass motivated some to higher levels than they even expected. And I don't mean physically kicking someone. There's no better swift kick in the ass for a Marine than threatening his time off. And that proved to be an effective tool all around. But even that didn't work sometimes.

When I was promoted to Corporal, I became a Marine NCO and what is considered the beginning of Marine Corps leadership. NCO stands for Non-Commissioned Officer. I was now the first rung in the chain of command for a group of Marines. And they tested every ounce of leadership skill I could muster, lemme tell you! I had Marines who were constantly late, Marines that didn't take care of their uniforms, Marines that didn't take care of their bodies, but most of all I ran into Marines that didn't take care of one another. Attitudes are infectious, so I tried to be as positive a role model as could be. I showed up to work early, with a pressed uniform. I always maintained a good haircut, fresh shave, and was loud at all PT sessions. For some, this helped them along to want to be better Marines, but there were those few who still had their issues. One of those Marines was LCpl Hayes.

LCpl Hayes was from a small town in SC that was about 6 hours from Cherry Point. He was always late to work. I tried talking to him, yelling at him, others tried, but he just didn't seem to care. Hayes' father had died a few years earlier and had left a decent sum of money that was in his mothers control. He convinced his mother to give him some of it to buy a car, which made matters worse. You would think that with a car of his own, he would show up on time, but he used it as a tool to barely make it to work on time, if not late. And to top it off, now he had a vehicle to transport him from Cherry Point to SC where his "fiance' " lived. She was 18, just like he was, and twice as immature as he was. He brought her back with him a few times, and when he would get drunk and pass out, she was having fun with the other guys in the barracks by putting on stripteases and more. He was none the wiser. Everything with Hayes came to a head finally at the end of a nice, summers week of work.

During the summers in Cherry Point, the outdoor pool was turned into the training pool for the Water Survival Instructors. As marines, we were trained in many aspects of water survival, and had to be tested on these practices annually. Hayes, not being a very good swimmer, showed up one Monday at the pool and spent the whole week getting remediation from the swim instructors on what he needed to do just to pass the lowest level of swim qual. Some thought he was faking, which is a good possibility, but I knew he was frightened to death of the water and gave him the benefit of the doubt. So, he spent the whole week at the pool trying to make it. He failed. he was then made to go to another week of remediation. During this week, he was in contact with one of our Sergeants. He was then told to check in with me at the end of each day to update us on his progress, or lack thereof. Well, he would call and tell me had to be back the next day, but was progressively getting better. I stopped by the pool to check on him and they said he was getting better, so that was good. He called the Sergeant on Thursday and said if he was to make it through on Friday, what should he do? She told him that if he qualified in the morning to come back to work, but if it was the afternoon, to call her and she would tell him what to do, which would most likely be to just take the rest of the day off and be back to work Monday. I went to the barracks to inspect and ran into Hayes walking out to his car in civilian attire. I asked him what he was doing and where he was going. He lied and said that he was told he could leave when he was done. I asked if he was sure, and he said yes. So, I let him go. When I got back from lunch, I told the Sergeant what he said. She called his cell phone and told him that he needed to get back. He explained he was halfway home to SC and wasn't gonna be back until Monday. Then the shit hit the fan. GySgt Oglesby was told what happened and we called him all weekend telling him he needed to be back now and that he was in an Unautorized Status, or UA for short. All weekend, when he would answer the phone, was spent dealing with him in various states of drunkenness and emotion. He would be angry, then crying, then angry again, thinking we had done him wrong, when his instructions had been quite clear. Because he was UA, we had to let our Chain of Command know. Our Sgtmaj wanted to see him first thing Monday morning, with the rest of us, to read him his rights and begin the process of Non-Judicial Punishment. This is a form of punishment the Military has that is less than a court martial, for lesser offenses. Had Hayes been UA longer than 30 days, he would be considered a deserter and would have been subject to a Court Martial.

Well, Monday rolled around and he showed back up real early. We all met at the Squadron HQ and I pulled him aside and chewed his ass. By me seeing him last before he left, he essentially made me responsible for him. He apologized and said that he was upset with his fiance', the Marine Corps, our GySgt, lots of reasons. We went in to see the SgtMaj and he asked us each some questions about what happened. Hayes admitted he knew what he did was wrong, so he had his rights read to him. They are almost the same as Miranda Rights when you get arrested. We were then sent to work. When we got to work, a little while later in the morning, the GySgt wanted to talk to Hayes. He asked me to be there with him as a witness. Hayes exploded on him, telling him that he was gonna kick his ass because he hated him, etc. He weighed in at about 150 and the GySgt was about 100 lbs heavier. The conversation was over and Hayes was told that he was not allowed anywhere off base. We asked the Marines in the barracks to keep an eye out for him.

I was over at a friends house getting my hair cut when my wife called and said the Sergeant had called my house looking for me. Hayes was at the barracks and had she had gone to see him. He got confrontational and started yelling at her. He grabbed a bunji cord and ran into the head (bathroom), and locked the door. I got there just as this was happening. The two male Marines that were there had busted the door open and caught him trying to string himself up with a bunji cord on the shower pole! They both physically dragged him out into the room. I walked in and they were trying to get him to loosen his grasp. He was holding the cord on each end with it wrapped around his neck like 3 times. The two other guys tried but he had a tight grip. One looked at the other and said, "Watch this!" He grabbed the part of strap around his neck and pulled it about 6 inches from his neck and snapped it! Hayes screamed and let go of the strap. The Sergeant had run and called one of our SSgt's, since the GySgt would have been of no use to us. He talked to Hayes for a bit, calmed him down, then they brought him to our Squadron duty office for 24 hour surveillance. When it came time for his NJP, the Colonel restricted him, but didn't take any money because he had spoke to Hayes's mom and she would end up paying his bills if he lost money. The Colonel did actually take money, but suspended it. What that meant was Hayes had 6 months to keep his nose clean. If at any time during that 6 months he screwed up, he would have lost the money. Hayes managed to stay clean and we never really had any other problems with him. Hayes went on to get out of the Marine Corps and called me at one point after he had been out for a while. I remember not wanting to talk to him and caring less about how he was doing. I hate that I felt that way now.

Personal motivation was hard to come by sometimes. As a kid, I was never personally motivated to do much more than skate or chase after girls. And I was so awkward at it, both things. I went for shock value a lot of times. I don't remember this, but a good friend of mine once told me that when we first met in Journalism class when she first came to our school, I told her, "I am gonna rip your dress off." She swears I said it, and the more I think about it and think about my younger self, I probably did. Most of my motivation to do well as a kid was to stay off of restriction, which never seemed to work. I did poorly in school after 3rd grade. I think I looked at school as more of a social gathering than that of a place for learning. When you're in grade school, teachers seem motivated to teach you. You have one teacher, and they teach you everything. Middle school I had a few different teachers for specific topics, and then High School.....ugh.

I hated high school from the start. It wasn't too bad because some of the same kids carried over from middle school, but there were also kids from the other schools that came over. It was good to get to know some of them, but a lot were jerks. And the teachers.... Most could care less it seemed. here's the information, if you don't understand it, I will explain it again, and if you still have problems, then you're an idiot. My tolerance for the teachers dropped quickly. I failed everything in 9th grade except Art and Spanish. I guess I showed them, huh? I look back now and realize how stupid it was. But, like any other pubescent kid, I was trying to find my way. I got picked on a lot because I was just getting into punk music and was somewhat shunned by the punks as a poser, and the jocks and preppies were just jerks about it. One of the kids said to me one day, "What the fuck are you? One day you wear dock shoes and the next you wear converse? Make up your fucking mind." I didn't know I had to pick a side. So, that motivated me to like punk music all the more. It was all about anger and fuck you, at least at that time it was for me. I stopped caring about grades but was not a dumb kid. I retained enough to pass my tests and that's what kept me afloat. I also had a school counselor who seemed to care, which ended up helping a great deal. She was the mother of a friend and I was required to see her weekly because I had shit grades. She made me think a little bit, which was more than the teachers did. One teacher I had was the football coach. he and I REALLY didn't see eye to eye. One day about 3/4's of the way through the year we were taking a test and the kid behind me kept tapping my desk with his pencil. I told him to stop a few times. The teacher told me to quit talking. I told him what was going on and he said nothing to the kid. I have a feeling it was a set up. Finally I yelled at the kid and threatened to smack him. The teacher told me to get out, which reaffirmed my belief it was a set up. I told the vice principal what had happened and she believed me. Nothing ever came of it but more hatred for that teacher and others like him.
As time went on through school, I learned to channel the aggression and do just enough to get by. I did get a few teachers in school who did seem to care as time went on and I did better in those classes than others.

I look back on it all and try not to carry any ill will. I believe that had I had some sense of direction given to me at a younger age by parents and coaches and teachers, things may have been different. It really does make a difference in your life when you're given positive reinforcement and motivation to do well in things and have some direction. In no way am I blaming anyone for anything. We all make our own choices in life, but sometimes we need a little help. Children need it constantly. Teenagers need it sometimes. And adults often need it more than anyone else.

Jarhead, Gyrene, Devil Dog, Leatherneck...

And the list could go on in the different names people call Marines. All of these names and more are taught to new recruits as they make their transformation from civilian to Marine. In recruit training, great emphasis is placed on the history of the Marine Corps and all the battles we took place in and all the successes we had. Many times throughout history, famous people have spoken out about Marines and their exploits and traits. Here are a few:

There are only two kinds of people that understand Marines: Marines and the enemy. Everyone else has a second-hand opinion.
Gen. William Thornson, U.S. Army

The safest place in Korea was right behind a platoon of Marines. Lord, how they could fight!
MGen. Frank E. Lowe, USA; Korea, 26 January 1952

Why in hell can't the Army do it if the Marines can. They are the same kind of men; why can't they be like Marines.
Gen. John J. "Black Jack" Pershing, USA; 12 February 1918

The raising of that flag on Suribachi means a Marine Corps for the next five hundred years.
James Forrestal, Secretary of the Navy; 23 February 1945

The Marines I have seen around the world have the cleanest bodies, the filthiest minds, the highest morale, and the lowest morals of any group of animals I have ever seen. Thank God for the United States Marine Corps!
Eleanor Roosevelt, First Lady of the United States, 1945

Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference in the world. But, the Marines don't have that problem.
Ronald Reagan, President of the United States; 1985

I think you probably get the picture now. Marines love themselves and are taught to be that way. And it was something I bought into and took in. But the biggest hing I remember was being taught that if a Marine needs something, other Marines will make sure he gets it. In boot camp, if someone was in need, we would open or footlockers and look for it, or go into our gear locker and see if we had it on a shelf. And all Marines, whether right or wrong, had the backing of other Marines, whether you knew them or not, because we were a Band of Brothers. You mess with one, you mess with us all. This became apparent to me one night on the town in Barstow, Ca. We had just had a Mess Night, a Marine ritual where we get together, eat, drink and share in the traditions we know as Marines. We went out in town afterward, and there were some Army guys from Fort Irwin in town. One came up to me, I was in uniform, looks at me and says, "What the fuck are you guys doing here? This is an Army bar!" I looked at him and laughed and said, "Dude, we are 5 minutes from here. You guys are 45 minutes. You tell me how that works?" Over my shoulder, my GySgt whispers, "Hey, I got your back...." I looked at him and said, "Hey, you're supposed to be talking me OUT of shit like this!" Nothing came of it, but it proved to me even more that marines take care of one another, right or wrong.

I don't believe that graduation day from boot camp, that day you "officially" become a Marine is the day you really know it. Yes, you get to wear the uniform and are part of the club, but you don't actually really feel it until later on. It took me three years before I looked in the mirror and really realized what I was a part of. And I loved it. I remember, shortly after being promoted to Lance Corporal, the Sergeants put me in charge of PT. It was supposed to be a learning experience for me, to actually do the drill movements required to form the Marines for PT, to give the right commands at the right time, etc. I nailed it. Everyone was pretty impressed by it and I got many compliments. Made me feel good, like I had really accomplished something. Something I never got out of High School or anything I really did up to that point.

I had really great mentors at my first duty station. Young or old, they all seemed to take me under their wing and teach me the ins and outs of daily life as a Marine. Some brought me into their homes and fed my family on holidays, others just by their sheer presence commanded respect and admiration from the Marines. Even when I screwed up, there was someone there to help me lick my wounds and tell me what I needed to do to recover from it and move on in life. GySgt Hunsinger, who later went on to become a SgtMaj, gave me the best advice that I never forgot. I had screwed up and had to go see the Battalion SgtMaj. He told me to find a spot on the wall and stare at it while I took my ass chewing. Man, did I EVER get my ass reamed that day. Afterward, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "If it ever comes down to getting an ass chewing or having paperwork go in your record, take the ass chewing. Ass grows back!" Words to live by!

GySgt Eshom was another role model for me. He had been a DI and I admired that from the start, but as I got to know him, I respected him for way more than that. He took me under his wing and taught me so much more than anyone had. And he did it willingly, not because he had to. One day, he was joking with me and threw a dry sponge at me from across the room. His way of keeping it light because we were about to undergo Field Day. Field Days sucked, because we took everything out of our offices every Thursday and cleaned from top to bottom. That way, Friday we would get inspected and could go on with the weekend and come back to a clean office space Monday. Well, after he hucked the sponge at me, which was still dehydrated, he yelled my name. I looked and as I turned, the sponge smacked me in the eyeball. My eye was open. It hurt so bad! I grabbed my face and yelled out. He came running to me and was apologizing the whole way. He walked me himself to our Navy Corpsman to get my eye looked at. After the doc looked at me and determined it was ok, he asked if I wanted to play a joke. I was hesitant but thought, what the hell, could be fun. So, we grabbed up the safety guy and had an incident report written up. Then, the doc wrapped my head up with gauze and said he was taking me to medical for further testing. When I walked out of doc's office, SSgt Eshom, who had recently been selected for GySgt, freaked out! He said, "WHAT'S WRONG!" Doc told him I probably had a scratched Cornea and needed further care. Well, Eshom said ok, headed back to our office and slammed the door! He then walked over to his desk and threw everything off of it to the floor and kicked his chair over! We went and I hid in another office for a while. I started to feel bad after that. Maybe it wasn't a good idea? In the meantime, doc went and informed our Captain what was going on. SSgt Eshom came out of his office and went to the Captain and closed the door. He began to spill his guts about what had happened and said that he would take whatever punishment fit and that he knew his selection to the next rank might be taken away. I started to feel REALLY awful after that. I don't quite remember how it came about, but he had done something to me earlier that week and said that I could pay him back. I was using this "injury" as a payback, but he had taken it too personal. When he came out of the Captains office,we were all sitting waiting, and I said, "Paybacks a bitch, huh boss?" He was LIVID! He looked at me and said, "That is FUCKED up!", and walked straight into our 1stSgt's office and slammed the door. We all looked at one another and didn't know what to say. The Captain came out and said he would be ok, but we thought differently. I think the 1stSgt pointed out to him that maybe he had become too close with me and the junior Marines, because from that day forward it was all business. He eventually lightened up, but it was a huge scare for him. I still feel bad to this day for putting him through it, but it was just good fun, or was meant to be. I still keep in touch with him to this day. Not as often as I should, but we talk.

After leaving the great leadership I had in California, I checked into Marine Wing Communications Squadron, 28 in Cherry Point, NC. I found out what it was like to have a boss NOT to emulate. GySgt Oglesby was his name. He was about 6'4" and was extremely overweight. Turns out he was on the ROAD; Retired On Active Duty. What that meant was he was just waiting for his retirement date to get here so he could punch his ticket out. This guy had very little leadership skills, if any, and the ones he may have had were in the form of intimidation. He had spent a lot of time out of our job specialty being a recruiter and such, and was not very confident in leading us and teaching us when we had questions about things. And the fact that he was overweight, we had to follow him during formation runs. Most of us were in decent shape, if not good or great shape, and all those runs just hurt. Not running to your potential can actually take a toll on your legs, so maybe I did learn something from him, but inadvertently. But it was not by a good example I learned. After he finally retired, I got another great leader in GySgt Pluchinsky. He had also been a DI and carried himself very well. He put up with no slack from anyone. After a few months of being there, I was a Corporal by this time, he had asked if I had ever thought of being a DI. I told him it was my main goal as a Marine. He took me under his wing and showed me what it was to be a Marine Sergeant, he knew our job and kept us on top of the game. Where we had failed in other inspections, he helped us pass. He MADE us pass. Marines don't fail, and he proved that to us through physical and mental leadership. I ran into him again in Okinawa. He was a 1stSgt by then and ready to retire, but he didn't rest on his ass. he was a Marine until the end. He went on to teach Junior ROTC and came to Parris Island while I was there working at the pool. It was good to see him still teaching the Marine Corps values to young people.

Tomorrow, I will get into working with Marine Corps Reserves. Not sure where I will begin with that one. Let's just say it was an eye opener.

Disenchanted.

–verb (used with object) to rid of or free from enchantment, illusion, credulity, etc.; disillusion: The harshness of everyday reality disenchanted him of his idealistic hopes.


The few of you who have been reading may wonder where I came up with the title Disenchantment. Well, I am going to spend the next few days trying to explain. I has to do with my love / hate relationship with the US Marine Corps. And truthfully, it's not so much with the organization but more with the people and what I saw happening from the inside.

I never had any intentions of joining any military. My dad was in the Navy and he worked goofy hours and had to leave every two years for 6 months. I know that a lot of kids have it worse in the military with their parent gone for longer stretches, but I still didn't like it. I was in a small town, not going to college, working menial jobs in the food industry, and my buddy asked me one day to go to the recruiter with him. He had already signed up and was on delayed entry, which means he was just waiting for them to tell him when he was good to leave for Boot Camp. I decided in a short time that I was going in. The recruiter was nothing spectacular. He wasn't a square jawed, chiseled machine that chewed up metal and spit out nails as I imagined a lot of Marines were. He was a smart guy, not big at all. I had probably signed up before I hit the door. Anyways, he asked when I wanted to leave. I told him I was in no big hurry, so he put me on delayed entry as well. I was in his office on a Friday and got my physical Tuesday. Sept 7th, 1988. I left for Boot Camp Feb 15th, 1989.

On 16 Feb 1989 I began my journey as a Marine. I wasn't able to sleep at all on the plane ride to Charleston, SC. Once there we were met at the plane by a Marine Sergeant who promptly told us to sit down, shut up and speak to no one. An old lady came up to me and asked me the time. I just stared into space. The Sergeant informed her of the time and she went away, probably understanding who we were. Shortly after we were herded into a room in the lower part of the airport where others were waiting to go to boot camp as well. We were allowed to read from the books we were soon to become well acquainted with, our Marine Handbooks. Our bibles. I didn't take much interest in it. I really don't remember what I thought. We were taken to a bus and told to get on, sit down and shut up.

The ride was dark and uneventful. Hardly any street lights on the drive south on 17. I tried to sleep, unsuccessfully. Once we got to the gate of Parris Island, everyone was awake and tense. Most knew what to expect. I had watched Full Metal Jacket and truthfully, I had fallen asleep. I just knew I was about to get a wake up call. We pulled up to the Receiving Building and stopped. Out came a DI, in full stride, to "greet" us. He stepped onto the bus and said, "SIT UP STRAIGHT AND GET YOUR EYES ON ME RIGHT NOW! WELCOME TO PARRIS ISLAND SOUTH CAROLINA. FROM NOW ON, EVERYTHING YOU SAY WILL END WITH THE WORD SIR, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!?" We responded with what we thought was a loud, "YES,SIR!" Of course, as I was about to learn, it was not good enough. He shot back with, 'I DIDN'T HEAR YOU! OPEN YOUR MOUTHS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?" To which we screamed, "YES, SIR!" "WHEN I TELL YOU TO MOVE, YOU WILL QUICKLY GET OFF OF MY BUS AND GET OUTSIDE AND STAND WITH YOUR FEET AT A 45 DEGREE ANGLE WITH YOUR HEELS TOGETHER ON MY YELLOW FOOTPRINTS, KEEPING YOUR HEAD AND EYES STRAIGHT TO THE FRONT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?" Seemed to me this guy had a problem with whether or not we could understand him. But, we obliged by screaming, "YES, SIR!" Apparently someone didn't because they stood up to move before he told us. "SIT DOWN! I DIDN'T SAY MOVE YET!" Guess this was going to be a big game of Simon Says. He sat back down quickly. "READY, MOVE!" We all got up and ran to the front of the bus, bumping into everything in our path trying to get outside, except the DI. He made it abundantly clear we were to stay far away from him as he screamed at us because we were moving too slow.

Once outside, we all stood like statues, only our eyeballs daring to move to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on around us. The DI continued, "WHEN I TELL YOU TO MOVE, YOU WILL FILE OFF, STARTING WITH THE RANK CLOSEST TO THE BUILDING, SINGLE FILE AND STAND NEXT TO MY CHAIRS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!?" Not only did he need reassurance that we understood everything he was saying, everything belonged to him. "YES, SIR!" We went in and were told to sit down. We were then told to count out loud from front to rear to be assigned a number. Even though we had all screamed we understood, some folks didn't seem to and screwed up the count. We were made to start over again, after that person was warned that he was not to do it again, ever so politely. When we finally got through it, we were to take the markers we had on our desk and write the number we screamed on the back of our right hand. This was our identifier, for the time being. We filled out paperwork, then some more, and then another set. Apparently the Government needs a whole lot more than just your signature on a piece of paper that says, "I DO." Then we were swept off for haircuts. Well, scalping should be the term. Sit down, smock on, hair zapped completely off. We were told by the DI to put our fingers on any moles or bumps so the barber wouldn't get them. Some just can't listen. I saw a few gushers bleeding out pretty good. I had a mohawk that was grown out, but still kind of there, and the barber looked at me and said, "What kind of haircut is this?!?" I just sat down and let him do his deed. I felt like MY head was bleeding when I got up. Then off to get uniforms and boots. What a cluster. Everyone standing around in their underwear as we packed up our old clothes and put on new uniforms. Everything smelled like moth balls.

We were all herded into squad bays. This is where we would spend our time while in Receiving. During receiving we did more paperwork, saw dentists and doctors, received numerous shots, and filled out more paperwork. Our Receiving DI looked like Sergeant Carter from the tv show Gomer Pyle. I ran into him years later when I was a DI at Parris Island. His wife was the Generals Secretary. I spoke to him for a few minutes and headed on my way. Not the guy I remembered from 1989, that's for sure. We had all received penicillin shots whether we needed them or not, and the DI was going to let us know how to get that lump of what felt like Peanut Butter out of asses, but only if someone didn't screw up. Well, of course someone screwed up. So, when we were sitting on our footlockers, we all leaned to one side. One day while showering, one of the guys that made the trip with me from MD to PI walked by and smacked me in the spot where I got the shot where I got my shot. My brain froze and everything went white, it hurt so bad. I turned around and lunged at him, swinging at air as he jumped back. I don't think he realized just what he had done. We scuffled a little bit on the stair well later that day too, but never anything after.

One night, before we were to hit the rack, we were told to stand on line in our underwear and shower shoes (flip flops). I know now that we all got numerous inspections, in various states of dress and undress. Seemed like everyone wanted to look at mostly naked guys all the time. It is actually a necessity to ensure no one shows up with any creepy crawlies or deformities that may have been missed or occurred after their initial physicals. So, there we were on line, staring across at a spot on the wall to ensure not to make eye contact with the guy across from you. A short black DI came in and walked slowly down the line, looking each one of us over. When he got to me, he saw my Iron Cross tattooed on my upper right arm. He stared at it, then at my face, then back at it. He said to me, "What is THAT supposed to stand for?!?" I told him it was from the band Warzone and the cross stood for strength and the flag inside stood for America. I don't know if that's what they intended it to stand for, but that was my interpretation at that moment, trying not to seem like a Neo-Nazi. that subject had been the topic of many talk shows in the late 80's. I just wanted to show my love for a band, and now I was defending my tattoo. Thanks, Hitler! He moved on after pinching my arm, right over the tattoo. Little did I know that he was to be my Senior Drill Instructor, the man I was to look up to for the next 12 weeks.

Pickup day came and we were all herded to our new home. 3rd deck of barracks F. The F stood for Fox Company, 2nd Recruit Training Battalion. We all sat down in rows, just like everything we always had done up until then. Covered and aligned. Out comes walking the short black DI who had pinched my arm and two other black DI's. I thought, "Oh noooooo......he has definitely told these other guys about me......" I knew for sure I was gonna leave there big and strong. If not in a cast of some sort. SDI SSgt Jones, DI Sgt Fletcher and DI SSgt Mitchell were there names. I didn't list them in the wrong order. You see, PI was one of the places where rank had a very little to do with much, it was how long you had on island and how many platoons you had done. So, Sgt Fletcher was our "Heavy", or second in charge. Pretty much the guy who was to teach us everything. The SDI, he is our big daddy. He is the one we take problems too, who talks to us at night, passes out our mail, etc. The 3rd Hat is the terror. he is there to make your life miserable. And he was good at it. they all were. So much so, that at the end of it all, I told my mom I wanted to come back and be a DI. I loved it. I was hooked.

You are probably wondering how this plays into my "Dienchantment"? Well, it's a long story, drawn out over 20 years. i am going to write a little each day about it for the next few. I loved the Corps, I hated the Corps. I loved it because of the people I met while in it. I hate it because of the people that are in it, if that makes any sense.

To be continued...

Breaking the seal

Breaking the seal can have so many implications. Most college kids or beer drinkers probably know it as that first piss you take after you have been drinking for a while. And breaking the seal does not mean a good thing. It means the first of many trips to the bathroom to relieve your bladder of the onslaught of beer you're dumping on it. What some may not know is the reason why this happens. When we drink beer, we drink one after another. Your body does what it does with it and dumps it into your bladder. You don't feel the need to pee until you have overextended and stretched your bladder. When you finally DO break the seal, you don't empty your bladder all the way, thereby causing it to fill up quicker than usual.

I first broke the seal at 14 years old. Me, Ray, and a bunch of friends who were Base Brats sat at Ray's house one summers day while parents were off working with a case of Michelob and a 5th of Bacardi Rum. We sat and drank and played games, acting like we were adults, the oldest of us 16? It got to the point that the Bacardi numbed my mouth so much, I could take a sip of it and drink down a whole Michelob, which I was having a hard time drinking because of the carbonation. I am unsure how much I drank out of all of it, but I do remember being outside and stumbling around. I had to go home for dinner not too long later and have no idea how my mom didn't smell it on me. After dinner I promptly went into the bathroom and threw up my pizza and salad. I cleaned up what I thought was good, but forgot the underside of the rim. My mom asked who got sick, but my brother and I just denied it. I didn't wanna fess up to it obviously because that would bring questions as to why.

From that point on we drank as often as we could. It was the "cool" thing to do. From the jar of moonshine in Ray's dads liquor cabinet, to the cases of beer Mike stole from his dads Christmas party that we hid in the snow (frozen Budweiser is NOT good). I feel bad for the parents when they went to make a drink from the bottles we kept refilling with water! Of course, that only worked with the clear booze, so never really had whiskey. Mostly rum, vodka and beer. Beer was an easy commodity it seemed. Someone always had an older brother or sister, fake ID, or even a store that would sell to you just because you had the money. Get it and go before anyone asked questions. It seemed that it was a goal for most of us to see when and where we were gonna party and who was gonna get shitfaced. I remember my friend Matt got a case of Michelob from someone one night and we drove around. I drank all 24 beers in about 4 hours. The old me would brag about that and high five. My friend Brian and I our Senior Year would treat ourselves on payday weekends. We would buy a 6 pack of Corona as our good beer to get a buzz with and then drink a 12 pack of Schaefer each. So, 18 beers each. If it wasn't a payday weekend, then usually just the Schaefer was had. I continued this tradition of drinking to get fucked up for a long time after. So much so, it was a hindrance to my life, and I never paid any attention to it. I ruined parties, birthdays, holidays, you name it, I did it. Whether it was talking shit, throwing up, passing out, whatever. I actually set a womans hair on fire at a party once, just because.

I recognized and admitted to being an alcoholic a few years back. But the problems started way, way back. I was a new Marine and living in California. I got a DUI 2 days before Xmas at 20 years old. 4 months later I got busted walking home with beer, still at 20 years old. I got sent to alcohol classes, where I was to attend AA meetings. All I had to do was show up and listen. Pretty scary stories going on. I also had to sit through group therapy and classes every week. Because I used to work for the Major who assigned me the classes and he just wanted me to have info as I was, "An impressionable young Marine, trying to find my way", I only had to go to 3 months worth of classes vice 12. During that 3 months, I learned to dislike group sessions. We were allowed to speak to a higher ranking Marine in any manner we liked and call her by her first name. We were supposed to be open and honest about everything so we could cleanse the soul. I asked her one day if she drank, and she refused to answer. She told us all rules applied to everyone in the room, yet she refused to answer me. I really disliked this and thought it was unfair. I was told that anyone who thinks about a drink is an alcoholic, even if they have never had a drink. What sense does that make? I know, I screwed up and it was meant to help, but it seemed to be some good mixed in with a lot of BS to me. Especially since I was 20 and knew everything anyways.

And the military didn't help matters much. Just about every boss I had was a drunk. They promoted the base Club System by sponsoring Bosses Night or Right Arm night, where you take your boss or right hand and go for drinks. Of course, everyone was welcome. Go to dinner at someones house? Beers. Go to a going away picnic for someone? Beers. And what used to BURN the guys I worked with that were single? I was underage, living in base housing and could have all the beer and liquor I wanted, yet they were living in the barracks and weren't allowed any alcohol at ALL in the barracks. None. Zero. Nada. Their arguments weren't pointed at me, but I got some dirty looks from time to time.

After California, it didn't stop, it just got worse. I partied all the time in NC. It's a wonder I remained married. I guess I felt like I was missing out on the party life. Same thing in Washington State, yet we usually got together with other families. One birthday I drank a bottle of Mezcal and ate the worm. I don't remember eating the worm, but I guess I promptly threw up right after. I awoke the next morning on my couch. My wife was none too pleased as it was a Sunday and at midnight she thought she was in labor and couldn't wake me up. Good thing my daughter waited until Monday to come out. What a fucking jerk. I look at it now as I write and want to punch myself in the face. But that didn't stop it. I was the senior man on a color guard. We were requested to present the National Colors to the Maxio Facial Surgeons Convention in Seattle. I had done all the phone calls to set it up. The gentleman assured me they had stands to hold the flag once I marched it onto the stage. Once I got onstage, I realized the stand was way too small to handle our flags. Right up in front I heard one of the surgeons say, "I knew we should have had the Army do it...." I was pissed off to the max now, on top of embarrassed. When I got out of the room, the gentleman who was taking care of us set us up in the bar with an open tab. Jack and Cokes please, one every 5 minutes. And so it started. Once their speaker was done, we were invited to drink and eat upstairs at the buffet and open bar. We drank the bar out of Jack Daniels, AND, one of the bartenders was a former Marine in the unit I was in. So, the drinks were strong. I ended up in the passengers seat of the van somehow, after picking a couple of fights I guess, and threw up all over the door and my uniform. Real classy. Another stellar moment. And still there's more.

I went to Japan without my family. They went to SOMD while I went to Camp Kinser, Okinawa, Japan. I actually maintained better over there. I was assigned so many billets and stayed pretty busy getting ready for DI school, I didn't drink too crazy. Not hair and fire crazy anyways. In fact, I stayed in my room and drank 98% of the time. The other times were with my friend Malcolm for a pint of Guiness on a Sunday afternoon, or the requisite Bosses night, etc. Miller Lite was only 2 dollars a 6 pack, so that was usually my beer of choice.

I don't really want to go on with the stories anymore. I am sitting here thinking about the harm I have done to myself and to friends and family. I know what I have done. I pretend I have it under control. Just because I acknowledged it. But I know it's in me. The seal was broken a long time ago. I am not sure I want it resealed. To forget your past condemns you to repeat it, or something to that effect.

Pain

In my head.

In my back

In my knees.

In my feet.

Not enough Calgon in the world.

Old Art

Today I decided to post up some old art from High School. (Click the pic for the full version.)

This was an India Ink Project for art class. Got the idea from a picture that was already made for the band.




These are mini flyers for the band I wrote about before. Toby Morse drew the picture originally and I printed them out in printing class. Took a pen, did some touching up, viola!



This was an album cover of a band and I liked the picture. I drew it with an ink pen and red marker. I don't know where the trees shadow is....




Pushead is an artist who did a lot of skateboard graphics. He did artwork for Metallica and some other bands as well. This was one of his skulls I drew with a number 2 pencil.



I believe Toby drew part of this. Punks n skins I call it!




I made a screen of this in printing class. I told all my friends to bring in white tee shirts and made a lot of shirts. I think I put it on jean jacket. This is a piece of card stock.




Last but not least, this is a plexiglass etching done in printing class. We took a piece of plexiglass, reversed your picture, cut it out with an exacto knife and then scratched the glass. Once the glass was scratched you run ink over it to fill the grooves.

As you can tell, I liked the Circle Jerks!

Just thought I would share these and maybe spark a few memories for the 3 of you reading!