Coming home from Nam was an experience none of us will ever forget. We were not welcome In our own Country I was spat upon by a jerk in California and called a baby killer, she manage to get away before I could say anything. I had orders for Marine Barracks 8th and I Washington D.C. little did I know how much I was going to dislike this duty station or how many request I would file to go back to Nam. I arrived in Washington in December of 1969 on a cold and windy day. I checked in and started my in processing which would take up the better part of two days as I had to be fitted for two sets of dress blues. They would assign me to a company which I later found out was the silent drill team. The average day went something like this, up at 0530 to get ready for colors then morning inspection. Then it was off to morning Chow and then one of the following, MCI (Marine Corps Institute), funeral detail and sometimes you would end up doing 4 or 5 funerals a day or practice drill. Drill would last about eight hours a day and when we had lunch it came in a Brown paper bag consisting of a bologna sandwich and a hard boiled egg, which usually got deposited in the garbage unopened. Talk about a boring activity, counting to yourself while remembering what to do at each step. It is that you will twirl the rifle throw the rifle or anyone one of many other things that you do with the rifle. We became so proficient in our drill routine that we attached chrome plated bayonets to the end of our rifle and continued drilling. One bright morning our Lieutenant. Decided he would change something in the routine, I suggested we take the bayonets off for I knew someone would forget and make a mistake. Lieutenant. Wasnt hearing any of this. Besides, who was I to tell him? But as we counted out the steps to take before throwing the rifle, I instinctively knew as it left my hand that the guy that was supposed to catch it at forgotten one step later he remembered but it was too late. The rifle hit him squarely in the head knocking him out I again turned to the Lieutenant. And said do you think we can take the bayonets off now Sir? To say he wasnt happy with me would be an understatement. During parade season we would put on two or three dress parades a week, Wednesday nights. We would put on a parade at the Iwo Jima monument in Arlington national Cemetery and Friday nights was sunset parade at the barracks. The commandant could call and request a parade for Thursday night any time he wanted. The funerals were the most depressing as they were for the guys that didnt survive there tour of Vietnam. You find yourself trying to find some kind of humor in all of this so you dont lose yourself in the mind numbing pain that you feel for the groups of families and friends that gather for these ceremonies. There are several things that make Funeral details especially hard. The biggest one is not showing any emotion especially on those cold winter days standing still not shivering while you wait at parade rest outside the Chapel waiting for them to bring the casket out and load it on the caisson. Then its the long procession through Arlington to the grave site, then watch the families grieve which is hard but its even harder to watch the children and you are nothing more than a statue in all of this. Sometimes we would do four or five funerals a day. No two are the same, yet they all tare at your heart. I put in several requests to be shipped back to Vietnam to no avail. I was turned down each time. My Lieutenant. Who was promoted to captain and I would not see eye to eye on much so he chose me to go on mess duty for a month which wouldve been a cakewalk for me as I knew the gunny in the mess hall and we were close friends. But seeing how I really didnt want to be on mess duty I told gunny that I had a chip on my shoulder and a Captain Wants me to do pots and pans. Gunny looked at me and smiled because he knew I had something up my sleeve. You see if you rub that power they use on pots and pans on your arms you develop a rash in about two days. You cant be on mess duty with a rash! After gunny got done laughing he sent me to sick Bay where I was promptly handed a slip saying no mess duty. I went back to my Captain And he was fit to be tied and he said your not getting off that easy. If you cant be on mess duty you can go to guard section for a month. Boy what a favor this was I had found my calling, in guard section you worked two shifts a day one day on one day off one weekend on one weekend off. At first there was some problems but it was mostly my fault as I stated earlier I didnt want any part of Washington DC and it showed in my attitude. I would have problems with a certain Sgt. As he would ride my ass until the night I got drunk and went on duty, I would end up getting in an argument with said Sgt. And tell him off. The next morning when I was relieved for breakfast I sat down with him and apologized for the way I had gone about it but told him I meant what I said. He told me he was just wanted to see how far he had to push me before I fought back and after this we became the best of friends. We would end up being called to put an end to many fights in the enlisted mans club on Friday nights after the sunset parade. Sarge would put his back against mine and get the guys coming from his direction and I would get the once coming from my direction and we would never let anyone get between us. Most times when we showed up everyone sat down and stopped fighting rather than deal with us. I managed to get a few days leave for Christmas 1970 and thought I would spend it with my siblings at home, not such a good idea. Waiting for me was a number three sack of mail for those that dont know what that is, its between three and 400 letters. None of which had a return address. I sat down and began to read them. Well after reading the first 50 or so I began drinking. By the time I had read each and everyone, I was only slightly drunk and one very bitter Marine. Of course the lovely people who had sent these didnt have the courage to sign their names, to sum this all up most of the letters had the same theme they all wanted me to know that I was a war mongering, baby killing, and drug taking bastard. Those were just the nice things they said to me, it went downhill from there. I even had one from a monastery a little nicer than the rest they just wanted me to come there and stay until I repented my evil ways. This was my welcome home.
Posted on: Sun, 06 Apr 2014 23:52:25 +0000
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