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.

Time has a way of getting away from you if you’re not paying attention. I woke up to that reality today. It didn’t dawn on me when I first got up, today was a special day … I was consumed by creaky bones and sore muscles as I sat on the side of the bed, preparing to “hobble” into the day. I’m not that person who gets up, jumps into the shower with my “Irish Spring” and a song. No, I have a routine… I check my phone for messages, then slowly amble to the wash room…. with all systems serviced, I make my way straight to the coffee machine. For me, it’s kind of like priming a pump or spraying ether into a carb …. just enough to get everything going. With coffee in hand, I sat down to take a closer look at my messages. Typically there aren’t any that really matter, but again, it’s a routine. This morning, while trying to focus my eyes on the tiny screen of my iPhone, I realized the only thing I could see clearly was the date….. August 31!! It’s funny how the mind works … for me, I was immediately transported back 46 years into the past.

August 31, 1976

I was sitting on a bus …. half asleep from the events of the day …. I’d been awake since 3AM …. it was now approximately 8PM. I remember the bus coming to an abrupt stop, the sound of the airbrakes and the air driven door being opened, jarred me out of the groggy state I was in…. then all hell broke loose. A rather large man in a “Smokey the Bear” hat appeared in the middle of the aisle in front of me … His words were instantly burned into my memory for a lifetime … He said, “My name is Staff Sergeant Dillon, welcome to the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego California (saying it all in one breath!!)…. I want you off my f’ing bus now …. you better not be the first person off my f’ing bus, and you damn sure better not be the last…” I remember my life passing in front of my eyes at that moment. I struggled to not be the first person to exit the bus, but I also made damn sure, I wasn’t the last guy off either! As I stepped off the bus, things got chaotic … I learned very quickly, not to look directly at any one thing or person, if you did…. you were instantly descended on by “hats.” There was alot of yelling… “Move Move Move! Stand on the yellow footprints… head straight…. keep your f’ing eyes forward… when I f’ing tell you, line up at the f’ing hatch.“ I remember thinking, “what have I f’ing got myself into” (summarized.) Nothing you hear about Marine boot camp, prior to arriving, comes close to the actual experience.

I found myself sitting inside my head, observing everything around me, literally without moving my eyes or my head… but I lost all sense of time…. it all happened so quickly… but my mind told me I’d been there for hours. I remember a few of the “hats” discussing whether we needed to be fed or not. “No time for that” one of the “hats” said, “f’them, they ate this morning.” We were then directed to line up at the “hatch”….. I followed the guy in front of me… I had no idea what a “hatch” was, I don’t think the guy in front of me did either. As we entered, I noticed six or seven guys with hair clippers, they seemed to be working in unison. The clippers were put at the top of the forehead and with one fluid motion, a large swath of hair was removed, down the middle of the head, all the way to the scruff of the neck. They seemed to enjoy their work, but by the looks on their faces, it was all business. I envisioned sheep being sheared. The entire process took less than 30 seconds. We were told to point to any moles or bumps on our heads, as the process was taking place, so as not to “accidently” remove them. I remember it having more to do with getting blood on the floor, than it did about getting injured. When my time came to sit in the chair, again everything slowed down… I remember the hair falling into my lap… long golden locks. I thought of my grandfather… he referred to me as “Goldie Locks” one time when talking to my Dad about my long hair. He didn’t approve. “There’s no recovering from this,” I thought to myself. As I exited the room, I felt the cool night air on my head… I ran my hand across where my hair used to be, it just felt weird…. it was then I realized my scalp was rubbed raw and bleeding because of the aggressive actions of the “barber.”

We were then moved indoors. The room we filed into was dimly lit and reminded me of a cattle processing plant… we were herded into a small confined area with an “uncomfortable” limited amount of space between those in front and behind. We were told to strip and given brown wrapping paper and twine to put our civilian clothes into, as well as any other personal items. A scripture verse from the Book of Job came to mind…. “naked I came into the world and naked I will leave it.” Well, I definitely was leaving one world for another and was leaving it all behind. We were assured these items would be returned to us sometime in the future, if we made it through. We wrote our names on the wrapped twined packages, and left them sitting on the table in front of us. At this point, I felt everything had been taken from me….. including my identity!

As we moved down the line, we were given a hat, pants, shirts, jacket, underwear, boots, a sea bag and a few personal items like a razor, soap and shoe polish. We were instructed to put one pair of clothing on… the rest went into the sea bag along with our personal items in a nylon string bag. The guy right in front of me somehow caught the attention of one of the “hats”… one “hat” stood in front of him with another behind. Both were yelling at him, not more than two inches from his head. Everything seemed to slow down again … the “hats” were telling him he wasn’t going to survive…. he wasn’t going to make it through…. he wasn’t good enough… one “hat” was telling him to pick up his sea bag and the other was yelling at him to set it down… it was the most confusing situation I’d ever seen. The guy abruptly passed out and fell to the floor… and with their hands on their hips, the two “hats” continued to yell at him… “poor baby, you want to sleep… go back to Mama! You’re nothing but a maggot and not fit for my Marine Corps….get up you sleepy maggot!!!” I resolved in my mind at that moment, this was nothing but a game. The “hats” were actors… I simply had to play along…. do what I was told, keep my mouth shut, keep my head down and my mind about me…they might kill me, but they can’t eat me… only 77 days to go… if I last that long. I would survive it no matter what…. at least that’s what I told my 18 year old brain.