While stationed at MCAS El Toro with VMFAT-101, an F4-Phantom II squadron in 1969-70, I found myself with way too much time on my hands. I was on the midnight shift most of the time so after a quick 40 winks I had the rest of the day and half the night to get in trouble.
First, I had a job in Santa Ana as an ice cream truck driver in the afternoons. Remember the truck in the Cheech and Chong movie, "Nice Dreams"? Well, that was my truck except mine didn't have the big clown head on top. That's a story for another time.
After I earned enough to buy a car, I enrolled in a computer programming technical school in Anaheim. Hours were from noon to five, 5 days a week and sometimes labs on Saturdays. Every thing was going well, car running great, G.I. Bill paying for school, good grades, new friends (civilians). Life was good and could only get better, right…?
A month and a half before graduation, we get the news at the squadron… we are deploying to YUMA, AZ, for the duration and we move in two weeks! "Hey, hey you can't do this to me" was my reply to the announcement. Long story short, I was assigned to the packing up equipment and final hanger clean-up detail so I did that for the next month. But wait, I'm still two weeks short of graduation! "No problem" my radar shop gunny said. He got me permission to stay behind by myself and join up with the squadron AFTER graduation. Great… right?
There I stood on the flight line waving bye-bye to the last C-130 with the last of the clean-up detail on board headed for Yuma. Me, my car and everything I owned in the trunk (it was a 1961 Dodge Dart with a huge trunk). Oh, and my meal card ("chit" was what they were called; the card not the chow). No written orders just "Y'all come see us when you can," from the Gunny.
Now you and I know that if I turned myself over to the Transit Barracks I would wind up on some sh-t detail, right? No way was I going to be late or miss classes at this point cause of some power hungry E-5, sooo no I did not report to anyone. First night I slept in my car, not bad, huge backseat but not going to work for the next two weeks. Second night I went scouting for empty racks in strange barracks, my old one was locked up. I'd look for a rack with a mattress rolled up and no other occupied rack close by. Also it had to be a barracks or a floor of a barracks assigned to a night or midnight crew so that they'd be at work while I snoozed in their area. Wait till the barracks is empty or mostly empty, walk in with my bedroll and shower kit, lights out, shower in the a.m., go to morning chow before the occupants returned from work at their hangers, go to the library to do homework, go to Anaheim and classes. Life was good. Until… someone ripped the covers off me and thumped me in the leg with a clipboard… oh, oh! An INSPECTION TEAM! I got up to see a Gunny (with clipboard), a Major and a couple of other nco's in the cubicle. I'm at attention in my now civilian skivvies, knowing what's coming. Sure enough, the Gunny wants to know why I'm in the rack during their inspection. Think quick, think really quick, "Gunny, I've been on leave and I got back late last night. I didn't get the word about any inspection." The Major turns to inspect the other racks and lockers while the Gunny is in my face and says, "Give me your name and service number." While ready to write me up on his ever present clipboard. Think quick, "Gunny it's right there on the locker behind you," I said as I rolled up my bedroll.
At this point I would like to apologize to Corporal Lopez whose locker the Gunny was now facing and copying down the information on the name tag. Thank you for taking the hit for another Marine Corporal Lopez.
The inspection team left the cubicle and proceeded upstairs to inspect that floor. Me, I was out of there at warp speed and in my car heading for another barracks to get ready for another glorius day in my Marine Corps. Never went back to that barracks or anywhere near that squadron area again. A few days later with my Associates Degree in hand, I hit the dustry trail for my new home, MCAS Yuma. Oh, by the way, in 1970-71, there were no civilian jobs in Yuma, so now I had a home but no job. But that's another story.
Semper Fi Corporal Lopez and all my other Marine brothers. You gottan love it!
Cpl. David Martinez
VMFAT-101, Radar Shop