My dear mother preserved the letters I sent to her from Marine Corps basic training. She stored them in a basement box along with other collected mementos, then made a gift of the box when I purchased my first home. These correspondences from 1988 were long forgotten until a search for an old newspaper clipping uncovered them.
It is strange, at forty-one, to encounter oneself as a mere boy striking out on his own. I do not wholly recognize this person, yet he reads like a once familiar companion.
Below, the letters are transcribed as written with minor spelling and grammar corrections to ensure readability.
Below, the letters are transcribed as written with minor spelling and grammar corrections to ensure readability.
Today is October 15, 1988. This is my first opportunity to relax since arriving Tuesday night. Two days from now we will be introduced to our D.I.'s (drill instructors) and start Phase One of recruit training.
When we arrived here Tuesday we immediately began "proccesing": getting our uniforms, our hair cuts (they shaved me bald!), learning to march and work as a unit. For the first couple days we literally did not sleep, and the D.I.'s were on our case the entire time. By the grace of God, I have not been "thrashed" - yelled at - once.
It's not that hard just yet. Mostly, it's a matter of concentrating and listening to every word the drill instructor says, then doing exactly what he orders as quickly as possible. It amazes me some of the idiotic, stupid things some of the other recruits do. Just in this first week, two recruits have already been cut (kicked out) for not having what it takes to be a Marine. We started with 70 and are now down to 68 men in the platoon.
At first, I thought the D.I.'s were a bunch of jerks, but have grown to respect them. Everything is just a test here. If you can't keep your cool in boot camp then you're certainly not going to keep your cool when it's time to go to war. Besides, it's not hard to have a healthy fear for my drill instructor - he can bench press over 400 pounds!
The food is good, but you don't have much time to eat it. Yesterday, I saw graduating recruits showing their families around the depot, so if you get to come to graduation, Mom and Dad, I might be able to show you around.
Oh, by the way, this second page is being written on Sunday morning, October 16. Because I scored well on my A.S.V.A.B. (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) test, me and some other guys in the platoon were given additional testing. If we do well, we can qualify for special jobs like Embassy Duty or Presidential Guard or computer work or something, which also means more pay.
By now, I'm starting to learn my platoon and I think I've got a chance at Honor Man or Squad Leader, so I'll keep you posted on that. I'm not the strongest guy, but I'm close, and I do well in the class room and the guy's listen to me when I have something to say. It's all going to really begin Monday though. I'll give it my best effort.
Last night, I had my first watch (from 0100 to 0200) and from the window of our barracks I could see downtown San Diego across the harbor. It was beautiful, the brightly colored lights reflecting off the crystal water. It really gave me a sense of pride for this country and God.
We have not done even one exercise since we arrived and that surprises me. I don't know when we are going to start either. We watched a tape yesterday about boot camp, much like the one I brought home from the recruiter. I have a feeling it's going to be much more physically demanding than I thought, but I can handle it.
Yesterday, our D.I. surprised us all by bringing in a television and letting us watch the U.S.C. / Washington game while we shined our boots. Normally, recruits arrive on Monday and start Phase One of training on Friday, but since we got here late Tuesday we don't start until Monday, which is OK because we have more time to prepare.
I love you all and I promise to write at least once a week.
Lance
Today is Sunday, the 29th of October. Not once since my last letter have I had a chance to write. That is how busy we've been. There is so much to tell you that I don't even know where to begin. I'll start on Monday, two weeks ago, when it all "hit the fan". Phase One of recruit training began - that's the day we met our permanent drill instructors. Mom and Dad, it's been like hell ever since. The screaming is incredible (non-stop). Nothing you can do will please them. I'll get more into that later.
The first few days (week one), were a big adjustment period for the platoon. Right off the bat, Squad Leaders were being fired . . . Wait! First let me explain the structure. We have about 66 men in our platoon. Platoon 2105, that's us. The platoon is broken down into four squads led by four Squad Leaders. Then there is the Guide (the top man) who marches out in the front of the platoon carrying the "stick" or flag.
When Friday came around the first week, I was still just another recruit in the platoon, but I was working hard to be recognized, volunteering for night watch, studying Marine Corps history, etc. Now, whenever the platoon screws up - which is about all the time - the Squad Leaders and Guide usually pay for it by being taken to "the Dirt" (a gravel pit they force us to do exercise in). By the way, they aren't allowed to physically hit us, Mom, but they do it anyway sometimes; mostly, they just push you around or throw things at you. Well, Friday our D.I. got real mad at one of the Squad Leaders and fired him. Anyway, he made me the Squad Leader. I was scared at first, but I soon got rid of that fear. The very same day our Guide was also fired and guess who was promoted? I've been Guide for Platoon 2105 ever since.
Being Guide is not a glamorous or easy job. It's hard. About twice as hard as the rest of the recruits. Being Guide means "fire watch" twice a night every night (about 5 hours of sleep), it means I'm the last one in line for chow and first one in line for P.T. (physical training). And I get taken to "the Dirt" about three times a day, whenever someone really screws up. The D.I.'s are much harder on me than all the others.
It's tough to perform 100% every day with the little sleep I get, but that's what Guides have to do. I get stressed out very easily, and the only things I look forward to each day are meals, rack time (sleep) and getting letters from home (thank you Amy for all the letters; I almost cried when I read your poem). I especially like the letters from Mom and Dad. Rack time is my favorite, though. I love to sleep. Some guys have nightmares at night and wake up screaming, "Sir, yes, Sir!", but not me. I dream about being back home with my family and friends, Mom's homemade cooking and going to see the Shaws, but then I wake up and it's back to reality.
I'm starting to adjust to the environment - except for P.T., that gets harder every day. Monday we take our Physical Fitness Test and written exam, and Wednesday is our first drill inspection. Our drill instructor said if we don't do well then there's going to be hell to pay. Thursday we leave for Camp Pendleton and start Phase Two of recruit training, finally. I can't wait.
I hope you can all come to graduation, especially Mom and Dad. I dream about that day also. Be praying for me to keep up the intensity. I'm going to need it to be honest. I'm very home sick, but I'll live. I only pray that I can keep the Guide position for two more months. My weaknesses include that I don't yell at the platoon enough, but I'm getting there. If you could see me yelling at the recruits you might not recognize me, Mom, but that's what it takes. Some guys are just so stupid. Oh, don't think that I've turned into a bad guy or anything. I only do it because I have to or the D.I.'s will take me to "the Dirt".
Two days ago they took us to a base store and let us buy Christmas presents. It's so soon for that, I don't know why we had to do it. Believe it or not, I'd do just about anything right now for a Snickers candy bar. Mom, please send lots of cookies on Thanksgiving. Being last man in the chow line means I never get to finish a meal.
The other day we ran the "Confidence Course". A lot of guys fell into the water, but not me. Some guys hate me also because they don't like another recruit in their face. Most of them respect and like me, I think. Only about four guys have been kicked out of the platoon. One went completely nuts. He's in the military hospital now. Don't be too worried for me though. Just the thought of coming home in two months keeps me going.
I love you all and keep me in your prayers.
Lance
Hello, again. Today is Sunday, the 6th of November. I didn't find out until yesterday that Halloween had come and gone. One of the things I want to stress in this letter is to please send as much food as you possibly can for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And one more thing, as soon as possible please send one of those super, extra large Snickers candy bars. When the drill instructors are in a good mood they let us eat the food we receive in the mail, else they throw it in the garbage just to torture us. No kidding.
I'm not the Guide anymore. The drill instructors are trying out other recruits and seeing how they do. So far none have done as well as me, I think. I'm currently a Squad Leader.
We're at Camp Pendleton now, north of San Diego. Tomorrow we start "Rifle Range" for two weeks, then we're going to "hump" (hike) 25 miles north into the mountains and start Phase Two of basic training, including "Fleet Field" exercises. The facilities up here at Pendleton aren't nearly as good as M.C.R.D. (Marine Corps Recruit Depot) San Diego. The chow is not as good either. They say the 'C' rations we get in the field are the worst.
Last week we had 1st Phase Competition between the platoons in our company (6 of them). There were three competitions: P.F.T. (Physical Fitness Test), drill and PRAC (Practical Aptitude Test). Our platoon did the best, winning the P.F.T. and PRAC trophies and coming in second on the drill (lost by one point). I carried the "stick" (flag) for our platoon. They say I can really swing a mean stick.
I can't believe you already got my Christmas present, Mom and Dad, but they made us shop and send them so early. I hope you liked the mug. It's still extremely lonely and extremely hard, but I'm doing OK. Keep sending the letters and food. I especially like the letters from Mom and Dad. I miss getting them a lot.
They say we'll be allowed a phone call real soon, so be expecting one (although nothing's for certain around here). Yesterday, we went on a five-mile hump with our M-16's along the beach. I enjoyed it because it gave me some time to think and talk to the Lord. The weather at M.C.R.D. was in the 70's every day, but up here at Camp Pendleton it's in the 50's and rainy all the time.
I know this was a short letter, but I've got to go. I love you all.
P.S. - don't forget the Snickers.
Lance
Twenty-five days and a wake up. Ooh-rah! It's been some time since I wrote. There's so much to tell you, I could write a book. I think with the last letter we'd just arrived at W.T.B.N. (Weapons Training Battalion), Camp Pendleton, so I'll start there.
Our first week we were snapping in with the M-16 rifle and learning different firing positions (off-hand, sitting, kneeling, prone, etc), yet our preparation time for qualification was cut short due to the holidays. Plus, on Monday of that week I came down with an awful case of "pharyngitis" and missed a few more days in the sick bay. In the end, I had only three days of actual firing before qualification.
On pre-qual day, Brigadier General Breath learned I was in camp. He flew in on his Huey (helicopter), landing it right on the firing range (we had to stop training) and payed me a special visit. I was the envy of the entire company. My drill instructor was so mad, he bent-and-thrust me in "the Dirt" for hours. Anyway, "Qual Day" came and I was still very sick, but I went anyway and qualified as an expert marksman, the highest rating. It basically means I can shoot the flag pole in half on a par-five golf hole, Dad. So when you see me next I'll have my expert rifleman badge. It looks sharp too!
The next evening we performed night fire exercises with tracer rounds. It was better than a fireworks display (tracer rounds make a red streak in the air as they go down range). Plus, we were blowing off mines and stuff. All that week we did lots of rifle P.T. (physical training). You wouldn't believe the ways they've thought up to make that 7.5 pound weapon fell like a ton of bricks.
The following week we started early preparations for R.F.T.D. (Recruit Field Training Division), which is about 18 miles north of W.T.B.N., up in the mountains. Boy, I thought it was cold here. We spent three weeks learning how to fire and maintain weapons like the M-60E3 machine gun, the M-50E3 machine gun, the S.A.W. (Squad Automatic Weapon), the L.A.W. (Light Anti-tank Weapon), the M-203 grenade launcher which attaches to the M-16 and is real fun to fire (my favorite). We also threw grenades and set off mines. Anyway, you're probably lost by now, so I'll get on with it.
After the weapons training, we packed up and headed for the mountains, a full week of living in the field. Now, up in the mountains everything took a whole new perspective. It was like actually going to war (well, not "actually"), but some weird stuff happened. First, I was fired from my Squad Leader position during weapons training for not holding my rifle properly, but then got it back. Here's how it happened.
To get to the R.F.T.D. bivouac our company had to hump it over the hills. Now when we "hump", it's no casual stroll down the way. I'm telling you, Mom and Dad, humping is THE HARDEST thing about Marine Corps boot camp.
That morning we awoke, packed our packs and headed for the hills carrying 60 pounds on our backs, plus loads of equipment strapped around our waist and shoulders (canteens, gas masks, shovels, etc), not to mention our rifles. And we didn't just "walk" either. The Senior Drill Instructor was going at a pace that was practically a jog. And here's the hardest part. We had to go over those hills and they were so steep, all while practically jogging with our gear. I literally thought I was going to die on that hill. No kidding. I felt that my body might just give out and I would die right there. I really had to reach down deeper than I ever have to keep from quitting or passing out.
By the time we reached our destination - 6 miles later - only 10 recruits out of 70 remained with the senior drill instructor, all of us soaking wet and dirty faced from the sweat and the dust. The other 60 recruits were considered "hump drops" because they had fallen back or collapsed from exhaustion. I was up front the entire way, and at the completion of the hump Senior promoted me back to platoon Guide.
We started field training the next day, first by navigating the "Infiltration Course" which, to put it simply, is 200 meters of crawling through 3 feet of mud. It rained hard that day. I almost drowned. Then we completed the "Gas Chamber". Some believe that's the hardest part of boot camp. We went into the chamber in groups and they'd turn on the CS gas. We'd have to breath it in for 10 seconds - and let me tell you, 10 seconds is long enough for this stuff to do a number on you - before donning our masks. Many recruits panicked or fainted, all "chamber drops". The important thing is to just stay calm in there. As soon as that CS gas hits you, you can no longer breath, you're gasping for air, your eyes feel like fire, they're watering like crazy, your nose burns and snot is running down to the ground. You have to contain the urge to panic and run out. Then, when they finally let you go, your whole face itches, but you can't itch it or you'll spread the CS on your skin. It all wears off in a couple hours. Very painful.
The rest of the week was spent learning techniques of war, including patrols day and night. We spent one night in a fox hole. Our drill instructors would ambush us and stuff. We learned how to board and deboard helicopters (real ones). We learned how to setup and explode mines, and how to survive on your own with as little as possible. There's a whole bunch more we learned, but I'll spare you the details.
We had no hot meals out there, only 'C' rations or what they call M.R.E.'s (Meals Ready to Eat). They weren't all that bad. In fact, I kind of liked them. M.R.E.'s were a commodity in the field. People were trading them and stealing them from other platoons. I would get up in the middle of the night and rummage through the trash for unopened packages.
One day, before our killer hump back over the hills, something really crazy happened. We got up at 0430 as usual and stood in the freezing cold wearing just our boots and underwear. They make us do this each morning to check weapons and hold a "body count" (make sure no one went AWOL). Me and the Squad Leaders passed out M.R.E.'s and while the platoon ate a rifle shot was heard. Someone screamed on the other side of the camp and the D.I.'s scurried around. Soon after a medic helicopter came over the hill and landed just outside camp. Our Senior Drill Instructor gathered us together. He was holding a pair of boots.
"Who wears size 8 1/2", he asked? "Cause some (he used a curse word here) just put a round into his chamber and blew his head into a thousand pieces. He won't be needing these boots anymore."
Everyone was quiet for a while. It was a shock, but we had to move on with the training. The next day we humped back over the hills and that evening they drove us back to M.C.R.D. San Diego to begin Phase Three, the final phase of training. Ooh-rah! It felt good that day to eat a hot meal and take a shower.
Yesterday, we learned what our jobs would be for "Mess and Maintenance" week. It's so laid back, this week. Our drill instructors are at home with their families and nearly the entire platoon works from 0300 to 2200 in the mess hall, serving chow to the other recruits. Luckily, the Guide (me) and Squad Leaders are working in offices doing really easy stuff. We don't start until 0730 and yesterday they had nothing for us to do so they let us leave at 1400. We spent the remainder of the day sitting around the barracks by ourselves and talked about stuff while pressing our camies and spit-shining our boots. We go to chow on our own and get a whole hour to eat. I'm loving it.
Monday, we received our Marine Corps uniforms. It was fun trying on the clothes and looking like real Marines. Because it's the cold season we also received overcoats and gloves. Looks real sharp. They say boot camp is a pretty easy ride from here on out. Phase Three is mostly classes, P.T., drill, uniform fitting and figuring out what everyone's job will be when they complete training.
I never did tell you about my drill instructors. I know you were praying I'd get good ones. Well, the truth is we got some of the toughest in the company. Some platoons have only gone to "the Dirt" a few times, they say. We go a few times every day. I don't mind though. It makes us more disciplined and we win almost all the competitions.
Thank you, Mom, for the food. I received the two Snickers bars back at rifle range. The drill instructor ate one and let me have the other. I also received the Thanksgiving package. The drill instructor ate your whole loaf of banana bread, Mom (he said to please send more because he liked it). I passed out the brownies to the platoon and kept the cookies for myself. I'm going to ask you to send one more package, if you will, for Christmas.
Our "Visitor's Day" is on Saturday, the day before Christmas. I have my schedule all planned out. I'll spend some time just walking around by myself. Then me and a group of guys are taking on another platoon in basketball. Then we'll order tons of pizza (Dominoes delivers on base). At Christmas, we get two more hours of base liberty for lunch, "Square Away" time in the morning and a platoon party in the afternoon. The Senior Drill Instructor has been saving all the care packages and we're going to break them out and watch movies. One drill instructor said he would bring an x-rated movie, but those who would be offended didn't have to watch it (that's just me and two other recruits).
Well, that's all for now. I'll probably write once more on Sunday. Have a merry Christmas and I love you all. Please, thank those who wrote letters to me, especially Mr. Beck.
Lance
Today is Christmas day, but it's not very merry. On the one hand, I feel very lonely. Even though I'm surrounded by comrades it is times like these that I feel most alone here. I'm writing to you from the back of the squad bay. It's very quiet. Everyone seems to be very much to themselves (thinking about home, I suppose). A recruit tried to kill himself last night. He broke his eye glasses and began to slit his wrists. Me and a couple of the guys had to hold him down until the drill instructor arrived. I think he just didn't want to be a Marine. He was very troubled.
On the other hand, it's a happy day. Only four to go until graduation, then I'll be coming home. We get two more hours liberty this afternoon, then we'll watch movies tonight. By now the drill instructors don't really stress us out too much. They even joke around with us a little. Friday, we repelled down a huge wall. That was fun!
As you already know, I was awarded Company 'H' Honor Man! It's a weird feeling. Everyone looks up to you. When I found out I got Platoon Honor Man I was happy enough, then the next day me and the other Guides from our series all went before a board of Senior Drill Instructors. They asked us questions about Marine Corps code of conduct, weapons and history, etc. Well, I won that, and then the other series Honor Man and I went head-to-head before a board of Captains, First Sergeant's and a Colonel. I remember waiting in a room with him outside the board and we talked a little. He seemed really cocky and I was nervous at first, but after I prayed to the Lord all that went away. I went into the room with confidence and pride. Well, you know how the story ended. I received tickets to Sea World, a plaque and my picture in the paper (pretty wild, huh?).
Yesterday, we got some bad news, though. We are not going to have a parade at graduation. The parade is when we all march on "the Deck" and the band is there playing for the crowd. It's awesome. We got to march in the parade for a graduating platoon last week, holding our rifles. It was motivating, but we won't have a parade because something about the band playing at the Rose Bowl or something. Sorry, Mom, but you won't get to see me march in my dress blues. All we'll have is an indoor ceremony.
Well, that's it before I see you next. Hope to see tons of people at the airport. I don't care if I know them or not. I'll be wearing my blues! Me and one of the Squad Leaders have gotten pretty close. He's from Mission, Kansas so we'll go out a few times and talk about boot camp over a soda. Well, merry Christmas and I'll see you all real soon.
Lance
