On February 21, 1989 I arrived on Parris Island, SC. It was the wee hours of the morning. As it was winter, you could see steam rising off exposed pipes. I remember the bus driving past a set of buildings and seeing a person walking in a poncho and carrying a rifle. My initial thought? I don't think I want to do that. I remember arriving at the receiving center and from there, things are a haze. At one point, all the women were in a room seated at desk with their heads down. I had arrived with two other females and we were the only ones there. We were told not to raise our heads. I think I dozed off, not really sure but I remember hearing others come in. At some point we were told to get up and get in a line at the door. We were lead outside to another bus and taken to our squad bay. Thus began my journey in which I would earn the title of U. S. Marine.
Thirteen weeks of hurry up and wait. i screamed "Aye Ma'am" so much, I may have done it in my sleep a time or two. I remember being sent to the gear locker as we were packing to go to the rifle range because I got caught laughing at the DI. I can remember watching a fellow recruit being dug on the quarterdeck because she left her footlocker unsecure. I remember showers with three chicks in a shower stall. One washed. One rinsed and for our light green Marines, one washed her hair. If a recruit used the toilet during showers, you didn't flush. If you did flush, you were supposed to yell "FLUSH" to keep your platoon mates from being scalded. Everyone's underwear, skivvy shirts and PT gear went into a pile. There's a ditty we had to recite after showers. We reported to the DI on duty and the scribe. We held our money valuable bag dressed in our bra, panties and shower shoes, turning in a circle lifting both feet and recited "Pvt Brooks has no ailments to report and does not need to got to sick call. all personals are present and accounted for." This was so the DI could inspect our bodies for bruises or anything that might affect our training. We were given an hour of free time each night. Some of us wrote letters, some socialized. Others cleaned their weapon or ironed their cammies. At lights out and when they came on in the morning, we had to stand on line and count off. Your number count matched your laundry number. We learned to move when told and respond when spoken to by the DI. We practiced drill on the parade deck and in the squad bay.
My DIs were a mixed bag. My Senior was a really thin chain smoker who loved Doritos. One of the other three was a blonde spitfire who called some of the most beautiful cadence. One of the others was fresh out of DI School and took her maybe 10 weeks to stop looking scared. She was also the nicest one and had the most shrill voice. Then there was the five foot nothing pit bull. She came to us halfway through and we all collectively hated her. She replaced a previous pit bull who we had liked a little better. They nurtured, guided, harassed and mentored Platoon 4012 because they wanted us to be Marines. Trust me, they got rid of the ones who just couldn't hack it. Fortunately I was one they didn't try to cull although I was the resident run/hump drop. On graduation day as I was sitting on the bus waiting to leave, my Senior came on looking for me. She walked up to me and told me never doubt that I made it through boot camp because of the goodness of her heart. She said she saw in me the makings of a good Marine and wished me well.
Today I revisited that time on a more introspective level. Earlier this year a young recruit jumped three fights in his barracks, killing himself. The investigation which was launched because of his death shows there was hazing and abuse committed upon recruits. My first thought was, what do they consider hazing? Was it when my DI made me run back and forth to my bunk because I had forgotten to bring an ink stick for knowledge? Was it having to stand on line and listen to the DI gripe about nothing of consequence, on the grand scheme, but caused her to be disappointed in us? Was it making us hold our rifles up at arm's length because she wasn't hearing the right amount of snap and pop when we executed right shoulder arms? Was the time we all went straight to the pit after breakfast because some of the recruits got caught having a "ladies' day convention" in the head after lights out? I'm definitely sure it was the time, I think her name was Palmer, got dug on the quarterdeck and had to giggle the whole time.
You see the Corps is a different animal. Even if you're an admin, your main mission is to kill. We are the tip of the spear. The commercial doesn't lie when it says we run toward the sound of fighting. But can this be taught without a lot of things I have heard happens in the male squad bays? America believes we are bad ass. There's no doubt Marines are the baddest of those bad asses. That's not ego. That's truth. How do you get that kind of hardened mentality without a little roughness in training? Don't get me wrong, I believe the Corps has to adjust it's way of doing things to train today's youth. They are a different animal than even when I went in. But how much of that should they lose? At what point does the military, especially the Corps, say to society "Get the fuck out of our business." There was and is a mystery about what makes that man and woman look so good in those iconic dress blue uniforms. Trust me, it's not just PT and diet. It's a mentality forged on Parris Island, at San Diego, at Quantico that says we will not surrender and we'll take all of you with us. It's learning and commemorating all that have worn that uniform before you, while training those who will come after you. It's ego, pride and very little humility. It's professionalism, honesty and commitment to self, Corps, God and country.
While I believe any behavior that cause a man or woman to jump three flights is too much, I don't believe that the Corps can afford to relax it's training anymore than it has. DIs need to be trained to spot the people who can be pushed and adapt to the in your face tactic vs the people who seem strong of mind but have no clue how to adjust for this new life. The latter will need to be culled and sent home. Not everyone deserves to be a Marine and not everyone can be a Marine.
