Parris Island

The "yellow foot prints", as you might've of guessed, were actual yellow footprints painted on the asphalt. They were four abreast and stretched to a length I was not able to determine. It was mad rush to get off the bus, as the DI fired off threat after threat in some inaudible tone that closely sounded like a mix between a frog and nails on a chalkboard. Whatever he might've been saying, it didn't sound like he was offering to hold our hands and tell us how special we were. Bodies pressed together, jousting over these painted footprints, personal space became forgotten as ranks and columns were formed. The training had already began from the moment our feet hit the ground off the bus, These footprints set the mad mass of civilians into an ordered formation, heels together, feet at 45degrees, back straight, and arms flat at the sides. Its was in this instant I learned to keep my eyes homed in on the back of the fella's head in front of me. It had only been a second that I had glanced off to the right to look at the large brick structure there, but a second was all it took for the brim of a Smokey bear hat to be jammed into my temple. The amount of spit that flew from the DI's lips was immeasurable, as threats and insults were fired into my ear at the rapid rate. I had no clue how to react to this treatment, only that not looking dead to the front held terrible consequences. Freedom didn't apply here, only discipline. Several other poor souls were receiving the same welcome for various reasons; their hair was long, their shirt wasn't tucked, their back was straight, they were fat or too skinny. At some point an order was given to start marching into the previously mentioned building to my right. This was the receiving building, with the giant chrome doors that once entered, could not be left through again. Above them was the inscription, "Through These Portals Pass Prospects For America's Finest Fighting Force United States Marines". The DI at the head of our formation informed us that once were passed through this hatch (a door in a Marine Corp jargon), there was no turning back. He told us that the next 13 weeks would break us down and then rebuild each of us as Marines. Just exactly what that implied, I hadn't any inkling, I was completely lost but it was at this point I felt I had made a terrible, irreversible mistake. But never the less, those doors swung open and among the hundreds of strangers, I sloppily marched into the building passing beneath the American flag and the massive Eagle Globe and Anchor. I could imagine this is what Alice felt when she went down the rabbit hole, hopelessly lost in an alien world with no aspiration of escape.

Inside those foreboding doors, or hatches, as I was now to refer to them, the massive formation was split. Where the other half went, I didn't know nor did I care, but me and now my fellow recruits were ushered into a long room with a bank of phones along one wall. We were lined up behind the phones, each of us in turn making the same 10 to 15 second phone call to our homes. Right above the phone was a very generic script for each recruit to recite. Exactly what it said I have forgotten, but it was something along the lines of, " This is your son, Recruit (insert last name here), I have arrived safely at Parris Island." It is strange to think this would be my last live contact to the outside world, and it was only a few seconds and scripted words. But, there wasn't time to dwell on it. We were split again into two separate groups, of which mine was herded into a room similar to a barbershop. One by one we were shaved bald quickly and not so delicately. This was the first step of stripping us of our individualism. After the most painful haircut of my life, our next destination was another long and narrow room; this one had a long table with cubicles. Here we were ordered to strip to our underwear and place all our civilian clothes, wallets, ID's, money, cell phones, etc. into a brown paper bag which we marked with our name and social security numbers and then sealed with staples and a sticker. The bags were collected and taken away; never to be seen again until the day we left the island. We were nobodies now; the last of our personal identification had been stripped from us. There we stood, with nothing on but underwear, silent, bald, and essentially lost in this new world with nothing else to do but listen to barked commands. The next of which was to go into the adjacent room and grab the correct size of skivvies or under clothing. We had 30 seconds, which was being counted down by a Marine who had mounted the table and paced up and down it. I'm not sure how many of us there were in this room, but at this moment it seemed like we were ants whose home had just been stomped on. Everyone was running, some slamming into others, into the next room which was essentially a room full of stacked tub drawers. Inside these drawers were our prizes, get them quick enough and you'd be spared a verbal beat down. This was the understanding of all the recruits at this point, get it done quick and right the first time, and you'd be ok. Of course there were stragglers, and they paid the price for being slow or grabbing the wrong thing. How long this went on, I couldn't say, but at the end of this smash and grab debacle I had everything I would need for the following 91 days "neatly" shoved into a sea bag (A Navy issue duffel bag). At this point, there was no skin color, no specific religion, no different cultures or backgrounds. Quite literally, we were all different shades of green in our USMC issues camies, which would become our day-to-day wear for the remainder of our stay. We were all almost identical in every aspect, lost little children who had no clue what we had gotten into, but we would surely and swiftly find out.

After some paperwork, of which I have no idea to this day I was signing my name to, and a quick medical exam, a "Receiving" Drill Instructor was assigned to our group. This group was to be become Platoon 3074, India Company, Third Battalion. With our sea bags slung on our backs, the DI ordered us outside and to "form up". Here the example of the yellow footprints came back and we assemble in such a formation behind the receiving building. The DI strutted outside and laid out the foundation of drill and movements for us. We were told the basics of how to march to cadence, what "Left face", "Halt", "Mark time", "Column Right" and many other commands meant. It would take several weeks to come to master these, and this was evident in our first platoon march to the Third Battalion area and our squad bay. After several, "Right Face! No that ain't it, get back and do it again." we finally stepped off with a loud bellowing "Forward March." from the DI. The cadence is a simple thing, it sets the rhythm of the march, "Left, left, left, right, left. Of course through the less than kind urgings of our DI, our shuffling multitudes of footsteps became one single rhythmic sound, like the beating of a heart.

The sun was already past midday when we reached the squad bay, just a simple long and wide room and bunk beds in rows on either side with an office at the end as well as a bathroom or which would now be referred to as 'The Head'. We lined up on either side of the "DI's highway" or simply put, the area between the bunk beds. We were given a limited amount of time of which to stow the contents of our sea bags into the footlockers provided at the base of the beds, of which the last ten seconds were counted down aloud by the DI. Two or three other recruits failed to complete the task in time and thus, we all had to dump out our footlockers and try again, this attempt with less time. It was like have a brother that was continually getting into trouble and blaming it on you and therefore, you were both punished not just him. Finally, after the fourth attempt within 25 seconds, those of us that were faster at putting away our things, went over and assisted the slower recruits and finally, we made the mark. It was this instance that we began to bond together, we could no longer be individuals, and we had to support each other through this experience. There were other "games" we played. For instance, making our racks (beds) with perfect 45-degree folds at each corner. When one of use didn't achieve this precise angle, all would join in in pulling the sheets off and starting over. Finally, these activities ceased and we were ordered outside and formed up once again. The sun was setting at this point, but once again time had little effect on the comings and going aboard Parris Island. We marched to the armory where we would receive our service rifles, M16A2's. These would become an extension of our being as time passed. After a short visit to Supply, where we got issued our basic gear (i.e., rucksack, helmets, canteens.), we shouldered our newly acquired gear then stepped off to the squad bay. It was pitch black once again in the world as we made our way back to the battalion area and the day was long from over.

This was just the first long day of many more to come. But this day in particular was the most shocking I have ever experienced, the sudden decimation of my freedoms that were held so dear in the United States. It was also amazing how quickly we as human beings can adapt to our surroundings, both social and physical environments. The first day didn't even come close to setting the pace of those still yet to pass, but it did give me a base line of which to compare them too. And as the training progressed it became more and more the natural order of my life. And at the end of it all when our last night had come, it was a little bittersweet. We were happy that we were leaving this place and for a time, returning to civilization. But we were also leaving the place of our rebirth and going back out into the world that still had their eyes shut, that still took all they had for granted, their freedoms and comforts for granted. Readjusting to "normal" life would always become an obstacle to Marines coming home from whatever mission or deployment they were sent on. My entire service to the Marines will forever be a part of me and that first day will also be the day I opened my eyes to the real rigors of the world, and would never take for granted the things that we have here in America and how they were earned.