"Smokey The Bear"...........re-edited for non-Marines

I don't know how it works today, but in 1966, Marine boot camp was determined by the Mississippi River. If your home of record was east of the great river, you went to Parris Island, South Carolina. Out west, you went to San Diego, California. Training's the same, just different climates. On the 27th of March, about 90 of us who would become Recruit Platoon 184, were gathered together at the Oakland Airport, and loaded onto a 4-engined Lockheed charter plane, and took off that afternoon as the sun was starting to set on San Francisco Bay.

For many of us, it was not only our first plane ride, but our first real time away from home as well. Nobody knew what to expect, but everybody seemed to have their own rumors. During the flight, there was considerable "tough talk" as it quickly became apparent to me that I wasn't the only high school "hooligan" on that airplane. At any rate, many of us tried to convince each other and OURSELVES that Hollywood just plays things up in those war movies----it wouldn't be all that bad-----they aren't allowed to grab people by the throats and kick you around, and besides............there's NINETY of US, and we'd be stickin' together, just like "back on the block!"

But an hour or so later, when we slowed down, and started dropping into San Diego, it got strangely quiet on that airplane.

There was no baggage or overhead to worry about, as we'd been told to bring nothing but the clothes on our backs and the personal information cards our recruiters had given us. The airplane was parked in a private area out by a fence, we were led down the stairs by a uniformed Marine, who loaded us into a pair of long olive drab buses, and away we went into the night. I've never met a Marine who got to boot camp in the daytime. I think they purposely get you there at night, so that if you get the shakes and decide to "change your mind and try to run off", you won't know where you are!

We rolled through the archway at MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot). About a minute later, both buses came to a stop, the doors opened. The first thing we saw, was a "Smokey the Bear" hat, and UNDER it was a real-life "R.E. Ermly"

There was no "Welcome to MCRD, gentlemen".......or......."You fellas hungry?".............

"YOU PIECES OF CRAP, GET YOUR BUTTS' OFF THIS BUS------NOW!!" (for blog correctness---------not what they actually said).

All of us "tough guys" were trampling over each other trying to get out. There were about a dozen D.I.'s (Drill Instructors) waiting for us out there. (We'd be assigned 3 of them, but ALL available D.I.'s would always be out there to "meet the buses" whenever they arrived, so all could join in on the "fun.")

Under a long covered, lighted corridor, there were (and still are today), 4 rows of pre-painted footprints. We were rushed onto them by the D.I.'s screaming obscenities at us, pushing and shoving a few that appeared to "need help", "MOVE YOUR SORRY BUTT, MAGGOT!"

We were "stickin' together" alright...........all 90 of us were standing in those footprints like statues, hearts rockin' & knees knockin'! And these D.I.'s, hard and stone-chiselled, ALL of 'em, were all over us like maple syrup!

..........(UH-OH........WHAT have I DONE???).........

There's a small part of you that wants to politely and timidly ask........"Excuse me sir, I believe there's been a slight mistake somewhere, can I go home? I can find my way back out!".......but the "bad apple" from Potrero Hill was afraid to open his mouth, and I don't mind admitting that to you readers.

The D.I.'s are yelling THINGS to each other about us, like............"LOOK AT THIS SORRY BUNCH OF PUKES, I CAN'T BELIEVE THE RECRUITERS ARE THIS HARD-UP!!...............and...."YOU GOT ON THE WRONG BUS, GIRLS......THIS AIN'T THE YWCA!

I'm thinking to myself........"Yeah, we SURE as heck got on the WRONG BUS!"

One row behind the other, we were told to double-time (run) down that corridor, into the building, make a hard right and keep running until you're told to stop.

Everything in the Marine Corps is spit 'n' polish........including the linoleum decks (floors) in buildings. We're hauling butt down that highly waxed deck, getting ready to make that "right turn" and it's so slick under foot, you're falling on your face trying to make that corner. Not to worry. There are a couple more D.I.s down there to "help you" and offer "words of encouragement" as you slide along.

Halfway down the next hallway, there's 2 more "Smokey Bears" with their hands out in the STOP position--------(try THAT on this same waxed deck!) They start us through this big doorway and say "ALRIGHT LADIES..........WE WANT TO LOOK OUR BEST NOW...........GET IN THERE!! There are only 5 or 6 barbers and NINETY of us----------but it doesn't take long. We're sheered like sheep, and out the door again.

Next big room........strip down to nothing, throw it all in a box a