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.

September 10, 1999

Graduation Day.  I survived.  I made it.  I'm a Marine.  I am not going home a failure.  My driving force in this man made hell hole has been to prove not only to myself but to everyone who said I couldn't do this that they were wrong! I have friends back home who talk about doing things and never do. They are good people, but when I look down the road I see a time when they will sit at a bar and say " I think I could have been this or done that.. I think.." I didn't want to wonder, I wanted to know.  No mater what happens from this moment on, I know that I can and will make it through the hard times.  For all intents and purposes, I am 6'2 and bulletproof.  Fear isn't my enemy anymore.

Thirteen weeks ago, I wondered what the hell I was thinking.  Now I wonder why I waited so long.  When I got here I weighed 223 pounds.  Today I weigh 172 pounds.  I still have a black eye I got during the Crucible.  My grandfather asked me if I went to boot camp or a concentration camp when he saw me.

There are a lot of things I want to do now.  I want a beer.  I want a dip.  I want to go home and sleep in a bed without 80 other guys in the room.  I'm excited.  I can't sit still.

On the drive out the gate of Parris Island in broad daylight, I look back and realize how different it looks now.  The night I got here it looked like the gates of hell, now it looks similar to the entrance to UMass the last time I saw it.  It is a black dot on the map that is the journey of my life... just a black dot... well maybe it's a BIG black dot.  I'm going home, thank God almighty, I'm going home.

The More Things Change...

This past June I celebrated the 11th anniversary of getting home from Iraq.  The significance of getting home on June 6th is definitely not lost on me.  The last eleven years have been a roller coaster of both good and bad times.  Losing old friends, making new ones.  Losing jobs, finding jobs.  Agreeing with people, fighting with people.  Drinking far too much, failing to quit drinking.. ;)  I loved being a Marine.  I got out because I realized that I no longer fit into the Corps.  I can live with that.  I wanted to do other things.  I wanted to be something else.  I had further to go and the Corps wasn't going to let me get there.  That's not a slam on the Marine Corps or me.  I answered the call.  I can say I had and have what it takes.  

Eleven years have passed since the invasion of Iraq, or the War on Terror, or Operation Enduring Freedom, or Operation Iraqi Freedom, or Bush's Illegal War or W's Revenge Tour, or Imperialism, or Stomp out the Muslims, or Let's Steal All the Oil.  These are just some of the names it has been called.  I prefer to use the term my father used.. My step into history.  I wasn't on the sidelines of this, I was in the game.  This has caused me some issues since I got out and came home.  Sometimes I was jealous that my friends were ahead of me in terms of relationships, careers, things they could afford.  Other times I was angry when they'd say "We shouldn't be there!" But most of the time I really felt alone.  They didn't get it, they don't get it and they never will get it.  War isn't an abstract philosophy to me anymore.  It is a very real, very scary event that people die in far away from home for reasons that may or may not be true.  

Why do I bring this up?  Unless you are living on a deserted island somewhere, then you should realize that the global machine is cranking up again.  Russia is on the move, Israel and Palestine are at each other's throats, Iran is rattling its saber and Iraq and Afghanistan are as much a mess as they were 11 years ago and the rest of the world is just waiting to see what America will do.  Politicians come and go and with them come conflicts that require sacrifice.  But we keep sending the troops into harms way without properly equipping them to win the battle and return home.  We keep saying we'll support them no matter what and then sit by as veterans die because the VA is a bogged down bureaucracy. The VFW was a dying organization 15 years ago, now it's ranks are swelling with angry disillusioned servicemen and women.  The Marine Corps teaches us to improvise, adapt and overcome.  It seems obvious that we are doing something wrong if we are about to go back to Iraq for the 3rd time since 1990; we can't take care of our veterans;  the rest of the world wants to be like us and not listen to us.