Stand By to Fall Out

INTRODUCTION

I was joining the ranks of the proud and tenaciously bold, the few, the Marines. I knew only that it would be difficult, and little more. Boot camp was unique, but it was only a single three-month blur on a vast vista. The forty-five months that followed made my honor of Honor Man out of Parris Island seem to be insignificant. A story that could only be found told by sloshed schoolmates on periodical trips home. More often than not, I was in the presence of Marines. Marines had better things to jabber about--and bitch about. There were idle days in garrison. Days that flew by like minutes, both on liberty and in the bush, that are too tough to remember. These days were reflected upon in a journal, this is a partial reproduction of such. Each Marine’s lifestyle, for the most part, tells a similar story. Some keep their skeletons locked up, I choose to open my closet.

I share these stories, recollections and memories for reasons three fold. First and foremost, for the fellow jarhead, who wants to scramble rearwards in his gray matter to the broad days of exploration, the probing of people, places and a way of life. Secondly for the non-military, those who always thought they could but were restricted to living vicariously through someone who did. Lastly for those who enjoy watching a Marine’s expression of pride, by as little as the way he walks, or the way his eyes still tell stories, while his mouth remains mute.

All former soldiers of the sea have this capability. They can see through people, as they have been told fabrications by the peerless, for many a sitting, until they became proficient at the art.

They slight your uneasiness, as they have had worries that make most men’s misgivings seem so trivial, they should not be brought up in his presence.

They have known love for the moment, putting forth all emotion for the realization that the receiver might not awake in the morning, as he has seen many brothers his age go by daybreak, to the great beyond.

He has been dragged through the mud, danced when the band refused to play and laughed at others outside his tight knit group who were verbally opposed to his dealing with life’s adversities.

He left his brotherhood believing there was something healthier on the outside. He now sits alone on dark still nights, calling to mind people who would give their right arm, their last beer, or anything in between-- just for the sake of giving.

Marines are magical. They are the first ones to go and the last ones to know. They are the only beings who can both laugh and bitch at the same time, knowing at that moment, they have seen worse, and in a week’s time it won’t really matter. They know the world, as they have been around her two or three times and have seen her under belly on a few occasions. Through it all they have taken something away from each town, base, port of call and person they have met.

The following tells a portion of the grunts four-year saga, better yet, it tells mine--