thedrifter
11-19-06, 06:49 PM
Tough Test
By KEITH EDWARDS
Staff Writer
Sunday, November 19, 2006
PARRIS ISLAND, S.C. -- Michael Smith, an 18-year-old Nokomis High School graduate from Newport, Maine, knew since he was a child he wanted a career in the military.
And with his family's tradition of military service, he also knew that when a drill instructor told you to do something, you did it.
Quickly.
Without question or doubt.
So Smith instantly dropped to the sun-scorched ground of Parris Island when his drill instructor ordered his platoon to do push-ups.
Then he felt something moving on his legs. He brushed away a few small red insects, but not wanting to defy an order, he continued to do his push-ups.
Following that order put Smith in the hospital and out of his Parris Island training for about a month, and nearly got him booted out of the Marines.
Those little red insects were fire ants, which pack a painful sting and tend to swarm and attack en masse.
"I saw some of them and I brushed them away and continued to do pushups," said Smith, who started his training Aug. 7. "I didn't say anything. Then I noticed how bad they were and I jumped up, but by then it was way too late."
His legs swelled from the dozens of bites and his drill instructor sent him to the emergency room. It took a month to recover. The Marines were going to kick him out because they thought he was allergic to the red ants, which are commonplace on Parris Island and elsewhere in South Carolina.
Eventually, with help from his uncle and former Mainer Peter Peete, by coincidence a drill instructor at Parris Island, he convinced the Marines he wasn't really allergic and could stay.
"I was scared," Smith said. "I didn't have a backup career. This is what I want to do. I've wanted to join the military all my life. It's just natural. It sort of feels like what I'm supposed to do."
Even Smith's teachers recognized him as destined to serve in the military.
"He was a Marine back in school," said Don Reynolds, a social studies teacher at Nokomis. "He was polite, he sat up straight. He had a dream to be a Marine. He's living it now. You could tell, even when he was back in school."
Because he missed so much time, Smith had to join a new platoon. He's still on track to become a Marine and expects to graduate Dec. 1.
Until then, he'll simply be known as Recruit Smith. The title of Marine isn't earned until recruits graduate from Parris Island, said Lt. Scott A. Miller, deputy public affairs officer at Parris Island.
'EVERYTHING CHANGES'
Like all new recruits, Smith's 13 weeks of basic training started when he and other fresh-faced recruits got off a bus and lined up on rows of yellow footprints painted on the pavement outside the receiving building at Parris Island.
The footprints represent the formation of a typical platoon, and serve as an early indoctrination into how things are going to work at the recruit depot.
Drill instructor Sgt. Demetric Miles informs the recruits that the only way they will address Marines or civilians on Parris Island is with a "yes sir" or a "yes ma'am."
The young men and women then head toward the receiving building's two imposing silver metal doors or, in this case, hatches.
In the Marines, objects are referred to by what they would be called on a ship; doors are hatches, parade grounds are decks, a reflection of the Marine's water-based heritage.
Recruits are told that going through those hatches is the one way to become a Marine. And the only way off Parris Island is to graduate.
"Once you enter these hatches, everything changes, do you understand that?" Miles bellowed to the recruits still in the civilian garb of teenage America -- including Oxford shirts and black, rock concert T-shirts.
"Yes, sir," the recruits yelled in unison. But the expressions on some of their faces showed they were beginning to question whether they did, indeed, understand what they had gotten themselves into.
The new recruits would be kept awake for most of the next three days, filling out paperwork and getting indoctrinated into how things were going to be now that they belonged to the Marines.
"My first thought was, 'What did I just do?'" 19-year-old recruit Danielle Fowler, of Skowhegan, Maine, said of her first night on Parris Island.
THE PHONE CALL
The first thing recruits do once they enter the building is phone home. They must read a prepared script written in bold, capital letters on a sheet of paper taped next to each phone. They can say nothing more, and nothing less.
The script reads:
"YOU WILL SAY THE FOLLOWING:
1. THIS IS RECRUIT (LAST NAME)
2. I HAVE ARRIVED SAFELY AT PARRIS ISLAND
3. PLEASE DO NOT SEND ANY FOOD OR BULKY ITEMS
4. I WILL CONTACT YOU IN 7 TO 9 DAYS BY LETTER WITH MY NEW ADDRESS
5.THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT
GOOD-BYE FOR NOW"
The abrupt call is the last time they'll speak to any family member or, for that matter, anyone until graduation 13 weeks away.
"He called up screaming, 'this is Marine Recruit Dash,'" said Laurie Dash of Augusta, whose son, Dustin Dash, started training Aug. 7. "It was kind of hard to understand.
"But it was great to receive that phone call and know he was OK," said Laurie Dash, who didn't get to speak with her son again until the day before his Nov. 3 graduation. "This whole time I've kind of been in denial about everything -- that he joined, that he's there.
"He is a different young man than before he went in. I'm sure he's grown up. I'm excited for him and proud he made a commitment."
Dustin Dash came home to Maine for seven days after he graduated from Parris Island and before heading to Camp Geiger in North Carolina for Marine Combat Training. Next up: training in his chosen specialty, artillery ordnance.
"I wasn't doing too much with my life," he said. "I was undisciplined and needed something to turn my life around and give me direction. I never had any initiative to do anything. Then I decided I wanted to be a Marine. I never finished what I started. Now I do."
Before he joined the Marines, Laurie Dash said her son worked at the drive-through at Wendy's on Western Avenue in Augusta, Maine. One night, a Marine recruiter drove through, picked up his meal, and suggested Dash join the Marines. Shortly thereafter, that's exactly what he did.
RECRUITS TO WED
Fowler of Skowhegan said her family knew about the strange phone call. Her fiancŽ, Christopher Austin, joined the Marines first, and told the Fowlers what to expect.
"My fiancŽ had warned my mom about it, so while I (read the script), she said, 'I love you sweetie. Do a good job.'"
Fowler, said she and Austin plan to wed in a simple ceremony after Fowler graduates Dec. 8.
Fowler's mom, Fran, said they plan to have a more elaborate wedding ceremony for the couple when Chris returns from Iraq next year.
Austin also is a Skowhegan native, and graduate of Skowhegan Area High School. He graduated from Parris Island and is training at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Danielle Fowler said her fiancŽ likely will be deployed to Iraq in January or March.
"When he wanted to propose to Danielle, he asked her dad's (Scott Fowler) permission for her hand in marriage," said Fran Fowler, who works in special education in Skowhegan. "When the time came, he was dressed in his military outfit and, on bended knee, he asked her to become his wife. He is kind, gentle in spirit, thoughtful, easy to talk to, which we do often, and very giving. A true gentleman!"
While Fowler initially may have questioned what she was doing here, she doesn't anymore. For one reason, she's now glad she's there. For another reason, she's just too busy.
A MUSICIAN MARINE
Audrey Johnson's friendly smile, easygoing demeanor, and passion for playing the French horn make her an unlikely warrior.
But here she was, at the Marines Corps Recruit Depot, popping off bursts of bullets with an M-16.
Last year, the 23-year-old Cony High School graduate was studying music at the University of Maine at Augusta.
These days, the petite redhead deals with screaming drill instructors, biting red ants, scorching heat, and grueling physical and mental tests.
She's in search of motivation, discipline and, eventually, a career playing French horn in a Marine band.
"I've always wanted to be able to play in the band and make money doing it," said Johnson, who arrived here Aug. 29. "That's what I want to do. But I have to do basic training first."
So, before she can become a band member, she has to become a Marine.
That's what they do here at Parris Island. They make Marines.
OVER AND OVER AGAIN
Many recruits find the drills monotonous.
Not Fowler. She said she enjoys them. And apparently it shows. She won her platoon's initial drill contest, which earned her a trophy and the right to march first in line.
The physical tests -- which for female recruits include running three miles in less than 31 minutes, performing a flex arm hang for 12 seconds, and doing 45 crunches -- have been tough for Fowler.
She injured her knees, putting her on crutches her first week on the island.
Since then, however, she's tried to keep the pain to herself.
"I was worried I could get held back," she said. "So, now, I don't say anything. I just ice them at night. I don't want to get dropped. My mom sent me some Ben Gay."
With time at a premium, recruits often eat lunch while waiting their turn to shoot. A Marine stacking the meals, packaged in individual white boxes, confessed the lunches have an unappealing slang name -- "bag nasty."
Dash, of Augusta, said the rifle range was one of his favorite parts of training.
"That doesn't surprise me," said his mom, Laurie. "He loved paintball and BB guns growing up. He was right into all that boy stuff. Dustin has always lived on the edge. He's very daring, he pushes things to the limit, takes them to extremes."
A RITE OF PASSAGE
Fowler and Smith recently took part in something more extreme than anything on the rifle range -- the Crucible.
Created in 1996, the Crucible is the culmination of recruit training. It's a 54-hour physically and mentally challenging test during which recruits sleep only four hours a night and get three meals the entire time.
Over those 54 hours, Fowler, Smith and other recruits travel a total of 42 miles on foot; take on 29 problem-solving exercises; complete tasks at 36 different stations; carry ammunition cans weighing up to 50 pounds and dummies up to 100 pounds in addition to their gear, uniform and M-16 rifle.
Several of the challenges involve simulated combat and runs through an obstacle course. Recruits scale wooden walls, slide on their backs under barbed-wire, and crawl through mud and sand while loudspeakers blast sounds of combat, including near constant gunfire, screams and explosions.
No live ammunition is used. The only place real shots are fired on Parris Island is on the firing ranges.
The Crucible takes place in the 11th week of training. In the 12th week, recruits face final drill evaluations and written tests on their knowledge of basic military education.
The final two days feature family-day ceremonies and then graduation, both of which take place before the watchful eyes of thousands of friends and family. It is the first time recruits have seen their families in nearly 13 weeks.
By graduation, the final day, recruits have packed up their stuff and are ready to go. They have 10 days of leave before their next round of training -- infantry training in one of two different forms. Most head home directly after the ceremony.
That's where Pvt. Aaron Harmon, 22, was headed after his recent graduation -- back home to Scarborough, Maine. Congratulating Harmon at graduation were his girlfriend, Christine Crouanas, 19, also of Scarborough; his brother Christopher; father, Phillip; and mother, Linda.
"I'm very, very, very proud of him," a beaming Crouanas said, hugging the newly graduated Aaron Harmon. "We love him very much."
Harmon graduated, but couldn't march with his platoon due to a stress fracture in his left fibula. Instead, he sat to the side of the parade deck, with about a dozen other injured graduating Marines.
"I'd give anything to be marching with them right now sir," Harmon said before graduation started.
Col. John Valentin, chief of staff at Parris Island, spoke with the injured graduates before ceremonies started, delivering a rousing, on-the-spot speech that drew applause from several nearby civilians in the bleachers who overheard.
"Don't feel sorry for yourselves," Valentin barked. "Marines don't feel sorry for themselves, or feel sorry for their fellow Marines. You help your fellow Marines. You pray for your fellow Marines. But you don't feel sorry for your fellow Marines or yourself.
"Life isn't about what you didn't do," he said. "It's about what you did do. And what you did do was become United States Marines."
FINAL DESTINATION: IRAQ
Some recruits, when they sign their contract committing to the Marines, specify what their job training will focus on after basic training. Harmon entered an "open contract," meaning he's essentially leaving it for the Marines to decide what he'll do.
He's aware that he'll likely be headed to Iraq.
"I'm not nervous (about Iraq)," Harmon said. "That's why I joined the Marines. To serve my country."
Dash's next training will be in field artillery. He too, has a matter-of-fact take on Iraq.
"Sure, sometimes it worries me a bit," he said. "But I figured this would be something good for me and good for my country."
His mom, Laurie, said she's nervous about her son serving in Iraq, but remains confident he'll be okay. She said the Marines told her son he would be training to go to Iraq when he enlisted.
Smith, after he graduates from Parris Island, is headed to infantry training, and hasn't picked a specialty. He expressed no qualms about Iraq.
"I want to experience war and what it is like," he said. "Not many people get to experience it."
Johnson, the Augusta musician, will head to Marine infantry training and then into music training, hopefully to play in a Marine band. But she knows that she, too, could find herself in Iraq or Afghanistan.
"Our drill instructors sit down and talk to us about Iraq, tell us people are dying in Iraq," she said. "It's crazy. It's weird to think I might go over there. I hope I won't have to go. It's very stressful to think about. But I've accepted it. I made a commitment to the Marines and I'm going to fulfill it."
Fowler's next stop will be Camp Geiger, which is within Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Then she plans to study for her chosen specialty, aviation mechanics.
Eventually, perhaps after her five-year stint is up, she wants to take classes to get a nursing degree.
She admits she's nervous about Iraq. She knows it comes with the title of Marine, a title she shares with her fiancŽ.
Her mother, Fran, admits to some nervousness, too.
"As far as Iraq....she is in the hands of God as well as Chris," she said. "I watch the news and listen to the President and see the disasters and there is not much comfort.
"I will continue to do what I have been doing, pray. Pray that these two young people can finish their obligation unscathed and then build a life for themselves after it is all over."
Keith Edwards -- 621-5647
kedwards@centralmaine.com
Editor's note: The Morning Sentinel was invited by the U.S. Marine Corps to observe the training of central Maine recruits. Staff Writer Keith Edwards spent four days in October at Parris Island.
Ellie
By KEITH EDWARDS
Staff Writer
Sunday, November 19, 2006
PARRIS ISLAND, S.C. -- Michael Smith, an 18-year-old Nokomis High School graduate from Newport, Maine, knew since he was a child he wanted a career in the military.
And with his family's tradition of military service, he also knew that when a drill instructor told you to do something, you did it.
Quickly.
Without question or doubt.
So Smith instantly dropped to the sun-scorched ground of Parris Island when his drill instructor ordered his platoon to do push-ups.
Then he felt something moving on his legs. He brushed away a few small red insects, but not wanting to defy an order, he continued to do his push-ups.
Following that order put Smith in the hospital and out of his Parris Island training for about a month, and nearly got him booted out of the Marines.
Those little red insects were fire ants, which pack a painful sting and tend to swarm and attack en masse.
"I saw some of them and I brushed them away and continued to do pushups," said Smith, who started his training Aug. 7. "I didn't say anything. Then I noticed how bad they were and I jumped up, but by then it was way too late."
His legs swelled from the dozens of bites and his drill instructor sent him to the emergency room. It took a month to recover. The Marines were going to kick him out because they thought he was allergic to the red ants, which are commonplace on Parris Island and elsewhere in South Carolina.
Eventually, with help from his uncle and former Mainer Peter Peete, by coincidence a drill instructor at Parris Island, he convinced the Marines he wasn't really allergic and could stay.
"I was scared," Smith said. "I didn't have a backup career. This is what I want to do. I've wanted to join the military all my life. It's just natural. It sort of feels like what I'm supposed to do."
Even Smith's teachers recognized him as destined to serve in the military.
"He was a Marine back in school," said Don Reynolds, a social studies teacher at Nokomis. "He was polite, he sat up straight. He had a dream to be a Marine. He's living it now. You could tell, even when he was back in school."
Because he missed so much time, Smith had to join a new platoon. He's still on track to become a Marine and expects to graduate Dec. 1.
Until then, he'll simply be known as Recruit Smith. The title of Marine isn't earned until recruits graduate from Parris Island, said Lt. Scott A. Miller, deputy public affairs officer at Parris Island.
'EVERYTHING CHANGES'
Like all new recruits, Smith's 13 weeks of basic training started when he and other fresh-faced recruits got off a bus and lined up on rows of yellow footprints painted on the pavement outside the receiving building at Parris Island.
The footprints represent the formation of a typical platoon, and serve as an early indoctrination into how things are going to work at the recruit depot.
Drill instructor Sgt. Demetric Miles informs the recruits that the only way they will address Marines or civilians on Parris Island is with a "yes sir" or a "yes ma'am."
The young men and women then head toward the receiving building's two imposing silver metal doors or, in this case, hatches.
In the Marines, objects are referred to by what they would be called on a ship; doors are hatches, parade grounds are decks, a reflection of the Marine's water-based heritage.
Recruits are told that going through those hatches is the one way to become a Marine. And the only way off Parris Island is to graduate.
"Once you enter these hatches, everything changes, do you understand that?" Miles bellowed to the recruits still in the civilian garb of teenage America -- including Oxford shirts and black, rock concert T-shirts.
"Yes, sir," the recruits yelled in unison. But the expressions on some of their faces showed they were beginning to question whether they did, indeed, understand what they had gotten themselves into.
The new recruits would be kept awake for most of the next three days, filling out paperwork and getting indoctrinated into how things were going to be now that they belonged to the Marines.
"My first thought was, 'What did I just do?'" 19-year-old recruit Danielle Fowler, of Skowhegan, Maine, said of her first night on Parris Island.
THE PHONE CALL
The first thing recruits do once they enter the building is phone home. They must read a prepared script written in bold, capital letters on a sheet of paper taped next to each phone. They can say nothing more, and nothing less.
The script reads:
"YOU WILL SAY THE FOLLOWING:
1. THIS IS RECRUIT (LAST NAME)
2. I HAVE ARRIVED SAFELY AT PARRIS ISLAND
3. PLEASE DO NOT SEND ANY FOOD OR BULKY ITEMS
4. I WILL CONTACT YOU IN 7 TO 9 DAYS BY LETTER WITH MY NEW ADDRESS
5.THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT
GOOD-BYE FOR NOW"
The abrupt call is the last time they'll speak to any family member or, for that matter, anyone until graduation 13 weeks away.
"He called up screaming, 'this is Marine Recruit Dash,'" said Laurie Dash of Augusta, whose son, Dustin Dash, started training Aug. 7. "It was kind of hard to understand.
"But it was great to receive that phone call and know he was OK," said Laurie Dash, who didn't get to speak with her son again until the day before his Nov. 3 graduation. "This whole time I've kind of been in denial about everything -- that he joined, that he's there.
"He is a different young man than before he went in. I'm sure he's grown up. I'm excited for him and proud he made a commitment."
Dustin Dash came home to Maine for seven days after he graduated from Parris Island and before heading to Camp Geiger in North Carolina for Marine Combat Training. Next up: training in his chosen specialty, artillery ordnance.
"I wasn't doing too much with my life," he said. "I was undisciplined and needed something to turn my life around and give me direction. I never had any initiative to do anything. Then I decided I wanted to be a Marine. I never finished what I started. Now I do."
Before he joined the Marines, Laurie Dash said her son worked at the drive-through at Wendy's on Western Avenue in Augusta, Maine. One night, a Marine recruiter drove through, picked up his meal, and suggested Dash join the Marines. Shortly thereafter, that's exactly what he did.
RECRUITS TO WED
Fowler of Skowhegan said her family knew about the strange phone call. Her fiancŽ, Christopher Austin, joined the Marines first, and told the Fowlers what to expect.
"My fiancŽ had warned my mom about it, so while I (read the script), she said, 'I love you sweetie. Do a good job.'"
Fowler, said she and Austin plan to wed in a simple ceremony after Fowler graduates Dec. 8.
Fowler's mom, Fran, said they plan to have a more elaborate wedding ceremony for the couple when Chris returns from Iraq next year.
Austin also is a Skowhegan native, and graduate of Skowhegan Area High School. He graduated from Parris Island and is training at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Danielle Fowler said her fiancŽ likely will be deployed to Iraq in January or March.
"When he wanted to propose to Danielle, he asked her dad's (Scott Fowler) permission for her hand in marriage," said Fran Fowler, who works in special education in Skowhegan. "When the time came, he was dressed in his military outfit and, on bended knee, he asked her to become his wife. He is kind, gentle in spirit, thoughtful, easy to talk to, which we do often, and very giving. A true gentleman!"
While Fowler initially may have questioned what she was doing here, she doesn't anymore. For one reason, she's now glad she's there. For another reason, she's just too busy.
A MUSICIAN MARINE
Audrey Johnson's friendly smile, easygoing demeanor, and passion for playing the French horn make her an unlikely warrior.
But here she was, at the Marines Corps Recruit Depot, popping off bursts of bullets with an M-16.
Last year, the 23-year-old Cony High School graduate was studying music at the University of Maine at Augusta.
These days, the petite redhead deals with screaming drill instructors, biting red ants, scorching heat, and grueling physical and mental tests.
She's in search of motivation, discipline and, eventually, a career playing French horn in a Marine band.
"I've always wanted to be able to play in the band and make money doing it," said Johnson, who arrived here Aug. 29. "That's what I want to do. But I have to do basic training first."
So, before she can become a band member, she has to become a Marine.
That's what they do here at Parris Island. They make Marines.
OVER AND OVER AGAIN
Many recruits find the drills monotonous.
Not Fowler. She said she enjoys them. And apparently it shows. She won her platoon's initial drill contest, which earned her a trophy and the right to march first in line.
The physical tests -- which for female recruits include running three miles in less than 31 minutes, performing a flex arm hang for 12 seconds, and doing 45 crunches -- have been tough for Fowler.
She injured her knees, putting her on crutches her first week on the island.
Since then, however, she's tried to keep the pain to herself.
"I was worried I could get held back," she said. "So, now, I don't say anything. I just ice them at night. I don't want to get dropped. My mom sent me some Ben Gay."
With time at a premium, recruits often eat lunch while waiting their turn to shoot. A Marine stacking the meals, packaged in individual white boxes, confessed the lunches have an unappealing slang name -- "bag nasty."
Dash, of Augusta, said the rifle range was one of his favorite parts of training.
"That doesn't surprise me," said his mom, Laurie. "He loved paintball and BB guns growing up. He was right into all that boy stuff. Dustin has always lived on the edge. He's very daring, he pushes things to the limit, takes them to extremes."
A RITE OF PASSAGE
Fowler and Smith recently took part in something more extreme than anything on the rifle range -- the Crucible.
Created in 1996, the Crucible is the culmination of recruit training. It's a 54-hour physically and mentally challenging test during which recruits sleep only four hours a night and get three meals the entire time.
Over those 54 hours, Fowler, Smith and other recruits travel a total of 42 miles on foot; take on 29 problem-solving exercises; complete tasks at 36 different stations; carry ammunition cans weighing up to 50 pounds and dummies up to 100 pounds in addition to their gear, uniform and M-16 rifle.
Several of the challenges involve simulated combat and runs through an obstacle course. Recruits scale wooden walls, slide on their backs under barbed-wire, and crawl through mud and sand while loudspeakers blast sounds of combat, including near constant gunfire, screams and explosions.
No live ammunition is used. The only place real shots are fired on Parris Island is on the firing ranges.
The Crucible takes place in the 11th week of training. In the 12th week, recruits face final drill evaluations and written tests on their knowledge of basic military education.
The final two days feature family-day ceremonies and then graduation, both of which take place before the watchful eyes of thousands of friends and family. It is the first time recruits have seen their families in nearly 13 weeks.
By graduation, the final day, recruits have packed up their stuff and are ready to go. They have 10 days of leave before their next round of training -- infantry training in one of two different forms. Most head home directly after the ceremony.
That's where Pvt. Aaron Harmon, 22, was headed after his recent graduation -- back home to Scarborough, Maine. Congratulating Harmon at graduation were his girlfriend, Christine Crouanas, 19, also of Scarborough; his brother Christopher; father, Phillip; and mother, Linda.
"I'm very, very, very proud of him," a beaming Crouanas said, hugging the newly graduated Aaron Harmon. "We love him very much."
Harmon graduated, but couldn't march with his platoon due to a stress fracture in his left fibula. Instead, he sat to the side of the parade deck, with about a dozen other injured graduating Marines.
"I'd give anything to be marching with them right now sir," Harmon said before graduation started.
Col. John Valentin, chief of staff at Parris Island, spoke with the injured graduates before ceremonies started, delivering a rousing, on-the-spot speech that drew applause from several nearby civilians in the bleachers who overheard.
"Don't feel sorry for yourselves," Valentin barked. "Marines don't feel sorry for themselves, or feel sorry for their fellow Marines. You help your fellow Marines. You pray for your fellow Marines. But you don't feel sorry for your fellow Marines or yourself.
"Life isn't about what you didn't do," he said. "It's about what you did do. And what you did do was become United States Marines."
FINAL DESTINATION: IRAQ
Some recruits, when they sign their contract committing to the Marines, specify what their job training will focus on after basic training. Harmon entered an "open contract," meaning he's essentially leaving it for the Marines to decide what he'll do.
He's aware that he'll likely be headed to Iraq.
"I'm not nervous (about Iraq)," Harmon said. "That's why I joined the Marines. To serve my country."
Dash's next training will be in field artillery. He too, has a matter-of-fact take on Iraq.
"Sure, sometimes it worries me a bit," he said. "But I figured this would be something good for me and good for my country."
His mom, Laurie, said she's nervous about her son serving in Iraq, but remains confident he'll be okay. She said the Marines told her son he would be training to go to Iraq when he enlisted.
Smith, after he graduates from Parris Island, is headed to infantry training, and hasn't picked a specialty. He expressed no qualms about Iraq.
"I want to experience war and what it is like," he said. "Not many people get to experience it."
Johnson, the Augusta musician, will head to Marine infantry training and then into music training, hopefully to play in a Marine band. But she knows that she, too, could find herself in Iraq or Afghanistan.
"Our drill instructors sit down and talk to us about Iraq, tell us people are dying in Iraq," she said. "It's crazy. It's weird to think I might go over there. I hope I won't have to go. It's very stressful to think about. But I've accepted it. I made a commitment to the Marines and I'm going to fulfill it."
Fowler's next stop will be Camp Geiger, which is within Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Then she plans to study for her chosen specialty, aviation mechanics.
Eventually, perhaps after her five-year stint is up, she wants to take classes to get a nursing degree.
She admits she's nervous about Iraq. She knows it comes with the title of Marine, a title she shares with her fiancŽ.
Her mother, Fran, admits to some nervousness, too.
"As far as Iraq....she is in the hands of God as well as Chris," she said. "I watch the news and listen to the President and see the disasters and there is not much comfort.
"I will continue to do what I have been doing, pray. Pray that these two young people can finish their obligation unscathed and then build a life for themselves after it is all over."
Keith Edwards -- 621-5647
kedwards@centralmaine.com
Editor's note: The Morning Sentinel was invited by the U.S. Marine Corps to observe the training of central Maine recruits. Staff Writer Keith Edwards spent four days in October at Parris Island.
Ellie