Some Observations from My Time in the Marines

I was an enlisted man, serving active duty from 1981-1985, leaving at the rank of sergeant. 

Some thoughts about my time…

I joined because it was something like an escape hatch for me. 

No, it wasn’t a case of the proverbial judge telling the criminal ‘Go to jail or go in the Marines, your choice’, but it did offer a way to escape a frustrating situation.  I was just out of high school, still living at home (no problems there but I wanted to be on my own) going to a state university with 25,000 students.  I didn’t know what to major in, didn’t like it, and wanted out.  I would do the most radical thing I could think of that wasn’t stupid–I would join the Marines, which was the most radical branch of the military services. 

The recruiter strongly recommended finishing out the year at the university and wait to go to boot camp in the summer.  There were some benefits to that–I’d start at an E-2 paygrade rather than E-1.  I followed the advice and joined on the delayed-entry program.  It was enough to ease my frustration.  I finished out the year at university and joined on July 14, 1981.

Boot camp was an experience. 

Before it started we went through processing (medical tests, taking the oath, etc.).  I processed with a group of guys at the Los Angeles office.  After that miserable day, we rode on an Amtrack train down to San Diego where we would be picked up by a bus and taken to the recruit depot.  At some point during the trip one of the guys was quite boastful, talking about his success with women and about his tough ways.  But after boot camp began he was caught trying to slit his wrists with a Track-2 razor cartridge.  He was processed out and we never saw him again.  Two other recruits also deliberately hurt themselves and were processed out. 

The drill instructors (DI’s) were masters at profanity and called us things we had not been called before.  And when you went to the ‘classroom’ (the front part of the squad bay) you were not told to “Give me 20 push-ups”–you were told to “Begin” without being given an ending point.  Sometimes they would say “Begin and don’t stop till I [the drill instructor] get tired.” 

At one of the rifle trainings (this one was without live bullets) we would stand at a white line and get used to switching out our rifle magazines quickly.  We were told not to cross the white line.  I fumbled and dropped my magazine; it landed right on top of the line.  What do I do?  It was on top of the line, not over it, so I picked it up.  Immediately a DI screamed at me saying, “If you don’t care about your life then neither do I!” 

Boot camp was three months of a lot of misery but was a means to a goal.  We could not be called “Marines” until we graduated.  I remember we had one guy in our platoon whose actual last name was “Marine” but at mail call they called him “Recruit.” 

There are many other stories.  Suffice it to say that boot camp was something I was glad I did but would not want to do again.

Life in the Marines was mostly (but not entirely), like a job. 

I didn’t serve during a war.  I have no combat stories to tell.  I was in the airwing as an avionics technician.  I repaired navigation equipment on jet aircraft at the MCAS (Marine Corps Air Station) Yuma, Arizona (yes there is a Marine base there). 

It was mostly a job with 8-hour shifts.  I lived in the barracks and ate in the chow hall.  I had a car.  I’d go out in town most days. 

But there were always those things to remind that you were still a Marine.  We had weekly field day (meticulous cleaning of the barracks on Thursday nights), followed by Friday morning inspection.  We had duty section, which tied you to the barracks one weekend a month and one day each week.  We also had annual rifle qualification with the M-16 rifle and twice-a-year physical fitness tests. 

In the military your life is not your own.  I heard a story of a guy who got a bad sunburn and was punished ‘for damaging government property’.  Maybe it was an urban legend but it made a point. 

Once, a master sergeant told me: “We live in a dictatorship so the rest of the country doesn’t have to.”  I think that’s true.  It’s just the way it is.  And when my four years were up, I got out.  The Marines offered structure and a sense of security, but I liked my freedom.    

It Was a Place of Growth in My Spiritual Life. 

I was a Christian when I went in and a Christian when I got out.  Some people are shocked when they hear that you kept your faith in an environment like the Marines.  But it wasn’t hard.

I went to church and Bible studies.  The fellowship from the Bible studies (first with the Navigators, then, at a different base, with the Christian Service Organization) was especially meaningful.  Those people wanted to be there.  There’s something about the military that has a sifting effect on Christians.  You tend to either grow or stray.  I count it as one of the most spiritually formative times in my life.  I didn’t agree with all the theology, but it forced me to really examine what I believed and why. 

40 years later I felt a similar kind of thing when I was a pastor in Vietnam.  The people in the church really wanted to be there.  And even though we had different theological traditions among the congregation, there was unity and great fellowship.

In retrospect, I’m very glad I went in the Marines. 

I’m pro-military.  Two of our sons also served, one was an enlisted man in the Marine infantry and his older brother is presently an Air Force officer.