Tim Barto: Happy 250th birthday, fellow Jarheads

By TIM BARTO

As what seems like the longest Marine Corps birthday party in history continues this week, it’s time for many of us to tell stories, some of them with hints of truth in them. 

With the actual birthday – 10 November – falling on a Monday this year, and Veterans Day on Tuesday, a weekend of celebration and downright debauchery has basically turned into a week of celebration and downright debauchery and sea stories. 

Marines love their traditions and history, and they love making fun of each other almost as much as they love making fun of the other branches of service. They also do things to recruits and green troops that seem childish and bewildering to most other human beings.

In boot camp, while laying in our racks (beds) at the position of attention after having counted off step by step procedures for removing sheets, blankets, and dust covers, and mounting our racks, our drill instructors had us say goodnight to legendary Marines.

Goodnight Dan Dailey, wherever you are. (Dailey was twice awarded the Medal of Honor!)

Goodnight Chesty Puller, wherever you are. Puller was a Marines’ Marine, cited as the most highly decorated Marine in the Corps’ history with five Navy Crosses, a Distinguished Service Cross, and a Silver Star, and perhaps best known for his assessment of the dire situation when he and his Marines found themselves outnumbers by enemies on all sides:  “We’re surrounded. Good. That simplifies the situation.”

We cleaned our weapons (rifles) with fear and religious fervor because they were inspected with white Q-tips, and the merest speck of dirt or carbon led to a whole lot of shouting, intensive physical training (pushups, bends-and-thrusts), questions of parentage, and general character debasement. 

In addition to cleaning them, we practiced disassembling and reassembling them until we could do it blindfolded. It was a matter of pride when we could accomplish that task, especially after a time limit was placed on us, but it never made sense to me until about a year later when our unit went to Puerto Rico to practice lessons learned from the liberation of Grenada. 

We were on the island of Vieques, which was full of thorns and big, hairy spiders; although there was a beautiful lagoon we came across one day, where we were allowed to relax and take a breather for a short while.

It’s the moment that comes to mind when the nurse takes my blood pressure and tells me to think of a peaceful moment. 

Vieques also had an ample supply of anti-U.S. nationalists who didn’t much like their islands being under Uncle Sam’s thumb. They were rather innocuous fellas who followed us around on horseback when we were in the field. They’d look for food after we left an area, so my buddy Whitey came up with a brilliant plan. He very neatly cut open an MRE (Meal-Ready-to-Eat) bag, took out the food boxes, then used the thick plastic bag to deposit the remnants of his previous day’s meal that his body no longer deemed useful. He then left the bag for an unsuspecting rebel, hoping that one of those rebels would find the bag and stick his hand in there in search of food. We laughed and applauded Whitey for that brilliant strategy.

A couple nights later, while in our barracks (old Quonset huts with concrete floors and no racks; they were still welcomed after having slept amongst the thorns and hairy spiders for a week) we were cleaning our weapons while rotating in and out of the rain room (showers), when all of a sudden the camp siren went on and the lights went out. Our perimeter was breached, probably, we presumed, by the rebel who’d opened Whitey’s MRE bag. It was pitch dark and light discipline meant no flashlights or other illumination. All that could be heard was the clicking and clacking of metal and plastic as rifles were being reassembled. After a minute or two, it was quiet as we waited for an assessment of the situation.

That blindfolded test served a purpose after all. 

Enough stories for now. There’re toasts to make and cigars to smoke. Good night Dan Dailey and Chesty Puller, and good night to my old infantry buddies: Drew, Borg, Whitey, Hinchbug, Biff, Doss, and Ace. Enjoy this special 250th birthday, all you who claimed the title of United States Marine.

Tim Barto was a Marine infantryman during the Reagan Administration. Suzanne Downing lets him get the thoughts out of his head and into print in the hope that someone might find them entertaining.