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August 06, 2004

Memories of Boot Camp

Donald Sensing, from One Hand Clapping, watched as his oldest son Stephen went off to boot camp last week. Matthew, a former Marine writing at South End Grounds is tracking his progress through boot camp through a retrospective of his own boot camp memories. Here's part of his introduction to the weekly series:

Sometimes Boot Camp, especially in the Marine Corps, is maligned for its rigor and arcane traditions. I remember Moms of America came by one day while we were doing LINE training (a martial arts type hand to hand combat). They objected to our use of the word "Kill" as we executed movements. Our Drill Instructors obliged the visitors by ordering us to scream "Death."

I hope that as you read this weekly excursion down memory lane you see that everything that happens on Parris Island - or any other military proving ground - does so for a reason. The transformation from snot-nosed kid to United States Marine is a dramatic one. It doesn't happen by accident and the process of the transformation has been honed over 229 years of developing the world's most elite fighting force.

So why did we yell "kill" as we executed movements designed to kill or injure another? Because if you're going to do that, you have to desensitize yourself to your actions. You are trying to kill someone who is trying to kill you or your comrades.

Combat is messy business. Training for combat shouldn't be a garden of roses.

I also hope you gain an appreciation for what our military endures even at its most basic levels. Boot Camp was no picnic but it was easier than some of the things I did later in my brief and less than legendary career in the Marine Reserves.

This series will be well worth reading for anyone interested in how boot camp works. Here's an excerpt from this week's post:

The forming DI's pep talk left me feeling like I could run through a wall. I met that wall. His name was SSgt. Spitzer. He was about 47 feet tall and built like a brick outhouse. I thought SSgt. Kopp from our opening night on the Island looked like a tank. SSgt. Spitzer made him look like a Yugo.

He wanted to know why my uniform was wrinkled and why I was wearing go-fasters (running shoes). I assumed that he already knew that I had to sleep in my cammies for two nights without the benefit of an iron in the morning and that everyone who showed up with me was ordered to leave our boots packed and wear go-fasters. So, I stumbled and stammered something that he didn't like so he dumped by seabag and began to destroy its contents.

Amazingly, five DI's were doing the same thing simultaneously to 47 mortified recruits. It was like each of them were actually 10 different people. As I write this, I am having trouble coming up with the words to paint the carnage that was unfolding before my eyes.

Suddenly, they were gone. Disappearing into the room from whence they came. All about me lay the contents of our neatly packed ALICE packs and seabags. Every bottle of YES detergent that we brought with us was crushed and empty. The deck had turned from concrete grey to YES blue.

The DI's had established the pecking order. They were the kings and we were subjects. They were the lion and we were the poor yak who couldn't quite get away. They were the hammer and we were the nail. Insert your own metaphor here.

We knew that they were in charge and that try as we might, we would never please them. We would always live in terror. The very sight of them would bring back haunting memories of this moment. They had begun to tear us down. Soon they would lay the foundation and begin to rebuild.

Drill instructors have 12 weeks to take groups of individuals and turn them into a cohesive team, where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. They bring out the best that each recruit has to offer while simultaneously discarding bad habits learned over a lifetime of self-indulgence. My son told me afterwards that if kids went through Marine Corps boot camp at the start of high school that this country wouldn't have a high school drop out problem. Or, many of the other problems that plague society.

Posted by Deb at August 6, 2004 09:53 AM

Comments

Went to two PI graduations last month and have another later this month. Boys from around here. That'll be numbers 16 and 17 active Marines from our little school district. 11 currently deployed and two in the same Plt with Da Grunt. Small world!

Nothing is more stellar than to watch those young guns on the Parade Deck for their graduation from "Recruits" to "Boots".

Unless it's sitting on the bridge to watch nighttime live fire exercises. Cheap date! :-o

Smaller graduating class last time though. Only two BNs. The one before was five.

Good Luck to Recruit Sensing! May the sand fleas find a home somewhere else! ;-)

Posted by: JarheadDad at August 6, 2004 05:00 PM