Published: 12.24.2007
Where drill sergeants learn to get tough
SCRIPPS HOWARD NEWS SERVICE

SAN DIEGO — 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 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, Calif. 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. Last week, 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?"

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, Calif., 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.

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."

Ellie