Stepping onto the platform just after 10:30 PM changed my life forever. The next few years would mold my personality and plant the seeds of my life-long convictions. Before me was the United States Marine Corps at Camp Pendleton, California. Here I was to spend the next ten weeks at boot camp, and from there…God only knew.
Looking down the dimly lit platform, I saw a large group of recruits from the train standing in line. Grabbing my small valise from the porter, with a nod and smile, I started to walk towards the men, some six or seven cars down.
The night was warm, and the fresh air felt good to both my lungs and face. From behind the group of recruits, a man appeared, wearing an olive-drab uniform with a funny-looking hat. “Hey, bozo, are you with this group?” he yelled out.
Looking around, I found that he was yelling at me. “Yes,” I shouted back.
“Then get your ass up here, boy. You’re holding up my parade!”
Hurrying my walk, I joined the line of recruits.
Standing with the group, the Marine turned to the recruits and said, “Welcome to the United States Marine Corps. My name is Sergeant Brice. I will be escorting you to a reception facility at Camp Pendleton tonight. All of you have a brown envelope that contains your orders and your personnel file. When we arrive at the reception hall, you will deposit your envelopes with me, after which you will be given a meal and then bedded down for the night. There will be no talking and no playing ‘grab ass’ during this time. You will speak only if spoken to by a uniformed Marine. I repeat, there will be no talking and no ‘grab ass!’ Corporal Johnson, take the men.”
From out of the shadows appeared another Marine, who began barking out instructions to the group.
It took four buses and forty-five minutes to transport the hundred and fifty recruits to the reception facility at Camp Pendleton. During this time, the only noise heard was that of the wheels singing across the asphalt. Sitting back on my half of a hard bus bench, I watched the city lights slowly fade to the darkness of the sand drums of Camp Pendleton. A reception center sounded pretty good to me and a meal even better. Maybe being a Marine Boot wouldn’t be as bad as I had been told.
Upon arrival, we were led single-file from the buses to a large building, and through its open doors. Above this doorway was a lit sign that simply read ‘Always Faithful.’ Inside, we were given a form to fill out, asking for our name, address, age, blood type and which city we had departed from. During this time, I recognized a couple of faces from my flight from Ketchikan. One of the fellows must have recognized me, as well, because he nodded to me from across the room.
After finishing the form I stood up, as instructed, and walked to the table where Sergeant Brice was. Here I deposited my form and brown envelope on the table. Without looking up, the Sergeant bellowed instructions for those of us done to stand along the wall in the back of the room.
Soon, one of the young recruits from Ketchikan was standing by me. Leaning towards me, he whispered, “Are you Dutch Clarke?”
Taken a back that he knew my name, I answered, “Yes. How the hell do you know?”
“I read about your survival in British Columbia in the local newspaper. I thought that was you when you got on the plane in Ketchikan. My name’s Kurt Benson, and I know Laura’s father.”
Just then, I felt something on the other side of my head, and turned to see Sergeant Brice’s face six inches from mine.
“Get off my ear,” he yelled. “I said no talking! Do you two jackasses understand those words?”
“It was my fault, Sergeant. I recognized this man from back home. He’s sort of a celebrity there, and I wanted to say hello.”
“Celebrity?” the Sergeant shouted. “So we have a celebrity here, do we? Well, there ain’t no room for any celebrities in this man’s Marines, so keep your mouths shut, Girls, or I’ll put my boot down your throat. Do you read me, Idiots?” roared back the Sergeant.
The look on the Sergeant’s face told me he meant business.
Thanks, Kurt, I thought glumly. This isn’t what I needed.
“Yes, sir,” I finally said.
“I can’t hear you, Boot. Say it again, louder,” he shouted.
This time, both of us sang out together, in one loud voice, “Yes, sir!”
After the Sergeant backed off, I could feel the eyes of all the other recruits looking our way. They all knew that what they had just witnessed was a sign of things to come. We were nothing more than Girls, Boots, Rainbows, Idiots, or whatever else they called recruits. We were in the Marines now, and there was no going back.
A few minutes later, we were lead into a large cafeteria, or what the cooks behind the serving line called the ‘Mess Hall.’ Here we were given stale sandwiches and cold coffee. The hall itself was half-dark and large enough to feed a thousand people. Our group sat quietly around the tables in one corner of the massive room. Fifteen minutes later, Sergeant Brice had us on our feet and grouped into four columns to march to our barracks.
The march took about twenty minutes down dimly lit streets that had white two-story buildings on each side. Each building looked freshly painted and had walkways framed with little white stones. None had any lights on. Finally we turned a corner to see one building with lights on and doors open. Here we stopped.
From the building, Sergeant Brice was joined by two other uniformed soldiers wearing the same funny hat he had. They talked for a moment and then the Sergeant started calling roll in alphabetical order.
“When you hear your name, fall out and follow each of the corporals to your assigned barracks. There will be no talking. Lights will go out in ten minutes. If you have to use the head -- that’s the toilet to you Girls -- do it quickly. We want your asshole in your bunk at lights out. Do not let us find any of you Boots talking or walking after lights out. Do you understand?”
The group shouted back, “Yes, sir!”
Being at the front of the alphabet, I was in the first group of recruits. We were lead inside the front of the building and up some wooden stairs, then down a short corridor. At the end of this hall was a doorway with the doors propped open, revealing a large, long room that had rows of bunk beds on each side.
The corporal stood in the middle of the room, shouting, “Find yourself a bunk fast. The head is at the other end of the barracks, don’t screw around. Lights out in ten minutes.”
Hurling my valise on a top bunk halfway down the row, I ran for the head. By the time I reached the urinals, I was second in line behind my friend from Ketchikan. He seemed to take forever. Finally, I relieved myself and made it back to my bunk just as the lights went out.
Laying there in the dark, I was confused and disoriented. Feeling around, I could tell the bed was made up. Was I supposed to sleep in my clothes? No, hell no, I thought. Slipping off my shoes, pants and shirt, I wrapped them together and laid them at the foot of the small bunk, next to my valise. Crawling under the single blanket, I could hear whispering from all around the barracks. Finally, the guy below me poked the underside of my bunk and whispered, “Are you sleeping in your clothes?”
The voice was that of Kurt; all I needed to do was get caught talking again! Finally I replied quietly, “No…hell no.”
It had been quite a day, and I was tired. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 12:15 AM. Within a few moments, the whispering stopped and the snoring began.
