The Day We Were Born

How many of us can remember the day we were born? The actual day I mean. I can with crystal clarity. Tomorrow, 30 June 2016, is my 50th birthday and I remember every detail of the occasion. I was born into the loving arms of my new family members and the legendary yellow footprints at MCRD Parris Island. Oh how well I remember the day. Continue reading “The Day We Were Born”

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Parris Island Broken Arm 1970

On July 5th, 1970 I arrived at Parris Island after a long bus ride from Cleveland, Ohio. Yes, there were yellow footprints. I was 17 at the time and my Dad had served in the Army so naturally, I had to join the Marines. Anyway, I was a pretty squared away recruit. Tried to just look forward, stay under the radar and get the hell out of there as quick as I could. Continue reading “Parris Island Broken Arm 1970”

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My USMC tattoo

My traditional style eagle, globe and anchor. I served for 6 years in 1986-1992 and was a jet mechanic on A-4 Skyhawks. (seatshop) I also did a tour as a Marine Security Guard in the first class to accept women. 3 of us graduated MSG school in 1988. 1918 is the year women were allowed to join the Marines serving in the reserves. I added the date to my tattoo as a hat tip to the women who came before me. My step father was a Marine and in November my son graduated from Parris Island, so now we are a three generation USMC family.

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Funny Side Bar Story

Here are two photos from Beirut circa 1982-83. The top photo is of me standing on the perimeter road down by the airport and the Sh-t River in an area we referred to as The Swamp. 2/8 had set up a series of sandbag bunkers along this road before we relieved them and we would man the bunkers and patrol the road, probably as they had before us. Continue reading “Funny Side Bar Story”

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A Week In The Life Of A SgtMaj

Many Marines feel they have to deal with a lot of stupid stuff. They often think getting up in the morning is a pain in the neck. Having to shave is an inconvenience. Keeping their area squared away is imposing on their right to self-expression. The list goes on. Often I ask a group of Marines who among them thinks they put up with stupidity. Inevitably a forest of hands goes up until I bark, “Well try putting some rockers on and see how stupid it gets!”

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