HITCHHIKIN’ BLUES AND THE USMC Part 2

“Chicanery comes in many forms. The worst form of it in my humble opinion is “The Omission of the Truth!“

Where are you headed?”

“Cramden.”

“Ok.No problem I’m heading in that direction. I can drop you off there.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“What’s your name?”

“Charles. What’s your name? And are in the Military or something?”

“Yeah, Chuck. Call me Pat. I just got out of boot camp in Parris Island. I’m in the Marines.”

“Ok, Pat. Thanks for the lift.”

We ride for a while in comfortable silence.

“Hey Chuck, do you mind if I stop in Taunton? I’m supposed to meet Sgt. Hank, my Marine Corps Recruiter, at the Stah and Plow and grab a quick beer. Your welcome to come and I’ll buy you a beer. You look like you could use one.”

“I guess that’d be ok. As long as it’s quick. I gotta meet my girlfriend in Cramden. I gotta date tonight.”

“Yeah, no problem. I gotta get home myself, or else, Ma will be wicked pissed at me for being late for dinner. So this won’t take long.”

“Yeah. Ok. I could use a beer.”

Well, this seemed ok to me. Pat seemed like a nice guy and on a hot day like this, beer was a welcome relief. And what would be the harm having a quick beer? Liana could wait a few extra minutes. Life’s an Adventure and sometimes you had to go with it man. Besides my curiosity was piqued.

“So Pat, was Bootcamp tough?”

“Nah, it wasn’t so bad. It was challenging, but, I think it turned me into a ” Real Man.” I’m damned proud to be a Marine” said Pat as he drove.

“Hmmm, ” I responded.  

This might prove to be kind of interesting, I thought. It might be kinda cool to hang out with a couple of Marines. Maybe I could pick their brains and learn something.

Up to this point, I had always thought that guys who joined the Service we’re losers who couldn’t get into College, misfits who couldn’t get a “Normal Job” and were joining up out of desperation just to get working. But, Pat seemed like a cool guy, with a Bitchin’ car so maybe I was wrong. The Marines huh? The wheels in my brain were beginning to turn.

We pulled into the town of Taunton and found parking outside a bar called The Star and Plow which was one of those ubiquitous Irish Bars I saw all over Massachusetts.

We found Sgt. Hank sitting in a wooden booth with a half a pitcher of beer in front of him.

Hank looked like an All-Star Quarterback, with a high and tight haircut, closely trimmed mustache, and was wearing a khaki short sleeve shirt with three stripes on his sleeve, he was also had green slacks on.

The Men greeted each other warmly, lots of manly handshakes, and back-slapping ensued between them.

“Hi Pat, you look great. Who’s the Friend said Sgt? Hank?

“Hi, Sarge! This is Chuck, he’s a guy I’m just giving a lift to Cramden, so he could see his girlfriend. I hope that’s Ok I brought him with me?” said Pat.

“Yeah, that’s great, great. Greetings Chuck! You want a beer?!”

“Does a Bear shit in the wood?!” I quipped.

“Ha! Ok then, grab a seat, I need to talk to Pat about some business.”

Glasses were bought all around. We filled up and sipped them slowly.

Sgt. Hank pulled out out a briefcase, papers and started talking to Pat about their monthly recruiting quota, how it was down for the month, how they needed more bodies for the new enlistment cycle coming up for boot camp in August…how the Lieutenant was gonna be pissed if they came up short again…they needed one more recruit to make the minimum for the month…blah, blah, blah.

I kinda ignored all their blah, blah business talk, what the hell did I care about “Quotas” and stuff like that? So I gazed out the fly specked window of the Star and Plow while they gabbed. Gratefully enjoying the ice-cold Budweiser and glad to get out of the heat and off my feet.

Sgt. Hank gave a sigh, put his papers away and looked at me like he was studying a bug. There was a strange predatory glint in his eye.

Now the approximate conversation ensued and I’d like to direct my reader’s attention to any stars after comments.

“So Chuck, are you an Officer on leave?” asked Sgt. Hank. *(ME? An Officer?!) 

“No, I’m just a College Student at Fanning State College I replied.

“Really that’s surprising, isn’t that Surprising Pat?!” he said.

Pat nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah, Sarge. When I met Chuck I thought I ought to salute him or something.”

“Yeah, me too Pat. Just a College Student huh? Are you sure you’re not BSing us, Chuck?”

“No, no” just a student.

“Well, how is that going?”

I shrugged and sipped my beer.

‘I think Chuck has someone in his family that was in the Military?” said Pat.

“Yeah, my Grandfather on my Mothers side was a Medical Officer in the British Army.”

“Ha! I knew it! I knew there was something about you that said Military” Hank crowed as he slapped the table.”Good Call Pat!”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

“Hey! We need another pitcher of Bud over here!” yelled Pat to the waitress.

We all refilled our glasses.

Hank smacked his lips to catch beer foam from his glass. “So um Chuck have ever thought of joining the service?”

“No.”

“Are you planning to go back to Fanning State in the Fall?”

“I don’t know” I shrugged.

Sgt. Hank stretched out his legs with a sigh. “You know Chuck, sometimes a Man has got to put his tools down and take a break. Helps his focus. He needs to mentally stretch his legs, explore New Horizons, see other countries. Now take me for example, I just got back doing a tour overseas in Okinawa. It was beautiful over there. And I got a free ticket, there and back, courtesy of Uncle Sam and the United States Marine Corps.”

“Yeah? That sounds Cool Hank. I have always wanted to travel.”

“Now, Chuck I want you to know that I work at a recruiting station in Taunton and I would definitely recommend you to either the Army or Navy Recruiters…they both have Fine Officer Candidate Schools.”

“But what about the Marines? Don’t they have an Officer Candidate School?” I asked.

“Yep, they sure do, ” said Sgt. Hank and he pulled out a brochure from his briefcase.

I asked a couple more questions and soon I had a stack of pamphlets 5 inches high in front of me.

“Well, Gee..this looks, great Guys. I’d be interested in applying for the Marine OCS Program.”

“Unfortunately, Chuck, there are no openings for the Marine OCS program right now said Sgt. Hank. And besides, it takes a Special kind of Man who wants to become a Marine.”

He reached over and scooped up my pile of pamphlets in one hand and popped them back into the briefcase.

“I don’t understand Hank.”

“Well Chuck,” he refilled our glasses with Budweiser, “it takes a Real Man’s Man to be part of the Green Machine, to become a member of “The Few The Proud and the Brave”, Sgt. Hank replied.

“Hey Sarge, I think Chuck would make a great Marine!” said Pat.

I looked gratefully to Pat and he gave me a wink and a right-handed thumbs up.

“You do Pat?” 

“Yeah Sarge, Chuck’s definitely Officer material what with college experience and all that.”

“But, Pat you know I don’t have any openings for OCS Program. The only thing I have an opening for is  – a buck Private Recruit for Paris Island in August said Sgt. Hank.

“Oh, that’s a bummer, Sarge. But you know, with the right kind of man, couldn’t he just rise up through the enlisted ranks in short amount of time and become an officer that way, Right?” Pat asked.

“Yes-ss, the right kind of man could, but, it would take a very determined, motivated, smart kind of Guy to be able to do so” replied Sgt. Thank.

Pat nodded his head in my direction. “I think Chuck is your man Sarge.”

Sgt. Hank looked over at me like he was really seeing me for the very first time.

With an appraising stare, he slowly said “You know, you might be right Pat. What do YOU think Chuck?” 

“I uh…”

‘Have another beer Chuck!” said Pat.

I was on my 4th mug of Budweiser and was kind of buzzed. My mug was refilled quickly.

“How long is boot camp?”

“Only ninety days* and you’re done” answered Hank *(notice he said 90 days, not 3 months! Days sound more manageable than months. The Knave!).

“What’s Bootcamp like?” I asked.

“Challenging,” said Pat.*

“Ah, things have changed, so it’s not as Tough or “Challenging” as it used to be,” said Sgt. Hank.*

*(Vague answers all around. You could drive trucks through the omissions of information).

“Well, I saw this movie with Jan Michael Vincent where the Drill Instructors were yelling at people, hitting them and making them stand out in the sun holding buckets of water straight out by their sides? Does that happen at boot camp?” I asked.

Pat and Sgt. Hank in horrified unison – “NO! NO! NO!”

“Chuck, listen to me they only show that stuff to make movie uh more dramatic! The Drill Instructors are firm – true, but they are only there to help you become a better soldier. They’re really nice guys” said Sgt. Hank.

“How long would I have to sign up for?” I asked. 

“You could sign up for 36…Ow Sarge, damn…!”  I could have sworn Sgt. Hank kicked Pat under the table!..”I meant 48 months Chuck, 48 months is what most guys sign up for, ” said Pat rubbing his leg.

“Sign up for only 48 months* Chuck I’ll even give you your first stripe, so you’ll get out a Pfc, wayyy ahead of the other recruits. And think, in no time you’ll be rising up through the ranks, and before you know it,  you’ll be puttin’ on 2nd lieutenant gold bars on your collar. Heck! I’ll be salutin’ you in no time!!! Sgt. Hank crowed.

*(ONLY 48 months, not 4 years! A scurrilous trick! Months always sound more palatable than years. This is the kind of stunt Car Dealers would try to pull on me years later!)

“Well it sounds great..but,  uh I’d kinda like to think about it?” I said.

“Have another beer, Chuck. Hey, Miss, we need another pitcher of Bud over here!” said Hank.

A pitcher of Budweiser appeared magically on the table, this made it pitcher number 3.

By pitcher number 4 we were all singing “From The Halls of Montezuma To the shores of Tripoli!” at the top of our lungs much to the drunken enjoyment of our fellow patrons who joined in – obviously, this little scene had been played out before in this bar.

By pitcher number 5, I had “thought about it, ” and a printed form appeared out of nowhere,  I signed it, with my social security number, and to celebrate with my “New Brothers in Arms” I was given several shots of tequila as ‘Toasts” to my new Adventure as a Pfc Charles Bucklin in the United States Marine Corps.

I was poured into Pat’s car, once again clutching the 5 inches of pamphlets, with made promises of showing up at the Taunton Recruiting Station to just “finish my paperwork” on the morrow.

Pat drove me all the way to Liana’s house and helped up the front porch steps.

Whereupon he bolted like a bat out of hell in his Camaro and I was left swaying drunkenly away on the front porch.

I tried ringing the doorbell but couldn’t make a go of it. I finally knocked loudly.
The door was snatched open and there stood my pissed off girlfriend.

“Well, it’s about time!” She practically hollered at me.

“Hiya Baby!” I said buzzed off my ass.

“Where the Hell have you been?” More hollering.

“Well, hic! Me and some Marine Corps Buddies, hic!…had a beer at the Star and uh someplace bar and here I am.”

“What Marine Buddies? You don’t have any Marine Corps Buddies! I have been waiting for hours!” Liana yelled.

“Ah, they’re around here someplace…uh…From the Halls of Montezuma! Hic! To the shores of Tripolee! We shall something-something -SOMETHING! IN THE AIR, HIC! ON LAND AND SEAAAA! BUUUUURPPP! BWAAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Charlie! Have you been drinking?! Are you drunk?! Liana asked incredulously. Her voice rising higher.

“Who me? Uhh…noooo, Hic! I just had a couple of Beers Baby.”

“Pffffft! Get inside and be quiet, my parents are asleep.”

“Ok Baby.”

“What’s that crap your holding?”

“What crap?”

“All those brochures or pamphlets your holding.”

“What this stuff?” I said holding a handful of brochures.”Oh, ah, ah, hmmm, just some admission forms to join the Marines.”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!” Liana hollered.

“Ah, ah, don’t be mad Liana but I am joining the Mah, the Maroon, ..the Marine…Hic! Corps.”

“Oh God No! Charlie…what have you done now?”

“Nothin.’ Nothin’! I ah, joined up, hic! Or at least I’m thinking of joining up” I said still swaying on my feet.

Silence.

“YOU. Are. Thinking. About. Joining. THE MARINE CORPS?”

“Yeah!”

Liana sat down on her couch head in her hands.

“Oh God No! Jesus H. Christ! She muttered.
She looked at me and stared as if I had just sprouted two heads.

Then Liana said the words. The words that should have never been spoken, the words that should have never been uttered to me in a billion, gazillion years, the words that I would never, ever forget, those damned words that Sealed My Fate.

“Don’t do it. she said.

“What? Don’t do what?!”

“Join the Marines…”

“Why the Hell not?!” I was starting to get belligerent.

She sighed…”Because…”

“Because of of…what Liana?

“Because!” Her voice rising again.”BECAUSE YOU’D NEVER MAKE IT!!!!”

And there it was – the Challenge, The Slap in the Face with the Leather Glove, the Line Drawn in the Sand, The Dare, Big Momma Telling Me Not To Do Something, or worse – A Women Telling Me I Wasn’t Man Enough to Make It Through the Marine Corps.

“Oh Yeah?! Listen, Lady, Nobody, and I mean NOBODY TELLS ME WHAT TO DO!!!” I HOLLERED.

“OK. It’s your funeral” she said dismally.

“Fine!”

“Fine!!!”

“FINE!!!!”

Well, we argued some more for a little while longer and then we kinda made up.
She cried. I consoled her. She asked if I was ever going to finish College? I said I would. She asked if I would miss her? I lied. She made us some sandwiches, and we ate in silence. She then gave me a Motherly peck on the forehead, went to bed, I passed out on the couch.

I awoke the next day hungover but determined. I hitched a ride back into Taunton, signed my papers and hitched a ride back to Liana’s parent’s house. I spent a couple of days more there and then Liana gave me a lift back to The Cape.

A couple of weeks later an official letter arrived at my Onset abode informing I was to report to Taunton Recruiting Center August 15th,  for final processing and immediate transportation to Parris Island, South Carolina for Basic Training.

Ok. Here we go I thought. I said my goodbyes and no one cried, I guess everyone was glad to see me go. Schick actually gave me a ride to Taunton on the 15th and dropped me off at Recruitment Center.

Processing is done, a plane flight and a bus trip to Parris Island and I was there, about 0200 AM military time on August 16th.
We were told to get the hell into some bunk beds (aka Racks) and to shut the fuck up and wait for reveille.

I couldn’t sleep, I was surrounded by men who looked like they had just been released from Cell Block Number 9 for committing crimes of theft rape and possibly murder. There were gangbangers, street thugs, dealers of drugs, and what even looked like Pirates surrounding me in the barracks!

The heat and humidity were stifling. Temperatures on Parris Island made The Cape’s weather seem like chilly days in San Francisco. 

I was scared shitless, People.

Just as exhaustion claimed me and I had just closed my eyes. The fluorescent lights were turned on with a snap.

“ALL RIGHT LADIES, HIT THE FUCKIN’ DECK! GET YOUR LILLY WHITE ASSES OUTSIDE IN MUTHA FUCKIN’ FORMATION NOW!

My Rack received such a kick that the force threw me onto the floor in a heap of perspiration and terror.

There he stood like an Angry Cyclops – Staff Sergeant Monroe Jackson, he was 6’5″” tall, weighed over 300 pounds of pure muscle, his boot size was 14.5 double EE, his Smoky the Bear hat looked like it was small umbrella, he had an evil-looking scar that ran from the top of his forehead down to his jawline, he was reputed to have been raised in the toughest neighborhoods in Baltimore, Maryland, and that he hated new recruits with a passion.

He strode down the center of the Squad Bay kicking recruits in the ass and picking up sleeping ones by the scruff of their necks and slinging them towards the exit door, another massive DI would slap them upside their heads sending them flying like catapulted stones outside towards the tarmac. There was screaming, and people rushing around, some were frantically trying to get dressed, others were commanded to do mountain climbers or a 100 push-ups. Meanwhile, Staff Sergeant Jackson was kicking and screaming his way down the aisles. Another DI was throwing bunks over dislodging its occupants. It was Hell on Earth. And I was in the thick of it!

With a roar Staff Sergeant Jackson turned like an enraged massive Bull and made his way back towards me. He glared at me like he had discovered a new victim and charged. Each footstep he took made cracks in the concrete floor!  “MAGGOT! I TOLD YOU TO FUCKIN’ MOVE! NOW MOVE MOTHA FUCKA!”

I froze, as this charging behemoth made his way towards me. This was bad. This was very bad. He was going to do something awful to me and there was nothing I could do. Nothing! I cowered in fear and gibbered that it had all been a mistake, that I wanted to go home, that I had changed my mind, that I wasn’t even meant to be there!

He towered over me, he was screaming unintelligible words, words I couldn’t understand, his Giant Paw hovered over my head like a bird of prey, and descended with deadly intent, a Giant Fly Swatter, that was going to obliterate my presence from the earth!

I shrieked “THAT GODDAMN BITCH!!!

And all went black.

End of Part 2

Finis

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