Civilian to Marine to war
The Kid was home that Sunday morning. He'd only recently returned from Chicago, where he'd been living after going to school. He and four friends had rented an apartment on the north side and were spending their bachelor days in the usual way: working by day, carousing by night. Often they'd stay home and buy a few quarts of beer, sit in the living room, listen to music, drink and tell jokes or talk about girls. Work still wasn't plentiful and his had run out.
So, he had bid friends farewell and was headed home — that's where the bombing found him on that day in December, thereafter known as a Day of Infamy. He did not find the news to be disturbing or frightening. Rather it was release from the boring life he had been living. He'd been nowhere and had accomplished nothing important. It was in this state of mind that he greeted the official entry of the United States into World War II.
He'd been home a few weeks before the war started and had met a girl at the N.Y.A., a government-run training and counseling service for youth. They were madly in love . . . or, a least he was. She was a beautiful, red-haired girl from a nice, middle-class family. No sexual encounters were experienced as those were days when premarital sex was strictly taboo. He gave her an engagement ring at Christmas.
On 2 Jan. 1942, he enlisted in the Marines and left for the West Coast three days later. The girl and home were left far behind.
Rebirth
The Marines! — That name held the promise of all that he'd missed so far in life: the glorious feeling of a new-found freedom of thought and action! He was part of a gallant Corps of crusaders rich in the traditions of battle, and would soon learn that these traits were hard-earned and blood-stained.
As is traditional with all soldiering, there is an initial period called "recruit training." In the Corps it is called "boot camp," and the fledgling Marine is called a "boot." From whence this terminology came we can only guess. In times of peace it consists of three months of intense training. During a war it is often less, usually about two months. Eight weeks of dawn-to-dusk hikes, and night marches as well.
Arriving in San Diego, after three days on a slow steam train from St. Louis, left them all exhausted. They stepped down from the old coaches and climbed into waiting trucks to be carried to Camp Elliott, a few miles north of San Diego. They were placed in barracks and given bunks of their own choice — iron racks stacked one above the other, each with a thin mattress.
They all fell into bed after having been fed cold cuts, sliced bread, and hot coffee, such as it was. The dawn came early and they were rudely awakened by the sound of whistles and bellowing voices — not a nice sound to awaken to. Hustled from barracks to the Mess Hall, they were fed hard-boiled eggs, bad toast and half-cooked bacon. After assembling in front of the Mess Hall they were marched back to the barracks, where they were counted, mustered and told to be ready to fall into ranks in half an hour. At that point they were marched to the barber shop, where four barbers had the pleasure of ridding them of their hair. It was great fun to tease one another's less-than-handsome looks.
After that ordeal they were marched to the Quartermaster, where they were given a full ration of uniforms due. The clerks were none too concerned with exact fit except for shoes, which they knew must be well-fitted because the infantry achieved goals via its feet. Each recruit was given the size shoes he asked for, then inspected to assure they were the right fit. This was done by having the recruit hold a bucket of sand in each hand as he wore the new shoes.
Recruits were given the full issue of clothes, from skivvies to cover (hat). The most important item was withheld until later that day. After a meager lunch they were mustered and marched to the Gun Shed. Here, they were each issued the essential part of their wartime gear: a rifle, bayonet and scabbard, cartridge belt and steel helmet. They spent the rest of the day cleaning their rifles, which came covered with a rust-preventive substance called Cosmoline. It can only be removed with solvent; they spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that.
Rhythm of regimentation
He was a skinny kid who had to talk his way into the Corps because he was too light to pass muster. "Oh, a few weeks of regular eating and training will take care of that!" he told the recruiter. And so they let him in, because there was a war on and they needed all the help they could get. He was gritty and determined to be a Marine. He packed the same weight that all the rest of them did and marched just as fast. Those days in boot camp were rugged and tiring, but he stood up to it and felt good about being able to persevere. He liked the regimentation and the rhythm of order. He could count on the drills to be well-managed and regular, which enstilled a safe kind of feeling — because he knew where he was and where he was going. Each day added a bit more to the reassurance of his ability to cope with the rigors and demands of the Corps.
The days began early for, as the sun rose so rose the troops. Their routine was the same each day. Reveille brought them out of their bunks and into the "heads" (lavatories) for a quick wash up, then formation out on the company street. There, properly aligned in the military manner, they were marched to chow. A half hour later they were marched back again, and the next half hour was spent making up their bunks in the manner described by the Corps, from the manual issued by the Corps. All bedding was folded and arranged in a way that displayed the name of the individual who belonged to the gear. A folded mattress on the bottom followed by the sheets, followed by the first blanket (which bore the name, as did the second blanket) that was placed in a position to display the owner's name.
Foot lockers were arranged at one end of each bunk, and all had their own prescribed interior arrangement. Extra shoes were placed under the bunk in a uniform position and must not be dusty. Each recruit's rifle was vital, holding a special place in the scheme of things. Naturally, it had its own proper position, which was slung under the side of the bunk by strings tied to form perfect little supports. One string held the rifle by the barrel and one string held it from the bolt. At that stage of WWII they were issued old Springfield '03 rifles, left over from WWI — as were their mess gear, packs, belts, ponchos and bayonets. In fact, the training they received for WWII was about the same as that given to the troops for WWI.
The men all lived in tents, arranged in a large area, side by side. The tents were attached to wooden racks that supported their outer sides, leaving the center tent pole in its normal place of support. This allowed canvas tent sides to be rolled up during the days or nights, weather permitting. Like any tent city, the grounds were often wet and muddy, which added to the problem of keeping the tent decks clean. Morning tasks included sweeping and mopping the decks to the satisfaction of their drill instructors (DIs), who inspected the platoon each morning. Then as now, inspections are a primary activity of the Corps. All things "Marine" come under the watchful eye of an officer, be he commissioned or non-commissioned. No stone goes unturned in the relentless pursuit of perfection and force-readiness, for men and equipment. It has paid off over the years, as evidenced by the performance of the Corps in the many wars and skirmishes to its credit.
Group bonding
Platoon 38 was the usual diverse collection of men from across the nation. The skinny Kid joined in with the rest and fitted nicely. His Midwest demeanor carried him through the trial of bonding with his fellow boots and being accepted as one of the guys. While getting along with all, he found no particular individual to buddy with. He didn't keep them at arm's length, so to speak. He just didn't find anyone who filled that category. So he stood alone, but among friends. He did not feel alone; he was as happy as a bunch of miserable young men can be. Shared gripes, groans and blistered feet can weld a group together as well as heroic actions under fire.
They were a well-disciplined bunch and responded well to training. Some recruits thought themselves very rugged, and that the DIs were not hard enough on the platoon. Truth be told, the DIs were training them only in the essentials, while leaving out the meaningless nonsense designed to harass troops. The boots would see recruits from other platoons running around the area with a locker box on their backs, being punished for minor infractions. Platoon 38's DIs didn't do such nonsense to their men.
Standing with a bucket over his head, a recruit in another platoon would be made to recite some foolish, self-defaming phrase aimed at making him learn to not repeat whatever mistake he'd done. Platoon 38's DIs heard from someone the criticism said about them (i.e., they were too soft on their recruits). After some heated retorts to the men, the DIs fell the whole platoon out with full packs at dusk and proceeded to drill the hell out of them until late at night. The next morning they marched them on a 10-mile hike into the boondocks at a rapid pace, bringing them back late in the afternoon in time for evening chow. That stopped all criticism from the malcontents.
They had bayonet practice, manual-of-arms practice, and gas-mask introduction — but had yet to fire a single bullet. Having a rifle and not getting to fire it causes great ache among young, rambunctious males. This rifle, which is held to be your best friend, must be exercised and kept in trim. An opportunity to do so is eagerly awaited, being done at the end of the boot-camp experience, in the last three weeks of training. They packed their gear and climbed into trucks, their attitudes and emotions peaked to the utmost. They boarded the train at a siding away from the main station, so as not to be observed by any spying saboteurs. The old coaches were crowded with men and their gear. Each old bench seat held two recruits with rifles and packs placed anywhere they'd fit. The recruits made do as any good Marine is supposed to. Their lusty voices gave vent to their feelings of release from the tedium of camp. They were ready for a new adventure.
Springfield .30 caliber
Model M1903A1,
adopted: 5 Dec. 1929
