January, 2007.  As  I stood  in  a cold light rain  looking  at the  World War I statue of  Iron Mike at  Parris Island a few  weeks back, I  had time to reflect on  an often asked question, where  had all the years gone?  That day was my 50th  Anniversary.   Fifty  years, half  a century  since  reporting  in  for  Drill Instructors  School.  Little  did I  realize how being  at Parris Island that cold January morning in 1957 would change my life forever. 

Drill  Instructors  School  and Recruit  Training  had  changed  over  the past eight months before my arrival.  Because of a terrible incident, which cost the lives of  six recruits in  the spring of  1956, Brigadier General  Wallace  Green was  on board to put  his leadership and common-sense  talents to  work.  He would, while  I was there, alleviate problems confronting  the much maligned Drill Instructors and Marine Recruit Training.  Some years later  he would be our Commandant.

My entrance in to Drill Instructor’s School was a shock to say the least!  As I walked  down  a  passageway  that  January day  I glanced  into a  head  and there, on  their knees, cleaning  a urinal, was  a Gy/Sgt. and a S/Sgt. Needless to say I felt I had made a mistake of monumental proportions! I was a junior S/Sgt.  and  knew  my place on the  totem pole  in this class  would be  in  the basement.

Early  in 1957 D.I. School  was  located  in  the old  Depot  Hospital, a  white frame building located near  the river.  Our instructors were  the finest.  They were  fair, sharp, and  knew their  business but  they  were  tough and  had  a serious  and  difficult  job.  You  could  quit anytime you  wanted, me, I  was indestructible  and just  twenty-three  years old, in  good shape  and  single; I figured school would be a snap. Ha!  Another mistake!

Not  only  did  they  whip  my butt into  shape, they  caused  my  thinking  to change.  I  had never  thought  beyond my present enlistment, while I “liked” the   Marine Corps, it  was a  rather shallow  affection at  that.  Serving  with other D.I.’s from different commands I  had my eyes opened.  Working  with these  men who ”lived” the  dedication and  gave meaning to  that word, pro- vided  me with  examples of  leadership not  yet seen, and, what  it is  to be a Marine.  The  two  years at  Parris  Island  passed  quickly.  First as a  Junior D.I., then, as  a  Senior I graduated  platoons I was proud of.  When a parent of a recruit sincerely  thanked  you for  the job you had done  with their  son, you  knew  it was you, but, it was also the  Marine Corps Training that  made that  young man  in to something positive  the parent sometimes  had a  hard time recognizing. 

During October, 1957 I was married at the “new” Depot Chapel. A couple of years ago  I visited  the Island with  my wife  and  we made  arrangements  to renew  our wedding vows at  the same chapel.  I was amused  to find it’s  now referred  to as the “old” Depot Chapel.  I had asked  my Company Comman- der and Battalion Commander for  permission to get married.  The Battalion Sergeant Major  let me know I did  the correct thing.  He also told me  things would be tight financially, and to be frugal.  Boy!  Was he right!

Promotions  followed, but  slowly.  It  was  along  dry spell after  the  Korean War.  I spent a lot of time on  correspondence  courses  and  considering  the Marine Corps  as a  career, or, as  a better way to say  it, to make the Marine Corps  my  life.   When Vietnam  flared up  I was  there  in  1962  (Operation ”Shu-Fly”), then, on returning to the states assigned to a teaching job regard- ing what I learned in Vietnam.

I cannot explain my  loyalty to our ‘Corps but, it grew with  the years.  I  was back in  Vietnam during 1968 and 1969  in a CH-46D unit, HMM-364.  There were some  bad days as with all Marines  regardless of  rank, job or specialty. Dealing with personnel losses is gut wrenching. I now realized a basic facet of the Marine Corps.  We do take care of  our own and  that training and  pride always come through.  When things are  at their worse, these  men will  come through and still achieve the mission.

Where does it start?  Where do we get this raw  material that we make in to a Marine? How  are  they  made? Who  makes  them? Where  are  they  made? Perhaps a trip back to Parris Island or San Diego will provide those answers.  Now in 2007 as a bonafide  senior citizen I visit my “Roots” in the  low coun- try of  South Carolina every couple of years.  I  sit on a bench under  an oak tree on Blvd. de France and watch the Parris Island recruits.

If  I’m lucky I’ll see a parade  rehearsal.  I usually light up a  good cigar  and really  sit back  and listen  to those  unique sounds.  Commands and  supple- mentary commands sound great on the “grinder,” as does all the marches by the  Parris Island Band.  Whenever  the colors come by or  the Marine Corps Hymn is played those pesky little  pieces of  ash seem to get in  my eye (from the stogie) and it causes me to have a few tears.   Damn cigars,….I shouldn’t be smoking them anyway.

Our Corps, May God Bless it!

Behind  that famed fighting machine, the United States Marine, is the  unfor- gettable  voice  of  experience, the  Drill  Instructor, whose  training  method hasn't been shaken by H-bombs and ICBMs. It's still the old, give 'em hell."

The  maintenance  of  a  D. I.  tradition, which  has  proved  so  effective, was reported  first-hand by an "old grad" on  a visit to the  recruit training center at Parris Island, S.C.  A similar center is at SAn Diego, Calif.

Staff  Sergeant  Courtney B. Payne  was  inspecting  a  platoon  when Charles Trainor, a vacationing news photographer, "looked on" unobtrusively with a telephoto lens.

Drill  Instructor Payne  demonstrated  microscopic  vision  in finding  dirt on rifles, and  an ear aching command of  language in describing the raw Marine material standing petrified before him.

Politest  name for  recruits during 12 weeks of  basic training  is "boot."  The D. I.  has a more extensive  and colorful  vocabulary - only the mildest names are  used  here - according  to photographer Trainor, who  went through  this same training and fought with the Marines in Korea.

"ICBMs  may come and  H-bombs may  blow, but  things have  not  changed much  for the "boots," reports veteran  Trainor.  "The D. I.  may have a  few new names for the recruits, but otherwise it all sounded very familiar."

The D. I.'s approach might set some jaws ajar among the home folks, but it's really  nothing to write  to Congress about.  It's just part of  the "toughening up" process necessary to produce Grade A fighting men.

Parris  Island,  with  its 12 weeks of  bellowing  D.I.s  is  only  the  beginning. Recruits  then go to  Camp Lejeune, N.C.  for four  weeks advanced  infantry combat training.  By  then, of course, the "boot" knows what  he (and every- one) owes to the D. I. with the vitriolic voice and vocabulary to match.

For  when a recruit leaves Parris  Island he  is  allowed at long  last  to wear a new, individually  tailored uniform  and is, in  the words of  the United States Marine Corps Hymn, "proud to bear the title of United Sates Marine.