Friday, 29 March 2024

Veteran corresponds with Marines overseas

During a packing party for the troops overseas, I became aware that my old Marine unit was committed to Iraq. This was a particular jolt to me, as I had spent four and a half boring years there, so far from the front we weren't even aware that there was a war in Vietnam a-building.


The 2nd Marine Division and the 2nd Marine Aircraft Wing are detailed to fight in the Caribbean, South America, the Mediterranean, and Africa. In the Sixties, that meant torpid inaction. Because of the lassitude of my peacetime service, I seldom mention my enlistment in the Marines.


I decided to email them, through their commanding officer, with the intention of boosting their morale. The exchange proved interesting enough. I asked if I could reprint it. The reply was: “Please, post whatever you like ... I always observe Operational Security in my e-mails, so there's nothing sensitive in there. Thank you much for the heads-up!”


I have erred, in this respect, on the side of caution. Besides editing out anything that might be helpful to their foes or boring to the reader, I have declined to rerun their photos for security reasons.


Feb. 16


Captain Allen (sir),


I served four years in your unit once upon a time. However, I'm not here to bore you with claims of how the old Corps was better. We're just ...o lder.


How much older? Well, let's just note that when I checked into Cherry Point, they issued me a shiny new M14 to replace the M1 Garand I'd carried through Parris Island. There were still a couple of prop driven Corsairs on the Cheerless Point flight line, and one of the last flying sergeants. This grizzled old contemporary of Pappy Boyington was generally held in awe. Generally, though not totally, as the following tale will show.


The sarge was in the landing pattern returning from a training flight on a belated Friday afternoon, when a lieutenant colonel from his unit tried to cut in and usurp the sarge's slot. The sarge refused the wave off and landed on time. He was shucking his flight suit in the ready room, probably dreaming about cold beer at the staff NCO club, when the light colonel stormed in, enraged. He threw a tantrum and chewed the sarge out like he was the rawest boot. Finally, the light colonel worked himself up to scream, "Don't you know who I am?" At this point, the sergeant picked up the ready room phone, dialed the commanding general, addressed him by first name, then said, "There's a lieutenant colonel down here who doesn't know who he is. I think he needs some command guidance." He then handed the phone to the light colonel. When the sarge left the ready room, the colonel was still braced and saying an occasional, "Yes sir. No sir," into the phone.


It seems that once upon a time, in the really old corps, a certain second lieutenant was shown the ropes by a certain platoon sergeant ... This is a true story. Aren't all sea stories? And some day, you and your troopers will have your own sea stories.


So what's the point of this email? It's that, generation after generation, Americans serve their country, and that those of us who preceded you respect and support those of you walking in our boot steps.


Keep well, Captain. I wish you and your troops the best of luck. And if you should care to share any or all of this email with your troops, I'd feel honored ... George


Feb. 17


George,


Thank you very much for e-mailing! I showed your e-mail to my Intel Chief, MSgt Westgate, and she got a kick out of it. I'm printing it right now and am going to share it with my Marines at turnover ... It will certainly motivate them to hear from an "old salt" such as yourself.


Here at Al Asad, Corsairs have given way to Hornets, Harriers, and Cobras, but you won't be surprised to learn that the mission is still the same ... Putting warheads on foreheads in support of the grunts on the ground.


Great to hear from you! Please write back when you can ... We remain proud to serve you. James


Feb. 17


Captain Allen,


I'd forgotten what military punctuality is like. I'd resigned myself to a week or so's wait for a reply, until you found time between crises.


I do hope the sea story cheers up the troops. A little laughter can help morale. Then, too, a sense of continuity can instill some more pride not that Marines are short on that commodity. I would like to add that the once green second lieutenant and young sergeant in my story were serving under Smedley Butler ... it's a long green line you stand in, captain, stretching back to the decks of the Bonhomme Richard.


At any rate, I could send more sea stories if your troops enjoy them. Just keep in mind the old joke about the difference between fairy tales and sea stories. A fairy tale begins, "Once upon a time ..." A sea story begins, "Now this is no bull ..."


Write if you have a chance. This antique salt enjoyed the email.


That my last brought smiles to your troops delights me. George


Feb. 20


George,


Your e-mail definitely helped cheer up the young Marines, and gave my senior sergeants a chuckle or two also. Thanks! Please feel free to keep them coming!


Sorry for not getting back with you sooner ... Been a very busy day today. You know how it is we're either bored out of our minds, or going 150 miles per hour no room in between!


SEMPER FI, and we hope to hear from you soon! James


Feb. 25


Captain Allen,


I must apologize for for my lack of punctuality. My excuse much too feeble to stand up at a captain's mast is that I'm deeply into the final rewrite of my upcoming novel. Still, a change is good as a break. So, time for another sea story, and this is no bull.


A phenomenon now gone is the career private. A phenomenon probably still present is the junk on the bunk inspection, when everything a Marine owns is inspected. Which sets the scene for another tale of the old corps.


There was a professional private working the warehouse while in H&HS-2. He was a quiet amiable type who was willing to rise to any rank, so long as it didn't involve any responsibility. Put corporal stripes on him, and he promptly got himself busted. Let's call him Lance Corporal Mo.


The commanding officer called for a junk on the bunk the day after payday. The griping was general, prolonged and fervent. It didn't slow the frantic preparation. Kiwi polish gleamed diamond hard on boots and shoes. Brasso flowed. Nail clippers bit off Irish pennants. Rulers were brandished as the sewing kit was carefully placed exactly one quarter inch from the razor, and all clothing was meticulously folded to show the exact creases specified, etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam.


Mo watched us bemusedly for a while, then left for the slop chute. He stumbled back in after closing the enlisted club, reeking of beer, and fell onto his bunk.


Came reveille, and we all rose from our pallets on the floor and prepared to watch Mo trundled off to the brig.


Mo arose, and his hands mechanically made his bunk. He then opened his footlocker, and pulled out a spare blanket with a complete issue of uniforms sewn on it. He tucked this on his cot. He then whipped out a foot locker with a perfect display of web gear. His spare footlocker went in the mop room. After a quick pass through the shower, and a shave with a spare razor he hid in the head, he pulled on a brand new dress uniform out of his meticulous wall locker just in time to line up with the rest of us.


We boots were highly impressed. We wondered where we could get one of those displays. We figured it would be a treat to sleep in an actual bunk the night before inspection.


The CO and First Sergeant made the rounds. The First Shirt's extra duty roster on his clipboard grew long. We could see him racking his brain for extra crap details.


They came to Mo's cubicle. The CO gimlet-eyed the layout of Mo's bunk mate, and the First Shirt had another name on his not so little list. Then the CO scrutinized Mo's layout. Once. Twice. Three times. He finally told his NCO, "Mark this man outstanding."


This was the first "outstanding" of the inspection, and the First Sergeant decided to make Mo's setup an example. "This is perfectly folded," he blared, and grabbed for Mo's dress shirt. Imagine his reaction when he found himself in a tug of war with a top bunk.


By the third day after that, we could watch the brig line in the chow hall and see Mo was a trustee. He came back to us as Private Mo, and retired soon thereafter.


Hope you enjoyed the story.


From the rear ranks of the old Corps, George.


March 1


George,


Oh my goodness ... That actually made me laugh out loud. Private Mo's plan was brilliant, I have to admit brilliant except for that one fatal flaw.


I will be reading this to the Marines tonight ... And yes, we still do junk-on-the-bunk, so this will definitely inspire some laughter. (Hopefully it won't give any of them any bright ideas, however ...)


Sorry for the delayed response it's been a hellacious week here. But thanks much for writing we always enjoy hearing from you. James



March 15


Captain Allen,


Please pardon the lapse of time. Bronchitis has staggered me, my duties to Vietnam Veterans of America have busied me, and I have been very active in instigating more comfort parcels for the troopers in Iraq and Afghanistan.


No sea story this time. I have something of serious import for you and your Marines.


Pardon me if I do link it to something from my time, though.


In my day, some poor snuffy would come to the end of his hitch, having progressed from $78 per month as a Private to $200 or so. The reenlistment NCO would then offer another stripe and a shipping over bonus of $2,000 or so. If you were young, and had always been poor, this could look pretty good. The troopie would sign, collect the two grand (minus withholding), and say, Wow! I could have a new car. From there, it would be, I deserve the best. Soon, we would see a brand new Corporal driving a spendy new Cadillac.


The reenlistment Cadillac story never had a happy ending. The payments were too much to carry, orders for a hardship post arrived, the wife got teed off and left because the Caddy was more important than she, the local law wrote serious tickets, the Corporal got busted ... mix and match. I don't think any poor unlucky so and such got the full load, but it might have happened.


I mention this story because your younger troops are going to be tempted with the modern version of the reenlistment Caddy. When they get back to the States and muster out, they are going to be pressured to sign away their future VA benefits for a payout of about $30,000. We have heard of instances where they were told they would have to stick around an extra three or four days to get their VA benefits. Anxious to see their families, and enticed by money, some are signing away benefits worth many times $30,000.


If I met your plane and tried this scam, they'd kick my butt under the jailhouse and I'd deserve it. A government certified shoddy hustler is still a shoddy hustler but unfortunately an unjailed one.


Please warn your troops about this outrageous scam. In fact, you might want to spread the word as widely as possible.


I'll try to send a sea story next time. In the meantime, walk tall and hang tough.


Best wishes, George


March 16


George,


Thanks for the e-mail, and you raise a very good point accumulated disposable income is all TOO disposable. We have counseled our Marines on that, and our NCOs are going to be watching very closely.


Not sure if I mentioned it earlier, but we got your package thank you very much! It is much appreciated and definitely brightened my Marines' day.


I hope that bronchitis clears up ... take care, and thanks again! James


March 21


Captain Allen, sir,


I thought I might share a personal experience about the Old Corps with you instead of a sea story.


It seems we got orders to pack our gear and board a C130 as the Immediate Imagery Interpretation Center. Destination: Santo Domingo. It seems that a Dominican election had just ended and the losers challenged the winners to gun court.


We (yes, our own unit, Wing G2) landed there right after the Airborne had held hands to accomplish their mission. Funny little story, this big tough Maxwell House boys holding hands. It happened like this.


82nd Airborne lands at the airfield. Of course, they didn't ask the Marines already there for help. They don't need help from no stinkin' Marines.


Instead, they went into a group hug or conference or huddle or something when they realized everybody forgot the maps. Eventually, they found one of them who actually knew his way around. They then put their lone guide up front. It was then getting very dark, so he broke out his flashlight. He reached his other hand back to the troop in back of him, who reached his hand back, etc. So off goes this daisy chain of paratroops, trudging along a thousand strong(!) behind a single shaky PFC wondering when some Dominican is going to shoot him.


At every intersection, the tail end Charlies of the column get posted to guard that intersection. Happily for them, there turns out to be enough of them to guard every intersection between the airfield and the embassy.


Comes daylight, it becomes apparent they had accidentally cut the two feuding sides off from one another. History books now credit them with a brilliant move that defused the situation, minimized bloodshed, and all that good stuff. Truth of the matter is--everybody forgot the maps and they got lucky.


Oh, well, sometimes it's better to be lucky than smart.

 

I know you guys are smart. Stay lucky, now, okay.

 

George, the old saltine


March 23


George,


That story while not surprising was hilarious. Wow ... Go figure. Some things never change.

 

Thanks for the laugh and the "story behind the story." Take care, and OORAH ... James


There it rests at present. It's been fun to do and I've helped cheer some of our troops from the dry comfort of my computer's chair. If you want to do the same, go to www.anysoldier.com. Better yet, sit down and do this the old fashioned way, with pen and paper. A little effort and thought from you can make a huge difference in a trooper's life.


E-mail George Dorner at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..


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