When we arrived at the hospital a corpsman (USMC navy medic) took my temperature, looked at my leg, and said he was going to get a doctor. The doctor came in and took one look and said it looked like I had a serious infection.
The next couple of hours was a whirlwind of activity. I’m admitted, I’m poked, I’m prodded, and I’m told I have a hairline fracture in my tibia that has gotten seriously infected. I’m also told that they may have to perform surgery! I’m not happy at all.
if I’m away from my platoon for too long, I’ll get dropped and have to go to a different platoon to finish boot camp. I explained that to the doctor and he said they’d know their course of action within a few days. In the meantime I’d be hooked to an IV with some heavy doses of antibiotics going into my body. Either way I wouldn’t be out of the hospital for at least a couple of weeks.
Once I was discharged from the hospital I’d have to spend a week or two in the medical rehabilitation platoon. I was so mad and disappointed! That settled it, I was going to be dropped by my platoon and would be stuck in boot camp even longer. The doctor apologized and said I was actually pretty fortunate, if the infection had gotten much worse there was a real possibility that I’d lose part of my leg, and that the infection could actually kill me. I felt a little better about everything after hearing that, but not too much.
My stay in the hospital was actually pretty relaxing. After a few days I was given a wheel chair and was able to move around the ward. There was television and a very nice second floor balcony we could go to and pass time. Smoking was allowed and we were able to order items from the post exchange. I felt somewhat guilty about all these things, because my friend Charlie was still with the platoon and I was living the high life.
After two weeks in the hospital, I was transferred to the “Medical Rehabilitation Platoon” for another week, before returning to recruit training. There were a couple of differences between the hospital, rehab platoon, and regular boot camp. The biggest difference was the way you dressed. For the first half of boot camp we didn’t starch our utilities or covers (hats). We also didn’t blouse our trousers, and had to button our collars. They wanted us to look like anything but Marines at that point.
While in the hospital or rehab platoon, we had to dress just like we were stationed there and not in recruit training. Even worse, it was easy to quit acting like a recruit. These facts would soon cause me major problems …
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Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
“Broken Leg” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 5
One day we were running (as we always did) and I didn’t see the bench that the people in front of me saw. They jumped over it, and I ran right into it and went head over heels. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck, but I did hurt my leg.
As boot camp went on, some guys discovered that they could get out of parts of it by faking illnesses. Of course there was a price to pay if the medical unit didn’t totally agree with what the recruit said he was feeling. I wasn’t about to do any such thing and just sucked it up. It hurt a lot, but I got up and kept up with the run.
After lights out that night, I lay in my bunk with my leg throbbing. I finally got to sleep and when I woke up in the morning, it was still hurting. It was one of the hardest things I ever did, but I somehow made it through the next day. On the second morning my leg was hot and so swollen that I couldn’t get my boot on. I also felt like I was burning up. I figured it was time to get some medical attention. Instead of telling me I had guts to try and tough out my injury the drill instructors told me what a dumb ass I was for not telling them about it sooner. You just can’t win with these guys.
They eventually got tired of yelling at me and called for an ambulance. I was taken to the Naval hospital…
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Thursday, July 8, 2010
“Training Day 2” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 4
He was screaming at the top of his lungs that we had five minutes to get our racks made up, and get our asses in formation on the platoon road. I had no idea what time it was, only that it was still very dark outside. A couple of guys were yanked out of their racks to the floor. Most of us were in formation on the road within the time allotted.
The guy who was supposed to be standing next to me was not in his spot. He finally came out of the hut, walked up behind one of the drill instructors, tapped him on the shoulder, and said to the DI, “I can’t find my other shoe!” I swear he said it just like that. We’d already been told numerous times that we were never to speak to a drill instructor without permission. And we were expressly forbidden from ever touching one. It was supposed to go like this…
“Sir! private “Doe” Platoon 2207, requests permission to speak to the drill instructor, Sir!”
The DI will either give you permission to speak, or not be able to hear you (even though you are shouting the request). If he does miraculously only make you ask once. You then say…
“Sir! the private can’t find his sneaker, sir!”
But no, this idiot just walks up to the DI, taps him on the shoulder like he knows him, and says something to him like he’s on the street somewhere talking to a friend! The drill instructor turned around with a complete look of astonishment on his face and said to the guy, “what did you just say to me numb nuts?” The poor stupid bastard repeated exactly what he said the first time! The DI looked at us, looked at the other drill instructor who was close by and started screaming at the guy like he was totally insane. The other DI came over and joined in. The guy had 2 DI’s on him at the same time, he just stood there and took it. Well, he took it for a minute anyway. Then his eyes welled up with tears!
This really set the DI’s off and they got louder and more abusive. Then the first DI grabbed the guy by the throat and pulled him into the closest Quonset hut. He pushed the guy onto the floor and drug him by his collar across the room. When he got to the middle of the room he stopped. He then started hitting the guys head against the side of the metal heater! Some of us could see it clearly through the open door. I don’t know how many times he did it, but it was several. The guy was lucky that his head was hitting the middle of the heater where the metal had some give. The DI’s then walked out of the room, shut the door, and one of them marched us off to our morning head call.
When we got back the guy with one shoe was gone! We never saw him again. Rumor had it that the DI’s said the recruit hit one of them, and he was currently in the brig. If that was true, I don’t know how they explained the damage done to the recruit, but they stayed with our platoon, so they apparently got away with it…
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Wednesday, July 7, 2010
“Training Day 1” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 3
(source: IMDB-Full-Metal Jacket)
We heard them screaming before we actually saw them.
We couldn't tell where their voices were coming from, because it was all echoes. Then we saw them running directly at us from around the corner of a building. There were three drill instructors, and the closer they got the crazier they seemed.
Walking slowly behind them was another one, while still obviously a drill instructor, looked to be a bit older and maybe in charge. He wasn't screaming and didn't say a word. He also wore a shiny leather belt instead of the standard web variety worn by the other drill instructors.
The three younger DI’s really knew how to work a crowd. They went up and down the ranks screaming at everyone randomly. Sometimes stopping to make individuals do push-ups for one offense or another. Everybody was guilty because none of us knew the rules yet. I took my share of screaming and I did my share of push-ups. I knew they were doing it so we’d know who was in charge from the get go. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier, but it made me feel better. And boy did they ever want us to know who was in charge!
It didn’t take us long to learn the DI’s moves. The one that seemed to be their favorite, was to knock the wind out of you with a quick punch to the stomach. The second was to grab you by the throat. Not actually your throat, but your windpipe! They would dig in with their fingers on one side and thumb on the other and try to touch them together in the middle of your neck. At least that’s how it felt. While doing so, they usually asked you questions and of course your answers were never loud enough (how could they be?). They would make you answer over and over again. “I can’t hear you!”
While all this was going on the older drill instructor just stood in the background and watched. We were eventually marched to our barracks in another part of the base. When I say we “marched,” I use the term loosely. We did nothing close to what could possibly be considered marching. It seemed like a lot of guys didn’t know their left foot from their right. This led to a lot of feet getting stomped on, to “educate” some recruits about which foot was which. As we “marched” one DI barked out the cadence and instructions while the other two continued weaving in and out of the formation screaming at us. The older guy just walked along with us but said or did nothing. I assumed he would be the good guy in the “good guy/bad guy” game that was sure to come.
We finally arrived at our platoon barracks and marched down the platoon “road.” Again, I use the term “barracks” loosely. What we actually stayed in were Quonset huts. These things had been there since World War II or earlier. Each squad was assigned to a hut. There was a big square heater in the middle of the room and there were just enough sets of bunk beds (racks in marine speak) for everyone to have a place to sleep. I think my squad had 16 recruits, so there were eight sets of racks. There were two foot lockers at the end of each set of bunks for us to stow our gear in. We were told we had about two minutes to do that and we had to be back on the platoon road in formation, by the end of that time. Of course there were guys too confused to get it done in time and after some not so gentle coaxing by the DI’s, we were all finally in formation on the platoon road.
A little later in the day we were all told to go into one of the huts. Although it was crowded we all fit in there with not too much of a problem. One of the DI’s told us to sit on the floor. The older DI came into the room and introduced himself to us. He was the Senior Drill Instructor and Platoon Commander he said.
He was a ramrod straight tall black man, who was the most squared away looking person I’d ever seen. If I was to select a person to be on a national Marine Corps poster, he would be the guy. He didn’t yell at us, and he didn’t hit anybody. He just told us what we were to expect and that if we did what we were told it would all be over with before we knew it. Only then we’d be worthy of being called Marines. He turned and walked out of the room. The meaner looking of the younger DI’s came in and the shit hit the fan.
I was probably better equipped for boot camp than most in my platoon. Not only did I make sure I was in great shape, thanks to my mom I was already able to cope with crazy violent people. I also had a friend in the platoon. My best friend and I enlisted at the same time on the “buddy plan.” Supposedly if you do this, you are guaranteed to stay in the same unit for as long as possible.
Oh yeah, it really did help to be in good shape, but believe me the DI’s still find a way to make you suffer physically…
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Tuesday, July 6, 2010
“Yellow Footprints” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 2
Marine Corps Recruit Depot
“Everyone of you mother fucking slimy numb nuts pieces of civilian shit had better get the fuck off of my bus and on the yellow footprints in 30 seconds!” There were about 40 of us, all trying to get off at the same time. The creature standing at the door somehow found time to punch at least half of us on our way out. Knocking the wind out of as many as he could, seemed to be his goal.
When I finally got near the door I moved up as close as I could to the guy in front of me, hoping I’d be able to slip out the door unnoticed. Just as I thought it was going to work, he stuck his arm in between me and my “shield.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re trying to do slime ball?”
"Trying to get off the bus.”
“Bull shit” he said. “You’re trying to ease your way off the bus, aren’t you?”
“No!” I said.
Before I finished getting the word out of my mouth he punched me in the stomach. I was ready for it, and even though he hadn’t succeeded in knocking the wind out of me, I bent over at the waist like he had. He must have felt my tensed stomach muscles when he hit me, because he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me upright. He then got so close to my face that our noses were touching. I swear I could smell what he had for breakfast on his breath. No, it was actually much worse than that, I could smell what he had for breakfast the day before, and it was rotting and festering inside of him.
“You think you are smarter than me, don’t you fuck head? When you answer, you had better refer to me as Sir! You piece of shit!"
“No sir!” I replied.
“Yes you do” he spat the words into my face.
“No sir!” I repeated.
“Do I look stupid to you?”
“No Sir!”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No Sir!”
“Yes you do, fuck head!” he said. “If I had more time to deal with you, this would be your one and only night at MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot)!” “Do you understand me?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Get on the yellow footprints you faggot piece of shit!”
Before I was half way out the door he shoved me with his foot. I landed face first on the blacktop and only partially broke my fall with my hands and arms. I got up, looked first at my bleeding hands, and then back up at him. He must not have liked the way I was looking at him, because he jumped out of the bus and was in my face again in a split second.
“Do you want to hit me?” he whispered into my ear.
“No sir!” I replied.
“Yes you do, you lying piece of dog shit, but you’re too much of a pussy to do it, aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes sir! No Sir” I stuttered.
I didn’t know what he wanted to hear me say, but I did know I was losing my composure. I was ready to fight him. I was ready to hit him first, hit him in a place where there would be no fight. I would have punched him directly in the front of his throat. When I glanced down a little bit, I was shocked by what I saw. There was no throat! I swear his head came directly out of his shoulders.
At that point I didn’t care if he was a bull, all I was seeing was red. He probably would have kicked my ass, he looked like one solid and continuous muscle. Of course it would have been in self defense, and then I’d be in the brig. Or maybe I would kick his ass, but he’d still win, because I’d be in the brig anyway. They say discretion is the better part of valor. So I just closed down. All systems stop! Thanks mom, for the training.
I just went back to the position of attention and stood there, mocking him with my refusal to act. No matter what he said he got nothing from me but yes sir, or no sir. He eventually gave up or got tired of me, and told me to get on the yellow footprints. When I turned to do so, I noticed that the rest of the people on the bus had already exited and were standing on the foot prints in formation, watching us. Luckily for me I spotted a set close by that weren’t being used and got on them in a hurry.
I don’t remember exactly everything they told us to do that night, but I do remember that bastard drill instructor’s name. It was Valdez. He said he wasn’t going to be our regular drill instructor, but by the time ours came to pick us up in the morning, we’d be glad to see them. Valdez.
The next few hours seemed like a blur! Heads shaved bald, civilian clothing and personal items sent home, showered, deloused, basic uniforms, and shower gear issued all in a just a few hours. When I say they issued us uniforms, I mean they issued us a set of utilities (fatigues in non-Marine speak) and high top tennis shoes. When we were dressed we looked stupid (I found out later that it was intentional).
Everyone’s utilities were either too big or too small. They told us not to worry about it because by the time boot camp ended, we’d all be the same size. We didn’t deserve to look like marines, because we hadn’t earned it yet. We were back on the yellow footprints at daybreak with our basic gear in our hands waiting for our assigned drill instructors to come and get us.
Valdez took one more stab at me while we were waiting. He walked between the ranks and stopped in front of me. He smiled at me and knocked all the gear out of my hands. Then he kicked and stomped it all over the place. It took everything I had not to give him the reaction he wanted.
He asked me if I had anything to say.
“No sir” was my only response.
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Monday, July 5, 2010
Fourth of July on Our Street 2010
Every year on July 4th, our neighborhood has a little kids parade, a carnival, and a water war. The number of people involved and the faces change from year to year as kids grow up, but the events still always happen. Currently, we are in a period of few teenagers and more small kids.
The kids "parade" starts at 9:30 am, the water war starts at 1:00, and there's a nice fireworks show from the lake that lies in the valley below our street, starting at 9:00 pm. The evening ends with everybody in their backyards enjoying the fireworks. It's a long day...
Our street ends in a cul-de-sac on both ends. The little kids on the street start at one end, and ride their decorated bikes, scooters, and whatever, and head towards the other end at 9:30 in the morning.
The bigger kids race the third mile to the other end.
While the parents and smaller kids take their time.
At the opening to the opposite end of the street the various forms of transportation start to pile up.
My granddaughter getting her hair painted.
A good looking, huge, and patriotic dog.
Another large one.
A little yappy one (the dog, not the lady)
Buymebarbies painting nails
GD getting face painted
Finished product.
Some more hair painting.
Yappy dog number 2
On my way back home.
Annual water war.
The war was much more subdued this year.
About 10 seconds later, this guy was attached by about 10 kids with water balloons and cannons. He ate it...
Less folks involved, but still a lot of water going down the drain.
The end...
I didn't include any fireworks photos, because it's too darn hard to take good ones without a tripod. I don't have one...
It was a long day, but a good one! Back to the boot camp stories on Tuesday...
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Saturday, July 3, 2010
“False Bravado” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 1
The bus trip from the Los Angeles Military Induction Center, to the San Diego Marine Corps Recruit Depot wasn’t a long one. At two in the morning it would take no more than a couple of hours. More than enough time for me to wonder long and hard, why I was there. There wasn’t any guarantee that I’d be drafted, at least not anytime soon. I had to remind myself that I signed up because I wanted to do my share for my country.
The boisterous shouting and excessive laughter of the last hour was just about gone. I suppose those still being heard, thought the rest of us would interpret their continuing noise as bravery in the light of impending disaster. All I heard was the false bravado of those much too afraid to be alone with their thoughts.
The bus sped through the night; breezing through the southern California countryside with little traffic and no reason to slow down. For the last 20 minutes or so there had barely been a noise. The closer we got to San Diego, the quieter it became, soon there was nothing being said at all. The air became heavy with the thoughts of 60 guys quietly stewing in their own juices.
As we entered the city limits of San Diego, every head in the bus started pivoting from side to side. Everyone was trying to get their first glimpse of the Marine Base. It didn’t take long before the bus arrived at our destination. We went through the base gate and drove down a narrow road passing between old Spanish style buildings. We eventually pulled into a clearing. Not far from where we parked, I could see a large rectangular mass of what looked like yellow footprints painted on the black top.
Before I could give it another thought, the door slammed open and hell climbed into the bus…
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