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    YOUR OTHER LEFT...IDIOT!
    YOUR OTHER LEFT...IDIOT!
    YOUR OTHER LEFT...IDIOT!
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    YOUR OTHER LEFT...IDIOT!

    By Bill Russell

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    About this ebook

    What was so funny about boot camp? Nothing while you’re going through it. It’s only after that you remember situations in a different light. A wise Marine once said, “It’s impossible to see any humor in an ass kicking until the other guy stops kicking it.” Events in this book took place in the early 1950s, right after the Korean War. The Corps, in fact all the services, have no doubt changed since then but I think the aim of what has to be accomplished remains in tact. It is not my purpose to poke fun at the Marine Corps. On the contrary, I have nothing but admiration and loyalty toward the Corps and I believe in the adage, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.” As far as the drill instructors go, most were top-notch professionals doing a job that needed to be done. One or two appeared to enjoy the bullying a little too much but they didn’t seem to last. I don’t know where they went but they were usually out of our hair within a couple of weeks. The simple truth is, there would be no Marine Corps without boot camp to teach the willy-nilly how to be Leathernecks. That said, I freely admit I still thrill when they play the Marine Corps Hymn. Even today it makes me stand just a wee bit taller.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBill Russell
    Release dateJan 30, 2015
    ISBN9781938911606
    YOUR OTHER LEFT...IDIOT!

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      Book preview

      YOUR OTHER LEFT...IDIOT! - Bill Russell

      DEDICATION

      As a former Marine, I was one of the lucky ones who never had to fire my weapon in anger, never had to face someone trying to kill me, and never saw another person blown apart by explosives. As an American, I owe more than I can ever repay to those who did.

      A CONFESSION

      I was the son of a sailor and a wanna-be nurse. At Pop’s knee, my brother and I learned the old seaman’s adage, Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning, red sky at night, sailor’s delight. At Mom’s knee we learned to fear the enema bottle. She got as far as Enema 101 in nursing school and thought it would cure anything. I tell you, it sure cured complaining. At the tender age of seventeen I joined the Marines, much to my father’s chagrin and in spite of Nurse Russell’s tears. My only cheering section was Mr. Scaley, my high school math teacher. Thinking back, I’ve never had anything blow up in my face like that idea. Now, I wouldn’t take a million for the experience but, you’d have to come up with a zillion more for me to do it again... That is, unless there was a beautiful set of dress blues in it for me, There are some things you never get over.

      ABOUT THIS BOOK

      What was so funny about boot camp? Nothing while you’re going through it. It’s only after that you remember situations in a different light. A wise Marine once said, It’s impossible to see any humor in an ass kicking until the other guy stops kicking it. Events in this book took place in the early 1950s, right after the Korean War. The Corps, in fact all the services, have no doubt changed since then but I think the aim of what has to be accomplished remains in tact. It is not my purpose to poke fun at the Marine Corps. On the contrary, I have nothing but admiration and loyalty toward the Corps and I believe in the adage, Once a Marine, always a Marine. As far as the drill instructors go, most were top-notch professionals doing a job that needed to be done. One or two appeared to enjoy the bullying a little too much but they didn’t seem to last. I don’t know where they went but they were usually out of our hair within a couple of weeks. The simple truth is, there would be no Marine Corps without boot camp to teach the willy-nilly how to be Leathernecks. That said, I freely admit I still thrill when they play the Marine Corps Hymn. Even today it makes me stand just a wee bit taller.

      CONTENTS

      1. DO YOU WANT TO DISGRACE US ALL? 

      2. THE PENTHOUSE WAS A  FLOPHOUSE 

      3. FAMINE, FROSTBITE AND OTHER DELIGHTS 

      4. SPEED QUEEN AND THE CHEF’S SURPRISE 

      5. COOKIN’ UP A WANNA-BE WARRIOR 

      6. BEEFSLAB AND THE BIG GRINDER 

      7. LIGHTING THE SNEAKING LAMP 

      8. MAKING A BIG, BIG BOO-BOO 

      9. BALL-BUSTER, INCOMING AND  BAZOOKA 

      10. DISPLAYING THE HALF-BAKED WARRIOR 

      11. HOME, HOME ON THE RANGE 

      12. I REMEMBER MAGGIE’S DRAWERS 

      13. SAND? THAT’S NOT SAND, IT’S GRASS 

      14. AN OLYMPIC SIZED FOXHOLE 

      15 COULD THAT BE BEEFSLAB IN DRAG? 

      1. DO YOU WANT TO DISGRACE US ALL? 

      My father had twenty-six years in the Navy. He’d been through two world wars, twelve years in submarines and was pure navy through and through. When I told him I wanted to join the Marines he almost cried  that is, after he came down off the ceiling. 

      In 1953, one true test of manhood was to join the military. The option was also useful if you were a failing student. That was before Viet Nam, the sixties and all the war protesters. It was also before the military went high tech and required something more than just a warm, mindless body. At the time, education  −  or the lack of it  −  didn’t seem to present any sort of obstacle. In fact, in some military specialties, lack of a high school diploma was seen as a definite plus. 

      It was into this crucible, the transformation of a carefree youth whose biggest problem was how he was going to get his girlfriend to cooperate in his lecherous schemes, to the lowest form of animal life known to mankind, a Marine recruit, that I willingly plunged at the end of the eleventh grade. I actually thought life in the Marines would be softer than staying in high school. Huh? Was that not some classic foot-work by the old noggin? 

      I stood there with my peach-fuzz covered chin and pimple-festooned mug and made a momentous personal decision. As I saw it, I had two distinct paths: I could face once more the wrath of my remedial math teacher for not having completed the homework assignment, or escape to adventure, glory and glamour in a beautiful blue uniform. Never mind the Korean War was still on and Marines were dying over there.

      Actually, there was no real contest  −  high school didn’t offer any sort of beautiful blue uniform. As it turned out later, neither did the Marines. At the recruiting office they had a lot of pictures of Marines in dress blues but they were pretty tight lipped about which Marines actually got to wear them. Nor did the recruiting posters hint at the fact that my math teacher, Mr. Scaly, was a mere milk-sop-wimp compared to even the most laid-back and mellow of drill instructors. 

      I was seventeen, and although I knew virtually everything there was to know about anything, I admit, some of life’s details were still a little sketchy.  That’s how it is when you’re in that shadowy and confusing wasteland somewhere between teenhood and manhood.  Faced with the prospect of confronting my father, I found myself wishing I was still a kid. Kids could cry and that usually softened him up a little. I circled the door a couple of times listening for sounds that would tell me if my father was home. Finally, I heard a deep grunt, as if he’d found something in the newspaper he didn’t like and, for a fleeting instant, I thought about coming back later. But I knew it wouldn’t be any better later, so I took a deep breath, stood as tall as I could and sauntered into the room. He had his coffee cup to his lips and was in mid sip when I dropped the bomb on him.

      Ah, ah, Pop, I... think I want to join the Marines. I was ready to run.

      My father was so dumfounded when he heard the proposal, I think he teetered on the edge of apoplexy. Not one to keep his feelings under wraps, he slammed the coffee cup down spilling most of the contents, and with his big gnarly hands, wadded up the newspaper and threw it on the floor. Then, he gawked at me as if I were some sort of alien apparition, and growled in a low menacing tone, You want to do what?

      I gulped and said again, in a cracking voice, I want to join the Marines.

      The Marines? We’re a Navy family, not Marines. We’ve never had a Marine in this family before. Do you want to disgrace us all?

      I beat a hasty retreat under his withering glare, and let him ponder the matter for a couple of hours. After he’d had time to think about it  −  really think about it  −  I approached him again. This time around, he seemed a wee bit more amenable to the idea.

      I gulped and asked, Will you talk to Mom for me?

      With a look that would have made Attila the Hun wet his pants, he turned and growled over his

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