10.01.09
Reflections and Recollections:
AKA: “ The making of a grunt.” By L/Cpl Holly
Ever since my older brother, Rod, took me to see “The Sands of Iwo Jima” I wanted nothing more in life than to be a United States Marine. I had grown up in the “John Wayne Era of Hollywood” and cherished it. The WW11 Veterans who defeated the treacherous sloped-eyed Japanese and Nazi war criminals were my heroes. Growing up Catholic in the fifties, the Credo: “For God Family and Country” was the way, the truth and the life for many of us. Cardinal Spellman was fiercely anti-communist and openly supported our nation’s efforts to counter any communist led aggression around the world.
The Domino Theory was widely held to be an absolute truth by many in mainstream America at that time. The torch of liberty had just been passed to a new generation of Americans. Senator John F. Kennedy, a WW11 Navy Veteran and an Irish Catholic from Boston Massachusetts had been elected President of the United States of America. Being from a devout Irish Catholic family, it was time to celebrate our heritage. The Irish Americans were bursting with pride over Mr. Kennedy’s election.
The Brothers of the Sacred Heart were in seventh heaven just knowing that a fellow Roman Catholic was sitting in the oval office. The times they were a-changing and the Irish in America were moving on up bros’. In October of 1962, with the world on the brink of nuclear war over Soviet missiles being placed in Cuba, we found ourselves on our knees, quite often, cranking out, seemingly, endless decades of the Holy Rosary. The talk of mutually assured destruction was a somber reminder that our earthly lives were never meant to be permanent. The lines outside our church confessionals were long.
During the crisis, my buddy Johnnie Z came up with a musical ditty that we sang on our school bus. “Oh we’ll all go together when we go and the World will be an incandescent glow. We’ll see Peter, Paul and Moses playing ring around the roses and we’ll all go together when we go. They’ll be launching ICBM’s when we go, They’ll be launching ICBM’s when we go. We’ll be talking with Sweet Jesus when we go…
For the first time, I gave seriously thought to the possibility that my neighborhood could be destroyed by Soviet missiles. When the Cuban missile crisis finally passed, it was time to party hearty and breathe a collective sigh of relief! My friends and I managed to get hold of a couple of cases of ice-cold beer. The Bishop Reilly Spartans were in the mood to celebrate their good fortune. It was a great feeling just to know that we would not be “Nuked until we Glowed” by our Soviet antagonists. Our parents were so relieved that none of them seemed to take notice of our underage celebratory alcoholic binge drinking.
The assassination of President Kennedy on November 22, 1963 sent shock waves throughout the Catholic School System. It was widely rumored that Soviet agents might be responsible for that unspeakable atrocity. The talk of war was once again on the front burner. And, the prayer vigils at our school cranked up a notch or two. The times were uncertain and the Kennedy call to: “Bear any burden, pay any price, oppose any foe and defend any friend in the cause of freedom” weighed in heavy on our hearts and minds.
By 1966, it seemed that everyone in America was talking about the Domino Theory and the growing troubles in Vietnam. Following graduation that year, my trusted companion and classmate, Johnnie Z and I joined the United States Marine Corps. We enlisted with the solemn promise that we would be a part of the new “Marine Corps Buddy System.” Our recruiter had all but guaranteed that we would be joined at the hip while on Parris Island. We were to eat, drink, bunk, train and visit with the Catholic Chaplin together.
Side by side, Johnnie Z and I, who had been together since our grammar school days at Saint Luke’s School, would fulfill our childhood dream of becoming United States Marines, together. In truth, Johnnie and I barely uttered a word to each other during our entire stay on the Island. Z was on one end of the squad-bay and I was at the other. In truth, “East is East and West is West’ … - Lies our recruiter told us bros’. There it is!
Then, one fateful night, a fellow recruit asked to speak to our Senior Drill Instructor about the “Buddy System.” I just knew in my heart that the “Shit” was about to hit the fan! After emphatically stating that he had joined the Marine Corps on the “Buddy System,” the Private demanded to know why he was not sleeping with the buddy? S/Sgt. John Enfinger then asked the hapless recruit: “ Who is your buddy, private?” When the private identified his school chum, the poor bastard was also called up to the front of the squad-bay.
Our Senior DI verbally chastised them and demanded to see a marriage license. When neither recruit could produce one, the enraged DI ordered them to get into the same rack and hug each other. S/Sgt. Enfinger then commenced to beat the living shit out of the both of them. This barbaric action affectively ended any further discourse about the much touted “USMC Buddy System Program.” As I lay in my rack that night, I silently gave thanks to “Who Art.” I was so relieved that my buddy, Johnnie Z, had not been the one to ask the question. Still, at that moment, I could have shot every DI on the Island without feeling one iota of Catholic guilt!
In truth, I had signed myself into an insane asylum. And, I was not, at all, certain I could survive the nightmarish rigors and sheer terror that was Parris Island. Having come through the Catholic School System, however, proved to be both a blessing and a curse for me. As a left-handed student, I was singled out for some serious re-education challenges. Left-handed students were considered to be under Satanic influences. I was often slapped, sent to my knees and forced to place the pencil in my right hand. Therefore, I determined, early on, I would not let the Nuns break me.
It appeared that my Catholic School trials and tribulations were just a precursor for the stress and rigors of recruit training on Parris Island. I often thought about shouting out to my Drill Instructor that I knew Nuns who could do the job better than he could. Not wanting to subject myself to a senseless and vindictive ass-kicking, however, I managed to remain silent. The USMC ,in fact, did not have any use for left-handed people either. So, thank you, Sister Jean and company for a sneak preview of Parris Island and going off to war. Peace be with you, may God Bless and Semper Fi Bros’, - L/Cpl. Holly
