A lot has happened since my last entry...

It's been three years since I last updated this story. I was looking at the last entry and tears came to my eyes. I wrote about my arrival in scenic Meridien MI, and my introduction to Lovelle Winton. Over the course of my tour of duty in the USMC, Lovelle became one of/if not my best friend. It was never an easy friendship. He was headstrong, opinionated, had a shitty attitude, came from an abusive background and had serious scars. He caused me a lot of headaches. It almost came to blows on more than one occasion. To paraphrase Doc Holiday in Wyatt Earp "Lovelle Winton is an ignorant scoundrel! I disapprove of his very existence. I considered ending it myself on several occasions, but... self-control always got the better of me." But that's not the whole story. The whole story involves to young men who joined the Marines for totally different reasons. Both of whom enlisted to do a job they intended to base their futures on and instead had the Marine Corps decide that they each would better serve the Corps as Aviation Operations Specialists. I was five years older that Lovelle. We were both only children. My mother had passed away. His had put him in foster care. I guess as the saying goes we found a brother from another mother in each other. We followed different paths both in the Corps and later as veterans. I used to really look forward to him calling me to comment on my latest post or to talk about sports or the events of the day or to just generally complain about shit that was going that only another Marine would appreciate.

Lovelle passed away in January. He had a lot of issues, and the world didn't always care. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about him. I miss him. In a lot of ways, my story is his story. I have both dreaded and looked forward to starting to write this again because I know that the call won't be coming and that I'm now responsible to tell the story of a brother in a way that reveals how much I loved him and how much he pissed me off and made me laugh all while serving in the USMC at the beginning of the War on Terror. Lovelle, I will try to paint you in the best light possible, but honestly the warts and the bumps and the cracks are the things that make the time memorable and the friendship more important.

I also feel like this story both during my time in the USMC and the years that have followed as an educator, coach, husband, father, veteran and citizen will show that not everybody fits neatly into the categories and stereotypes we try to put each other in. I have let this story dwell in my head for far too long and I think it's time for it to be told. Stay tuned.

MOS School NAS Meridien MS

Josh Rabine, Victor Faraj and I were all assigned to go to Naval Air Station Meridien Mississippi for MOS school.  We got our travel orders and headed to the airport. Of course the plane was one of the twin prop puddle jumpers three seats wide.  Every bit of turbulence felt the drop off on a roller coaster.  The trip took about two hours.  We landed at what they called Meridien International Airport and by that I mean the single building that the smallest elementary school would be bigger than.  Baggage claim was a 10 foot conveyor belt.  We got our sea bags and then caught a cab.  Twenty minutes later we entered NAS Meridien, our home for the next eight weeks.  I don't know if I felt sorrier for us or the men and women who are permanently stationed here.  We report in to the barracks SNCO for room assignments and are introduced to a crinkled, nasty, sour and generally unpleasant man named GySgt Green.  Gunny Green sees us and is angry.  He snaps at us that nobody told him we were coming and we just ruined his day.  He storms into his office and starts yelling at nobody.  He comes back out and tells us he found temporary space for us by the grace of his heart. By the grace of his heart? He's the god damn barracks SNCO!! This is his JOB! Eight weeks here is gonna be fun! So we haul our gear up the hill and put the key in the door and as we're about to open it.. a tall kid wearing gasses and just a pair of shorts rips the door open and shouts "What the F@#$ do you assholes want???" This is my introduction to PFC Lovelle Winton. We tell him that we've been assigned to this room and he says, "Ah F@#$!!! Just my luck!!!" And just turns and goes into his room and slams the door. Ya, nice to meet you too! About an hour goes by and there's a knock on the door.  PFC Ramon Jorge the Barracks Leader has arrived to show us around.  This kid has a gigantic broomstick with the words Marine Corps shoved up his ass. Every turn is cornered. Every step is heel toe. Every phrase is ended with "Good to go?" I figure that he will probably have a heart attack before he even gets to his duty station or someone will just beat the shit out of him cuz he's WAY too serious.  

Now here's the good part.  I applied for Recruiters Assistance while I was on Boot Leave.  It was denied because they needed to get everyone through MCT during hurricane season.  Then when I got to MCT, I was placed on Guard Duty because my MOS class was starting later so we were at Camp Geiger for a month instead of two weeks.  Because we were on guard duty, we are a week late for MOS school.  The SNCO in charge of the school tells us that if the follow class instructor won't add us to the class then we have to wait 9 weeks to begin MOS School. Which means we'll be on barracks duty while we wait.  We did NOTHING wrong.  We have been jerked around since the beginning and now they are acting like they're gonna do us a favor by adding to a class that we shouldn't have been late for??? WTF?!?!?!  So we go to see the instructor with the head of the school.  He pulls the instructor out of the class.  This is my first meeting with Sgt Tim Campbell.  Sgt Campbell is from Missouri. He's tall, lean, blonde hair, glasses and notable southern accent. He's less than thrilled that more people are about to be added to his class.  "So let me get this straight, either I take them or they are stuck here for 9 weeks? Dammit! Look boys, I'm going to be honest with you, I don't want you. You're behind and I don't have the time to catch you up.  You'll have to learn what I've already taught on your time. Oh and we have a test in two days.  If you fail two tests, then you are dropped!"  Welcome aboard!  

7041 Aviation Operations Specialist

The last night of field ops at MCT they give the orders to MOS School.  I signed up to be a legal clerk which is MOS #4421.  My MOS school is at Camp Johnson in NC.  At least that's what I thought.  When they read my name and MOS, I heard "Connors, Shawn P. 7041. Meridien MS."  I'm standing there like, "What the F@#$ is a 7041??? And... Where the F@#$ is Meridien MS???"  I went to see the Platoon Sgt to find out what happened.  I tried to explain to him that there was a mistake, that both my MOS and MOS School were wrong, that my contract was to be a legal clerk.  He said, "Well Devil Dog, that's not what it says here so you're out of luck." Apparently he didn't like that I didn't accept that as his final answer. He also didn't like it when I said, "Fine.  Then the Marine Corps is in breach of contract and I can be discharged, and I'm not going to MS!"  He told me stand at the POA and then asked, "Did you have three options on your contract?" I said, "Yes Sgt." He smiled and said, "Well Devil Dog, the Marine Corps promised to give you one of the three options, not necessarily your choice.  Enjoy Mississippi!"  There is literally nothing I can do about this.  What nobody told me and perhaps should have told me was why this happened.  It turns out that when I took the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) I did really well on three sections that the Marine Corps takes pretty seriously which make up a GT score.  They switched my MOS because I had listed Aviation as my second option and my GT score was higher than the minimum for the MOS that they had a shortage in.  So long story short, I got switched because I was a square peg and the Marines had a square hole to fill.  But the Sgt's answer of "You signed the motherf@#$ing contract so deal with it" would become a recurring theme.  And nobody had told me where the F@#$ Meridien MS is!!!

MCT

If Parris Island transforms people into Marines, then Marine Combat Training (MCT) shows Marines what to expect in the Fleet Marine Force. Hurry up and wait! Marching from place to place in large unorganized clusters, waiting around for either a class or a drill. There is no time to build a team as we are only here for two weeks before we ship off to Military Occupation Specialty (MOS) school.  The new Marines all want to prove how hard they are or aren't.  The instructors show tremendous disdain for all of us because they are career infantry and look at all of us as gutless because we aren't infantry.  This is a special circle of Hell.  I've learned that being called "Devil Dog" by our instructors is just like being called a "recruit" by a DI. The arbitrary way they decide who does what is like how my freshman football coach picked our positions: height and weight.  Coach Turner walked in front of us, looked us from toe to head and back to toe and then said "Back" or "Lineman".  Just by looking at us.  Honestly, how in the hell can you tell if someone can pass, run, catch, block or tackle by looking at them from their feet to their head and back down.  I got picked to be a 60 gunner.  Do you want to know I got picked to be a 60 gunner?  Do you think it's because the 60 gunner needs to be an accurate shot? If you do, then you are wrong! Do you think it's because the 60 gunner leads a three man team and I was older and more educated? If you do, then you are wrong again! I got picked because the M60 is heavy and long and I'm 6'2 and weigh 195 lbs.  In simpler terms I was the only one strong enough to carry it! So for most of the time we were in the field I carried this heavy as weapon in the rear of the platoon with one guy who carried the ammo can  and the other guy who carried the tri pod for it.  We got to fire it once.  And it jammed. Then, and I'm not even kidding, a hurricane hit North Carolina for three days and they cancelled field ops and sent us back to the barracks to twiddle our thumbs cuz it's too dangerous to be outside in a hurricane. Can you spell irony??? I can... U.S.M.C.

Suddenly having a hard time...

There is a reality to life in the Marine Corps, and that reality is that every single person in the Marine is trying to one up some one else.  They say you salute the rank not the man.  When you are fresh out of boot, you are finally a Marine, but you quickly realize that you aren't special.  On the green cammie uniform, the rank insignia is a black lapel pin.  It is difficult to see from a distance. God forbid you don't genuflect when you pass someone who outranks you for the simple reason that you couldn't see a stripe or a rocker. And there is no saving you if you call a Staff Sergeant a Sergeant for the same reason. A safe bet would be to say nothing, but then some jackass with a hard-on for going flying off the handle on some boot will go ballistic.

When I got to Camp Geiger for MCT I was sent to Guard Duty for two weeks, which as I said before made a lot of sense since I couldn't get Recruiters Assistance cuz I needed to get to training immediately.  For two weeks my job was to have fire watch from 2100 to 0200. So for the rest of the day it's just sit around and wait.  I like how they decide who gets what duty.  There is no rhyme or reason for it. There is a Scribe who's job it is to plan the watch roster, do all the paper work and keep things in order. They gave that job to Private Young.  Private Young is a 5'4 black kid. He's 18 years old and reads a book entitled Why do All the Black Kids Sit Together in the Cafeteria?  So he in turn gave all the jobs out in a totally nonsensical way.  One last thought on Private Young.  He detests white people. Now this is the inevitable flare up.  Another Marine on Guard Duty, Private Smith, is a loud mouth redneck. Smith is white, is 6'1 and wears a Confederate Flag belt buckle and cowboy boots and a ten gallon hat.  Young was not graceful or polite.  In fact he was surprisingly vulgar.  These two get into an argument over watch times, that went something like this:

Smith: Hey Young, can we talk about switching the watch schedule?

Young: F@ck You white boy. You get what you get!

Smith: Well hold on son, we should talk about this..

Young: We're not talking about anything. It's my job to make the schedule, it's your job walk your post!

Smith: Boy, you should watch the way you're talking to me. I'm just trying to switch my time..

Young: Boy?!?! You're right we should talk about the watch schedule... Now you have a 12 hour watch!

Smith: Wait... Why?

Young: Cuz you called me "Boy" you cracker bastard!

Smith: Hold on, first of all, I didn't mean "boy" second I'm a PFC and you're a Private and you can't talk to me like that...

Young: I'll talk to you however I want and if you don't like it I'll smack you in the face with my dick!

Smith: You come anywhere near with that black dick of yours and I'll cut it off and stick it up your n@#$er ass!

(Punches thrown) 

Anybody want to guess what happened after that? It's gonna be a long four years.

The times they are a changing.

I said life goes on, and it really changes as well. To say I was indoctrinated in the Marine Corps is an understatement. When I ate I sat heels together and my left hand on my left knee.  I got up and ran everyday I was home. I called everyone including bartenders and waitresses "Sir or Maam". I didn't like people being behind me so I usually stood near the wall, constantly scanning the room. I shined my boots every other day. I got two haircuts in ten days. TWO! And was pissed cuz the barber didn't know how to due a proper high and tight.  Every shirt I wore said Marines on it and it was tucked in tight. I went down to UMass to see my fraternity brothers and learned a tough lesson.  I was in  terrific physical condition. But I had lost 50 pounds at boot camp.  I wasn't really used to myself at that weight. I played in a tackle pickup football game one afternoon and when I tackled my boy Nate, he rolled over me and crushed my head. I bit half way through my bottom lip. I needed stitches. So now I'm on leave and I have the remnants of a black eye from the Crucible and now I have a massive fat lip and stitches in my mouth.  I wasn't exactly feeling as bullet proof as I had been. 

Another lesson I learned (and quite frankly one I should have learned already but one that would repeat several times over the next four plus years) was that the Marine Corps operates on its own time frame and quite often with no rhyme or reason.  I went to see my recruiter and put in for a month of Recruiter Assistance and it was denied. Ok, that's fine. The reason was that they needed everyone to get through MCT cuz hurricanes were storming up the coast. (When I got to MCT I got sent to Guard Duty for two and a half weeks because my MOS School was backed up. When I finally get to MOS school, they almost wouldn't start my training cuz I was a week late!) So to sum up, if I had gotten Recruiter Assistance I would have gotten to MOS School right around the same time.  Hurry up and wait, Oorah.

Lastly, I want to say that my Heavy Hat told us a way to avoid fights with guys who want to try Marines.  This is important because a guy bumped into me at a party at UMass. I didn't think to much of it until he tapped me on the shoulder and the following conversation occurred:

Drunk kid: (Angrily) Hey Asshole, you bumped into me!

Me: (Calmly) I'm sorry. Which side did I bump into?

Drunk kid: (Confused) What? What do you mean? What does it matter what side?

Me: Well, it matters a lot. If I bumped into your left side, it was an accident and I'm terribly sorry. If it was your right side, then I was sizing you up and preparing to kick your ass all over this place. So which side was it?

Drunk kid: (Still confused) I'm not sure. Let me think about it.

Me: Ok

Several minutes go by and I get tapped on the shoulder again.

Drunk kid: (Angrily) I think it was the right side!

Me: (Calmly) It took you this long to come to that conclusion? You haven't thought this through. You're not in this Fraternity. I'm one of the founders. Every brother in here is going to back me up and you and your two friends are gonna get the ass kicking of a life time if you push this.

Drunk kid: Uhhh...

Me: UHHH?!?!?!?! That's the best you can do? Pledges!!! Escort this gentlemen and his friends to the door, they're no longer welcome here.

Pledges surround them and push them out. I don't know, maybe I should have kicked his ass. Still, it was fun to watch the wheels turn slowly behind his drunk eyes!

Life went on...

Boot camp was a transformation. It was a transformation of body and mind. I lost 50 lbs at PI. None of my clothes fit. I was away for 14 weeks. A lot can happen in 14 weeks. I got letters from family and some friends. I also didn't get any contact from some friends.  When I left, I felt like I was leaving everyone and everything behind.  It was scary. It was lonely. I cried at night during boot camp. Coming home I wanted to show everyone the transformation. I wanted to look the people in the eye who told me I couldn't do it they were wrong. I wanted to show them who I had become. But the funny thing about transforming your body and mind is that you don't feel comfortable in your old life and your old life doesn't feel comfortable with you. My family told I was too skinny. My friends told me I looked like a smaller younger me, like a little brother. Some people wanted to fight me, you know just to see what I learned. Some wanted to just avoid me, cuz at some point in their lives they didn't like the military so I was some one to take that out on. I wanted to make mend some fences with people that didn't want them mended.

The biggest difference was between me and my dad. When I told him that I was going to join the Marines after college, he looked at me like I had just kicked him in the nuts.  The conversation went something like this:

Dad: Do you purposely choose every path in life that I don't like?

Me: What do you mean?

Dad: I wasn't a good student, you were. I wasn't an athlete, you were. I never went to college, you did. I hate fraternities, you started one. I don't like actors, you've done 13 plays. I was in the Army and I hate Marines, now you want to be one? Why do you do these things?

Me: Didn't you always say that you want me to be better than you? This is how I'm trying to do that. Besides, you are my hero. You served this country and I want to as well.

Dad: Well, this is what I think of your decision. 1) As a father I'm against this. It's my job to keep you safe and I can't if you do this. 2) As a father I also taught you to follow your dreams, and I know this has been a dream of yours for years. 3) I'm a veteran. You owe this to me. You owe this to me, and to all those who went before you. So good luck.

I wrote some very honest letters home from boot camp to my dad. He saved them. He brings them up every now and again if he thinks my head is too big. But he purposely needles me about the Marine Corps and our traditions and gets really pissy when I do it back. He really hates when I say that ARMY stands for Aint Ready for the Marines Yet. But he loves to say Semper whatever you people say.  He seems angry at me for joining the Marines and is being passive aggressive about it. I love him and I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye again when I go to MCT. Just surprised by how small home seems and how much I want to stay.