Note: this thread was inspired by the thread posted by Retired LTC, USAR. Some of the responses pulled this oldie up from the dredges of what remains of my memory.
I haven't thought about this in years and years and years. Y'all have seen just about all my tales from my sordid past (those fit to post at least) But I have never written this one up. Unlike most of my stuff this one may have a lesson or two in it somewhere.
The set up may be a little long but the good part just may be worth it. I might even include and epilogue.
I dedicate this remembrance to the memory of or friend and brother, Mike (Shouldazagged) Adkins. I hope he can enjoy it where ever he is.
For those that are familiar with Camp Pendleton Californis which lies between San Diego and Los Angeles, let me set the scene.
I joined the Navy. Although I requested to be stationed in the 8th Naval district out of boot, I was sent to Navy class A dental school. Upon graduation I was sent to the Fleet Marine Force, and stationed with the 3rd Marine Division on Okinawa.
I was later trained as a field corpsman and stationed with the 5th Marine Division in Chu Lai Vietnam but that's all for another day.
But before I joined my new station I was sent to a 6-week mini version of Marine Corps boot camp of sorts. I already new how to march and salute etc but I had to be issued Marine corps uniforms and weapons and receive training in all that as well as a night compass march, and I don't remember what all. I had already been trained by the navy in small arms but I was forced to go through it again ala USMC. The Marine Corps was at that time a department of the Navy and didn't train medical, dental, or chaplain personnel. So they took them from graduates of the Navy schools as needed. The weapons training was the fun part, the ONLY fun part,the rest made Navy boot camp look like a church picnic.
But back on the point, FMF school was held on Camp Delmar which is in Camp Pendleton. The barracks, "grinder" marching grounds", Mess Hall (Best chow I had anywhere during my military. Service. Won many awards during the time, Winter/spring of 1963, and EM club were situated in a typical arrangement with the not-so-unimportant exception that there what a huge ditch or gully between the club and the barracks. There were barracks buildings on all 4 sides of the grinder.
One evening at the EM club I discovered a new to me beer, My passion for beer predates my 21st birthday. But on base you could purchase and consume beer.
A bright lite in an other wise dismal world I assure you.
The new beer? Heineken Dark Draft.
I almost looked up to see if it wasn't falling out of a big pitcher from Heaven. That is a very delicious beer I'm sayin'. Rich and creamy.
If you have ever been on a beer glut I don't need to describe the rest of the evening to you. If you haven't then you wouldn't understand...but you should do so soon.
By the time I walked out the door of the club I was snot slingin', Knee walkin' drunk....bloused to the gills...in the bag. Yep, I'uz drunker'n Cooter Brown.
I started staggering back to the barracks and soon realized it was a considerable walk for my current state. Then I thought about the gully. Shorten the walk significantly. Too bad I didn't think about how hard it would be getting up the far side of a muddy 7 to 8 ft. gully.
I made it but my clothes and all exposed skin were soaked and covered with mud.
But at least I had a shorter walk. I was looking for all the consolation I could come up with.
By the time I got to all the barracks buildings and the grinder they surrounded I was completely turned around and confused. Military barracks are all identical inside and out.
I went into what I thought was my barracks building and to my bunk, a top bunk in the middle of the room. I crawled up and passed out.
I woke up later to the sound of a hysterical voice of an irate Marine and the feel of a huge fist raining blows down upon my face and chest. Next thing I know I'm flying through the air and landing in a heap on the polished cement floor.
My reaction? Projectous vomitous
This guy was huge and not in any mood to show anything like understanding, sympathy, or mercy. My face was a bloody mess and I had somehow dislocated the little finger on my right hand.
EPILOGUE:
Staff Sgt Leggate was highly suspicious of my explanation of how how I got so muddy and banged up but he didn't press further.
I had several more evenings enjoying my new favorite beer but I always took the long walk back to the barracks at the end of the evening. Never set foot in that dang gully again and you can take my word for that.
I haven't thought about this in years and years and years. Y'all have seen just about all my tales from my sordid past (those fit to post at least) But I have never written this one up. Unlike most of my stuff this one may have a lesson or two in it somewhere.
The set up may be a little long but the good part just may be worth it. I might even include and epilogue.
I dedicate this remembrance to the memory of or friend and brother, Mike (Shouldazagged) Adkins. I hope he can enjoy it where ever he is.
For those that are familiar with Camp Pendleton Californis which lies between San Diego and Los Angeles, let me set the scene.
I joined the Navy. Although I requested to be stationed in the 8th Naval district out of boot, I was sent to Navy class A dental school. Upon graduation I was sent to the Fleet Marine Force, and stationed with the 3rd Marine Division on Okinawa.
I was later trained as a field corpsman and stationed with the 5th Marine Division in Chu Lai Vietnam but that's all for another day.
But before I joined my new station I was sent to a 6-week mini version of Marine Corps boot camp of sorts. I already new how to march and salute etc but I had to be issued Marine corps uniforms and weapons and receive training in all that as well as a night compass march, and I don't remember what all. I had already been trained by the navy in small arms but I was forced to go through it again ala USMC. The Marine Corps was at that time a department of the Navy and didn't train medical, dental, or chaplain personnel. So they took them from graduates of the Navy schools as needed. The weapons training was the fun part, the ONLY fun part,the rest made Navy boot camp look like a church picnic.
But back on the point, FMF school was held on Camp Delmar which is in Camp Pendleton. The barracks, "grinder" marching grounds", Mess Hall (Best chow I had anywhere during my military. Service. Won many awards during the time, Winter/spring of 1963, and EM club were situated in a typical arrangement with the not-so-unimportant exception that there what a huge ditch or gully between the club and the barracks. There were barracks buildings on all 4 sides of the grinder.
One evening at the EM club I discovered a new to me beer, My passion for beer predates my 21st birthday. But on base you could purchase and consume beer.
A bright lite in an other wise dismal world I assure you.The new beer? Heineken Dark Draft.
I almost looked up to see if it wasn't falling out of a big pitcher from Heaven. That is a very delicious beer I'm sayin'. Rich and creamy.If you have ever been on a beer glut I don't need to describe the rest of the evening to you. If you haven't then you wouldn't understand...but you should do so soon.
By the time I walked out the door of the club I was snot slingin', Knee walkin' drunk....bloused to the gills...in the bag. Yep, I'uz drunker'n Cooter Brown.
I started staggering back to the barracks and soon realized it was a considerable walk for my current state. Then I thought about the gully. Shorten the walk significantly. Too bad I didn't think about how hard it would be getting up the far side of a muddy 7 to 8 ft. gully.
I made it but my clothes and all exposed skin were soaked and covered with mud.
But at least I had a shorter walk. I was looking for all the consolation I could come up with.
By the time I got to all the barracks buildings and the grinder they surrounded I was completely turned around and confused. Military barracks are all identical inside and out.
I went into what I thought was my barracks building and to my bunk, a top bunk in the middle of the room. I crawled up and passed out.
I woke up later to the sound of a hysterical voice of an irate Marine and the feel of a huge fist raining blows down upon my face and chest. Next thing I know I'm flying through the air and landing in a heap on the polished cement floor.
My reaction? Projectous vomitous
This guy was huge and not in any mood to show anything like understanding, sympathy, or mercy. My face was a bloody mess and I had somehow dislocated the little finger on my right hand.
EPILOGUE:
Staff Sgt Leggate was highly suspicious of my explanation of how how I got so muddy and banged up but he didn't press further.
I had several more evenings enjoying my new favorite beer but I always took the long walk back to the barracks at the end of the evening. Never set foot in that dang gully again and you can take my word for that.
