NEW AMERICAN TRUTH: November 2007

Since Veteran’s Day is this month - and we at New American Truth fully support all honorably discharged service veterans - we felt it would be appropriate to put together a collection of articles focusing on each branch of the military services. Each “piece” will have a short history of that particular branch of service and will have some personal comments from a veteran of that branch.

As you read through these brief articles you should contemplate a couple of things:

1) If you’re a service veteran for a particular branch, now is the time to stop and remember what your service time was like. Think about the highs and the lows and remember the pride you felt when you finished basic training.

2) Think about, and remember with respect, those you served with. There are certainly men and women in every branch of service that you may not get along with, but everyone who wears or ever wore an American military uniform deserves recognition.

3) Consider the sacrifices made by our military service members - and not just those alive today. Think back to the late 1700s when sacrifices were being made; when our freedom and liberty was being secured. Think about the more than 200 years of service that has been performed since then and all those who have sacrificed so that our country could remain the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Finally, we encourage each of you to reach our your hand, offer a handshake and say, “Thank you” to any service member you know. The mainstream media and plenty of other organizations in the United States today offer these fine men and women criticism or insult. Take just a few seconds out of your day to let them know you appreciate them and what they have done - and continue to do. Without them you might be reading this in German... or Japanese... or something besides English. Say THANK YOU!

On November 10th, 1775, the Marine Corps was born at Tun Tavern in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Ask any Marine. He (or she) will be able to quote this for the rest of their life. On November 10, 1775, the Continental Congress commissioned Samuel Nicholas to raise two Battalions of Marines. That very day, Nicholas set up his recruiting station in the Tun Tavern. A little known bit of historical trivia also traces the founding of America’s first Masonic Lodge to Tun Tavern in 1732.

United States Marines have been “first to fight” in countless engagements across the past two plus centuries. Their strength – how many active duty Marines can exist at any given time, is restricted by Congress. They are indeed an elite group and they mean it when they say, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

Lt. Rob Nelms

The story you are about to read is a true life account of one person’s journey to become a United States Marine…

In the summer of 1983 I was seventeen years old and eagerly anticipating my senior year in high school. Just like some of my other friends, I was very unsure of what college I was going to go to because I was not exactly sure what I wanted to do when I grew up. Several of my friends had already enlisted in the Navy and their contracts were very specific about their job and length of enlistment. This brings me to the day that would change my life forever. The day started out in typical fashion: sleeping in, eating breakfast at 11:30; you know, typical kid out of school for the summer sort of stuff. Bored, and at home, I got a call from my buddies asking me to ride to the recruiting office with them. See, little did I know, my buddies had a motive - they would get some type of credit or promotion if they could generate an enlistment for their recruiter.

So there I am, sitting in the recruiting office for the Navy, and all I can think about is, “Wow, I wish the Navy had a job that I thought would be more thrilling. The stuff I am being offered is boring.” Well, my buddies were not ready to go so I decided to walk down the hall to kill some time. When I walked by the Army office, recruiters were in there, but they paid no attention to me. I then walked further down the hall and approached the brochure rack outside of the Marine Corps office. “HEY YOU!” came the loud echoing voice from within the office. As I turned around, I saw a figure quickly approaching me with a look on his face that was unmistakable. He had bearing and grit and he walked with a purpose. When the Marine recruiter reached me he began a series of questions that were as rapid as the fire from an M-60 machine gun. When he was done, my head was spinning, and I wanted someone to tell me the tag number of the bus that just struck me. From that moment on I knew I would not be satisfied doing anything else. I wanted to be a Marine.

The summer ended and I began my senior year with new purpose and meaning. I began networking with the other members of my senior class that had already joined the Marine Corps, and were in the delayed entry program. Like the rest of them I was putting in time and counting the days to graduation. Little did we know, as fall approached, our lives would change again.

On October 23, 1983 a terrorist drove a bomb laden truck past the Marine sentry post in Beirut, Lebanon and into the barracks where Marines and sailors slept. As the events unfolded in Beirut, pictures circulated around the world and appeared in every newspaper and magazine for weeks to come. As the death toll increased (220 Marines and 18 sailors), I remember classmates asking me and others if we were sure we wanted to be apart of an organization where we could die. For me, this act of terrorism only strengthened my desire to be one of the few. I was determined to be a Marine.

My senior year passed quickly and before I knew it I was on a TWA flight to Marine Corps Recruit Depot (MCRD) in San Diego, California. The Marine Corps conducts recruit training at only two locations: Parris Island (east of the Mississippi) and San Diego (west of the Mississippi). As we de-boarded the plane, we were quickly shuffled through the airport, then we boarded an olive drab green bus where we were told to, “Sit down, stare at the floor and there had better be no talking!” The bus ride from the airport to MCRD San Diego seemed like it lasted no more than thirty seconds. Somehow I already knew that my life would never be the same again. When we arrived to the recruit depot, a very pissed off Marine came on the bus and began yelling at us real, real fast. I remember looking up from the floor and out of the window only to see more yellow footprints on the pavement than I could have imagined would ever be needed. The only two instructions I remember were to get off “his bus” as fast as possible and to put my “slimy feet” on his footprints. As the night grew later we were shuffled through different buildings, where we had sea bags, covers, canteens and cammies (camouflage pants and blouse) thrown at us. The final act of stripping us from our civilian shell was the haircut. To this day, I have never had so much hair removed in such a short amount of time. After our haircut, we were led to a large courtyard, where we sat on our sea bags until approximately 0400 hrs. In summary, my first day in the Marine Corps was more than 24 hours old and there seemed no rest in sight.

The first three days at MCRD San Diego receiving barracks consisted of testing, health exams and walking everywhere. I remember thinking, “this is easy,” and “when does the tough stuff start?” On day four the tough stuff started. We were marched over to the barracks to 2nd Battalion Hotel Company where this group of rag tag civilians would become platoon 2086. Inside of the barracks, we sat down on the floor and were spoken to by so many officers that their speeches blended into one. The only part of all those speeches I seem to remember was when the company commander turned to my senior drill instructor and told him, “Staff Sgt. Sanabria, take charge of these recruits and turn them into United States Marines.” As that man walked out of the room, a hurricane, earthquake and tornado struck that squad bay with a level of violence not often witnessed by man. Often I am asked to describe boot camp. My only response is to say, “It’s like Full Metal Jacket, but there is three drill instructors as opposed to one.”

Recruit training in the Marine Corps is divided into three separate phases and so we were thrown head long into first phase where the platoon dynamics took on a life of its own. First phase, as one would guess, is an introduction to the basic skills needed to be a Marine. Drill, physical training and mind games are woven through your daily life in order to break you down so that you can be built back up. A typical day began at 0500 hours with reveille, a quick cleaning of the squad bay then off to breakfast by 0600 hrs. After breakfast we would PT, then spend the remainder of the morning in the classroom learning about history, weapons nomenclature and a host of other topics. First phase is the foundation for the rest of recruit training. Your ability to learn terminology, movements and habits are essential to your whole boot camp experience. If you are a quick study, boot camp can actually be fun. The culmination of first phase is the drill competition. For all you non-military types: drill is where Marines march around the parade deck obeying commands by a drill instructor as they march. Without a doubt, drill is the one thing that drill instructors use as a way to measure their success within the development of a platoon. Drill instructors want to win drill.

Second phase, is the shortest phase of recruit training and was split between Camp Pendleton and MCRD San Diego. The phase begins when the entire battalion is bussed to Camp Pendleton to undergo weapons training. For the next two weeks the recruits are taught to shoot their weapon straighter and better than any other service. After qualifications, the recruits returned to San Diego where we spent the next week doing mess and maintenance. Mess and maintenance week may not sound too bad, but it was the worst week in my life. Because I spent most of boot camp as either a squad leader or the guide I received the glorious job of “dock honcho”. A dock honcho is charged with the supervision of 4-6 recruits who are responsible for all the cold storage areas in the rear of the chow hall. Our day would begin at 0300 hrs and did not end until around 2300 hrs. Everyday for that entire week, we unloaded trucks, stocked coolers and rotated product for the entire depot. When that week ended no one was happier than me; I would finally get some sleep. Second phase’s last week was spent back at Camp Pendleton where we trained at recruit field training division (RFTD). RFTD was not hard. We were in the field, but there were moments that I will always remember and some I would love to forget. I never considered myself to be claustrophobic, but the flight instinct kicked into high gear when we were shuffled into the gas chamber. When I was finally allowed to leave the chamber, I had more snot on the outside of my body than I care to remember. Second phase ended when we returned to San Diego and took a Physical Training (fitness) test.

Third or final phase at the recruit depot is equivalent to being a senior in high school. You are the big man on campus and everyone knows it. You are allowed privileges not seen in first and second phase. One of those small privileges that mean so much to each recruit is haircuts. During first and second phase we got a weekly head shave; it really wasn’t a haircut. That changes in third phase. The barbers take their time and they seem to take a sense of pride in styling your high and tight. The aura surrounding a third phase recruit is never more prevalent than when you walk through the chow hall. First and second phase recruits put you on a pedestal and your head swells with the attention. Everyone knows that the third phase recruit only has a few weeks before he graduates and gets to go home.

Training during third phase is a honing of what has been previously learned. Third phase is the time to sharpen your skills and to tighten up. Drill and PT are again emphasized. I remember stopping at every set of pull-up bars that we marched by to max out. Third phase runs were longer and we got to do the confidence course and rappel off the 150 foot tower. Third phase ends with final drill. If I ever thought that first phase drill was important it paled in comparison to final drill. Final drill is the super bowl to all the senior drill instructors and winning isn’t optional; it’s mandatory. Staff Sgt Sanabria spent hours with me and the other squad leaders fine tuning our skills. In final drill the guide and squad leaders play a very active role and drill instructors go to great lengths to make you right. The last week of third phase is spent drilling, testing and getting all your uniforms. Since you are accustomed to life on the depot, everything comes second nature. In the mornings we often ate “duck” as our drill instructor called it - we ducked in to the chow hall, showed our faces, then ducked out of the exit to start our training day. This was done because drill instructors were obligated to provide us with food but there were not enough hours in the day to get everything done prior to our graduation.

On graduation day I was reminded of my first day at MCRD San Diego a short 72 days earlier. The day began at 0400 hours with reveille and a visit to the chow hall before the rest of the recruit depot was even out of the rack. For our final breakfast at MCRD San Diego the recruits on mess and maintenance working in the chow hall congratulated us and treated us with reverence. After chow we staged our sea bags then changed into our alphas (dress uniform). By 0900 hours we were seated in the main auditorium and soon we would be Marines. After the indoor ceremony our platoon gathered outside of the base theatre for one last time. Graduation concluded with the entire battalion marching on the parade deck then we stood at attention in front of our friends and family. The last words ever uttered to me by Staff Sgt. Sanabria were: “Platoon two thousand eighty six, dismissed!”

I was a Marine…