 |
|
| I think there is something important to realize
as you read David Head’s stories. Here is a guy who ended up making a career out of
the Marine Corps. He retired as a Msgt. He obviously was a good Marine and I’m sure
he was an excellent recruit. The point that shouldn’t be missed here is that no
matter how well you do in your training...there is no escaping the wrath of these
DI’s. "My drill instructor, and I won’t name any names, had two pet punishments he just seemed to love to dish out," David explained. "One favorite punishment was to put a pillow case over our heads and then use his cartridge belt with a canteen full of water to hit us in our bellies. If we fell down then we had to stand and get it again. This would continue until we (individually) could take a hit without falling down." David informed me. "His second favorite punishment was to have us put our elbows on his wall locker in his duty hut. We would have to hang there for ten or fifteen minutes without falling off. He would just sit there and do his paper work while a Private or two hung from the locker," David paused. "The more somebody fell off the locker, the longer the punishment would last. I only fell once!" said David with a sense of satisfaction. |
|
A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE
John Reastat was from Naperville, IL. We met at a very busy truckstop just off of I-55 about 15 miles southwest of Chicago. The place was crowded and I was already there waiting for John to show up. I kept stretching my neck looking at every truck and car that pulled into the lot. I had never met John, only spoke with him on the phone. But I knew I would recognize him when he arrived because he was carrying that big red yearbook that they used to issue to the recruits after graduation from boot camp. After a twenty minute wait in strolled a guy with the book under his arm and eyes that darted all over the restaurant searching for somebody: me to be exact. John had gone through boot camp at San Diego, CA in 1965. He sat down and it was like two old friends meeting. He couldn’t wait to show me the yearbook. And I couldn’t wait to see it because mine had been destroyed in a flood at my house years earlier.
We looked at the various obstacles that we had somehow learned to master some thirty years ago. The things that seemed impossible back then were history to us. Somehow the Marine Corps and the drill instructors motivated us to accomplish everything that they demanded of us in order to be called Marines. As I sat there and turned the pages, John looked on and commented about almost every phase of our training. It was like a friend showing you their old family album. And in reality the Marine Corps is like a family. Somehow you never forget names, faces, and events that took place no matter how long ago.
Jim seemed to be more informed about the guys in his boot camp platoon over the years. I only met two guys, by accident, after getting out of the service.
The first guy he pointed to had been killed in Viet Nam. He didn’t go into any details but I could see from the expression on his face that he really didn’t feel like talking about it.
The second guy he recognized in the book was somebody he had continued to know in civilian life. He mention how he had introduced him to a business associate. Then he lost track of him. But later found out the business associate had gotten mixed up in drug dealing. His buddy from the Corps had been into finances. Appearently the lure of money was too much. The guy ended up in prison for luandering drug money. Strange, and unfortunate, how some people’s lives end up.
When John was asked what boot camp experience stuck out in his mind he didn’t hesitate for a second. "They had us write home, about two or three weeks before Christmas, to tell our families not to send any gifts or packages. My mother in her wisdom decided that I was in need of a fruit cake," he said with a laugh. "We were up at the rifle range in Pendelton when my fruit cake arrived. All I can recall was the three DI’s had me in their quarters kneeling on the floor. They were stuffing the cake in my mouth. Then I had hot water to wash it down....and an occasional punch in the stomach. That wasn’t to help me digest it...it was just part of the procedure."
 |
Retired Msgt. Les Kenny wasn’t afraid when he goofed up. "I was at Parris Island and my troops were up on the third deck. I had this one big African American kid that was screwing up something terrible. So these recruits had to come running upstairs with their sea bags. This kid gets up there and I stopped him. I said, ‘Pvt. your sea bag is down on the deck go get it!’. He went running down the stairs hoisted up his bag and ran back up. He got up there and the bag went flying over the railing again," Les laughed as he related the tale. "it was about 105 degrees that day in PI. By the time he made his fifth trip, he was ready to collapse. I was going to do it one more time. I tossed the bag over the railing and, whoops, there was another private coming out of the barracks. He went flat to the deck. The ambulance came and took him to sick bay. I was filling out papers all week-end after that incident." My guess is that there should have been somebody down there yelling "In coming..."; that way everybody else would have run for cover. |
