As I Pondered

[scrap]

On one of my replies to a Patriot post I said I should post a thread of my own about something , so here it is.

Last Christmas my wife bought me a book, one I'm sure you all have heard of.
Chicken Soup for the Veterans Soul was the title.

Being a Vet. myself as I'm sure most of you know by now,I inhaled the book in one sitting.

I had to wipe the sweat out of my eyes on more than one occasion as I read it.

Anyway my point is that it gave me some incentive to put down in words a story I've been telling for years about Parris Island.

It's not your normal how hard it was there kind of story.

It has my take on how I was affected when my personal habits collided with the Marine Corps.
I put a little humor in it to keep the readers attention but not alot.

There are people on this forum alot more educated than myself and I was hoping I could get a few of them to critique (sp) my short story.

I will await some responses before I proceed.

Bear in mind I have never tried my hand at writing before and have no ambition to go any further with a career in this field as I'm sure you will agree after perusing the story.

Thanks in advance.

[Patriot]

Scrap:

What a great idea on your part!

I'd love to hear more of your story. I'm sure we all would. There's nothing like first-hand accounts which grab the interest of genuine readers, and stories such as the one you're writing are actually in high demand. You see them on the shelves at bookstores like Barnes and Noble: written by ordinary vets who give readers a picture of the "real thing" and how it impacted them, what their thoughts on the country and government are, etc. You might want to post some of it in this thread-- believe me, we're not out to correct wording. I'd just like to read what you have to say on the whole deal.

[scrap]

Patriot:

Thanks for your response and interest.
Just keep in mind that this is not a deep and profound journalistic endeavor but merely a short story on one specific area of Boot Camp and how it affected me.

I have to put a new hard drive in my computer tomorrow so I may be delayed in responding but don't let that stop anyone else from responding whose interested in reading a tale from the past allbeit a true tale.

[Patriot]

Scrap:

Just keep in mind that this is not a deep and profound journalistic endeavor but merely a short story on one specific area of Boot Camp and how it affected me.

Bullshit. If it's about a jarhead, by a jarhead, it can't get better or more authentic. Screw journalism; let's get to the real thing. Oorah.

[Ian]

^^^My sentiments exactly!

I'd love to read your account scrap and don't feel self conscious about how your first attempt is going to measure up to Maya Angelou or Toni Morrison.

[midcan5]

Just do it.

[scrap]

Patriot I thank you for your kind words after getting your sneak reading, also I made the small correction you brought up.

Midcan "just do it" sounds like a commercial line on T.V.

Ian I haven't heard back from you yet so I'll just forge ahead.

Well with a little moral support from Patriot I will post my little story and hope you all get some enjoyment from it.

Honest responses only, one way or the other. I'm a big boy and I can take it.


The Quest

The bus was brimming with conversation and anticipation. I spoke with those around me in hopes of gaining some insight on what to expect, but we were obviously all in the same boat having never experienced this ride before. As we arrived at the gates of our destination the noise level dwindled. The queasy feeling in my stomach and the tension I was feeling were rising at an alarming rate, as the bus slowed and finally stopped. I watched my fellow travelers all wide eyed and deathly quiet and hoped that I didn't look as nervous as they did. The bus door opened, a booming voice interrupted my thoughts and life as I knew it had changed. I got my first look at a Marine Corps Drill Instructor.
With heart pounding and nerves getting more frayed by the minute, I managed to get off the bus. I placed my feet in a set of yellow footprints stenciled on the concrete for our benefit, all the while trying to process what their booming voices were saying. The only thing I knew for certain is that I had reached my destination, Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. My story unfolded some thirty odd years ago but anyone who's experienced Marine Corps boot camp will tell you the same thing - you never forget.

Food is the root of my story but forgive me if I back up a bit so you get the whole picture. I received one piece of advice from a former Marine before leaving home. He advised me to stay in the background and maintain a low profile. His logic being the less the drill instructors notice you the better off you are. After getting off the bus and seeing them I thought that this was sound advice indeed.

The military was not necessarily the norm in my family. My dads flat feet kept him out and one of my brothers served in the Navy, so it was a bit of an oddity for me to join the Corps..Maybe in my heart I knew I needed it to help straighten me out, or maybe it was the "challenge" of making it through. The latter being one of my recruiters terms, another being "We know it's not for everyone so don't feel bad if you don't think you can handle it". Down went the gauntlet and out came my male pride. They must teach those poster boys just the right words and phrases to use in recruiter school.

I grew up in a home with six kids two parents and various pets so I was accustomed to yelling and screaming, but nothing could have prepared me for the next few months.

Being a product of the sixties my hair and sideburns were long even by civilian standards so you can imagine how my appearance was embraced by the Marine Corps. I promptly received a razor ( the same one that had been used by recruits since day one) and was told to shave off the sideburns. I managed to hack them off without the benefit of water or shaving cream. The fear I was experiencing far outweighed the pain on my face. The so called barbers had a field day with the rest. About this time I was wondering how I had missed out on my Dads flat feet.

I won't bore you with all the details of everyday life in boot camp but I would like to touch upon one subject that is near and dear to my heart- eating.

When I arrived at Parris Island I weighed approximately one hundred sixty pounds and stood six feet tall. A little on the lean side your thinking and yes I've heard all the skinny jokes throughout life. My own Grandmother told me I would have to stand in two places if I expected to throw one shadow. I've never understood how I could match fork for fork with just about anyone at the table and not put any weight on, it was just a fact of life for me. The Drill Instructors labeled me a skinny body which entailed me saying skinny body over and over as I went through the chow line and the food was piled on my plate. The flip side to this was the overweight guys had to yell fat body and were given smaller portions to eat. As you can imagine, with my love for food and healthy appetite, this seemed the perfect fit.

There were about ninety recruits in our platoon when we started and that number dwindled as time went on. Our platoon consisted of four squads of men evenly divided and we lined up in formation accordingly. One need only imagine civilians thrown into military life to understand the chaos of our first attempts at organized formations. For the first few days we all lined up in the same squad but not necessarily in the same order. I positioned myself in the middle or to the rear remembering my friends advice.

The amount of physical training and the toll it took on my stomach was astounding. The heat, humidity and bugs of a South Carolina summer are tough during the best of times. These were not the best of times. They were good about taking us to chow three times a day and I followed my orders by yelling skinny body. What I didn't take into account was the amount of time we were given to eat. No matter how quickly I ate I couldn't get through it all before I heard our Drill Instructors (D.I.s) screaming at us to get out in formation. As I mentioned I came from a big family so getting more to eat was a puzzle I had solved in the past. The only solution I could arrive at was to get into the chow hall sooner but to do that I had to move up in the squad.

I began lining up closer to the front but not close enough to draw attention to myself, maybe third or fourth. Soon after and unexpectedly our positions in the squad became permanent.The person in the first position is designated as squad leader. The leaders responsibilities included maintaining order and keeping infractions to a minimum in his squad. As you can imagine this person was well known to the D.I.s. The problem I was facing became apparent as each squad leader in turn was sent to the rear for not taking care of business and everyone moved up one position. This was something I hadn't taken into consideration in my quest for more food. I was being propelled forward by attrition.

Inevitably I found myself facing my worst nightmare.This rabid looking, Smokey the Bear hat wearing ,obnoxious D.I. was actually speaking directly to me, (more like screaming), asking me if I could do the job of squad leader. There was only one possible answer, one doesn't say no to a drill instructor. I now found myself in the unenviable position of being known, the one thing I was told not to do.

The positive slant to this is I increased my food intake, the downside was that with responsibility comes accountability. I paid the price on a few occasions for a problem in my squad but it went with the territory. The squad leaders also took corrective actions in the wee hours of the morning.Those of you who have gone through boot camp will understand what the last two phrases mean.Those of you that don't will just have to use your imaginations. I managed to remain squad leader for the remainder of my stay. I figured they stuck with me because they were running out of choices.

I graduated boot camp at one hundred eighty pounds and extremely fit, it seemed that my quest for food certainly paid off. The daily regimen of a recruits physical training and lifestyle is a more plausible explanation.I'll leave it to the readers to decide for themselves.Of course there's always the option of enlisting and basing your opinion from that perspective.I would certainly recommend that approach. We were transformed into well oiled Marines and won a lot of the competitions with other platoons. I was promoted out of boot camp which led to other leadership roles because of rank.

It was mentally and physically tough as any who have gone through it will attest, and I was a better person for having undergone it.The term "life altering experience" may be a bit strong but it's as close as I can come to explaining the transformation. It's funny how a search for more food helped shape my entire life.

The discipline learned and the importance of integrity instilled during my tour of duty has served me well in my civilian career and throughout my life. For me the food quest will always be considered my starting point. The best two things to ever happen to me were marrying my wife and becoming a Marine, and I won't begin to speculate on the order of importance. Boy wait till my wife reads that line. I'm back to my normal weight now but on occasion as I go through a buffet line I'm tempted to yell skinny body and see what the reaction would be. I'm sure if there was a Marine in the place he'd understand.

Semper Fi

Mike

[Ian]

scrap, sorry for not responding but I haven't been to the site for a little while and never received a "sneak reading" in PM.

Anyway, let me be the first to say I really enjoyed that. I especially responded to the having to shave off your sideburns without water or shaving cream because my dad went through the same thing. I don't believe I would subtract anything, but at times while I was reading there was a very personal tone yet at other times it felt rather impersonal so you might want to add some unique personal experiences (stories about your friends or various trials and triumphs).

Overall I would have to say it was very enjoyable and a great addition to the site. Thanks!

PS: Even this kid is cheering you on and he doesn't even speak English!

www.putfile.com/media.php?n=cute75

[Patriot]

Excellent story there, Scrap. It brings back memories of my own.

It's the small details which loom so large, when you look back.

When I reported to The Citadel as a freshman, I only weighed 132 pounds-- 8 pounds below the minimum ROTC requirement. Didn't have a lot of muscle and, after Hell Week, I could barely pull the chamber back on my M-1 Garand.

The one thing that really sticks out in my mind is that salty taste in the mouth that comes with dehydration and immense physical exertion. Sometimes I'll go without water and push myself to the max these days just to re-acquire that salty burn in the mouth, Makes me feel alive again.

Those were the days, that's for sure. I wasn't a "model" plebe. Unfortunately I didn't know about the "blending in" concept to avoid unwanted attention. Got so bad that every time the Company would form up for Mess 2 Formation, my squad leader would yell: "I hate you, Patriot. I hope you die!"

My roommate was from Brazil. A real chick-magnet. Spoke with a soft Portugese accent and was a black belt in JiuJitsu. We had virtually nothing in common. Ironically though we became good friends, real fast as Cadre turned up the heat.

I remember times when I just burst out laughing during inspection. One time a Cadre member entered the room and said, "what's your butt number?" Referring, of course, to the serial number on the butt of the M-1 Garand. Cadre would stare at me while I nearly bit through my lips to stifle a laugh. They'd say, "Go ahead, laugh! Laugh, laugh, laugh!" They'd wait around for fifteen minutes or so, keeping us at attention, waiting for me to laugh. Of course, if I showed so much as a smile, the whole group of plebes would be taxed for it.

The little things suddenly became so important: like candy, food, and gatorade. Even warm tap water was a treat. We used to piss in the sink, in our barracks room, to avoid having to go outside and getting "racked" by Cadre on our way to the bathroom.

One guy in Palmetto Battery left his room to take a shit. Cadre stopped him for a "racking" on the quad which must have lasted ten minutes, because the guy shit his pants right on the quad.

When times get tough today, I look at what I have-- tap water, food, etc-- and give thanks for the freedom to do what I want on a daily basis.

It's funny, you hate it when you're going through it, but after it's all over, you look back with the utmost pride and almost MISS the pain. It's all summed up in a good slogan, though: "once you've walked through fire and survived, nothing else can burn".

[scrap]

Thanks for the comments,

Ian I don't know what happened on the PM but after Patriots comments I figured it was at least readable and I wouldn't embarrass myself too much. I'll think about your input on the next rewrite.

Patriot, I agree one has to undergo the process before understanding it.

Even this simple story doesn't give the reader much insight about Parris Island.

The closest I've ever seen it portrayed in the movies was a film called Full Metal Jacket and even that was off.

I've been in the same position when your called out for an infraction and the whole platoon is made to suffer for your mistake. It makes for a very uneasy sleep that night.

I remember one day very clearly ahh never mind..........

Of course all that is part of the process of remaking us into a cohesive unit and one can look back after the fact and understand, but it's not so clear when your whole world is changing.

[midcan5]

I'll be the DI here goes:

Too many hackneyed phrase in the beginning, get rid of brimming etc, we know your heart was pounding but sounds too much like a cliche. It gets better when you say what you know.

Root ? don't ask forgiveness and if well done it can't be boring tell the story.

Eating can be the central elements but it all th other things that make the story. Why did the numbers dwindle - another bad word.

Suicide ? Dear Johns? What? I once lead a guy to mess who suffered a complete nervous break down and he was a leader in the first days. Boot camp broke him

Tell us the details of what happened those early mornings for those who were not marines tell us what is unique.

" I grew up in a home with six kids two parents and various pets so I was accustomed to yelling and screaming, but nothing could have prepared me for the next few months."

Re write above.

No time now but I liked it. Aim for shorter sentences more exact words and details.

later

[Patriot]

I once lead a guy to mess who suffered a complete nervous break down and he was a leader in the first days. Boot camp broke him

What a load of tripe. Stick with the grammer corrections and cease with the personal embellishments (outright lies). Thanks, Midcan.

[midcan5]

Hmmm, Thirty eight years later I still remember his stammer and you are going to somehow think it a lie. Are you a fool? I may have to come down there and beat the hell out of you after all. LOL

For the more normal readers, remember the first time they said light them up? It was like you had happiness for that brief moment.

[Ian]

midcan5 said:

I once lead a guy to mess who suffered a complete nervous break down and he was a leader in the first days. Boot camp broke him

[Patriot]

Midcan:

Post your name, branch, division, rank, and serial number.