Day 2: The Conception of Echo Four Golf

It’s difficult for me tell you when “Day 1” turned into “Day 2”. I don’t remember sleeping much that night, all I could think about was, what would happen next. At 0530 the lights came on and a “Hat” came in yelling for everyone to get up. It wasn’t the same tone that was used the night before, this “Hat” seemed somewhat human. We were told to get dressed, make up our racks and fall out for “chow”…. we had 3 minutes, which at the time, seemed a little unreasonable to me. There was a scurry of activity when the “Hat” left the squad bay. I threw my clothes on, everything was buttons, no zippers… it seemed to take forever to lace up the boots. As we assembled outside, several guys didn’t have their hats on (the Marine Corps calls them “covers”). A plethra of verbal obsentities by the “Hat”, resolved the issue quickly. We were then “herded” (a derogatory term for marching new recruits) to the chow hall for breakfast. There must have been 9 to 10 groups of 80 men or more in formation, waiting to enter the chow hall. Compared to some of the other groups, we looked homeless. Our clothes were wrinkled, our covers were flat and our trousers were un-bloused. Obviously, some of the others were further along in training than we were. I was amazed at how precise they moved. We were told to watch the others in line and mimic them. Even standing in a line to get something to eat was controlled… each individual had to pick up silverware, a glass and tray, then side step through the line while looking straight ahead, holding the tray vertical until reaching the food, at which point the tray was turned horizontal and remained so, until it was filled with food. At the end of the line, one would sharply turn to the right and join the group at a table. You were then instructed to eat…. quickly. When you were instructed that you were finished eating, as a group, you would get up, exit the chow hall and assemble outside in front of the pull up bars. You were then instructed to do as many pull-ups as you could, then return to the “mob” (a derogatory term for a new recruit formation). I was already tired… so many new things to learn… things I thought I already knew how to do…. obviously I didn’t! I didn’t realize it at the time, but this wasn’t boot camp…. this was in-processing. Some of the guys in our “mob” had already been in it for a week… we were just waiting for enough men to assemble a training unit. So, in the meantime, we belonged to the United States Marine Corps, and they could use us in any capacity they desired. After breakfast, we were herded to some administrative buildings. The morning was clear, cool and sunny. We stood in line outside the building for about fifteen minutes before entering. Upon entering, we were instructed to sit at attention in front of a desk. Individually, our names were called, we were then escorted down a long hallway to another large room where we were instructed to stand at attention in front of desks, each separated in its own cubicle. I assumed this was a part of in-processing. A Staff NCO walked up to the desk I was standing at and sat down, looking intently at some papers in a file, he didn’t even acknowledge me. After a few minutes, he commanded me to sit… I sat at attention. He ask me what my name was, I told him “Phil”. He looked puzzled, looked at me and said, “Why does it say your name is “Ray”? I started to explain to him that indeed my legal name was Ray Phillip Good, but before I could finish, he asked me where I was born. I was a little frustrated, because I hadn’t finished the first thought. I responded with “California”… he continued to “rapid fire” questions at me… ie… when was I was born, how many siblings did I have, what were their ages…. to me, these questions seemed to be random, and often, he wouldn’t allow me to finish answering them before asking another. Then it got wierd… he asked me my name again. This time I was ready, I told him my name was “Ray”, at which point he looked puzzled and said, “you told me your name was “Phil”! I again tried to explain that “Phil” was my middle name and “Ray” was legally my first name. He didn’t wait to listen, he asked me where I was born. I had told him the first time “California”, but I assumed he now wanted the city instead, so I said “National City”….. He stood up, looked me square in the eyes and said, “that’s a lie, you told me California”. I could see the spit coming out of his mouth as he yelled at me. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to explain that “National City” was in “California”, but he yelled even louder and told me to just “shut the F-up!” Then he calmly sat down and continued to rapid fire questions at me as though nothing had happened. This went on for approximately 45 minutes to an hour, but by the time he finished, I felt like I had been there all day. It seemed, I could never answer the questions correctly, no matter how precise I tried to be. I wasn’t used to foul language either… it had never been a part of my family life. At some point, the Staff NCO stood up and walked out without saying anything. I was escorted out and rejoined the mob outside. I had a sense, I had somehow failed. As I was being walked out, I passed individuals who we’re still seated, sobbing as they sat at attention. I couldn’t help but think to myself, “well at least I didn’t cry!!” I found out later we were being used to train interrogators. I was never so glad to get out of there. When everyone had been cycled through, we were herded back to the squad bay and told to prepare for lunch. Lunch was a repeat of breakfast. We exited the chow-hall then followed-up with as many pull ups as possible. After lunch, we were herded to an administrative building, where we were seated and given a basic skills and knowledge test. It literally prompted the individual to identify objects ie.. a screw driver, hammer, wing nuts, mechanical and electrical components, automotive components, mechanical devices etc.. it was intensive but not difficult. After the tests were completed, we again assembled outside and were herded to another facility where we were fitted with a Marine Blues Uniform Blouse … it was cut down the back so it could be slipped on and off easily. A white Marine cover was placed on our head and then pictures were taken… I didn’t know it at the time, but that picture would become my official Marine Corps photograph… I found out later, the blouses used, were actually burial garments. After the photos were taken, we returned to the squad bay and were told to prepare for dinner, a repeat performance of breakfast and lunch. After dinner and pull-ups, we returned to the squad bay and got, what can best be described as, idle time… or a time to converse with those around us. Some did, some didn’t. At some point in the early evening, we were instructed to strip down to “boxers” and assemble with our towel, shaving kit and soap, and head to the showers. The showers could accommodate up to 80 men at a time. We had less than that, but is was awkwardly crowded…. 40 to 50 naked men, all trying to shave and shower in 5 minutes. I dragged the razor across my face several times, not because I needed to, but because everyone else was doing it. I didn’t realize at the time, but this would be my new normal…. no room for privacy in the bathrooms at all… your business was everyone else’s business… it took some getting used to, but over time you became calloused to it. Coming out of the shower area in boxers, we were instructed to place the boxers we’d worn that day, in a nylon string bag and then hang it, with our towel, on the end of our rack (Marine bunkbed), We were then given some more idle time before lights out. At lights out, we were instructed to get into our racks and remain silent. Laying there in the darkness, I reflected on the days events. I could hear the aircraft taking off from Lindberg Field (San Diego International Airport.) I thought about all the people on those airplanes and where they were traveling to, and what their lives were like, it all seemed so far away and unreachable. I wondered what my family was doing and whether they were thinking of me, or had they already forgotten me… their son and brother, in a Marine Corps bootcamp. I’d never felt so alone before.