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The
Title Marine
Our military is an amazing amelioration of Americans. Within the Marine Corps in particular, a phrase comes to mind that sums up the way Marines see each other, and how they choose to be seen. "A Marine is a Marine is a Marine." In other words, your ethnicity, religion, gender and race are transcended by the title Marine. Whether you are a private fresh out of boot camp or a seasoned general of 30 years, you're still a Marine. Nothing can, or will, ever change that. As a former Marine, I identify with this sentiment. Point of fact, my license plate frame reads, "Once a Marine, Always a Marine." Over the years I have encountered so many people who will say something like this, "I was going to join the Marines, but ..." To be a part of this warrior family, you have to meet certain tests. Those who enlist in the Marine Corps must successfully complete a rigorous trial known as recruit training, more commonly referred to as "boot camp." Officers must complete their undergraduate studies, as well as endure Officer Candidate School (OCS), or its equivalent. OCS is boot camp for officers. Upon completion, and only then, you are given the title Marine.
I come from a family of Marines. My stepfather was a Marine during WWII, serving in Saipan and Shanghai. My brother, John, was a CH46 pilot in Vietnam. His son, Josh, is a Cobra pilot in Iraq. And I served as an Aviation Electrician, fixing jet aircraft in Vietnam. Our family's combined military service currently stands at 76 years. Bearing the title Marine has special significance to us.
When I entered boot camp at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, in late 1969, I was anxious to test myself to see if I had what it took to be a Marine. Not every recruit makes it through successfully. One fellow in my platoon wanted to be a Marine so badly that it almost cost him his life. In boot camp, after being issued uniforms, the drill instructors (DIs), would take us on a formation run. This is a rather relaxed jog around a running track. I was assigned as a squad leader, so I ran at the head of my squad. We had barely completed one evolution around the track when a DI yelled for me to drop back and assist one of the Marines from my squad. The platoon continued to jog around the track while I fell back to assess the situation. What I saw was a recruit straining mightily, albeit unsuccessfully, to keep up with the platoon. His breathing was forced, and it was all he could do to keep one foot moving in front of the other. I grabbed him under the elbow to lighten his struggling body. Another squad leader dropped back to offer assistance, grabbing the guy's other elbow. We shortly found ourselves literally holding this guy up, all the time continuing to jog around the track with nary an indication that his situation would improve any time soon. Mercifully, the DIs ordered us to lay him down on the ground. An ambulance came and took him to the base hospital. Later that night we were told that he was okay, but that the Marine Corps would be sending him home. You see, to be a Marine meant so much to this man that when he signed his enlistment papers, he intentionally neglected to inform medical that he had a heart problem. I often think about him, sensing a certain connection with him, since he was in my squad. You can ask why he would place himself at risk. Did he really think he could make it through boot camp with such a serious medical condition? Ask any Marine, and they'll tell you they fully understand why he took such a risk. In the Marine Corps Hymn, the concluding line of the first verse goes like this: "We are proud to claim the title of United States Marine." There's an intangible aspect to being a Marine. There's a bond, a brotherhood, a connectedness with every other Marine, living or dead, that is stronger than steel.
President Ronald Reagan once said, "Some people live an entire lifetime and wonder if they have made a difference in the world. Marines don't have that problem." May there be a United States Marine Corps for the next thousand years! Semper Fi. |