Walking the razor’s edge
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    Cool Walking the razor’s edge

    Walking the razor’s edge
    Those who don’t quit or aren’t booted keep up the fight
    By Christian Lowe / Times staff writer

    It doesn’t take long to learn that at Officer Candidates School, everything is graded. Everything. How well candidates drill. How fast they move through the obstacle course. How they manage a squad of Marines during leadership evaluations. How they behave on weekend liberty. It’s all fair game, and the sergeant instructors are always watching.

    n the ranks of OCS Class 186, many candidates dropped out voluntarily not long into the program. But most others were fighting to keep pace and to win over a team of sergeant instructors who don’t impress easily.

    And, in what might seem a nod to reality television — though this has been standard practice at OCS long before the rise of “Survivor” — the candidates are evaluated by their peers, too.

    Between the two, the candidates are always walking the razor’s edge. And, with that kind of pressure, graduation day can seem a lot further away than 10 weeks.

    At the halfway point in their training, some candidates — run ragged and sucking wind — were staring down the possibility of being kicked out of the program.

    Some drop out …

    In the fifth week of Officer Candidates Course — and again in the seventh and ninth weeks — each platoon commander sends problem candidates to be judged by a panel of company staff to evaluate whether they should be dropped altogether.

    The Marine Corps is under no obligation to keep its officer candidates; those who come to OCS at Quantico, Va., do so knowing that as long as they complete the first four weeks of training, they can leave any time they want. Several did just that during “drop on request” boards held the last week of June.

    Instructors rarely try to convince the candidates to stay during these boards. But in some cases, a candidate needs a little reality check to get past the uncertainty of those first shocking weeks.

    When a candidate announced June 25, 2004, that he wanted to leave OCS because he was “not sure the military life is for him,” the senior enlisted Marine for Charlie Company, Class 186, gave the would-be dropout her own brand of reality check.

    “What do you mean when you say ‘the military life’s not for you?’ Because you’ve never even tried it other than the training company here,” said 1st Sgt. Maria Marty, rattling off her question. “When you speak of the military life, what is it you speak of that’s not for you?”

    Despite Marty’s protests, the candidate opted out of OCS.

    Asked about his excuse after the board ended, Marty explained her skepticism.

    “I just don’t like it when they say ‘military life,’” she said. “What the heck do you know about military life?”

    But while candidates can voluntarily drop out at the fourth week, the fifth-week boards — and those held in the seventh and ninth weeks — are a different matter altogether. Here, the company and battalion staffs cull out those they deem unworthy of a commission.

    … And others are dropped

    In most cases, the candidates recommended to go before drop boards are struggling and just need an extra kick in the butt to let them know they’re on thin ice. But in a few cases, the instructors and staff can already see someone who’s not going to make it in the fleet, or worse, someone who is malingering — shirking his duties or trying to squeak by with minimal effort, making life tougher for his peers in the platoon.

    In Class 186, a few were trying to squeak by, in the instructors’ view.

    From Day 1, Candidate Jeff Shapiro, 26, of Virginia Beach, Va., was in his instructors’ sights.

    Staff Sgt. Susan Anderton, an OCS staff member who supervised the candidates during the first few days of in-processing, thought she saw him report an inaccurate crunch count during the initial physical fitness test conducted a few days before he joined his training platoon.

    Shapiro again fell under the instructors’ eyes weeks later, this time on the combat course — a series of obstacles through which a four-person fire team must maneuver while carrying a basic load that includes a rifle, web gear and helmet, among other equipment. In this case, instructors said, they saw what they considered shirking, saying Shapiro set aside his rifle to make negotiating the course’s physical challenges easier.

    At company-level drop boards held during the fifth week of training, Marty lectured Shapiro about his actions on the combat course. But rather than drop him, she recommended probation at the company level. But Shapiro still had to face the commander of OCS, Col. Louis Rachal, before he got the final word on his fate.

    The meeting would not be a good one.

    While Rachal was respectful to most of those he deemed unworthy, he gave Shapiro no quarter.

    As a prior-enlisted Marine sergeant, Shapiro should have known better, Rachal reasoned in an interview after the drop board. But instead, Rachal said, Shapiro was just trying to skate by, using his inside knowledge of the Corps not to excel, but to make his time at OCS as easy as possible.

    Rachal’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair during the July 9, 2004, board, a crowd of officers and enlisted staff sitting along the wall of the cool, air-conditioned room waiting for the decision. It was obvious that some senior enlisted Marines in the room were silently rooting for Shapiro, while the officers stared impassively. Several seconds ticked by in silence.

    Then Rachal arched forward in his chair, looking squarely at Shapiro standing less than 10 feet in front of him. His tone was icy.

    “I’m going to disenroll you, and I am not going to give you the opportunity to reapply.”

    And that was that.

    In the post-board interview, Rachal explained that he expects more of prior-enlisted Marines. They are a unique asset to the officer corps, as they know the service well and have a special perspective on leadership. They know the rules, and they know what is expected of them.

    But in Rachal’s opinion, Shapiro didn’t take advantage of that to be an effective leader.

    “Instead of using all of his talents to get through the course, he was cutting corners,” Rachal said. “Am I harder on [prior-enlisted] candidates? Yeah.”

    Shapiro said later that it wasn’t cutting corners that led to his difficulties. Rather, he said, it was the timing of his selection to OCS. With his ship date coming less than two months after he got word of his selection, he said he wasn’t ready for the rigors of the course because of other challenges in his life, including preparations for a permanent-change-of-station move. And once in training, an ankle injury two weeks into the course complicated things more.

    “I had really bad timing and it caused me to be ill prepared,” he said. “In retrospect, I should maybe have asked to defer to a later class, but I will continue my career as the Marine that the board thought I was when they selected me to go to OCS.”

    Of his run-ins with instructors, Shapiro said, “there were a variety of factors that were affecting my performance and I believe some of my instructors may have seen that.”

    He added that, as an enlisted Marine, integrity is important to him and that the incidents that brought him before the drop board were not intentional efforts on his part to make the training easier on himself.

    Shapiro had re-enlisted for a second term to attend OCS. So after his dismissal, he returned to the enlisted ranks to finish out his career.

    “I know I’m not the first prior-enlisted Marine to be dismissed from OCS and I won’t be the last,” he said. “I’ll take the experience and grow from it. I challenge any enlisted Marines who have the opportunity to go to OCS to take it.”

    A taste of the field

    Not all of OCS is one hellacious PT session after another, nor is it one dreary classroom session after another. While the candidates who make the cut at OCS learn the field-craft and infantry tactics required of every officer at their next training program — The Basic School, a six-month course also taught at Quantico — they get their first taste of field life long before they pin on the gold bars of a second lieutenant.

    Much of the OCS field work revolves around learning the basics of small unit movement — offensive and defensive alike — and the fundamentals of land navigation. Most officer candidates find this to be the best part of their training.

    continued....


  2. #2
    It gives them a chance to do what they believe is essentially the core of what it means to be a Marine — living in the field and maneuvering through the woods looking for the enemy. However, they won’t use live ammunition; they carry rifles during OCS, but they’ll only fire blanks.

    Between their first experiences with field training and their first opportunity to go on weekend leave — which comes in the third week of training — most candidates begin to hit their stride and start enjoying the course, or at least hating it less.

    Soon it becomes merely an endurance test. The candidates realize that only a major screw up is going to get them dropped. Do the things you’re asked to do, and do them the best you can when you’re told, and you’ll be fine — no matter what threats you endure from your instructors.

    “It’s not like you can just grade some of these things” like a multiple-choice test, said Candidate Antonio Contreras, 30, of Labadie, Mo. “There’s a lot of subjectivity to it all.”

    Looking like officers

    A few weeks in, the students start looking more to their platoon commanders — all captains with Fleet Marine Force experience — for advice and a glimpse of what the life of a Marine officer is like. Some platoon commanders are better than others at dispensing that knowledge.

    Often, these impromptu counseling sessions occur during “platoon commander’s time,” where the candidates gather in the squad bay to discuss aspects of leadership and the kinds of issues they’ll confront as officers in the fleet.

    The 4th Platoon commander, Capt. Khari Wright, is a soft-spoken communications officer from Washington, D.C. To a civilian, his wide, toothy smile inspires a friendly sense of ease, but with the candidates, he maintains a certain distance — a formality that never really goes away.

    Each commander has his or her own style with the candidates, though.

    Capt. Stephanie Beck, who commands the all-female 1st Platoon, has an easy-going manner that inspires confidence among her candidates and breaks through the invisible barrier separating women from men in the Corps, no matter how subtle the prejudice may still be.

    It’s about the sixth week that the candidates start to grow into Marines. They carry themselves with a Marine’s swagger and confidence. There are only a few weeks left. Care packages of cookies and other goodies from girlfriends and family are distributed among the platoon mates.

    It’s almost over. But that’s when things are the closest to unraveling.

    “They can see the light at the end of the tunnel,” said 4th Platoon’s top enlisted instructor, Gunnery Sgt. Ruben Velez. “But they’d better make sure it’s not an oncoming train.”

    No time to relax

    For the candidates of Class 186, that oncoming train came during week nine, when they faced one of the last inspections before graduation.

    A few days before, a rumor swept through the platoon that this inspection would be a breeze. The nearly minted officers had had little exposure to the OCS commander, Col. Rachal, since they met him at pick-up day more than two months ago, and they were pretty sure he’d merely give them a cursory glance this late in the game.

    They were wrong.

    As Rachal moved down the line of candidates in each platoon under the boiling summer sun, his head shaking in disgust, the men of 4th Platoon awaited their fate.

    By the time Rachal got to 4th Platoon, he was steaming mad.

    But Candidate Joshua Piper, a prior staff sergeant with aviator dreams, had a feeling — call it boot-camp intuition — that this inspection would be no walk in the park. That hunch spurred the acting candidate platoon commander to do some extra prep work.

    “People thought the battalion commander would just take a look at the uniforms and ask us a few questions and wouldn’t care about our rifles,” Piper said. “But I knew how important it was to have a clean rifle, so I instructed all the squad leaders to make sure their rifles were spotless. ... [Rachal] said he was pleased with our inspection.”

    Though a near miss, the incident offered a lesson on what the candidates can expect from life as a Marine officer. No matter what happens, no matter what the scuttlebutt, you must always be ready for action.

    Moments of doubt

    Along the way, almost every candidate will doubt himself and wonder whether he is cut out for the life. The question isn’t if those doubts will come, but when.

    For Candidate Dan Boyle, the moment came on a muggy July day at a maneuver area off Engineer Road in the magnolia tangles of Quantico’s forests. Boyle lay prone, keeping his eyes on his squad’s perimeter to make sure enemy forces lurking in the woods didn’t sneak up on his position.

    For many candidates, this was an opportune time to catch some much needed sleep — the instructors were busy working with other squads, and the brim of their helmets hid many sets of droopy eyes.

    It hadn’t been an easy run for Boyle. The oldest of six brothers, Dan was the one the boys looked up to. He was a baseball star in high school, more physical than his siblings. But OCS was putting his toughness in doubt. He had difficulty with the obstacle course’s rope climb. His platoon mates admired his drive, but they recognized that his commission would not come easy.

    “I was telling my dad the other day that the psychology of this place is amazing — everything’s done for a reason,” Boyle said, peering up from his position near a dry creek bed. His father had recommended just keeping his act together, trying his best and giving his all, a good formula for success at OCS. “My goal is to stay under the radar. I don’t want them to notice me.

    “I’m going to keep going,” he said. “I’m in the middle of the pack right now, but I still have to go 100 percent.”

    When the doubt comes, what matters is what you do about it. Boyle gutted it out. But for Candidate Patrick Amalfi, it took a little motivation from outside the gates.

    Amalfi had come a long way from the clammy uniform supply room back in early June. The blank stare of uncertainty had been transformed into a knowing and confident gaze. He’d suffered no injuries, and the soreness of his bones had become merely background noise in the constant shuffle from lesson to lesson. He’d all but made it.

    But in the seventh week of training, his mother got a call she thought she’d never receive.

    “Yeah, I told her I was going to graduate OCS but that I’d decided not to take the commission,” Amalfi recalled. He wasn’t sure this was the time to commit to the Marine life. He would push through the course — he didn’t want to be deemed a failure — but he wasn’t going to lock himself into at least four years of this.

    His instructors assured him that OCS was not a window into the daily life of a Marine officer — a common impression among candidates. His platoon mates wondered if the girl he started dating shortly before OCS, Jenny Day, had a hand in his indecision.

    But Mom offered tough words of encouragement that would make any sergeant instructor proud.

    “She got all mad at me and said she wouldn’t come to graduation if I didn’t take the commission,” he said. “It wasn’t worth all that effort if I wasn’t going to go all the way.”

    Earning their bars

    Amalfi eventually pinned on his gold bars along with more than 200 others from Class 186 on Aug. 13, 2004. They swore an oath to uphold the constitution of the United States and received their commissions.

    Though they were past their first test in the Corps, these newly minted officers would have much more to accomplish before they were ready to lead Marines. The next six months at The Basic School, just a few miles from where they stood now on the steps of Little Hall, would try them both personally and professionally.

    For candidate Victor Sosa, the dream of becoming an intelligence officer would be tested by the rigors of the field, where cold weather, long and sleepless nights and the austerity of the outdoors sapped his strength — and will.

    Amalfi, brimming with confidence after OCS, never could have foreseen what he’d endure just two weeks before graduation from The Basic School. For all Amalfi’s motivation at graduation day and his prowess in the field, the intense academic load at TBS would be tougher than he could imagine.

    Officer Candidates School is just the first step on a long road that transforms independent-minded civilians into team-oriented, split-second decision makers.

    Some would not measure up to the demands of TBS, where accountability is paramount and attention to detail crucial. Still others would fumble through, making and learning from mistakes along the way in the six-month course many call “officer finishing school.”

    For each lieutenant with Class 186, the challenges were different. But none would say the next step on their path to the fleet was easy.

    Ellie


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