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Into the hills: infantry training

 The large green bus left Highway 101 at Oceanside, California, to turn into Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton in northern San Diego County. All four platoons from our series (371 – 374) had boarded Greyhound-type buses owned by the Department of the Navy early in the morning of December 13, 1963. We had spent the night of graduation folding and packing uniforms and equipment into our sea bags (called a duffel bag in the Army). We vacated our Quonset huts after chow and marched to the buses. This is known as a movement in the Marine Corps. Missing a movement was a court-martial offense. Orders directed us to report to the…

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12Dec63: Graduation

 With the clothing and equipment issue, recruits received a small red Marine Notebook with printed inserts. The inserts included such information as the chain of command –- from the President of the United States and the Secretary of Defense down to our company officers. We stowed the red notebook in the right rear pocket of our utility trousers. When “at ease” in formation, the DIs had us study our notebooks. Sometimes we recited from them. I added a few items to mine. In the first shock of boot camp, I wrote an old girlfriend back in New York City. I asked her to copy out two of my favorite poems…

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The perils of genealogy: when did William Pannill III die?

 The Culpeper Times, a newspaper in Virginia, offered us a glimpse last week into the lives of two Pannills from the Revolutionary war. Since we had just watched the first of the HBO series John Adams, the article took me back to the 18th century. The American Revolution ended with the Treaty of Paris in 1783. One of the provisions of the treaty allowed British merchants to recover outstanding debts from their former colonial customers. Yet not until 1800, 17 years later, did any authority appoint agents to attempt recovery of the debts. Julie Bushong of the Culpeper County Library wrote in the Times about the reports of one such…

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Record Day at the rifle range

 The final Friday at the range turned up chilly. Equipped with shooting jackets and eye-patches, Platoon 373 moved to the targets for the final time. The atmosphere approached a holiday. This was Record Day. The DIs wanted everyone to qualify. The marksmanship instructor had issued each man a score book. Reviewing that after half a century, I cannot make out exactly what I shot on Record Day. After recording all hits and misses during the final week, I only wrote down fragmentary scores for the last day. Maybe that was because there was a scorekeeper for each rifle station. All I can make out is that I was shooting pretty…

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Firing live at the rifle range

 With me none too confident about my future with the M14 rifle, Platoon 373 moved on to live firing the second week in November. At the beginning, I did no better with live ammunition than I had snapping in. For the first couple of days, I even managed to fire on the wrong target. I could see the target just fine. It just happened to be someone else’s. The targets at Camp Matthews were large – perhaps 6 feet by 6 feet. Half the platoon took its turn firing  at targets, while the other half raised and lowered them between rounds. The pit crews hauled the targets up and down and  looked…

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Week One at the rifle range

 By mid-October I was facing the supreme test. The word was that you could not graduate from boot camp unless you qualified with the service rifle. I badly wanted out of boot camp. The thought of being set back terrified me. Qualification meant shooting targets well enough to compile a score of 190 points out of a possible 250. Any recruit who failed to qualify, the scuttlebutt went, got his back painted with a large white X by the DIs. He then had to run around and around the entire platoon on the three-mile march back to the Recruit Depot with his rifle at high port, constantly shouting: “I am…

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Uniforms and inspections propel us through boot camp

 Every few weeks, the platoon stood inspection.  This ordeal – like an exam – required much hard work.  Our DIs required us to buy extra gear for inspections.  We purchased a brand-new inspection towel and laundry bag and even a pair of combat boots. These items remained in our wooden foot lockers for inspection day.  To the foot of the bunk we tied a laundry bag on the left and draped the new white towel over the right.  On inspection day, we substituted virgin laundry bag and towel for the issued items. The boots we spit-shone until they resembled patent leather and placed those under the bunk in their proper…

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Read Lieutenant William Carter Cherry’s complete memoir

 A free web publication has printed my edited version of the memoir of Lt. William C. Cherry. His memoir – written by hand in 1884 – describes his service in the Army of Northern Virginia and his imprisonment as one of The Immortal 600, as well as the hardships of  his life after the war. The memoir inspired this blog to honor the 150th anniversary of his battles. The publication is  The Stainless Banner. You may subscribe and download the October 2013 issue at http://www.thestainlessbanner.com. Subscriptions are free.  You may also purchaser bound volumes of the magazine at the web site.

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What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?

 I enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve at the age of 23 after earning bachelor’s and master’s degrees. Throughout boot camp, I kept asking myself why. Only after leaving the maelstrom of the Recruit Depot did the answers come clear to me. I grew up in World War II, having been born two months before the German invasion of France in May 1940. Boys in those days grew up with cap pistols for war games and spotter books to identify enemy aircraft (we never saw any). The Navy commissioned Dad an ensign in 1944 and assigned him to the Naval Armed Guard for merchant vessels. He served as the gunnery…

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One week as a recruit

 The first command in the mornings came shortly after 0500 (5 a.m.).  “373,” the duty DI bellowed. “Sir, Platoon 373. Aye aye sir,” we chanted. Usually he responded, “I can’t hear you.” We tried it louder. And sometimes, “What have I got, a bunch of girls?” That really put the lungs into it. “On the road.” “On the road, aye aye sir,” as 72 men ran into formation on the company street. Then he brought us to attention, gave us right face, then forward, and we marched to the head. We had limited time – maybe five minutes — to take care of business and return to formation. There was…

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