"Now scream aye Sir!!!" Welcome to Parris Island...

It has been awhile since I posted on this blog. A long while now that I think of it. A whole lot has happened in that time, more than I can possibly explain adequately in one post, so I'm going to write a series of posts bringing my journey up to where I am now. Buckle your seatbelts, because unless I get in trouble for it I intend to give the most thorough and truthful inside view of boot camp you will probably ever see. I have an excellent memory, and many memories of Parris Island are as vivid as if they happened yesterday. At the same time, understand that my memory of exactly _when_ certain things happened is sometimes faulty. Time doesn't exist on the Island. Also understand, that I'm not just telling my story, but the story of 80 of my of fellow Marines from my platoon, some 400 Marines who graduated from Charlie Company with me, and every Marine who comes out of Parris Island. 

I'll begin this story at the end, with a somewhat bizarre piece of ceremony that would look odd if you saw it and didn't know what it was. Its astonishingly silent on the Parade deck, which is usually ringing with drill instructor's cadences and commands, the thud of recruit's boots, and the crack of hands slapping rifles executing the manual of arms. Its not that early in the morning because the sun is just coming up, recruits are already training all over the island, but drill instructors know to keep them away from the parade deck, or keep them silent. They know what's going on, and will do everything in their power to preserve the gravity of the moment. Classic patriotic band music plays over a loudspeaker while recruits are arranged into the odd formation, I say odd because you don't make formations like this any other time. Its bitter cold, the wind cuts right through the light desert uniforms we are all wearing, but we ignore the discomfort, a skill that has taken 12 weeks to learn. The recruits all formed up, the commanding officer and first sergeant take their places in front of the U shaped formation and call the recruits to attention. The color guard marches out, then marches up onto the pedestal around the iwo-jima memorial. At the order present-arms, the recruits and drill instructors salute. The color guard takes a folded flag and hoists it up the flagpole being perpetually raised by those Bronze Marines from another time. The national anthem plays. Its ironic, all I can think about as order-arms is given and the color guard retires, is how cold those Marines must be in those short sleeve khaki shirts. Now the chaplain comes out and has a brief prayer. Between the tired, the cold, and the intensity of the moment much of the military customs of this opening portion of the ceremony go unnoticed, I'm almost in a dream world. Then suddenly it begins, a slow, powerful version of the Marine's Hymn plays over the loudspeaker. My heart begins to beat faster, Marines in campaign covers are going up and down the ranks with little red boards. Stuck into the boards are dozens of little metal symbols that cost a couple dollars at the MCX, but as a man who commands more respect and fear than anyone I've ever met presses one into my hand and says congratulations, its value is priceless beyond measure….

12 weeks before, Monday August 11th, I sat in a white 15 passenger van, on the way from Montgomery AL to Parris Island SC, along with 14 fellow wannabe Marines. Its hard to describe the emotions in that van. We all knew where we were headed, but somehow it hadn't really sunk in yet. One of the young men in the van joked repeatedly about how we're on our way to a field trip at a Bluebell ice-cream factory. "I can't wait to get to bluebell!" it was his way of dealing with whatever nervousness is inside. One of the fellows in the van looked like he was about 35, and he wore a wedding ring. Turned out, he was married, but only 21. He suffers from severe pre-mature balding, and has a very mature face. We stopped halfway to PI for what our driver called our "last meal" a government paid for all-you-can-eat Golden Corral buffet. I had two steaks and wondered what the chow will be like at bootcamp. The second half of the drive was quieter than the first. I tried to sleep, but I had very little success. Most of the van managed to nap. We stopped at a gas station about twenty minutes from the gates for one last breath of free air. Our driver was a Marine veteran. He told us to drink any drinks we had, and get our last tobacco fix in. Everything has to be thrown away before we set out on our last leg. Before we boarded the van he passed around an Eagle Globe and Anchor coin from his days in the Corps. He dismissed us to board the van with an Oorah! My heart began to pound as we approached the gates to PI. Someone pointed out that I was screwed since I was closest to the door, and would be the first person they would see.

We had passed all our ID's to the driver, and it only took a minute for the guard to check them and wave the van through. It was after dark, around 10pm as we drove to the receiving building, so we couldn't see the route. My heart just kept beating faster as we approached the famous yellow footprints, and the driver told us to put our heads down and not to look up until greeted by a drill instructor. The van stopped, and so did my heart. I heard someone in the van quietly say "Oh shit, oh shit!" Then the door was ripped open by the very first drill instructor any of us would meet. It is quite simply impossible to describe exactly what its like to be on the receiving end of a Marine Corps drill instructor, but its much more difficult when its a female drill instructor. Thats exactly who was now screaming in my face in an inhuman voice, voicebox torn apart by constant abuse. We ran out of the bus and were directed by more scary hats to the terrace in front of two large silver hatches (doors). The gold letters above the door bore the famous words: "Through these portals pass prospects for America's finest fighting force. United States Marines." The female drill instructor paced back and forth in front of us like a wolf surveying its prey, bellowing out a speech I don't remember one word of, basically welcoming us to hell. Then she ordered two in the front to open the hatches and we were rushed inside. I barely had time to process the fact that we didn't stand in the yellow footprints. I would later understand that the night we arrived was what's called "L5," meaning lighting has struck within 5 miles of the base. Personnel are required to remain under cover during L5 conditions. Since the footprints are out in the street, we missed out on them. 

Inside the building we were in a large room with a very high roof. The room was full of school desk looking things. We were directed to fill in these desks. I say directed, but in fact it involved a lot of very loud screaming. Every command was followed by "now scream Aye Sir!" Which we dutifully did, adding to the chaos of the situation. We were in the room for what seemed like a long time, but it really wasn't. To sum up, we received a blue bag, and wrote our names and a number we didn't understand on it. Then we put our Id's and money. Some papers may also have been involved. What I remember most vividly about this whole experience is that my whole body was shaking, and I could barely do what we were being told to do. The commands came thick and fast, and every one had to be followed by a screamed "Aye Sir" or one of the hats pacing up and down would be in your face in a heartbeat. From this room we filed into a hall where a row of phones was on the wall. Here we lined up in front of phones in little gray cases and made our last phone-call. This phone call involved yelling verbatim a script written on the inside of the door on every phone. I called my wife first, but she didn't answer. This is a bad thing because the constant barrage of screaming from the hat strongly implied that nothing short of living death was in store for anyone who didn't get an actual person. I tried twice to call my wife, and wound up leaving a message of the script, which by the way we were not supposed to do. But the hat was busy screaming at someone for failing to close the door on the phone after their call and didn't notice. After that I kept trying to call someone. I wound up being the last one in the hall with an angry hat before I finally got my recruiter and rattled off the script. Relieved I closed the phone and scuttled off after the other new recruits, screaming "aye sir"s back to everything the hat was yelling at me. From that point we were able to catch our breath while we received a couple briefings and filled out paper-work for our paychecks and stuff like that. It was hard to stay awake once the adrenaline cooled down a bit.

Note, I call the drill instructors who were interacting with me during this point "hats" because thats really all I remember of them. Those drill instructors are only there to provide initial shock and awe, and guide you to the next step in receiving. I don't remember faces or names, but I'll never forget that campaign cover. After those classes we met a drill instructor who would specifically work with our platoon for the remainder of receiving. His name I do remember because he would be the first DI to actually interact with us, but I won't put it out there. The first day and a half of receiving is very difficult to remember and describe because in encompasses the initial shock of arriving at Parris Island, along with sooooo many stops and events. The best I can do is describe particular parts, but the order isn't necessarily correct. The first day of receiving lasts a day and a half. We arrived monday at 10, and went straight through till late Tuesday evening. So exhaustion is involved as well. I remember initial issue of personal items, where we received a white mesh bag full of stuff like a razor, canteens, "skivvies" (our underwear) soap, towels, ect. We also received our go-fasters (running shoes) at this point. All of these things were deposited in a huge open room upstairs in the receiving building. This room would practically be our home all through receiving week. That done we received our uniform issue. Seeing each other in those desert digital cammies restored a little bit of motivation that had been lost in the stress of those first few hours. It didn't last long though. We did not get to wear boots, these we stuffed into green sea bags, along with the rest of the stuff we received. Instead we wore our go-fasters. We also had to hang neon reflective green glow straps across our bodies. The go-fasters and glowstraps tell the world that you are a receiving recruit. You can't get any lower in the Marine Corps world, except for poolee. 

It wasn't till Tuesday night that we left the receiving building for the first time, and stepped it out to the barracks that would become our home for the next 13 weeks. I'll never forget my first sight of our squadbay. It was so unbelievably dismal. The floor was just plain, hard, smooth concrete. There was next to no color, metal racks lined both sides of the squadbay with two black boxes at the foot of each one. It felt like such a dismal place. It was dusk when we arrived, and we still had a ton to do before we could finally rest. We had a lesson on making military racks (beds), we had to mark our belongings, learn where to hang and stow our bags and belongings, and hygiene. The frantic rush of that first hygiene time cannot be described. We were given 10 minutes for 85 recruits to brush our teeth, shave, shower, and get dressed in green skivvies again, we didn't even make it in time. Its funny now, because by the end of boot-camp we would consider 8 minutes a luxury and would be able to get decently clean in that time. Finally, completely exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally, we climbed into our racks and promptly went straight to sleep. Except for the unfortunate souls that the Drill Instructor had picked to be the very first fire-watch.

I felt like I'd just fallen asleep when the lights flickered on and we all tumbled out of our racks to the screaming drill instructor's instructions. In fact it was only about 4 hours of sleep because of how late we hit the rack, and in boot-camp you get up at 0400. I'm not going to explain every moment of the next three days, but I'll share some of the key memories. One of the very first things you do, before we even left receiving, is learn to make a formation. The formation on the Island consists of four squads, facing the direction you march. We hadn't learned to march at that point, so instead you "step it out." This is a major feature of bootcamp, and consists of the DI yelling "Step it out!" and all the recruits yelling "Step it out Aye Sir!" This mantra is repeated over and over again as long as you're walking to where you're going. When you make a turn the DI yells "Turn right!" and the recruits reply "Turn right Aye sir!" When you stop its more complex because you respond "Stop Aye sir, Good morning/afternoon/evening Sir!" This is the formula for every time a drill instructor yells stop, and we spent plenty of time yelling it.

This brings me to another feature of bootcamp, the greeting of the day. It is absolutely mandatory that whenever you pass a drill instructor, or enter a room with a drill instructor, or many other circumstances that take time to learn, you must give the greeting of the day. Till afternoon chow it is "good morning sir," after that its "good afternoon" until evening chow, and so on. It is also vital that if there is more than one drill instructor, you must say "good morning/afternoon/ect _gentlemen." Woe to the recruit who only says "sir" when two DI's are within 50 feet, or who fails to scream the greeting to a Drill instructor, or who is late with the greeting.

During receiving we spent a lot of time in that large open room upstairs of the receiving building. We ate boxed chows there, and waited there for our turn for the next bit of processing. During these times we were often left alone with no Drill instructors around for an hour or two at a time. Usually two to three platoons would be in the room at one time. The result of placing a couple hundred stressed out, undisciplined, ambitious recruits alone like this was total chaos. A dozen or so recruits in each platoon, desiring to be "leaders" and usually with JROTC experience in high school, tried to take charge of everything, with utter failure. For myself, being a good 5 years older than 90% of the recruits, it was a supremely frustrating experience. I mostly quietly studied the book of knowledge we'd been given and tried to ignore the JROTC wannabe drill instructors. It is interesting to note that none of these wannabes ended up as squadleaders or guides once bootcamp really got going. Ironically a time would come when I would long for those hours of chaos with no DI's around. 

The most time consuming events of receiving are the medical and dental examinations and vaccinations. There's really not much to say about these. Some of the navy hospitalmen who supervise the process seemed to take Parris Island as an excuse to behave like drill instructors and be jerks to the recruits. Others were nice, and the doctors themselves were very nice, happy to answer medical questions and questions about the military. Two things stick out in my memory. The infamous peanut-butter shot is definitely one of those. This penicillin shot is very thick, theres a lot of it, and it is injected into the buttock which makes it very painful to walk or sit down for the next couple days. The other is my dental exam, because I knew as soon as I was sent back for a second set of x-rays that I was in for a lot of dental work. Boy did that turn out to be right.

The highlight of my receiving week came when we were getting our pictures taken for our military ID cards, called CACs. One by one we were entering a booth and sitting at attention in front of the camera while an admin Marine, not a drill instructor, asked a couple questions then snapped the picture. There was a parapet to the side of the booth that faced the main office. When my turn came, the admin Marine was chatting with a Drill instructor who was leaning on the parapet from the other side. I sat at attention facing the camera and answered the Marine's questions. While he entered the information, the Drill instructor said "hey recruit, how many channels do you get?" Confused, I replied without losing bearing or moving my head or eyes: "Sir, how many channels does this recruit get where sir?" The DI sniggered and said: "With your satellite dish ears recruit!" Without hesitating, moving my head, or making any expression at all I responded. "Sir, this recruit gets a thousand channels sir." This caused the Marine to laugh out loud, and got a tiny chuckle out of the Drill instructor. I didn't get in trouble. This is a supreme feat in bootcamp, to make a drill instructor laugh, and I was made to tell the story many times to my fellow recruits.

One of the receiving events I will never forget is the IST, the initial strength test. Each recruit must pass this test to begin training. It consists of a max set of pullups, as many crunches as you can do in 2 minutes, and a mile and a half timed run. We headed out to the PT field before the sun was up. As we stepped it out into the field it started to rain. It was dismal and dark as we made a U turn and got set for the run instead. It was literally pouring down rain as we did our mile and a half run. In spite of the conditions, I still ran the best time that I had ever run, 9 minutes and 30 seconds. Once the run was completed we went back to our squadbay and did the crunches and pullups indoors. There was a set of pullup bars hanging out of the ceiling that we used for the pullups. During the IST, I noticed some men in red C company T shirts hanging around. I would later find that these were our drill instructors, come to see what kind of platoon they would be getting. One person failed the IST, they were trying to cheat on their crunches and got caught. They were immediately dropped, meaning they would join the next platoon to arrive and try the IST again. I don't even remember them leaving. 

One last interesting note about receiving is that already, there were signs of things to come. On our second day in receiving the receiving Drill instructor began teaching us how to march. His cadence was painfully slow, "LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFFFFFFTT………..RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGHT!" but we quickly began to get in step. We also learned how to execute a right and left face, and an about face. As we marched around to our receiving events, and to chow, I noticed that no other receiving platoons were marching. They were all still stepping it out. It wasn't till the last day of receiving that one other platoon started trying to march. It occurred to me at this point that my platoon might be a good platoon, yea even the best. It seemed like we were catching on to things pretty quick. We discussed the possibility in whispered conversations after lights out. We wouldn't know for a very long time whether or not this was true. By the way, that number we didn't understand, that we wrote on our little blue bags in the first minutes on the Island? That was our platoon number, 1081. A number that is seared into my soul. 

By the time these first three days in receiving were drawing to a close, we honestly couldn't wait to start real training. We were sick of waiting around, and were anxious to meet our drill instructors. Boy was that naive. All of our uniforms and gear had been issued. We'd learned where to stow our gear, and how to lock our rifles to our racks, hanging by their slings. We'd learned the basics of how to make a rack, and how to march. We felt ready to attack boot-camp. Well as it so happens, boot-camp was about to attack us. Lights out on thursday, the night before black friday. The after lights conversation was focused on one thing, how we felt about the trials before us, and wondering what it would be like…

Semper-fit- Third Poolee Function

I've decided to switch to past tense for now. I'll only use present tense for special occasions. 

I knew well in advance when this pool function would be. I got a text from my recruiter, Sergeant Lovett, two days ahead of time that said simply "Pool function Saturday at 0745. Mandadory and locked on. If you don't know what that means then call me." followed by the uniform requirements. I did text him and ask what "locked on" meant, and he explained it simply meant to come prepared to follow instructions and protocol and be motivated no matter what. I knew that wasn't an indicator of an easy day. 

Saturday night I couldn't sleep, thunderstorms woke me up at 4am, and I never went back to sleep. It was still raining pretty good when I arrived a good ten minutes early at the recruiting station. I was surprised to find about a dozen other poolees already inside. More piled in pretty quick and we just stood around speculating about what we would do, considering the rain. There was a brand new Marine, fresh out of boot camp there in his desert cammie bottoms and boots, and tight fitting Olive T shirt. We all crowded around him asking questions about boot camp, which he happily answered. At 0745 Staff Sergeant Castleberry (male, his wife is also a Marine recruiter at the office) called for us to line up in alphabetical order to be weighed and sign in. We all immediately turned to each other and began sharing last names. We got worked out into line pretty quickly. In Boot camp it would never be fast enough, but it satisfied the recruiters. I was only 2 pounds over my minimum weight for my hight, definitely need to gain weight. 

After that a list of names was called for the IST (Initial Strength Test). The IST consists of a max set of pull-ups, max number of crunches you can do in 2 minutes, and a 1.5 mile timed run. Those individuals who were called lined up in front of the pull-up bar. The rest of us milled about briefly before being instructed to form ranks and sit down. This we did, all crammed together on the floor. We sat for quite awhile watching poolees doing their pullups. We cheered them on and boo'd the ones who quit before they were really finished. As the last of them headed for the bar the recruiters worked out a SNAFU and decided everyone else was going to do an IST as well, while those who'd finished pullups went outside to do crunches. By this time the rain had stopped, so it was on. We all got in line for the pull-up bar and waited our turn. When we got to the bar we had to say "Poolee Glass requesting permission to mount the bar." Then the recruiter would say "mount" and then "begin," and count for us. I managed 11 pullups, despite giving my all to get one more. I had done 12 less than a week ago and was hoping to repeat that performance. As soon as I finished my pullups I jogged out to a grassy area a short distance away where poolees were being lined up for crunches. I took a spot at the end of the line and the next poolee to arrive became my partner. After filling the grassy area we got down and began. My partner did 60, I matched my all time record with 86, but just wasn't able to exceed it. The ground was very wet from the rain, and our backsides got all muddy. I didn't let it bother me, which would turn out to be a wise move. Once we gave our scores to a recruiter with a clipboard, we were sent back up to the parking lot to form a formation. From there we lined up and re-filled our water-bottles, then re-formed again and were split up. Those completing the IST were sent one way to do their run, the rest of us were instructed to go to the nearby college track for PT. 

I hopped in with somebody and we carpooled the short distance to the track. It was a very short track, probably 1/8th of a mile, with just open grass in the middle. There our little crowd of poolees was greeted by a very large, heavily muscled man wearing a Marine shirt and woodland marpat Bottoms and combat boots. He was wearing a Marine Veteran ball cap, so I deduced that he was not an active duty Marine, but somebody brought in to torture us. As he introduced himself my deduction was proved 100% correct. He introduced himself as a Veteran of OIF and OEF, a former Football player, and current certified "Semper-fit" instructor working at a nearby fitness gym. He briefly explained that we would do a short warm-up formation run, some formation PT, and then split up into a circuit using various exercise tools that were placed in intervals around the edge of the field, along with some stations with no equipment that involved simple exercises. Once his short explanation was finished, he called for four squad leaders to step forward. I know I want to be a leader, so I stepped up along with three others. The rest of the poolees fell into lines behind us, and the Boot Marine acted as guide. We swung our formation around onto the track and ran around it once calling cadences with the Fitness trainer. From there the trainer instructed us squad leaders on what to do and had us form up facing the rest of the poolees in a wide open PT formation. We then proceeded to do some of the Marine Corps PT staples: side straddle hops, leg lifts, pushups, and mountain climbers. We performed these with the fitness instructor setting cadence, and us providing the count. He frequently stopped the exercise to correct our various and sundry mistakes, then making us start the count over. I also learned that you can never move fast enough from position of attention, to exercise, or back again. You have to move as fast as possible, and when somebody isn't fast enough everyone has to do it over till they all get it right. When you go down for pushups, you don't lower yourself, you just fall straight down. I'm happy to say that after the first time we were corrected I was one of the fastest. I figured that as a temporary squad leader I needed to set an example. 

Once we were all panting, we were given a walk-around of the circuit stations, where it was explained to us what to do at each one. But when the instructor tried to have us set our water bottles down in an orderly fashion it went FUBAR in a hurry. We were yelled at roundly and placed back into the formation we had used to PT. From there I figured we would divide up by squad, but instead we split up by rank, which put all four of us squad leaders as one group. This turned out to be interesting, since being high level A- type personalities, who felt that we should be setting an example, we probably pushed ourselves and each other much harder than would otherwise have happened.  At each station we assumed the position of attention until instructed to prepare, then we would exercise for one minute at the max pace we could manage before running to the next station within 30 seconds, standing at attention, and beginning the next exercise. There were 8 stations total. Our squad leader team tried to be as organized as possible, even setting a cadence for ourselves for some of the exercises. Halfway through it started pouring rain, and we just kept right on going through it, slipping and sliding in the mud the field had become. By the end of this mad dash PT session I thought I was feeling the hurt. We re-formed into formation for water and rest. But when the instructor asked if we thought we could go another round, I loudly joined in with a hearty "yes sir" along with most everyone else. This time we did 30 second sessions with 30 second breaks in between. It wasn't raining anymore, which made it a little more bearable, but this time around you could start seeing the strengths and weaknesses of our little group. I petered out on pushups, and mountain climbers, but I had no trouble with squats, crunches, or weight swings. Others excelled or flagged at different stations. We stayed motivated through it all. By the end of the second round I was definitely hurting everywhere. Once I caught my breath it felt really good. We re-formed for water and rest and after a short speech from the instructor about the pride that comes with pushing yourself and not quitting, and the pride of earning the title Marine, we were dismissed to return to the recruiting station. 

The last half hour at the station once we got back consisted entirely of hanging around chatting with other poolees, and the Boot Marine. We swapped stories of the amusing things that happened to us at MEPS and the hotel, and talked about the stories our military friends had told. Eventually everyone who didn't have shipping paperwork to do was dismissed, though a couple of us hung around talking for a few more minutes anyway. 

It I had had any ideas that boot camp would be easy (and I didn't) they would have been crushed by this pool function. The new Marine fresh out of boot who was with us at the field PT, assured us that PT in recruit training is harder, and the drill instructors aren't as nice as the fitness instructor was. He also said that those who excel in boot camp, those who do well, get extra attention as the drill instructors try to push for their breaking point. I want to earn PFC in recruit training by being a leader and setting an example, so I suppose thats what I have to look forward to. I went away at the end of the day with fresh determination to never quit or give up, to give 100% at all times, at work, church, or boot camp. 

Unprepared

Today I was less than 48 hours away from the gate of Parris Island and a pair of yellow footprints with my name on them. I got up early to go PT with my recruiter at the station, but he called me at 6am when I was about to leave home to say that he had an early appointment he took from another recruiter and he wasn't going to be there to PT. I opted to just knock out a few sets of pullups and crunches later since I had a sore achilles tendon and didn't want to run without consulting my recruiter about it. For now I decided to go back to bed for a little. I wasn't tired and didn't really sleep but it felt nice to lay down.

Around 8:30 there was a knock at the door. I peaked through the blinds and saw dress blue deltas. I hopped out of bed and threw a shirt on pretty quick. Staff Sergeant Thorne was at the door. He said "A slot is open for 0321 Recon-man." I asked when, but I knew the answer since he was at my door. "You come over to the station, we put you on the shuttle to go up to the hotel, then you process and go to recruit training tomorrow." My heart about stopped. This was what I wanted. From the moment I found out that recon was an option it's what I wanted to do. I've always dreamed of working in military special operations. I briefly paused to mention that I had been considering trying to get into active duty, but Staff Sergeant Thorne pointed out that I would need to replace my reserve slot to do that, which isn't likely to happen soon. He also pointed out that I would be earning active duty pay for the next year while going through training. By this time Joy was up and dressed, and she in her wife smarts invited the recruiter in so we could sit down in the living room. I knew that the biggest issue with this opportunity was that my affairs are not in order. My wife has no driver's license and depends on others from transportation, my car needs Florida tags, and there's a dozen other little things that need to be done. I told Staff Sergeant Thorne this plainly and he said he understood and that the recruiters and their wives were available to help in any way they could.

The next hour was a bit of a blur. I determined from the start that my main concern was my wife. I knew that I could go to recruit training and do just fine, even with such short notice. I asked about my physical state, since I had been told they wanted people to pass an IST with certain standards in order to take a recon slot. Staff Sergeant Thorne said that he had been tracking my progress and had talked to the recon unit's commanding officer. He had gotten clearance specifically for me to go, because I had shown dedication in working toward my goal. It might be the only opportunity that will arise to take an 0321 recon slot and he only just got word this morning.

My wife was pretty nervous, but she was taking it surprisingly well. She talked to Mrs. Thorne, the recruiter's wife on the phone, about what it was like to deal with the separation. I called and talked to a friend, my Pastor's son, and he advised me that there was an awful lot that needed to be squared away still, and that I be sure that there was some sort of solid plan to get it done without me. Finally I talked to my wife's parents, a very important call since they are the ones who have volunteered to take care of her financially in my absence. Her father told me that they are supportive of my decision to join the Marines, but that he was very concerned about this timing. Joy is totally dependent on others, without a drivers license or any experience with handling the car or finances. Plus we still have one month to go before our first anniversary of marriage, and he was worried how she would take that. He said he would not tell me not to do it, but that I needed to think carefully about what I was doing. I thanked him and went inside with a heavy heart. I could tell that he did not want to tell me what to do, but that he strongly felt that it was a bad idea for me to leave today. I could tell that he saw it as leaving Joy in a bad situation.

I went back in the house and looked at my wife, she was talking with Staff Sergeant Thorne, clearly in control of herself in spite of the major shock she had just received. She is strong, whatever she thinks about herself. At that very moment she was thinking that I was about to leave, and had spent the past hour thinking that I was about to leave. She knows that this is what I've always dreamed of and assumed that I was going to go, but she wasn't blubbering or incoherent. She's a wonderful woman and deserves better than to be dumped with all the responsibility of taking care of herself, without even having some of the most basic tools to do so.

I told Staff Sergeant Thorne that I could not accept the offer. I told him that I knew when I signed up that might not be able to have the job I wanted, and that my decision to join stands firm regardless of whether I get to join Recon or not. The situation is that my wife is just not prepared, physically or emotionally, and that leaving now would probably damage my relationship with her family. I told him that saying yes would have been the easy choice, following my dream right now. But putting my wife's good before my own was the right choice. Staff Sergeant Thorne was very understanding. He said that he could understand why I made my decision and that he would use it as an example to his recruiters. I told him that I had made a mistake by assuming that I had yea however many months before I would be leaving, and had been lazy in taking care of my affairs. I determined to learn a lesson from this, and I would ensure that if he showed up in a couple weeks, or a couple months with another chance, we would be prepared.

Staff Sergeant Thorne departed, and so did my chance to be less than 48 hours from Parris Island. It was a very sobering experience to say the least. I was faced with a very difficult decision, and I made a very hard choice. I could have been on my way following my dream, and really the only thing that held me back was my failure to prepare for this possibility. I assumed that I had time to prepare for my departure and I focused alot on my physical preparation. I've worked very hard to grow stronger and faster, and set myself up for success, but I failed to set my wife up for success. I will learn from this and make sure that we are both ready for anything that the Marine Corps might throw at us in the coming months. So for now my priorities are clear, get Joy her driver's license, get her enrolled in college for the fall, and make sure she has the ability to take over the finances and car at a moment's notice.

Also, I think Joy and I will both value the time we spend together a lot more, because we don't know when another knock might come to the door and yesterday will become the last day we have together for a long time.

"Double Time!" Poolee Function on the Beach

(All set up to grill some burgers and hot dogs.)

I arrive a good fifteen minutes early, a good habit to have. The Recruiting office isn't even open, so I just sit in my car. This Pool function was well announced and all the Poolees for the Pensacola and Pace Marine recruiting stations are supposed to be here today. Within a minute a truck pulls up next to me. I see a Marine Corps sticker and figure that it's another poolee. When the driver gets out wearing his poolee uniform, the navy blue shirt with maroon emblem, and required black shorts, I'm proven correct. I get out of my car too and greet him. Within a couple minutes we are joined by several more poolees. We discuss when we ship out, and the plan for the day. Originally we know this function was supposed to be a run on the beach followed by a grill out. The weather was really nasty yesterday calling this plan into question, but by the looks of the morning it might be back on. We won't know till later. By the time 7:30 arrives, the time I was told to be there, there are many poolees gathered around the door to the recruiting office. More keep arriving too. I hang around chatting with various and sundry poolees. Most are pretty sharp, both in appearance and intelligence. Most are between 17 and 19, only a couple others are in their 20s. I estimate around 40 poolees in total, and an exact count later gives 37. Around 7:30 the recruiters start arriving. Staff Sergeant Thorne opens the office and comes out a minute later with a clipboard. He gives it to a poolee and tells him to start having people sign in. The poolee he gives it to wears a black "Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body" shirt. I met him at the last pool function. He is a fitness nut and has a lot of experience in NJROTC. He apparently passed some insane challenge at a previous poolee function, which is how he earned the shirt. He ends up selected as the de-facto platoon sergeant for the pool function. While everyone signs in, conversation continues. Staff Sergeant Throne pulls his truck up and calls for volunteers to unload the grill and propane. I quickly hop up with another poolee and we hand the grill down to other willing hands. After a time, I hear a voice loudly call "Fall In", which just about causes me to fall apart. I have no idea what I'm doing. I see other poolees scrambling into a formation and I find a place in it as best I can. Eventually we form a very sloppy formation standing at attention. First off we have to fix our formation. We are instructed on how to spread out our squads (rows) by having the first rank take so many steps forward, the second rank (where I am) take so many steps forward, the third rank stands still and the fourth rank steps back. Then we are allowed to relax to parade rest. 

Next Staff Sergeant Thorne reads off the names of the six week and thirty day shippers. These are the poolees who are within six weeks, or within 30 days of their ship date. He reminds them that they must be ready to go to boot camp right now, as within the 30 day window he can call them at any time and tell them they're leaving tomorrow. Six weeks shippers also have some paperwork to do in order to be ready for their 30 day shipping window. Now for the fun part. Staff Sergeant Thorne announces that we will have inspection. We should be wearing the correct uniform, have our Marine water bottles and knowledge books, and we should be clean shaven. I'm good on all of those except the knowledge book. I forgot I was supposed to bring that. Staff Sergeant Thorne starts at the back of the formation, Sergeant Hensley starts at the front. Neither go easy. I can hear Staff Sergeant Thorne somewhere behind me asking Poolees if they're going to "forget" their rifles or ammunition or other crucial equipment if they become Marines. These poolees forgot their water battles or knowledge books, or forgot to shave. That last one seems to be a big one. Sergeant Hensley is verbally more abusive. I hear him calling every other Poolee a "Nasty little thing" for not shaving. Some tried shaving the night before in order to sleep in a little longer this morning, they don't get any mercy either. I consider myself lucky, Sgt. Hensley walks right past me and looks at my face. He shakes his head and says something about "Nasty little thing" as he walks away but I'm not sure if he's addressing me or still grumbling about the previous poolee he inspected, who got a real dressing down. He is so focused on the shaving (which appears to be a big issue with todays poolees) that he does not ask about my knowledge book that I forgot. I resolve to put my lucky escape on this issue to good use by not forgetting it next time! Once the inspection ends the recruiters address us as a group about the shaving issue. All poolees must shave the morning of pool functions. If we have this problem at the next pool function, we will do group PT as punishment. The threat of what happens if you "forget" things in boot camp, is held heavily over our heads. 

Next we do hight and weight. By squads (rows) we go into the office where Staff Sergeant Castleberry (female) has us give our name, step on a scale, and give our hight. I only weigh in at 146 pounds, 2 pounds over the minimum for my hight. Granted I haven't eaten yet today, but still, I feel the need to gain weight. After the hight and weight It feels like we stand in formation for quite awhile. At one point I hear a poolee in the first squad try to request a head call. He gets it wrong and is told by Sergeant Hensley to try again. He still gets it wrong, about five more times before he manages to get it correct at the top of his lungs. "This Poolee requests permission to make a head call!" Then he is allowed to go use the restroom. Staff Sergeant Thorne addresses us about the day's plans. We're going for a "fun run" on the beach in formation while calling cadence. He calls up Staff Sergeant Castleberry (male) who is going to start off the cadences. Staff Sergeant Castleberry asks who does not know how to run to cadence and I raise my hand along with about half the poolees. He has us run in place and demonstrates. I'm getting a little pumped by this point, this sounds like a lot of fun. They ask if any poolees know cadences and would be willing to lead them, much is made about how "C130 rolling down the strip" doesn't count because everybody knows that one. Nobody volunteers. 

Staff Sergeant Thorne also explains that we will need to carpool to Pensacola beach. He instructs us to figure out within our squads who is driving and riding. I turn to my left and right and announce that I have two seats. The two poolees on my left need rides so that pretty well settles it. A little later Staff Sergeant Thorne asks if everyone has rides and who the drivers are. He gives final instructions and dismisses the formation. I grab the other two poolees who are riding with me and we hop in my car. One sits in the back and is really quiet. He doesn't say much at all. The fellow in the front and I enjoy conversation about various things. Turns out he has played a lot of airsoft, like me, so that makes for fun talk. At the meeting spot at the beach we meet other poolees gathering outside the bathrooms. We stand around talking about what our run will be like and how hot and sunny it is. When the recruiters arrive they have us move to a large pavilion. A a few poolees help unload large coolers of water as well as the grills and food supplies. I start stretching, along with some of the other poolees. I don't know how hard this run is going to be, but it will be easier if I'm stretched out. A poll goes out who would prefer to run barefoot and who would prefer to wear shoes. Barefoot wins and everyone has to take their shoes off. After a time we are called into formation again inside the spacious pavilion. This formation is not the same as the previous, we don't all end up in even remotely the same spots. Once it's formed it gets slightly re-arranged when Staff Sergeant Thorne has slower runners take the spots that will be at the front of the run. He says he wants to set a slow pace and not wear everyone out. 

When we're ready, we move down out of the pavilion, then right face, which aligns the formation for the run, and head towards the beach. One of the recruiters sets the marching cadence. We mostly don't know squat about marching, and the formation sort of gets messed up, especially trying to weave around beach goers, but I do my best. When we reach the beach we wheel left and come to a halt. I am on the right side of the formation, and I'm knee deep in surf. I realize that this is going to be a little bit wetter than I'd imagined. Recruiters hand out final instructions, at the command double time we are to shout "Marine Corps" and start running. Then the order comes, "forward march" and we start walking. When the double time command comes a few moments later we shout "Marine Corps" and start running. Sort of, it seems like the shout fizzled out. Once we start running Staff Sergeant Castleberry starts out the cadence with what I call the "lefty righty" cadence. It consists entirely of variations of "left" and "right" along with calling noises. I think it is designed to set the cadence and help us get into rhythm. A problem immediately becomes apparent however. We're running in the the surf, the noise is crazy. I can barely hear Staff Sergeant Castleberry and sometimes I can't hear him at all. As soon as he leaves the lefty righty cadence and tries a real one, most of the formation is unable to hear or follow along, and the thundering unison turns into more of a weak quartet of whoever is closest to Staff Sgt Castleberry. I resolve to just make noises that sounds vaguely like whatever I thought i heard, and I wind up doing that quite a bit to be honest. Things improve slightly when Sergeant Lovett or Hensley takes their turn at the cadences. Their voices are a little louder and they alternately speed up and slow down so that they are sometimes near the back of the formation and sometimes near the front, which helps keep everyone able to hear sometimes and thus motivated enough to at least make those vague noises when they can't hear. Sergeant Lovett has a nice simple call he starts his cadences with that everyone can follow. First "Left foot!" a couple times, then "Drill Foot" then back, or sometimes "Kill foot!" then he'll launch into a cadence. He calls a couple that sound a lot like those called by the fictional Drill Instructor Hartman in the movie Full Metal Jacket, which makes them a lot easier to follow since even when I can't hear I know what is supposed to come next. The running itself is not that hard. I'm slogging through water that is sometimes up to my waist, but the pace is pretty slow and a couple times we halt briefly or walk to give us a chance to catch our breath. To my surprise I notice that some people are falling out. I know this only because several times I have to move position in the formation as the people in front of me are shifting to fill gaps toward the front of the formation. After awhile we come to a stop, then wheel all the way around and start back toward where we started. Now I'm on the beach side of the formation, which is nice since it's a little easier to run with water only around my ankles, and I can hear a little better. On this side I'm able to notice that we are running past hundreds of beach goers. Many are cheering us on and taking pictures. On the way back I notice more people falling out of formation. One comes right down the middle, flagging and slowing down with the formation flowing around him. We all slap him on the back and shout encouragement as we pass. In filling gaps I wind up moving from the back to almost halfway to the front of the formation. I'm in the zone by now, calling cadences and running steadily at a slow pace. The recruiters seem to have recognized the hearing problem and are calling the "lefty righty" cadence a lot, since it's easy to follow even when you can't hear. Sergeant Hensley even does the "C130 rolling down the strip" cadence he said we weren't going to do, presumably because if everyone knows it they can follow better. When we come to a halt where we started my first thought is "that's it" I don't feel very taxed at all. My body is telling me I've been using it, but I'm not winded, tired, or sore. For our finisher we receive instructions on falling out by column into single file and running back to reform in the pavilion. The guidon carrier (carrying the maroon colored standard for our recruiter's unit) takes the lead, with the column behind him running behind him as he heads off, then as soon as the last person in that column passes the first in our column we fall in running behind them in single file, and so on all the way back to the pavilion. This short run, up hill through deep sand, gets my wind going more so than the whole beach run up till that point. I'm actually breathing heavily by the time we sloppily re-form the formation. 

The recruiters immediately instruct us to retrieve our water bottles and begin sipping them to hydrate. We stand at parade rest sipping on water for a little while. I hear one girl ask to retrieve hers as well. Sgt Hensley asks why she did not get it when she was instructed, and tells her to listen closely to instructions. Then he tells her to go get and double time. She starts walking and he starts yelling "go go! Faster! 13, 12, 11," he counts down and she doesn't make it back to her spot in time. He yells "on your face!" And a random poolee in the first rank drops to the pushup position. "No not you." Sgt Hensley begins, then changes his mind. "Nevermind, everybody on your face!" He tells us that we need to pay attention to instructions, and to move quickly when we are instructed. Then we all do 20 pushups. After this Staff Sergeant Thorne addresses the group. He asks who was embarrassed and a lot of hands go up. He says they should be and scolds everybody for not showing motivation and sounding off loudly in cadence. He does say that plenty of us did fine, but that it seemed like some people were acting like they didn't want to be there. I certainly don't feel embarrassed. I ran steady, sounded off loudly, and at least made noise when I couldn't hear. It really was hard to follow the cadences over the sound of the surf. Once Staff Sergeant Thorne walks away Sgt Hensley gives a more sympathetic address, which I find amusing considering how hard he has been on people so far. He says that we did good, and that most of us should be proud of ourselves. Then he allows the de-facto platoon sergeant poolee to dismiss the formation. Some of the recruiters and poolees go to cook burgers and hot-dogs. A couple other recruiters are talking with poolees about their experience. I hang around chatting with poolees I know while we wait for dinner. I bump into Sergeant Lovett, my recruiter, who asks me how it was. I tell him it really wasn't hard, just fun and I could do it again. After a while Staff Sergeant Thorne gets everyone's attention and instructs us to form a line down the pavilion ramp and around to the grills. I realize that where I've been standing I'm at the very front of the line, and poolees begin falling in behind me. "Ladies first!" I call out, and others echo. The female poolees gratefully come around and form the line in front of me, leading us off to lunch. The burgers are good and I enjoy chatting with the poolee I drove down with too. Eventually the recruiters call for their particular recruits to gather around. Sgt. Lovett congratulates myself and his other poolees for running well. None of us fell out of formation and some of us expressed willingness to go again. He tells us that we are free to go or we can stay and continue to hang out. One of the poolees I drove up with needs to head back so all three of us throw away our lunch plates and cups and head back to the station. I drop off the other two and bid them farewell. I actually go back to the beach, my wife works right nearby the beach and I have to pick her up in the near future. But it has been a full hour by the time I get back to the beach and everyone is gone, so I simply go to my Wife's place of employment to wait the hour till it's time to take her home. The poolee function is officially over for me. 

(Some of the other poolees hanging around talking after lunch.)

This poolee function was a great time, I got to experience an inspection and some formations, and had a motivating cadence run. It is a good reminder of what I am getting into. The close order drill maneuvers we butchered so horribly as poolees must be performed to perfection by the end of recruit training, and the drill instructors who will teach us will not be merciful like our recruiters are. The verbal grilling offered by our recruiters during the inspection paled in comparison to what we will face when our drill instructors inspect us. The recruiters didn't raise their voices, or get in anyone's face, something they made sure to remind us. Everything the Marines I've met in this enlistment process have done has had a purpose. At MEPS the Marines did their best to intimidate those who were processing to join. Why? Because they don't want undisciplined recruits. In describing my experiences to others I have frequently heard "I couldn't handle that," "I'd get mad." "You're not even in yet!" To which I respond that that is the point. The Marines don't want people who can't handle that. They want people who can handle anything that might be thrown at them, from harsh words to hand grenades. So the recruiter's goal with the pool function was to help prepare poolees mentally for boot camp, as well as motivate us and keep us excited about what we're doing. It sure works for me. 

"I Love The Staff Sergeant's Surprises." My First Poolee function.

Well what do you know, I enlisted on Tuesday and I'm showing up for a Poolee function the very next day. I walk up to the office past a group of seven young men. Inside Staff Sergeant Thorne tells me to go stretch with them. I introduce myself and meet my fellow Poolees. A couple look like they are in terrific shape, the others look about average, like me. Nobody knows what we're doing today, just that an IST (Initial Strength Test) is involved, consisting of crunches, pullups, and a mile and a half run. After that the only thing they know is that Staff Sergeant Thorne has been mentioning a surprise. During stretching Staff Sergeant Thorne has those of us who haven't had pictures yet go inside. I'm last, and the camera on SSgt Thorne's phone stops working. After a few comments about how I've been in the DEP for a few hours and already broken the camera; and an amusing "drop test" on the phone, he gives up and my picture remains untaken. I go back outside, and after a few minutes Staff Sergeant Thorn comes out. He has us run down to a little grassy area nearby to do our crunches for the IST. We pair up, me being the second tallest, I go with the tallest guy. 

I do my crunches first, only making it to 71. I'm ticked since I made 85 last time. But I still managed to do better than some of the group. My partner makes it to 72. After that we go back to the office to do the pullups. Sgt Lovett is inside talking to a young man and his family who are interested in the Marines, so we go in by pairs to do our pullups so as not to disturb them. I manage 10, my partner does 8. After everyone is done Staff Sergeant Thorn announces his surprise. We're going to do the Murphy challenge. This consists of a 1 mile run (approximate), followed by 100 pullups, 200 pushups, 300 squats, and another 1 mile run. I admit, I'm very daunted. I don't think I can do that. I feel much better when it is explained that we will do the challenge by pairs, with both of our efforts contributing against the total for each exercise. The only thing the Staff Sergeant adds is that we can choose to do 300 pushups instead of 200 and 100 pullups. 

We hit the run first, down the road, up the road, then back up to the driveway to the office. I have no problem with this, but it certainly gets my breathing and adrenaline going. After that some of the guys start knocking out pushups, planning to skip pullups. But me, I want to do Recon, and I'm currently a mere 5 pullups short of what I need to qualify. I want to do some freaking pullups. So I drag my partner up to the office to PT there. We go in a circuit with several other poolees. We take turns doing max sets of pullups (which quickly go down to one or two in a set) and doing sets of squats and pushups. I do my pushup and squat sets 30 at a time at first, then 20 at a time. I don't let myself slip to ten. I struggle on the pullups though, never getting more than 2 at a time after the first couple sets. I finish my 100 pushups and 150 squats while only managing 25 pullups. My partner also does his half of the pushups and squats while managing 25 pullups. So now we know we have to do 50 between us. It is a daunting number when neither of us is managing more than one or two at a time. Luckily, one of the really fit poolees who did pushups instead and has already finished the whole challenge with his partner, offers to do some pullups for our count. He adds them 5 or 10 at a time, pumping them out like a beast. My partner and I still just add one or two at a time. In the office, another guy is struggling to get his last pushups out. Everyone gathers around him, yelling motivation and telling him not to quit. Finally, I get the honor of doing the last pullup for our count, and my partner and I head out for the second run. I'm trashed, and I know it. But I tackle it with a will. I'm really dragging, and by the halfway point I have a bad cramp and have to walk for a short ways. My partner offers motivation, forcing me to start running again and not letting me slow down too much. Finally he has us make a sprint for the last twenty five yards to the finish. As I come to a stop I feel a horrible unsettle in my gut, and I immediately throw up in the grass. I puke a couple good spurts and then I'm done. My partner takes me inside to get some water from the water fountain, and then I feel fine, great in fact. 

Back outside another poolee is getting ready to puke. He is on his face, retching in the grass. The rest of us are done, and we stand around offering advice and encouragement. Eventually the poolee pukes horrible orange chunkiness on the grass, he barely has strength to move his head and keep his face from falling into it. We help him up when he's done hurling and sit him down on the front step of the office. Myself and another poolee place our legs behind his back for him to lean on, he doesn't have the strength to hold his body, or even his head up, he's swaying back and forth. His water bottle his thrust into his hand and he drinks liberally, squirting more water on his head. At about this point a fit looking young man gets out of a car and goes over to the Air Force recruiting office right next door. He finds it closed. He looks over at us and sees the state we are in. "Hey, wanna join the Marine Corps!" I yell. The recovering poolee who got really trashed manages to raise his head and give the guy a thumbs up. "Marines is where it's at!" He gasps out. Staff Sergeant Thorn comes out around this time and greets the young man, who describes his college degrees and says he wants to find out about officer training and see if he can use his physical training/rehabilitation degree for a position. Offering further proof that my recruiters do not fit the smooth talking conniving profile that recruiters are given, Staff Sergeant Thorne tells the young man straight out that there are no doctor's in the Marine Corps. He does start to talk with him about what options there are, but we take the exhausted Poolee inside and don't hear the rest. After a few more minutes of recovery he says he wants to finish the challenge. He has 9 pullups to go and thats it. We all cheer him on as he knocks these out with ease. Way to recover from a low point! His determination does him credit and totally motivates me, and probably some of the others too. 

We meander around and enjoy the heady feeling of success till Staff Sergeant Thorne comes back in. He gathers us around and holds a brief discussion and lecture about the Marine Corps values, what they mean, what they mean to us, and how to apply them as Poolees. He tells the story of a Marine who was manning a "Toys For Tots" box outside a best buy when a thief with a knife ran past him. The Marine chased the crook down and well, according to the Staff Sergeant "the bad guy fell off the curb in the struggle and suffered some injuries." I eat all this up. Honor, Courage, and Commitment. Those words mean a lot, and I believe in their meaning. When he is done we all sign our names that we have had this "Values based training" lecture, and we're free to go. I linger for a couple minutes to ask Staff Sergeant Thorne if I have a ship date for Parris Island yet. He checks his computer, and says it's not in yet. He shows me on a calendar that I'll most likely be taking an available slot for October 6th or 14th. I thank him and head home. My legs and arms feel like jelly, it's a really good feeling. I've been working out and running at home, but never that hard. I haven't worked myself that hard, since Kyokushin martial arts in Poland. The feeling of exhaustion reminds me of many hard days of training, and the rewarding feeling of accomplishment when you complete something so demanding. I think I've been missing that in my life since then. The last time I felt this way was after the Parkour jam I went to in Gainsville Florida, and although that lasted some 8 hours, nothing I did there matched today's intensity. The funny thing is that I feel like I didn't push myself hard enough. That one guy could barely get his last pushups and collapsed on the floor. I knocked out my last set of pushups at a decent pace, although i could feel myself flirting with muscle failure. Same with the squats, and even the pullups. I still had pushups, squats, and pullups left in me, so I kinda wish I had pushed harder, at least to do longer sets, if not more reps. I resolve to harden my personal PT, and push myself further. I'm going to be a Marine, no doubt about that. Based on my IST I could probably go to boot camp tomorrow and make it through. But I don't just want to be a Marine, I want to be a really good Marine, one of the best. That means I need to work harder, and motivate myself and not just depend on others. I need to make that 300 PFT (100 crunches, 20 pullups, 3 miles in 18 minutes), not just because I want to pass the IST and get my contract switched to recon, but because I won't settle for less than the best. That's why I chose the Marines, and that's the attitude I want to guide my actions. 

Second trip to MEPS: "Raise your right hand."

I got the call with my date to return to MEPS right before starting work at Subway one day. I'll be leaving the next upcoming monday. 

I show up around 10:45 this time, to leave at 11:30am. There are a couple other people there. A tall fellow with a bag, and a shorter girl with her mother. I have to fix or update a couple pieces of paperwork with Sgt. Lovett, then I go to meet the other two. The young man's name is Kendrick, he is going to MEPS for the first time for processing. The girl is shipping out to Parris Island. Right after I introduce myself Staff Sergeant Castleberry goes over to her and gives her mother a full brief on what she will be doing for the next 13 weeks. He describes how she will go to MEPS, get a last physical and interview, then depart by bus to Parris Island. He tells mom to expect a last phonecall which will be scripted and hectic. He goes on to talk about each phase of Recruit training, concluding with family day and graduation. I listen in and find the conversation very motivating. The van arrives around 11:30 and the familiar driver Leroy comes in with his clipboard for us to sign in. Then we head out to get in the van. There are three young men (none of whom appear to be in particularly good shape) all surrounded by family members with cameras, and a few with veteran hats. I deduce that they are shipping out too. Kendrick and I claim the backseats for future Marines and sit in the very back with our bags, while the girl who is shipping sits in the seat in front of us. Kendrick and I hit it off pretty quick, we both want to be Marines and that's enough. The girl who is shipping is a little nervous, but clearly has motivation. We encourage her and tell her that we would love to take her place. The three guys in the front of the van turn out to all be shipping to Air Force basic training. They're pretty quiet and we don't really try to talk to them much. Air Force basic is not interesting. Instead Kendrick and I watch videos of Parris Island on our phones and talk about our MOS interests, PT, and boot camp. Along the way we stop off in Pace and pick up two guys and a lady who are shipping to Army boot camp. MEPS is closed for memorial day so at the end of the van ride we are dropped off in front of the splendid Renaissance Hotel. We all go in and up the stairs to the second floor for our briefing. The briefing room is closed and instead we follow the signs to a waiting room till the briefing room opens up at 3pm, there are some twenty other people also in the waiting room. By their "Army Strong" shirts and overheard conversation I conclude that most of them are also shippers. After only about 10 minutes wait, at 3 we all traipse down the hall to the briefing room and find seats. The civilian employee sits at a desk in the corner of the room and instructs everybody to take a form from the first table and fill it out. The form, same as last time, lists the rules of the hotel, which are now familiar to me and almost everybody in the room. I sit at a table with Kendrick, the girl going to the Island, and the army girl we picked up in Pace. We wait for an hour and a half in that room while more and more people arrive, filling the room, then spilling out into the hall sitting on the floor amidst camouflage bags. All the Army and national guard shippers have ACU backpacks and "Army Strong" shirts. I'm ok with this, but I can't imagine wearing or carrying anything with the Marine Corps emblem on it, which I have not yet earned. On a flatscreen on the wall the movie "We Were Soldiers" with Mel Gibson plays. I watch it on and off but the volume is low and the conversation with Kendrick and the two ladies is mostly more interesting. Kendrick donates his phone to allow the Army girl to call her husband.

(The line to sign in to the hotel, most of the young men in this picture are shipping to basic training tomorrow.)

Finally the civilian employee turns off the TV, gets everyone's attention and after a very short briefing we line up to sign in. Kendrick and I wait in line together, meeting and chatting with those around us, who are all shippers. We ask to room together and get keys to a fourth floor room. It is a quarter to 5pm by the time we head up to our room. Dinner starts at five and neither of us have eaten all day, so thats about all we can think about. We drop our bags in our room and then explore the Hotel while waiting for dinner to start serving. We head to the Hotel restaurant right at 5. We bump into a very nerdy looking kid complete with the glasses, wearing an Army Strong shirt.  Along the way we strike up conversation. He is shipping tomorrow and makes good company so the three of us sit together at dinner. We all order the cheeseburger and talk about the military. I think we make a very odd group, but the military is a wonderful equalizer. Skin color, background, interests, none of it matters here, not even the branch of the military you're joining. All that matters is your heart to serve and nerdy kid has it. One thing that comes out in our dinner conversation is cause for a great deal of conversation. We're talking about the difference in boot camps, I mention that Ft. Benning is the home of the infantry, that they send all the grunts there. I know a fair bit about Benning because two of my friends went there. Next to Parris Island or MCRD San Diego I'm convinced it is the toughest boot camp in the US Military. I say that I think that only infantry MOS's get sent there, but our nerdy friend announces that he's going for a computer MOS and he's shipping to Benning tomorrow. Kendrick and myself instantly rag all over this poor kid. In fact, he comes up frequently throughout the rest of the night. A nerdy guy with a computer MOS at Benning is going to have a rough time of it with all those testosterone charged infantry guys. We wish him the very best of luck and tell him to stay motivated and don't quit. If he makes it through he'll be the toughest techie ever. 

After dinner we go outside for some fresh air, sort of, Kendrick wants a smoke. A very redneck looking young man is smoking in the smoking area out front. Kendrick asks if he can spare one to which the guy replies "what branch you joining?" "Marines" Kendrick says. "Hell yeah I always got a smoke for a Marine!" The fellow drawls. He is joining the National Guard Special Forces program and ships to Ft. Benning tomorrow. We tell him to look after our nerdy friend. Gradually lots more guys come out and conversation is rife with expletives and inappropriate conversation, smokes are lit and smoked prolifically, most of these guys are shipping and are getting their last smoke in. I don't participate in any of that, but there's plenty of good talk about the military too. It is interesting to note the type of people and what they are planning to do in the military. The majority of guys who gather out front are patriots and stand up guys on the whole. One guy is joining the Air Force Pararescue Jumpers, a couple others are Army Infantry. Only one guy that we meet out front is joining the Marines, though he's not a shipper. It is interesting the responses that branches and specialties elicit. Nobody looks down on the guys who are doing non grunt and non special operations jobs. But Marine, infantry, and special operations wannabes definitely get an extra measure of respect from everybody. Maybe some of these guys aren't signing up for the most hardcore branch (The Marines of course), but infantry is infantry and Special Operations is the real deal and anybody who chooses to take challenges like that earns a little extra respect from me and others. I also think that the willingness to sign up for a job that involves extreme danger and possibly personal combat in wartime is a large factor. 

Eventually the group out front breaks up and goes their separate ways, we have a lot of time to kill before the 10pm curfew. Some go to the workout room, the pool, or their rooms. A few go to sign out and take a walk to find a store to get some sodas and smokes. I leave Kendrick bumming smokes from people (he is an admitted tobacco addict) and walk around the Hotel for awhile. I check out the pool and curse myself for not bringing any shorts I could go swimming in. I don't even have anything appropriate to wear to use the workout Gym or the quarter mile jogging track around the roof where the pool is. 

At one point I come back out front and find Kendrick we walk over to four other guys who are off to the very end of the Hotel sidewalk smoking. Kendrick of course bums a cig. These four guys are incredulous when they hear that he is joining the Marines. "The Marines! My God, No no you'd never catch me doing that!" They say that's crazy. We ask them what branch they're joining. They're all shippers, two air-force, one navy, and one national guard, all for very behind-the-lines-not-getting-shot-at jobs. They make a couple comments about how they don't want to get sent to Afghanistan and one even says "If they tell me to go over there I'll be like nuh uh!" When Kendrick wanders away I linger for a moment with these guys, mostly out of curiosity. As soon as Kendrick is gone one of them says "That guy is going away for 2nd degree murder, he's probably all like 'I want to kill somebody' joining the Marines. I bet he'll come out of bootcamp all like 'My rifle is my friend.'" I respond to this by standing up straight and loudly reciting the rifleman's creed while they stare at me. Then I walk away without looking back. I'm frankly disgusted at their attitude and lack of motivation. I sort of wonder if they'll even make it through the basic training for their branches. I can't understand the mindset their words seem to come from, what is the military for? To defend our beloved country. I don't expect everybody to be a grunt, but attitudes like theirs are unacceptable. After this incident I mostly wander around the hotel alone, striking up conversations here and there and stopping to talk to those I've met already, including the two girls we rode up with. I walk around the jogging track, and text and call my wife. Then eventually a little before 9 I go to the room and start watching a movie on my phone. Kendrick returns to the room around 10 and we talk for a bit. I'm not really tired so I finish my movie before turning in around 11. Kendrick spends that whole time on his phone, talking to his Marine friend, and other friends and family. Once I put the phone away I fall asleep quickly. 

My phone alarm for 3:45 am goes off before the wake-up call again and I get up to get ready. I showered the night before so all I have to do is basic hygiene. I also iron the collared shirt I plan to wear, it got wrinkled badly in my bag and I don't want to go to MEPS like that. Kendrick and I head to breakfast around a quarter after 4. We turn in our room keys and hit the restaurant. It is crowded, with a long line for the breakfast buffet. We get our plates and squeeze in at a table with the two girls we came up with and a couple other shippers. Several times during my time at the Hotel I feel like the two of us are the only ones not leaving. We both mention frequently how we wish we could be the ones leaving. Conversation slows the eating, and when the busses arrive at a quarter till 5 my companions rush to grab their bags and head out, leaving their unfinished breakfast despite my insistence that we have time. Pretty soon we're waiting out front beside two large coach busses. Kendrick and the girls agree that they could have at least finished their plates. After a little while the bus drivers open the bus doors and we board the busses for the drive to Maxwell Air Force Base. Along the way I have a horrible realization. My pocket knife is clipped to my pocket. I always carry it and I haven't even thought about the fact that I have it, or that it will be contraband until now. When we unload the busses long lines form going in to sign into MEPS. I put the knife in the front pocket of my bag and as soon I get in I step out of line, go up to the front desk and declare it. They attach my name to it and stow it for me, saying I can pick it up when I leave. I feel so stupid, I knew the rules, I just didn't even think about the fact that my knife is always on my person.

(Waiting to board the busses to Maxwell AFB. Many shippers in this picture.) 

At the initial briefing those getting full physicals are released first, only about a dozen people. Those who are there for other things are released next, another 20 perhaps. I enter the Marine liaison office and get to skip the briefing and sexual harassment video I had last time. They know I've had it already. Instead they look for the papers I need. They're missing, and I get sent downstairs to the front desk to retrieve them. The front desk lady gives me my name-tag and a green folder and sends me to the third floor, the medical floor. After waiting in a line there the medical desk attendant looks over my paperwork and has me sit down off the side with two other guys and a girl who are there for "consults". We wait for over an hour while Shippers wait in a long line and are sent down the hall for final physicals and interviews. Finally, after some 50-60 shippers are sent to process we are called back up to the medical desk and handed sealed folders with addresses on them, and our names. We are told that a van will pick us up to take us to our consults we should go down to the first floor room with the pool table and wait to be paged. In the pool room four guys are just starting a doubles game of pool. After only a couple shots one of them is paged and leaves. I take his place and get a few shots in myself (without luck) before the four of us for consults are paged. We go meet our van driver and board a regular 15 passenger shuttle van. I am by far the most talkative out of the four of us. I introduce myself to each of the other three and ask what their consults are. The two guys are joining the Army, one says he is going for a hearing exam, the other an eye exam. The girl is going Air Force and says that she has to see a head doc because she panicked on her first trip to MEPS and put "anxiety" on her paperwork. She says that when she went to college she bawled for days and her mother told her she probably had anxiety. Mom isn't a doctor and can't diagnose medical anxiety. She admits that this was pretty dumb, she was just panicking because of the threat of jail time or a 10,000 dollar fine for fraudulent enlistments. I'm sure she'll have no trouble getting a waiver. 

I'm dropped off with one of the guys at a large hospital complex with many doctor's offices. Mine is on the fourth floor, his is on the seventh. I wish him luck and head to the dermatologist office. I sign in and wait in the waiting room for about an hour. Then an assistant calls my name and takes me to a small room with all the usual doctor's office stuff in it. She asks me a series of questions about what I'm there for, along with the usual health stuff about medical history and drinking and smoking. Then she leaves me alone. I wait in this room for nearly half an hour before the doctor finally comes in, an older white haired gentleman with a cane. I stand, and he introduces himself. He asks me if I've ever had eczema, I say no and explain the poison ivy incident. He listens, then briefly explains why eczema is a disqualified for the military and talks about his own career as a Navy doctor. He spent two years serving at Parris Island. He then pulls out my folder, it is already re-sealed. "I already had my assistant fill out the paperwork saying that you have no chronic skin problem, just contact dermatitis from poison ivy that is in recovery. I have a soft spot for Marines, and I wish the best of luck to you!" Then he shakes my hand and he's gone. I walk out of the office on air and take the elevator up the seventh floor to meet the other fellow. He is still in the waiting room at a neurologist's office. I sit down and strike up a conversation. He was really quiet on the van ride and when we came in, but once the ice is broken he talks freely and is a really nice guy. He has an extremely rare condition where his eyes are constantly moving back and forth slightly. He passed the eye exam at MEPS but because of his condition, which the MEPS doctors had never seen or heard of before, they want a second opinion. His condition is very strange, I can see his eyes moving back and forth every second, his head kind of bobs all the time too. I suspect a natural response to steady his vision and compensate for the involuntary eye movement. he demonstrates his ability to read and also his superior peripheral vision. Because of the constant eye movement he can notice things that are as far back as behind his ear. Finally his name is called and he has a fairly short visit with the doctor. He comes out happy, the doctor has said that he can so no reason he shouldn't be able to join the military and has granted his waiver. We call the van driver on his phone and then wait in the lobby downstairs swapping stories our friends have told us about boot camps. The van picks us up after about fifteen minutes, then we go pick up the other two. The other army guy is disappointed. His hearing test isn't terrible, but he does have trouble with some higher pitches in one ear. He's not sure if this will disqualify him or not. The girl is a little upset when we pick her up. Not because of her results, but because she waited for two hours for a two minute visit in which the doctor asked a few questions and told her she didn't have anxiety problems. Upon arrival back at MEPS we sign in with our "magic finger" at the front desk then turn in our paperwork at the medical desk on the third floor. The attendant places our papers back in folders and then sends us down the hall to see a MEPS doctor in the medical interview room. We wait quietly and apprehensively in the hall. Anxiety girl goes first and is told she must have some blood tests because she has sickle cell trait. She walks away pretty annoyed. Hearing guy is next, and I overhear the doctor saying "they disqualified you at the New Orleans MEPS, we don't have to go by that here. Go down the hall and take a hearing test here." He leaves the office determined to get cleared for service. I'm next, the doctor takes my packet and asks what the dermatologist said. I repeat the deal about "contact dermatitis" while he looks at the papers the dermatologist sent back. "Well, based on this we're going to clear you for service. Take your packet to the medical desk, good luck with the Marines." 

I again walk on air as I go to the desk, then once they look over my papers, down a floor to the Marine Liaison office. Another enlistee is getting ready to knock on the door so I just decide to follow on his heels. In the seconds while waiting I ask Kendrick how his process is going and he says that he failed the ASVAB. He had his full physical and passed that, but he'll have to come back and try the ASVAB again in 30 days. When we get inside the office we face a tirade from the Staff Sergeant about how if we weren't chit chatting outside the door we could hear them the first time they tell us to enter. I guess I let it show on my face that this is amusing because next thing I know the SSgt is asking me if I think this is funny because I'm the only one. I wipe the grin off my face right quick! The Gunnery Sergeant gives us long surveys to fill out, and the other guy gets the paperwork to register to vote as well. Then we go out into the waiting room to fill it out on clipboards. It is tedious work, and to make matters much worse, lunch time is rapidly approaching. The Gunnery Sergeant comes out a couple times to tell us to hurry up. Then he goes downstairs telling us to be done by the time he returns. I have a dozen questions left, the other fellow is just getting started on his because he had to do the voter registration form first. The Gunnery Sergeant returns after only a couple minutes to tell us that if we spent more time filling in the survey and less time talking we'd be done. Then everyone is paged for lunch while we're still sitting there filling out the survey. I finish only a couple minutes later. My poor companion is barely halfway through. I turn in the survey and go downstairs. Some people are still signing out for lunch so I don't feel so bad. I walk to lunch with the Army guy who had the hearing consult. He is angry because he passed the hearing test, but failed a TAPA test or something like that, which he has to take because of his education history. He has to wait 30 days to try again. I try to cheer him up that with the hearing issue squared away the TAPA is the only obstacle, and he can try that again. He tells me I'm a "glass half full" kinda guy and he likes that, but he's been trying to join for a year and he was so close this time. I can only imagine how frustrating and disappointing it must be to be told to wait again. I know how I felt when I got the news about my poison ivy. 

At lunch I meet up with Kendrick again and we sit together with a bunch of other people we don't even know. Some of them are shippers who haven't left yet, a couple others are also processing. The other fellow who was working on the survey makes in to lunch just in time to wolf some food down and head back. 

After lunch I return to MEPS and wait for a few minutes before being paged to come up to the Marine Liaison office. I and one of the other enlistee's are told to go to the first floor and down a hall to get fingerprints. We arrive and tell an attendant what we are there for, then wait for a couple minutes with the girl who had the anxiety consult before being taken back to a cubicle with a computer and a finger print scanner. We let the lady go first, while we wipe our fingers thoroughly with a special wipe we are given. When the lady is done, the other Marine enlistee goes. He has a lot of trouble. The civilian worker who is taking his finger prints keeps telling him to loosen up and un-tense. Finally he finishes and leaves. I get all my fingerprints on the first try, then the worker writes a 10 on my nametag to indicate that all 10 of my fingers have been scanned, and I go back upstairs. Now myself and two others are given a clipboard with a form on it. What follows proves to be an interesting experience. Firstly, there is a lot of banter going around the room between the two Gunnery Sergeants and the Staff Sergeant. It is completely hilarious but after my last experience I'm struggling to maintain my bearing (a straight face). I admit I crack a few smiles and chuckle silently, but I don't feel too bad because neither of the other two guys are keeping any kind of straight face. At any rate, the Marines are ignoring us while they talk to each other. Second, before we can even start on this form the guy who filled out his survey at the same time as me gets it back and is told to fix it. "Fix what sir?" he says. "Everything you screwed up on it!" He is told, it takes him a minute or two of searching to find his mistakes and fix them. Then, now that he has made the painful mistake of drawing attention to himself, he is forced to read the entire page we have been given. He struggles through it, mispronouncing words, skipping lines by mistake, and having general trouble reading it, to the great amusement of the Marines who hurl insults with glee. When he is finally through the Gunnery Sergeant asks if we understood it. We all say "yes sir!" At this point the other Gunnery Sergeant interrupts, I can tell from the behavior of the first Gunnery Sergeant that this was expected and he knows what is coming. 

"I just want to clarify something. Now I believe I just heard you all say you understood that paper correct?" 

"Yes sir!" we say in unison. 

"If that's true you won't have any trouble explaining it right?" 

Uh oh. 

He asks each one of us in turn to define a word or phrase that can be found on the paper we just read. The other two are completely flummoxed. I'm asked to explain "deferred adjudication." At first I feel relieved, I know what that is from my time at the shelter for troubled teens. But when I try to say it my thoughts won't come together and my definition sounds lame and hackneyed. 

The first Gunnery Sergeant says "He's close." But the one who is grilling us just says. 

"Bullshit, he's wrong. Now you all said you understood that paper, but you can't explain one thing from it. That means you lied! Now let me ask you again. Do you understand what you just read?"

"No sir!" we echo in unison again. 

"That's right, now let the Gunnery Sergeant explain it to you, and don't you dare lie again or I will send you home! Carry on!" 

The first Gunnery Sergeant dutifully explains the paper in detail. It talks about how we must disclose our full medical history, drug history, and history of police involvement, and explains the penalties for fraudulent enlistment. Once he has explained it, we sign the bottom and flip it over. It has a list of questions related to the above mentioned histories which we must answer yes or no and explain. We are told to fill it out in the waiting room outside, then come in one at a time to talk about it and get a chance to come clean if there is anything we have failed to previously disclose. 

I finish my form first and stand before the Gunnery Sergeant while he reads through my answers. He has me write down the dollar amounts of my two tickets, and then asks me if all my answers are fully truthful. I reply to the affirmative. Lastly he reviews my contract with me, then he gives me my packet to take back to where we got finger printed, only this time I'm to be interviewed. I follow instructions, only this time there is a Marine at the desk in that wing of the building. He takes my packet, reads the front and says "George Glass?" 

"Jon Glass." I say. 

"George Glass." He says again. 

"Yes sir!" I reply. 

a couple other employees, one Army and one a civilian in a wheel chair, chuckle. 

"Good answer." I hear one of them say. 

"Well George, have a seat for a minute." The Marine tells me, and I comply. 

The man in the wheel chair takes my packet back somewhere, then returns and has me follow him to another cubicle. There he tells me that the next step is swearing in, but first I must pass this interview. It turns out to be easy, he has me swipe my finger to pull up my information, then has me confirm that it is all correct. Then he takes a list of questions and reads them off in order. I answer them all with "No Sir" or "Yes Sir" easily. I'm telling the truth so I'm not even nervous. Everything has been disclosed and documented already. I'm just confirming it all one last time. When the interview is done he takes my picture, then sends me out to the pool table room to wait. Another Marine enlistee is also waiting there. It is only about five minutes before a list of names for swearing in are called. We go back to the fingerprint wing and are sent from there to a briefing room off to the side of the hall that connects the two wings. (Note: the Marine at the desk still refers to me as George during this.) Eight of us wait in the briefing room. Then an Army captain comes in and starts a video on a flatscreen. The video talks about the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and describes the definitions of AWOL and Desertion, and the penalties for such, as well as how they apply to us after we swear in. The end of the video gives us a quick briefing on how we will swear in. How to stand at parade rest, then come to attention, and how to raise our right hand. The Captain cuts it off, then has us line up while he fires up a computer in the corner. One by one we come up, and he makes sure we know what our contract is for. Then we sign it biometrical with our fingerprints and have our picture taken again. When all eight of us are done he asks if any of us were in JROTC three others raise their hands, and he instructs them to make sure we are situated properly next door. Then he opens a door and sends us into a room with plush maroon floors and walls, the swearing in room. We line up in two lines of four, at parade rest. Then the captain enters and we snap to attention. He corrects one or two of the guys positions of attention, then stands in front of us. 

"Raise your right hand." 

We do so, then he says "repeat after me." and we go through the whole pledge. Swearing to protect the constitution against all enemies, both foreign and domestic. When it's over, we continue to stand at attention while he dismisses us one by one, handing us back our packets and saying congratulations and good luck. I depart last, right behind the other young man who enlisted for the Marines. As soon as we get outside we exchange a spontaneous high five. "We made it!" He says. We've just met, but the feelings of camaraderie are already there, we both know what we have chosen to undertake. We talk about when we think we'll ship and find out there's a good likelihood we'll both be going in october. We agree that it would be great if all the hopefully future Marines who we've processed with today could ship out together. We go back upstairs to the Liaison's office where we find that the Marine liaisons aren't so bad. Maybe it's a change in their attitudes, and maybe it's a change in ours, I'm not sure. At any rate we are given a folder with the Montgomery Marine Recruiting Command newsletter, a welcome letter from its commander, sheets with basic knowledge to study, and a copy of our contracts. We also receive the Gunnery Sergeant's congratulations and a navy blue T shirt with the Marine Corps emblem on the front, and the word "Marines" on the back, all in maroon. Then we are dismissed to await our rides. I'm too excited after that to do much. I find Kendrick in the pool table room playing pool. There's only a handful of people left there, all waiting their rides home. I don't make much conversation for once. Leroy arrives with our transport van after only a short wait, and I say goodbye to my fellow new Poolee. Then I grab my bag, sign out, and head out to the van with Kendrick. We are already out of Montgomery by the time I remember that I left my pocket knife with the front desk! I'm a little upset, it was a nice knife and one that I'll miss. But after all it was my fault I lost it, and besides, I'm going to be a Marine! Nothing can dampen my spirits much. We arrive back at the recruiting station in Pensacola around 6:45-7:00ish. Sgt Lovett congratulates me and tells me that he will schedule a visit to my house to give my wife and I the full welcome aboard speech and package. Staff Sergeant Thorn just tells me to be at the office tomorrow for the Poolee function and PT. I say that I find out my work schedule today and I'll be there if I don't work. Lastly I drive Kendrick home, since he lives almost on my way home. We agree that we should try to go swimming and/or running together from time to time. I also remind him to get a book and study for the ASVAB so he can pass it when he goes to try again in 30 days. I tell him if he needs a ride to go to the library I'll give him one if need be. 

Then I go home to see my wife and celebrate with her. 

With this hurdle down, the next trip I take to MEPS will be to go to Parris Island...