Vietnam Guns and Fury

COLLECTION)

CHAPTER 1

MY DECISION TO JOIN THE MARINE CORPS

April 1966

It had become clear to me that I was actually going to graduate from Collinsville High School in Illinois this coming June. Up to this point, I wasn’t really sure. I now needed to start thinking about what I would do after graduation. My thoughts of going to college were pretty much nonexistent. My high school grades were C average at best and in 1966 most colleges required at least a B average. The cost of college was also well out of my price range and student loans were few and far between. I was living with my mother at the time. She and I both worked at a small airport, so monetarily it was a struggle for her to support us both. My mind was made up. After graduating, I would do something that would enable me to support myself and not be a burden to her. Since college was not a viable option and my job at the airport paid very little, I thought seriously about a job at one of the local steel mills, but eventually felt that it would be a dead-end situation. I wanted more from life. The only other option that made any sense at the time was to join the military. My first thought was to join the Air Force, because I knew quite a bit about airplanes. After some consternation I decided that the Air Force probably wasn’t a good fit for me. The Navy was also unappealing. My skills leaned heavily on physical abilities since I had played organized sports from age eight through high school. That left the Army and Marine Corps as my final options.

Every day as I would leave school on my way home, I walked past a large poster of a well-chiseled Marine, looking down the barrel of his M14 rifle. Each time I walked past that poster, I became more aware of every detail in that haunting picture, the clothes he was wearing, the way he was holding his rifle, the equipment he was carrying. My mind was made up. The Marine Corps was my choice. Two of my best friends, Norman Sidebottom and Doug Smith were also interested in joining the Marines. We set up an appointment to talk to our local Marine Corps recruiter. During our meeting he lectured us on the physical and mental aspects of boot camp and the everyday life of being a Marine. The recruiter told us that he wasn’t sure we were ready to be Marines, but would sign us up and delay his final decision whether to accept or reject our application until after we graduated. That decision would be predicated on our physical and mental health, along with other considerations. At that time Doug was overweight and would not qualify based on rigorous Marine Corps standards.

For the next two months we trained every day, running three miles a day, doing 300 push-ups and 300 sit-ups. After graduating from high school in June we were given our physical by the Marine Corps. Norman and I were accepted, but Doug was rejected. He still had not reached the Marine Corps weight requirements. It was a shame because he would have made a great Marine.

As an eighteen-year-old high school student trying to graduate, play football, work a part-time job and spend as much time as possible with my full-time girlfriend Karen Brown, I really didn’t have much time to pay attention to the news. The fighting in Vietnam was beginning to ramp up. Our recruiter explained to Norman and me that the chances of going to Vietnam were very slim. He explained that there were many job opportunities in the Marine Corps other than infantry. We would very likely be placed in some other job category. Even if we were placed in an infantry unit, the Marine Corps has infantry all around the world, so our chances of going to Vietnam would be minimal.

BOOT CAMP

June 23,1966

My forte in becoming a United States Marine started on the morning of June 23, 1966. At 10:30 in the morning the Marine recruiter picked me up at my home to drive Norman and me to Lambert Field in St. Louis Missouri, where we boarded a TWA 707, destined for San Diego California. My thoughts ran rampant the whole flight, contemplating the thrill of becoming a United States Marine and the apprehension of what was coming when we landed. I knew boot camp would be extremely difficult both mentally and physically. I could only hope that I was up to the challenge.

As soon as our plane landed in San Diego we were met by one of the sharpest dressed military personnel I had ever seen. The Marine was tall and was wearing what I thought was the most beautiful uniform on the planet. As he greeted us, he spoke sternly but politely. He directed us to a bus where other perspective Marine candidates were amassing for our ride to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, where our basic training would take place. The mood on the bus was festive but reserved. We were all discussing what we thought would happen when we arrived at the Recruit Depot. As the doors on the bus closed and we proceeded to our destination, life changed dramatically. The Marine that had shown me the way to the bus was now screaming at the top of his lungs like a crazy lunatic. He ordered everyone to shut their mouths and don’t talk unless we were asked a question, He proceeded to inform us thatwe were some of the lowest forms of life on earth and that from here on we were all the same. The blacks and whites on the bus were all the same. The tall, the short, the fat and the ugly were all the same. Not only were we all the same, we were all scum. This screaming and ranting lasted the entire trip as the Marine marched up and down the aisle of the bus. He was relentless, he never stops screaming until the doors opened and we exited the bus. Now other Marines begin to scream at us with even more vim and vigor than the crazy Marine on the bus. We were ordered to stand on yellow painted footprints on the asphalt and not move. I thought that if this is the way they are going to treat us I’m not sure I want to be here. These thoughts lasted pretty much the whole time I was in boot camp. My reception into the Marine Corps immediately turned into a blur. I don’t remember much about the next few days, other than, no matter what we did it was wrong. One of the occurrences that I do remember was getting our hair cut. My hair was not long because as a Collinsville high school football player, I was required to have short hair. Many of the recruits did have long hair and it was quite a spectacle as they watched their hair fall to the floor in just a matter of seconds. For many this was the real turning point that introduced them to the Marines.

Our first uniform was not really what one would think of as a Marine Corps uniform. Most of the items were too large, unpressed, frumpy, bright colored and gaudy. We were given bright yellow sweatshirts with a red Marine Corps emblem on the front and a pair of red swimming trunks. Everything else we received was green. For the next couple of weeks the days were filled with medical exams, physical training, classes of all sorts, a massive amount of shots, probe of every part of our bodies and the beginning of an endless amount of close order drill.

The only high point of the day was when we went to chow. We were allowed to eat as much as we wanted, but whatever we put on our tray we had to eat. The average time we were given to finish our meal was about ten minutes. At times the drill instructor would climb onto the table, walking from end to end of the long row of tables, all the time shouting encouragement such as; hurry up and eat, you dumb shit. You are going to eat all the food that is on your tray or I’m going to pour it down your shirt and you’ll wear it the rest of the day. Do you hear me? The Marine Corps pays good money for that food and you’re not going to waste it. Did you hear me? followed by a resounding yes sir bellowed by the offending slow eaters.

Early in our social training we were taught the Marine Corps way to make a bed. The covers were to be pulled so tight across the mattress that a quarter would bounce off of it when thrown on the blanket. We pulled those blankets so tight that our arms ached when we were finished. No matter how well the bed was made, it was never to the drill instructor’s liking, resulting in your bed being ripped apart. The mattress, sheets, covers and anything else in the area was thrown on the floor. After an extreme scolding we would remake it. It was never good enough for the drill instructors.

As the training progressed we had many classes. We learned how to safely handle weapons, swim, basic first aid, treat battle field wounds and deal with the dreaded danger of shock. Marine history was also poured into our heads. I never knew the Marines had been involved in so many battles. The classes were endless. Physical fitness became more and more intense each day. After basic hygiene, each day started with a hefty dose of physical training which consisted of push-ups, situps, jumping jacks and a multitude of other body strengthening exercises. As the days progressed, the physical exercise never seemed to subside. If we weren’t running or completing a section of the nearly impossible obstacle course, we were constantly engaged in close order drill, designed to teach teamwork and unity. It was also physically draining. Bayonet training was highly motivating. Not only did we actually use fixed bayonets on our rifles we also used the training device known as pugil sticks. Pugil sticks were made with a pole the same length as a rifle with a bayonet attached, covered with large boxing glove type material on each end. Two recruits would pair off and battle until one landed a virtual killing blow to the other. At that time the battle was over. Hand-to-hand combat was taught by some of the meanest Marines I had ever encountered. The instructor offered all of us the opportunity to participate in a battle with him. No one took him up on his offer.

After about six weeks into our training, the constant humiliation and harassment begin to tail off a bit. We were beginning to be treated more like Marines than stupid scum. Psychologically we were beginning to fall in line with the Marine Corps philosophy. Our next big undertaking was the rifle range. We moved from our Quonset huts in San Diego to Camp Edson where we spent many hours learning how, not only to fire our weapon, but to hit the intended target. The two weapons we used for that training were the M14 rifle and the 45 caliber pistols. At the end of training with the M14 rifle, we were to qualify either as a rifle marksman, rifle sharpshooter or rifle expert. The competition to excel as a Marine rifleman was intense. Every Marine is trained to be a rifleman, whether they are combat Marines, cooks, officers or mechanics. If there is one thing in the Marine Corps you will learn, it is how to shoot.

With rifle range training completed we returned to San Diego to begin preparing for competition against other platoons. It was time to show what we had learned in boot camp. We competed physically in games of strength and endurance. Our close order drill was highly scrutinized and graded. Our ability to march as a unit was a sight to behold. We were now working as a team not just as individuals. Every command given by our drill instructor was orchestrated like a fine Swiss watch.

The time had now come. Our graduation was just days away. This was the first time that our drill instructors began to shy away from their tremendously harsh attitudes, finally beginning to treat us like Marines. Up until now, they had never called us Marines. Even though boot camp graduation was at hand. It wasn’t as if we were finished with our training. Boot camp was just a prelude to the rest of our upcoming military education. We had just taken one small step on the long journey of fulfilling our obligation to the United States Marine Corps.

As we proceeded through boot camp, I don’t remember our drill instructors ever mentioning the word Vietnam. After graduating from boot camp, my next stretch was combat training. All Marines received this training. Therefore I still had no idea what my job in the Marine Corps would be. After completion of combat school my friend Norm was chosen to attend sea duty