thedrifter
06-29-05, 10:54 AM
Young Men to Marines
By ROGER HOSKINS
BEE STAFF WRITER
CAMP PENDLETON — At 8 p.m., at the edge of the San Diego International Airport passenger terminal, some 170young men gathered. They talked in hushed tones and kept an eye out for the men who were about to change their lives.
Their hairstyles and dress were as varied as on most high school campuses, but the high percentage of buzz cuts gave a clue to the group's identity — these were Marine Corps recruits enjoying their last moments of free and unstructured life.
They stayed close to those they know or people from the same region. Ten boys from Sacramento assembled, as did 10 others from Iowa. A young man called in vain, "Anybody from Chicago?"
Shawn Robinson, 17, and Kevin Gomes, 18, represented the Central Valley contingent on this summer night. They have been friends since the seventh grade and wrestled as teammates for three years at Ceres High School.
"I actually decided first to be a Marine," Robinson said. But he had to wait a short while for parental signatures to enlist. "Dad was in favor, but my mom was opposed. She finally said if that's what I really want to do, she'd sign."
Robinson said he first started getting homesick the night before in Sacramento. What did he miss most? His girlfriend, Bekah Sanson.
While Robinson was apprehensive about the coming onslaught from the drill instructors, Gomes looked forward to it.
"We got a taste (at the Modesto recruiting station) from Lance Cpl. Muller, who was just back from Iraq," Gomes said. "I loved it."
As much as he enjoyed the yelling, he already decided that discretion is the better part of valor in one regard: Mum's the word when it comes to talking about his formerly blue hair.
Standing in the airport waiting room, surrounded by others who have made a similar choice, both young men expressed a deep love for their country and its freedoms.
Robinson said he is grateful he can serve in a country where such service was still up to him. Earlier that day, there had been protesters at the Military Entrance Processing Station in Sacramento — the first leg of the journey to Camp Pendleton.
"What good does it do them to protest there?" asked Robinson. "They won't change anybody's mind."
As the minutes passed in San Diego, the combination of excitement and nerves among the recruits was palpable. Just before 8:30 p.m., they got what they were waiting for.
When the drill sergeant strode into the room, it was like Moses parting the Red Sea. Recruits fell out of the way, never taking their eyes off of him. The sergeant methodically told the assemblage what he wanted. When one recruit hesitated, he became the first verbal casualty. He won't be the last.
"Why are you here? Eight people do it right and you think I've got something special for you?" the drill sergeant thundered.
The tone was inquisition and the recruit tried to disappear into formation, which was shoulder to shoulder, heel to toe.
The recruits stood five abreast and were told to run to the buses in close formation. Stragglers and dawdlers were verbally reamed.
The trip from the airport to the recruiting depot was less than 10 minutes. The young men made the ride with heads against the seat in front of them and eyes down.
When they were herded from the buses, it was as if they no longer understood English. Told how to line up, some recruits took an unacceptable short cut. Finally, they were all in formation, all standing on yellow footprints at 45 degree angles.
'Aye, aye, sir'
The drill instructor showed the recruits how to stand at attention. Even after precise instruction, some recruits could not identify either their thumbs or the seams of their pants.
Next, the recruits were warned that leaving the base will land them in jail. Again and again, the ban on drugs was emphasized.
To every command, the recruits barked, "Aye, aye, sir!" If their volume was inadequate, they were told to respond again. "Louder!" shouted the drill sergeant.
The young men soon were moved to a room where they received three bags — brown, white and green — and lost more of their individuality. A sergeant searched their personal belongings; those deemed contraband were discarded on the floor.
When the recruits were called on to accomplish simple tasks like emptying pockets or taking off jewelry, they got a Marine minute — which is about 20 seconds, the time it takes for the drill instructor to count to 60. Those who took longer got a sergeant in their face, screaming at them to hurry.
In their haste, some recruits discarded family treasures or pictures that were safe to keep. The drill instructors sorted all the discards and returned them by holding up an item, like jewelry or a picture, to the recruits. The owners were supposed to immediately retrieve their property. But these young men were about one hour into boot camp and some did not recognize their mothers or girlfriends. The continual double-takes did not surprise or amuse the sergeants.
The recruits also had to conform when it came to hairstyle. Four chairs sat in front of two barbers. In six or seven passes, the buzz cuts were done. There was no brush off, per se. Another recruit stood over a garbage can and he used his hands to knock the shorn locks off heads and necks.
When the haircut and abbreviated cleanup were finished, the recruits were pointed to another line. Heaven help those who walked too slow or broke into a run.
It was about 10 p.m.
Recruits still faced another 20 hours of processing.
They wouldn't sleep for 24 hours.
On this busy night, the depot processed 400recruits; it processes 600 every week. One of the last stops the first night was for Marine-issue clothing. The would-be Marines took off their civilian clothes and put on the camouflage uniforms standard for recruits. They won't see their old clothes for three months.
When they do, it will be as Marines. That is the goal, the prize that allows so many to endure so much. Gomes is determined to be among that number.
"I'm looking forward to earning the title United States Marine," he said, "and doing it all on my own."
Bee staff writer Roger W. Hoskins can be reached at 578-2311 or rhoskins@modbee.com.
Ellie
By ROGER HOSKINS
BEE STAFF WRITER
CAMP PENDLETON — At 8 p.m., at the edge of the San Diego International Airport passenger terminal, some 170young men gathered. They talked in hushed tones and kept an eye out for the men who were about to change their lives.
Their hairstyles and dress were as varied as on most high school campuses, but the high percentage of buzz cuts gave a clue to the group's identity — these were Marine Corps recruits enjoying their last moments of free and unstructured life.
They stayed close to those they know or people from the same region. Ten boys from Sacramento assembled, as did 10 others from Iowa. A young man called in vain, "Anybody from Chicago?"
Shawn Robinson, 17, and Kevin Gomes, 18, represented the Central Valley contingent on this summer night. They have been friends since the seventh grade and wrestled as teammates for three years at Ceres High School.
"I actually decided first to be a Marine," Robinson said. But he had to wait a short while for parental signatures to enlist. "Dad was in favor, but my mom was opposed. She finally said if that's what I really want to do, she'd sign."
Robinson said he first started getting homesick the night before in Sacramento. What did he miss most? His girlfriend, Bekah Sanson.
While Robinson was apprehensive about the coming onslaught from the drill instructors, Gomes looked forward to it.
"We got a taste (at the Modesto recruiting station) from Lance Cpl. Muller, who was just back from Iraq," Gomes said. "I loved it."
As much as he enjoyed the yelling, he already decided that discretion is the better part of valor in one regard: Mum's the word when it comes to talking about his formerly blue hair.
Standing in the airport waiting room, surrounded by others who have made a similar choice, both young men expressed a deep love for their country and its freedoms.
Robinson said he is grateful he can serve in a country where such service was still up to him. Earlier that day, there had been protesters at the Military Entrance Processing Station in Sacramento — the first leg of the journey to Camp Pendleton.
"What good does it do them to protest there?" asked Robinson. "They won't change anybody's mind."
As the minutes passed in San Diego, the combination of excitement and nerves among the recruits was palpable. Just before 8:30 p.m., they got what they were waiting for.
When the drill sergeant strode into the room, it was like Moses parting the Red Sea. Recruits fell out of the way, never taking their eyes off of him. The sergeant methodically told the assemblage what he wanted. When one recruit hesitated, he became the first verbal casualty. He won't be the last.
"Why are you here? Eight people do it right and you think I've got something special for you?" the drill sergeant thundered.
The tone was inquisition and the recruit tried to disappear into formation, which was shoulder to shoulder, heel to toe.
The recruits stood five abreast and were told to run to the buses in close formation. Stragglers and dawdlers were verbally reamed.
The trip from the airport to the recruiting depot was less than 10 minutes. The young men made the ride with heads against the seat in front of them and eyes down.
When they were herded from the buses, it was as if they no longer understood English. Told how to line up, some recruits took an unacceptable short cut. Finally, they were all in formation, all standing on yellow footprints at 45 degree angles.
'Aye, aye, sir'
The drill instructor showed the recruits how to stand at attention. Even after precise instruction, some recruits could not identify either their thumbs or the seams of their pants.
Next, the recruits were warned that leaving the base will land them in jail. Again and again, the ban on drugs was emphasized.
To every command, the recruits barked, "Aye, aye, sir!" If their volume was inadequate, they were told to respond again. "Louder!" shouted the drill sergeant.
The young men soon were moved to a room where they received three bags — brown, white and green — and lost more of their individuality. A sergeant searched their personal belongings; those deemed contraband were discarded on the floor.
When the recruits were called on to accomplish simple tasks like emptying pockets or taking off jewelry, they got a Marine minute — which is about 20 seconds, the time it takes for the drill instructor to count to 60. Those who took longer got a sergeant in their face, screaming at them to hurry.
In their haste, some recruits discarded family treasures or pictures that were safe to keep. The drill instructors sorted all the discards and returned them by holding up an item, like jewelry or a picture, to the recruits. The owners were supposed to immediately retrieve their property. But these young men were about one hour into boot camp and some did not recognize their mothers or girlfriends. The continual double-takes did not surprise or amuse the sergeants.
The recruits also had to conform when it came to hairstyle. Four chairs sat in front of two barbers. In six or seven passes, the buzz cuts were done. There was no brush off, per se. Another recruit stood over a garbage can and he used his hands to knock the shorn locks off heads and necks.
When the haircut and abbreviated cleanup were finished, the recruits were pointed to another line. Heaven help those who walked too slow or broke into a run.
It was about 10 p.m.
Recruits still faced another 20 hours of processing.
They wouldn't sleep for 24 hours.
On this busy night, the depot processed 400recruits; it processes 600 every week. One of the last stops the first night was for Marine-issue clothing. The would-be Marines took off their civilian clothes and put on the camouflage uniforms standard for recruits. They won't see their old clothes for three months.
When they do, it will be as Marines. That is the goal, the prize that allows so many to endure so much. Gomes is determined to be among that number.
"I'm looking forward to earning the title United States Marine," he said, "and doing it all on my own."
Bee staff writer Roger W. Hoskins can be reached at 578-2311 or rhoskins@modbee.com.
Ellie