thedrifter
12-18-07, 08:29 AM
Drill Instructor School turns out leather-lunged Marines
10:00 PM PST on Monday, December 17, 2007
By JOE VARGO
The Press-Enterprise
It's called The Schoolhouse, and it's where some of the toughest, baddest, no-nonsense career Marines learn the drill-sergeant drill.
In this 1921 building at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, where legendary drill instructors from decades ago are memorialized in photos and citations, Marine Corps sergeants such as Inland residents Erick Guzman and Zachary Mott cultivate the walk and voice and steel-eyed stare they'll use to cajole, encourage and, in some cases, terrify the young recruits they'll guide through boot camp just across the street.
It's where the school's chief instructor, Gunnery Sgt. David Rodriguez, of Beaumont, puts the aspiring drill sergeants through what he calls the most physically and mentally challenging Marine training he has ever taken part in.
A sign above the main lecture hall sums up the attitude of students and staff: "The Future of the Marine Corps begins here."
Marine drill instructors are under added scrutiny as a result of a recent scandal. In November, drill instructor Jerrod Glass received six months in the brig and a bad- conduct discharge for slapping and humiliating his recruits. On Monday, another San Diego instructor, Sgt. Brian Wendel, was convicted of dereliction of duty for failing to report abuse of his recruits. He will be reprimanded and reduced in rank to corporal.
Glass' court-martial and conviction underscore the differences between the old-school drill instructor, re-created in movies by John Wayne and Jack Webb, and the 21st century recruit trainer, Marine DIs and officers agree. Gone are the days when it was acceptable to punch, kick and belittle recruits.
Nowadays, the instructors are even discouraged from cussing them out, said Capt. Jim Philpot, who runs the DI school at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in the shadow of Lindbergh Field in San Diego.
"Glass is going to become a case study in what not to do," Philpot said. "I'm not embarrassed, but it sure isn't good. We're making changes."
Those changes include driving home the Marine Corps' core values -- honor, courage, commitment -- to drill instructors in training.
It's all about leading by example, Philpot said. That means boot camp will remain tough for the recruits who endure it.
"This is the Marine Corps. It's not the Boy Scouts," he said. "The secret is to turn out ethical warriors. If you beat your kid, does that make for a better kid?"
The Curriculum
The Schoolhouse turns out four classes of drill instructors each year.
The class that wraps up training Wednesday numbers 32, tiny by comparison with the standard complement of 80. An increase in the number of instructors in training at the Corps' other Schoolhouse, which is at Parris Island, S.C., means fewer on the West Coast.
Sergeants will serve a three-year hitch at the Recruit Depot, as both students and instructors. They come from the infantry and combat arms, logistics, finance, even food service. Almost all have served in Iraq.
The students complete more than 600 hours of training in 11 grueling weeks before getting the "hat," the wide-brimmed felt cover worn by no other Marines in the Corps. It looks like a Smokey Bear hat, and the Corps traces its origin to 1855.
The work starts before dawn and, most days, doesn't end for at least 12 hours. Students might run five miles on the beach in 35 minutes, complete 130 stomach crunches in 120 seconds, rappel down walls, be exposed to noxious gas and navigate the swimming tanks -- just like Marine recruits.
But that's just a small part of the learning. They also spend 132 hours relearning the proper way to drill and march. They don't do as much of either once they are deployed on the ground, in aviation squadrons in Iraq or with the Navy fleet.
Uniform spit-and-polish accounts for 20 percent of their final grade. Show up with smudges on a belt buckle, dirty dog tags or grungy boots, and Staff Sgt. Jose Valerio, 32, of Menifee, will find out and note it in his report. The same goes for a loose thread on a collar, an improperly ironed uniform or a hair protruding from nose or ear. Better bring clean fingernails to inspections, too.
Setting the Standard
Valerio's low-key rebuke isn't the decibel-blasting tirade reserved for boot camp screw-ups. The students are career Marines, most of whom have risked their lives in combat. But the implication is clear: Drill instructors better look the part if they want recruits to follow.
"This is simple stuff," Valerio told a half-dozen students who gathered around after inspection. "We set the standard."
He urged the students to spend extra time on their uniforms, to crease them crisply, and to hold themselves to the highest standards of personal grooming. Each time Valerio emphasized a point, the students softly chanted, "Yes, staff sergeant," in unison.
Candidates are screened before they enter The Schoolhouse, and throughout the training, their physical and emotional conditions are monitored. One didn't make the class because he had signs of post-traumatic stress disorder from an Iraq deployment. Four others hurt themselves getting in shape for The Schoolhouse.
The students have to do everything recruits must, only they've got to be better. No hesitation, no doubt, no indecisiveness. The best candidates combine mental and physical toughness, great conditioning, the ability to mentor and lead without tormenting the charges under their command and the ability to project an aura of invincibility to raw recruits. That sandpaper voice doesn't hurt either.
Making Marines
First Sgt. Mark Arvizu, 40, is the noncommissioned officer in charge of The Schoolhouse. The Menifee resident calls drill instructors the cream of the Corps, the top 10 percent of Marines.
Drill instructors shape the Marine Corps for years, maybe decades, said Arvizu, who went through boot camp in 1986, when most instructors were veterans of the Vietnam War.
Today, they are a lot younger -- some just 22 years old -- but have seen lots of combat during overseas deployments. They'll pass on what they've learned to Marines who will serve well into the 21st century.
Arvizu, who has served in Iraq twice, said if the student drill instructors learn anything at The Schoolhouse, it is to mold recruits into team players. That's why they drill so hard.
Every Friday, the students take part in "teachbacks," in which they recite verbatim a Marine Corps regulation to their instructors. There's role playing too, to help them walk in the shoes of new recruits.
They also learn to perfect the sandpaper voice that will make them the scourge of recruits.
"You have to be able to project," he said.
Rodriguez, the gunnery sergeant from Beaumont, has been a Marine for 15 years and cut his teeth as an infantry platoon sergeant. He has completed numerous courses, from squad leader instruction to urban sniper training.
"All of us want our students to be as successful as we have been," said Rodriguez, 33, an Iraq war veteran. "If we fail, it is personal to us."
Inland student drill instructors Guzman, of Temecula, and Mott, of Apple Valley, acknowledge that the pressure is on to turn out the best possible recruits. Many will leave basic training and complete a few months of advanced training before deploying to Iraq.
"We can't be making stupid mistakes like recruits who don't know any better," said Guzman, 32, who has completed three tours in Iraq.
Mott, 22, said recruits can spot a hesitant or insecure drill instructor. He said student instructors work on the scowl, the voice, the image needed to convert civilians into elite soldiers. He calls it "natural command presence."
"You have to be 100 percent confident in front of recruits," he said. "You can't stutter or be indecisive. You have to be perfect. You can't let them down."
Reach Joe Vargo at 951-368-9289 or jvargo@PE.com
Near the Top
Video: Aspiring drill instructors put through the paces
Slideshow: Becoming a drill instructor
www.pe.com/localnews/morenovalley/stories/PE_News_Local_D_drill18.2c84e26.html
Ellie
10:00 PM PST on Monday, December 17, 2007
By JOE VARGO
The Press-Enterprise
It's called The Schoolhouse, and it's where some of the toughest, baddest, no-nonsense career Marines learn the drill-sergeant drill.
In this 1921 building at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, where legendary drill instructors from decades ago are memorialized in photos and citations, Marine Corps sergeants such as Inland residents Erick Guzman and Zachary Mott cultivate the walk and voice and steel-eyed stare they'll use to cajole, encourage and, in some cases, terrify the young recruits they'll guide through boot camp just across the street.
It's where the school's chief instructor, Gunnery Sgt. David Rodriguez, of Beaumont, puts the aspiring drill sergeants through what he calls the most physically and mentally challenging Marine training he has ever taken part in.
A sign above the main lecture hall sums up the attitude of students and staff: "The Future of the Marine Corps begins here."
Marine drill instructors are under added scrutiny as a result of a recent scandal. In November, drill instructor Jerrod Glass received six months in the brig and a bad- conduct discharge for slapping and humiliating his recruits. On Monday, another San Diego instructor, Sgt. Brian Wendel, was convicted of dereliction of duty for failing to report abuse of his recruits. He will be reprimanded and reduced in rank to corporal.
Glass' court-martial and conviction underscore the differences between the old-school drill instructor, re-created in movies by John Wayne and Jack Webb, and the 21st century recruit trainer, Marine DIs and officers agree. Gone are the days when it was acceptable to punch, kick and belittle recruits.
Nowadays, the instructors are even discouraged from cussing them out, said Capt. Jim Philpot, who runs the DI school at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in the shadow of Lindbergh Field in San Diego.
"Glass is going to become a case study in what not to do," Philpot said. "I'm not embarrassed, but it sure isn't good. We're making changes."
Those changes include driving home the Marine Corps' core values -- honor, courage, commitment -- to drill instructors in training.
It's all about leading by example, Philpot said. That means boot camp will remain tough for the recruits who endure it.
"This is the Marine Corps. It's not the Boy Scouts," he said. "The secret is to turn out ethical warriors. If you beat your kid, does that make for a better kid?"
The Curriculum
The Schoolhouse turns out four classes of drill instructors each year.
The class that wraps up training Wednesday numbers 32, tiny by comparison with the standard complement of 80. An increase in the number of instructors in training at the Corps' other Schoolhouse, which is at Parris Island, S.C., means fewer on the West Coast.
Sergeants will serve a three-year hitch at the Recruit Depot, as both students and instructors. They come from the infantry and combat arms, logistics, finance, even food service. Almost all have served in Iraq.
The students complete more than 600 hours of training in 11 grueling weeks before getting the "hat," the wide-brimmed felt cover worn by no other Marines in the Corps. It looks like a Smokey Bear hat, and the Corps traces its origin to 1855.
The work starts before dawn and, most days, doesn't end for at least 12 hours. Students might run five miles on the beach in 35 minutes, complete 130 stomach crunches in 120 seconds, rappel down walls, be exposed to noxious gas and navigate the swimming tanks -- just like Marine recruits.
But that's just a small part of the learning. They also spend 132 hours relearning the proper way to drill and march. They don't do as much of either once they are deployed on the ground, in aviation squadrons in Iraq or with the Navy fleet.
Uniform spit-and-polish accounts for 20 percent of their final grade. Show up with smudges on a belt buckle, dirty dog tags or grungy boots, and Staff Sgt. Jose Valerio, 32, of Menifee, will find out and note it in his report. The same goes for a loose thread on a collar, an improperly ironed uniform or a hair protruding from nose or ear. Better bring clean fingernails to inspections, too.
Setting the Standard
Valerio's low-key rebuke isn't the decibel-blasting tirade reserved for boot camp screw-ups. The students are career Marines, most of whom have risked their lives in combat. But the implication is clear: Drill instructors better look the part if they want recruits to follow.
"This is simple stuff," Valerio told a half-dozen students who gathered around after inspection. "We set the standard."
He urged the students to spend extra time on their uniforms, to crease them crisply, and to hold themselves to the highest standards of personal grooming. Each time Valerio emphasized a point, the students softly chanted, "Yes, staff sergeant," in unison.
Candidates are screened before they enter The Schoolhouse, and throughout the training, their physical and emotional conditions are monitored. One didn't make the class because he had signs of post-traumatic stress disorder from an Iraq deployment. Four others hurt themselves getting in shape for The Schoolhouse.
The students have to do everything recruits must, only they've got to be better. No hesitation, no doubt, no indecisiveness. The best candidates combine mental and physical toughness, great conditioning, the ability to mentor and lead without tormenting the charges under their command and the ability to project an aura of invincibility to raw recruits. That sandpaper voice doesn't hurt either.
Making Marines
First Sgt. Mark Arvizu, 40, is the noncommissioned officer in charge of The Schoolhouse. The Menifee resident calls drill instructors the cream of the Corps, the top 10 percent of Marines.
Drill instructors shape the Marine Corps for years, maybe decades, said Arvizu, who went through boot camp in 1986, when most instructors were veterans of the Vietnam War.
Today, they are a lot younger -- some just 22 years old -- but have seen lots of combat during overseas deployments. They'll pass on what they've learned to Marines who will serve well into the 21st century.
Arvizu, who has served in Iraq twice, said if the student drill instructors learn anything at The Schoolhouse, it is to mold recruits into team players. That's why they drill so hard.
Every Friday, the students take part in "teachbacks," in which they recite verbatim a Marine Corps regulation to their instructors. There's role playing too, to help them walk in the shoes of new recruits.
They also learn to perfect the sandpaper voice that will make them the scourge of recruits.
"You have to be able to project," he said.
Rodriguez, the gunnery sergeant from Beaumont, has been a Marine for 15 years and cut his teeth as an infantry platoon sergeant. He has completed numerous courses, from squad leader instruction to urban sniper training.
"All of us want our students to be as successful as we have been," said Rodriguez, 33, an Iraq war veteran. "If we fail, it is personal to us."
Inland student drill instructors Guzman, of Temecula, and Mott, of Apple Valley, acknowledge that the pressure is on to turn out the best possible recruits. Many will leave basic training and complete a few months of advanced training before deploying to Iraq.
"We can't be making stupid mistakes like recruits who don't know any better," said Guzman, 32, who has completed three tours in Iraq.
Mott, 22, said recruits can spot a hesitant or insecure drill instructor. He said student instructors work on the scowl, the voice, the image needed to convert civilians into elite soldiers. He calls it "natural command presence."
"You have to be 100 percent confident in front of recruits," he said. "You can't stutter or be indecisive. You have to be perfect. You can't let them down."
Reach Joe Vargo at 951-368-9289 or jvargo@PE.com
Near the Top
Video: Aspiring drill instructors put through the paces
Slideshow: Becoming a drill instructor
www.pe.com/localnews/morenovalley/stories/PE_News_Local_D_drill18.2c84e26.html
Ellie