In March of 1958 I measured in at 5’7” when I joined the Corps. In the intervening 60 years I’ve lost an inch of height but not the ability to get in a friendly jab at our brothers and sisters in our nation’s other fine military branches. My wife and I were recently at a local eating establishment that serves great sandwiches and soups. One has to order at the cash register, pay and then give your name so they can find your table. We were waiting at our table for our food to be ready when I walked back up to the register counter to pick up some extra napkins. As I approached, the cute young thing on the register was taking the order of a soldier, standing about 6’2”, 210 lbs or so and wearing utilities – or whatever they’re called these days – with a “U.S. ARMY” patch proudly showing over the left breast pocket. I heard her saying “I’m sorry. You’re in here practically every day but I can’t think of your name.” I walked back to our table and was about to sit down when I noticed him walking over to the self-serve soft drink fountain. Without a thought of what this big bruiser might be capable of doing to me I quickly sidled over to him and said “You know, if that patch there on your jacket said “USMC” instead of “U.S. ARMY” she would have remembered your name.” I reached up, patted him on the shoulder and walked back to my table while he just stood there shaking his head.
Of course, as we left I went by his table and thanked him for his service.
Shaving
I have an 18 yr. old grandson who is a good guy, but with character flaw. He’s is a slob. His facial hair
is coming in black, not real heavy, but vary noticeable. He shaves every 3 or 4 days. It looks like crap.
I tried to explain that he needed to have some self pride. And he should shave every day, if not every day at least every other day. This went in one ear and out his a$$. Still a slob.
Thought I Was Nuts
Sgt Grit,
I served from 96 to 00 I was with MCSFCO Naples and then 3/6 Marines weapons then H/S after a injury.
I joined the Marines after spending 9 years as a police Officer, I worked with officers that were in the Marines and always respected them. From the start, the recruiter, my DI, my instructors and NCO’s.
Fallout In Scivvies
I hit Parris Island 2 Jan. ’57 also a 17-year-old. We arrived just prior to the fallout from the investigation of the 4 Marine recruits that died from drowning in Nov. ’56.
My 53-year recollection of the incident was that a Staff Sergeant McKean after a night of drinking, rousted his platoon out like at 1 a.m. They had to have been at the rifle range which made the recruits deep into training (8-9) weeks, to be at the range. We were told that S/ Sgt. McKean marched them behind Baker Range into the swamp which we were told was about 4-feet deep — dark night, murkey cold swamp water up to your chest, visions of snakes and other creatures lurking in the water. And, I’m sure, S/Sgt. screaming at them. Four recruits in a group panicked, got cut off from the main body of recruits and ended up drowning.
Swooping
I was sharing some sea stories with another Marine buddy a few days ago and the subject turned to being on liberty back in the old days (mid-50s) and being WAY out-of-bounds trying to get somewhere better than where we were stationed. For example, being stationed at Camp Lejeune and having liberty from Friday at 1600 to Monday at 0600 clearly would not legally allow you to go to Philadelphia, New York, Chicago, Boston or Buffalo, or for that matter, any destination further than Washington and that was a stretch because there were no Interstates in those days. From Quantico, the liberty limit was Baltimore. Back-roads were often dark, narrow and treacherous. Rarely did you have a weekend when you didn’t see fatal accidents and sometimes several of them. Those Marines fortunate enough to have a personal car would take riders to share the trip and contribute to the gas and tolls cost.
MARINE OF THE WEEK // UP AGAINST AN ENEMY PLATOON
Staff Sgt. Nathan Hervey
Scout sniper section leader, 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marines
Helmand Province, Afghanistan
May 21, 2011
Award: Bronze Star w/ Combat “V”
After establishing an overwatch position in support of an interdiction of enemy forces in the area, then-Sergeant Hervey directed his Marines to engage with precision and machine gun fires as insurgents attempted to occupy a position to ambush a Marine squad. As the engagement continued, the enemy reinforced with heavy machine guns, recoilless rifles and rocket propelled grenades. Seeing the adjacent Marines’ situation deteriorating, Sergeant Hervey began moving his snipers north, personally sweeping for explosive devices, and attempting to establish an attack by fire position as Marine reinforcements arrived. As he continued to move, enemy forces began engaging with automatic grenade launcher fire while he discovered an explosive device in his path. With the insurgents now in platoon strength, the sniper section began prosecuting multiple targets despite intense enemy fire in order to protect an isolated and exposed adjacent unit that had struck an improvised explosive device. As the enemy began reinforcing, Sergeant Hervey coordinated with his company headquarters to provide the critical guidance for multiple aerial and indirect fire strikes that destroyed the enemy’s heavy weapons and forced the insurgents’ withdrawal.
Well Son Of A Gun
Corporal, 1981. Had received a Navy Achievement Medal for performance as a member of 6th Marines Rifle Squad. Did not have a Good Conduct Medal yet. 1982, Did a lat move to 0231 Intelligence Specialist, got assigned to 1/6. Spent a year busting my b-tt for that Bn under the direction of LtCol Fox. When I got my orders to go to Oki, the S-2 wrote me up for another NAM. Deploy to 1st MAW HQ on Okinawa. Working in the G-2 as the daily briefer for the CG, MGen Peterson. I get called out one day to go receive my award. Well son of a gun if it was for a Navy Commendation Medal. He pinned it on proudly, and I was just as proud that it was him doing it.
This is Juan A. Bee
He goes on the road for booths and exhibits. He’s a real ladies man. (Fifty Shades of Gray, Bert and Ernie version, in the right pocket.) That rifle has an authentic Star Wars laser sight. We do guns shows, so all weapon chambers are empty, nytied for safety. Bayonet is strapped to the left leg. His DD214 shows Medal of Honor (authentic, real case.) It’s backed by not one, but TWO police badges. He does carry a few extras in the helmet bag… “Purple Heart” cap and another, “USN, Black Shoe soldier.” Some peanut butter MRE’s and a Sheriff’s badge too. His 12 USMC sleeve chevrons will go on before his next trip. Air Force Mini Medals topped by a Trident opposite that gorgeous ribbon rack.
SEMPER FIT, FFI INCREASE FORCE READINESS
The Marine Corps prides itself on being the world’s finest fighting force. To maintain this title, units and individual Marines can utilize Force Fitness instructors and various Semper Fit programs to uphold the Corps’ physical fitness standards.
FFI is a secondary military occupational specialty created in 2016. It’s an integral asset in each unit to maintain mission readiness. Sgt. Jared Skelley, Headquarters and Headquarters Squadron’s FFI, is dedicated and passionate about improving the health and wellness of the Marines he trains.
MAKING WAVES
My enlistment date was March 6, 1958. 11 months later I was still a buck-ass private. After boot camp and ITR the Corps, in its infinite wisdom had decided that I would be sent to electronics school at Treasure Island and then down to MCRD San Diego to the radio repair school. I was neither well suited nor inspired by the prospect, having just dropped out of high school to become a Marine grunt. One of my boot camp platoon mates was an Army Korean war vet with combat experience in tanks, which he had asked for. The Corps made him a cook. But I digress. At Treasure Island I struggled with the class work – electronic theory and application – but I hung on while other guys flunked out. As soon as a guy was dropped from the program he would be reassigned and shipped out. However, before departing for his new duty station he would be given his PFC stripe if his record was clean. Meanwhile, I was told that if I improved my grades I, too, would be raised to the exalted level of E-2. I continued to struggle, but I finally passed the course and was reassigned to MCRD for the next phase – but without that stripe. I continued to struggle with the course and continued to be told that if I magically improved my grade that stripe was out there waiting for me. That caveat had become like a boil on my butt and I was getting pretty p-ssed off watching dropouts getting promoted ahead of me. Then, one day, before the Gunny-instructor started class he made a routine, required, announcement. He said the Inspector General was coming to the base and that any Marine had the right to request to speak to him about anything and wasn’t required to divulge the subject. With hardly a pause he started to go on with the day’s instruction when he noticed I had raised my hand. “What do you need, Private Barber?” He wasn’t used to being interrupted. When I told him I was requesting permission to speak to the I.G. his mouth dropped and every head in the room turned to me. “What for?” he asked but I answered that he had just said I didn’t have to divulge the reason. “Well, maybe I could help without you bothering the I.G.” I told him I didn’t think so because it had been a problem for a while. Class was a little strained that day but then an organized effort was launched to find out what my gripe was. I think every noncom in the school approached me before I was called in to see the Top Sergeant. I explained that I was a little upset that the Corps didn’t see the irony in refusing to give me my stripe because of low grades while passing them out to every man that flunked out. At the next day’s morning formation before class I was called front and center and promoted to PFC. It still makes me smile to think of the sh-t storm that I had stirred up. When I got to class that morning though, the Gunny just looked at me, grinned, shook his head and started class.