Dear Sgt. Grit,
I read Thomas Moore's account of his Company C.O. getting him a new shirt. Like so many stories here, this one strikes a chord.
Having completed infantry ITR in early 1969, I was sent on to pick up the "11" on my 0311 at Camp Horno (part of the Camp Pendleton complex), further up into the hills. Field jackets were not individual issue and the first day I was in line to get mine, our Company Commander pulled me out of line. He was a 2ndLt. Only one that I ever saw stateside who wasn't back off wounds or former enlisted.
He told me that he refused to accept me because my former command down at Camp San Onefre had sent me up without my health record and shot card. I explained that those were lost by my unit while I was in graduate casual and so I came up to ITR in November of '68 without them. He said that he didn't care, my problem, not his. He ordered me to go back to my former command and have them note in my SRB (which he handed me) that they sent me to him without those documents. He refused to arrange any transportation, so I hitch hiked both ways.
I got the required signature. Then I gave him the paperwork and he dismissed me. I asked about field jackets and he told me that they had no more… I could go back in a few days. It gets pretty cold up in those hills. The next morning was Saturday… standing in formation in a very raw wind… not the Chosin Reservoir, but cold enough. The Battalion Commander (a Captain) spotted me in formation and when we were dismissed he called me over to his side. He demanded to know where my field jacket was. I told him the above story. His face stormed up for a second. He then took his field jacket off and gently put it on me. He said to return it to him when I got a replacement. He then went looking for the Lieutenant with blood in his eyes.
Being Saturday, after morning formation we were free to roam the camp. I headed for the exchange, but didn't get very far before the MPs pulled up next to me. I looked 14… out of place in a uniform… especially one with Captain's bars on the shoulders. Fortunately he was back at his HQ when they called to check out my story. He roared with laughter… probably almost in
tears. He told them that it was his mistake… to put the insignia in my pocket and drop me off at the exchange.
Better part of half a century has passed and I can't remember his name. But he was a d-mn fine Officer.
James F. Owings
USMC 1968-70 0311