Just wanted to show you my love of the Corps. Here are pictures of my 2010 Dodge Challenger. Her name is Semper Fi.
View more photos of this Marine Ride
CPL USMC '81-'86
High Point, NC
Toughest On The Drill Field
I find it somewhat amusing and ironic that there would be a story on Cpl. JL Stelling from 1964. I enjoyed that story but would like to add a new story to it.
JL STELLING was my DI in 1967. He was a SSgt. at the time, but retired from the Corps as a 1st Sgt.
I made contact with JL through the Sgt. Grit website. It was great to be able to correspond with him, as well as talk on the phone. Just for grins I asked him when he planned on coming up my way, to Dayton, Nevada. Believe it or not, he was planning a trip to Northern California to visit an uncle. I asked if he would come my way to visit, and he said yes! Needless to say, I was blown away that we would be able to get together after 49 years! Well, the visit happened, and it was a most memorable time for me.
Anyone who had JL as a DI knows I speak the truth when I say he was the toughest on the drill field. Honor platoons and good Marines were the result of that toughness. My wife even commented that there was a presence about him. I was lucky to have him as a DI. I feel luckier yet to see him again and thank him for what he gave me.
I included a picture my wife took. We had just finished breakfast at the Gold Dust Saloon in Dayton. JL left from there to return home.
Thanks to Sgt. Grit for the website that made it all possible.
By the way, our platoon was 2051, graduated in late 1967.
SSgt Chuck Parmenter, 1967-1970
Leather Personnel Carriers
I served active and inactive from '59 to '65 and never heard the term "LPC's" until recently. (probably here) For you uneducated maggots out there that stands for "Leather Personnel Carriers" to which this ol' Jarhead wore out many a heel and sole from.
If my memory is still working in my brain housing group correctly, our first boots were just boondocker lowcuts that were worn almost completely out on obstacle courses and close order drill etc. When we received the black boots, they had the type of hook eyelets on the upper portion of the boot you would crossover lace.
One of the first things we were taught by our senior was how to hold the lace with your pointer finger of both hands separating both left and right boot laces and simultaneously doing both boots at the same time.
One thing about those eyelets that could make you fail an inspection if the brass was showing thru. We were issued a small bottle of brown liquid for dabbing on to dress them up and for the EGA insignias.
I have a pair of lowcut boots now with those eyelets and at 75 can still speed lace. Semper Fi!
Cpl. E4 D. McKee
Plain Gray Sweatshirts
I went through boot camp at MCRD San Diego in March of '69 and we were issued plain gray sweatshirts. When I went to ITR at CAMPEN, I purchased a yellow sweatshirt with the red lettering. Any chance in getting your vendor to change over to the actual "yellow" color instead of golden yellow that you sell now?
Thank you and Semper Fi!
Sgt. J.R. Dickson 0331
I Do Remember My SDI
I have been reading the Sgt Grit newsletter for quite some time now. I have read about the yellow sweatshirts that many of your readers have commented on and just finished reading of Cpl Harkness and the yellow T-shirt and red shorts that he wore at PISC MCRD in 1961. I went through PISC in the summer of 1958 and wore the yellow T-shirt and red shorts, not the yellow sweatshirt. In fact, the yellow T-shirt now rests on a hanger in my closet and that is about 58 years that I wore it. It is just a little small for me right now, but I remember that time when it did. One thing I don't think was at PISC in 1958 were the yellow footprints and my Platoon book does not mention them. I do remember my SDI, SSgt (E5) Gerald R. Milroy of Philadelphia, PA.
GySgt Robert K. Otto
3rd Battalion Barracks At PI
I would like to send a photo and brief description of the old 3rd Bat. barracks at Parris Island that are being torn down. I was there two weeks ago, they are partially demolshed, the bricks are being preserved and sold by the base museum to raise funds. The barracks were used from 1960/61 until three years ago. A new Bat. area is located a short distance away. I took some pictures of the shells of these buildings while standing on the old parade deck, many memories came to me there in the silence. Thought many old 3rd Bat. Marines would like to see what has happened to the barracks. I was there in 1961, they were brand new, and jokingly referred to as Disneyland by the 1st and 2nd Bats.
B.R. Whipple, Sgt
Bad Water At 2nd Division
I was assigned to 2nd Tank Bn from 1958 to 1961. I have received numerous communications concerning the bad water, but have had no problems myself (I'm 81), but of all the time I was stationed there, I was only physically aboard the base for less than 90 days. The rest of the time I was signed out in support of BLT's or in one school or another.
My wife and I lived off base since there was very limited on-base housing, especially for new "Butter Bars." Even after my bars turned to silver we remained in the same house. From what I have read and heard this was a blessing that we didn't appreciate until now.
A Marine forever.
Mandatory Sensitivity Training
This will probably make your (jar) head explode.
As barbaric terrorists continue to rape and murder their way across the world, the Administration is working to create a kinder, gentler Marine Corps via "unconscious bias" training.
All Marines will soon undergo mandatory training to make sure that the nation's toughest fighting force is sensitive to the differences between male soldiers and the female recruits who will soon begin arriving at boot camp.
Read the rest of this article at Marines Headed For Mandatory Sensitivity Training
Inspired By The Yellow Sweatshirts
Inspired by the Yellow Sweatshirt we wore during bootcamp in 1962, I designed and had made this Yellow T-Shirt for the surviving members of my boot camp platoon. Twenty-two members of Platoon 145 ordered thirty-two shirts. They shipped on Tuesday, February 16th and should be in the hands of the platoon members by Thursday February 18th or Friday February 19th.
Twenty-Nine Palms – My two fondest memories of 29 Palms are the enlisted swimming pool and the bus that transported me out of that sh-t-hole three and a half months after I got there.
Forged on the anvil of discipline.
The Few. The Proud.
A New York Governor's Platoon
I went through Boot Camp PI. in 1956 and was assigned to Platoon 292 a New York Governor's Platoon, we marched under the NY State Flag. My buddy and I were from Ohio, but they had some openings and we joined them with a boy from Virginia. I remember that the Island had quite a few Governor's Platoons with Tennessee (291) containing one of Elvis Presley's buddies (Red West) in it.
On graduation day there were two photographers that came down from New York to capture the event. They did not like it too much that a boy from Ohio and a Virginian had taking every honor in the platoon including Section Leader, Dress Blues Award, Recruit of the day, Top shooter, and Outstanding Man.
Does anyone remember the Governor's Platoons?
On another subject there were no "Yellow Foot Prints" at that time and during our tour, there appeared a platoon with Yellow shirts and Red shorts (I believe this was the 1st). We called them the "Mickey Mouse" platoon, and I recall they were experimenting with weights made out of a bar stuck through two coffee cans, filled with cement. They PT'd with these contraptions and I can only imagine that they were comparing their fitness against other platoons.
Sgt. C. Bailey '56-'59
I Don't Remember Them
I started Boot Camp at the end of November in 1961, P.I, Platoon 290. I have no recollection of the yellow footprints at all. If they were there I don't remember them. I do remember being issued, or buying through the PX issue a grey sweatshirt that we wore with utility trousers and either boots or sneakers for PT. We also were issued, or bought a pair of scarlet shorts with an EGA on them and a jersey type gold short sleeve shirt with U.S.M.C printed on it in scarlet block letters. I believe that was for summer PT and I do not believe that we ever wore it.
Set The Bar For Marine Valor
One recent Saturday morning, my wife and I took our 5 grand children to breakfast at a local IHOP. After we had eaten, my wife walked the kids out to our car while I paid the bill. As I was walking toward the door, it opened and in came a very old man using a walker while someone held the door open for him. I had on one of my USMC ball caps, and as our eyes met, his eyes widened and a smile came to his face. "You a Marine?" he asked. It was then I noticed his ball cap - which read WWII Vet - USMC. I answered his question with a "Yes, Semper Fi" and he let go of his walker, stuck out his hand and said "Semper Fi. You look old enough for Vietnam" - and I said "Yes - Sept '68 thru Sept '69." Then I asked him where he had served during WWII and he said he had landed on Saipan, Tinian and Iwo Jima. I was suddenly speechless, because standing there in front of me was a fellow Marine who I believe was one whose patriotism, fidelity and actions in the Pacific set the bar for Marine valor and heroism VERY high. I thanked him for his service and told him it was an honor to have met him. He smiled and thanked me for my service. We shook hands again and I left to catch up with my family. You don't get many opportunities in life to meet people of that caliber, and I am thankful that I was given the opportunity at an IHOP in Marietta, Georgia.
Water Situation At Camp Lejeune
In re to AJ DeBrase story "Poisoned Water At Camp Lejeune" in last week's newsletter.
I was stationed at Camp Lejeune in 1956 during basic combat training after boot camp at MCRD Parris Island. Several years ago, I received a notice regarding the problem water situation at Camp Lejeune and that I was part of a study regarding possible health problems as a result of my time there. I have since received several more studies and reports regarding this situation with a list of different health conditions that I may qualify for in VA benefits. I hope this may be of some help to AJ in answering some of his concerns.
I would also like to thank you Sgt. Grit for bringing so many of our brothers together.
LCPL E. Noll
HQ CO. MCAS Kanohe, HI
1956 - 1959
A Visit Back To Quantico
I remember watching a news clip of a Marine Infantry unit preparing to deploy from Camp Lejeune during the First Gulf War. I watched a young, squared away sergeant move competently among his men checking their gear and speaking quietly to them despite the rude, intrusive glare from the TV camera lights. Damn... I was proud of him and there was a muted urge to be there and be part of it again welling up deep from inside me. A few years later, I stopped at Quantico when I had a chance to go back there for a visit in conjunction with a northern Virginia business trip. I walked out on the 'grinder' at the old T&T Regiment near Main Side and shielded my eyes against the afternoon sun. It looked different from when I was there in 1962 and '63 and the changes they made were long overdue. Off in the distance, I saw a figure walking rapidly across the asphalt surface and as he noticed me, he changed his route and approached me. He got closer, and said, "May I help you, Sir?" He was a trim, hard—bodied Captain on his way to his Company headquarters with a clip board under his arm. I explained that I had been there many years ago and just wanted to stop in and see if it were still the same. Upon hearing that, he came to attention, saluted me smartly and said, "Welcome home, Sir." In that brief moment, everything good or bad that had ever happened to me while in the Corps was suddenly worth it. I felt like crying, I was so proud. He didn't know me from Adam. All that mattered was that both of us were Marines, him actually, me spiritually. We chatted about the training and the caliber of people the Officer Candidate Program was attracting these days. There were fewer of them, but they were as good as and probably better than we were, I quietly surmised from his comments.
They had renamed some of the ball-busting trails we used to hump back then to more accurately align their difficulty with the sacrifices of heroes in prior wars who had faced and overcome a few difficulties of their own. It was no longer the 'Hill Trail', it was now the 'Medal of Honor Trail' replete with stations along the way depicting Marines who got the 'Big One', many of whom never lived to have the blue and white ribbon slipped over their heads by the President of the United States. Candidates running that trail had to stop at each station, learn their stories, commit them to memory, despite the fact that they were ready to puke, their thighs and hamstrings burning, and even the ones in the best shape were gasping for breath. The strong message to them was that even though they might feel pressed to the edge of their endurance, the Corps expected... no... demanded more of them; and these men whose names were on these plaques delivered on those demands when it came their turn. They were the standard. It was a powerful association exercise. No MBA group exercises here, this was preparation for the real deal and everyone had to complete their assignment on time. It was a calling that touched one's soul. I experienced a bit of nostalgia while there. How many young men whose boots beat a steady, coordinated cadence on that hard, unforgiving surface had paid the ultimate price for their decision to train here? How many had I had a 'near-beer' with in the Candidates' Club either there or at Camp Upshur, served by a regular cadre sergeant who needed the extra money he got from working there, but hated having to wait on turds like us? Their names were a bit fuzzy now, but I could see them climbing the ropes on the 'O' Course and doing squat thrusts until their whole body seemed unwilling to bend even one more time. How many had I had a cold beer and a burger with at Diamond Lou's in Quantico Town on a Saturday afternoon after training was mercifully over for the week? Did their ghosts still walk the streets there? I felt as though they did. I saw them as young men, smiling, mischievous and confident. My mind played games with me as if I were a child again pretending with make-believe figurines and giving them the status of living beings.
Just bring them back here now. Let it all be the same as it once was during the lighter times when we were young. Forget for a minute that we trained here for battle and just bring them back as if we were college kids, lean, bad azzes in the best physical shape of our lives. Let's swagger through the streets there again and maybe take a weekend trip to DC where our shaved heads gave silent but unmistakable testimony to our being Marines from Quantico. Yeah, for a while there I was one of them again; a boy from Connecticut on his first visit to a southern state. My fellow candidates were from everywhere, most of which were places in states too far away to even imagine. Scared to death of the DI's who wore the impeccable summer service uniforms and elevated verbal abuse to the status of a capital offense. These guys were bad and not to be screwed with. Shut up, do what we were told, don't do anything to attract attention and get through these next six weeks... whatever it took. The DI's, yeah... they were a story unto themselves. Tough, cocky bastards, they were. One of mine was involved in the Chosin Reservoir breakout in Korea. He was a black staff sergeant. In fact, he was the first black person I had really ever met or really knew. I still remember him to this day. None of them had the multitude of degrees that would have academically qualified them as psychologists. They knew what made people tick at a gut level. They knew how long and hard to push us and when to disappear and let us recover, cool down and curse them out loud. They focused on the fakers and bullsh-t artists who tried to finesse their way into the Corps. They rode them unmercifully until they dropped out or shaped up. They watched for those with latent leadership talents and plumbed the depth of their commitment with leadership billets and duty assignments under pressure. They drove the candy azzes out quickly and efficiently. It didn't matter how big one's biceps were or how long a man could run... in the end it was the size of one's heart and the depth of one's desire to make it through.
They took us from a lumbering herd of clueless college kids to a crisp team who executed commands on the drill field in precise unison. They gave us a sense of inner pride and purpose. They taught us personal discipline and organization. They gave us the confidence to march to the sound of the guns and kick the azzes of those who would take us on. They made Marines of us. And when they were finished with us, they dismissed our platoon and met the next class of maggots, piss ants, and miserable pukes and... the transformation process began all over again. Many of these unique, handpicked and committed men knew that perhaps one day, after we were commissioned and still wet behind the ears, they might be assigned to our units as Staff NCOs. They had a vested interest in us. Slowly and painfully, we began to understand their methods and toughness. We began to appreciate and understand concepts like traditions, valor, sacrifice, courage and leadership. Bullsh-t to some maybe, but the heart and soul of what this was all about to us. Some of us would call upon it when everything else we had learned had been drained from our frightened, bloodied and exhausted bodies. It was all we had... it was all we needed. I think about those times even today. I think about all the instances in my life when it would have been much easier to quit, give up, give in or retreat. I think back to the time a black Marine staff sergeant made me hold an M—14 rifle by its front sight blades, my arms fully extended in front of me threatening to beat the cr-p out of me if I dropped it because I did something stupid and he saw it. Is he still alive today? Does he have any recollection of that stifling afternoon in a Quonset hut at Camp Upshur, a God forsaken training camp at Quantico, and the impact he had on me and the other college dumb azzes assigned to his platoon? I think of him and remember that, if we had left the base together then and tried to eat at some restaurant, local ordinances would have probably forbidden it. Inequities then... inequities now.
I think of the steel he infused in my psyche. In the end, it was about mission and men... mission and men... mission and men. If I met him somewhere today, what would I say? "Thank you Sergeant Manuel Montgomery, though we knew each other for a fleeting moment, it was I who emerged the better for it." I can imagine his deep brown, piercing eyes fixing mine while his gravelly voice ordered me to give him 50... and they better not be 'p-ssy pushups', either. I spend more time in reflection these days. Perhaps it is an inherent dimension of growing older. Those times in my past life still stick out like snowcapped mountain ranges in some far western state. Anomalies perhaps, yet memorable visions that have shaped my adulthood and made me more than I thought I would ever be. They have made things valuable to me. Yes, some things are negotiable, not worth fighting over or making a fuss about. Others are not. They are intransigent reminders that life does have its lines in the sand. We are not sea weed subject to the flow, direction and speed of the current around us. There are times and events that should cause us to face up to threats and as a nation address them head on. Are we losing that conviction, that purpose, that goal... that very belief that there are absolute causes for which to shed our blood and give our lives? I still hear the cadence of the boots on the 'grinder' at Quantico and other places where young men and women begin their indoctrination into a world of potentially great sacrifice. Will we have enough of them? Will they be more than just a slogan like 'Support Our Troops' on yellow magnetic ribbons that adhere to our cars? I pray that our past is prologue. Pray with me. Much is at stake.
Dave St. John
One Foot In The Grave
I am responding to the article submitted by A.J. DeBiase regarding the water contamination at CLNC. I was at Camp Geiger ITR in May of '63, and attached to Hq 8th Marines Comm platoon until April of '65. I am dismayed to learn that the Corps was aware of this situation for many years, and chose not to inform the public of this potential danger. I
also served in Viet Nam and having done so, been exposed to Agent Orange. I am presently in fair health, but now feel that I have one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. Is there a register for all those who have been exposed?
The Wonders Of Recruit Training
Interesting reading all the letters the Ol' Sarge gets. Can't read them all, but have always wondered about how the Recruit Platoons were numbered. Recently your Mail Call showed a picture of a Platoon with a 900 number in 1943, the year I experienced the wonders of recruit training at SD. Our Platoon had the number 115 in May-July, 1943. Our dog tags were racetrack shaped made of brass with six numbers beginning with "8". Must have had a picture of the Platoon, but never saw my copy. Went to Radio School at San Diego and was assigned to a Radio Intelligence Platoon 6.
The number was later changed to "5". Field trained at Camp Elliott north of San Siego and later at Camp Pendleton, Oceanside. Took a cruise on the USS Wasp on its shakedown cruise to Pearl Harbor in April 1944 to Camp Catlin just west of Honolulu.
More about my Platoon on World War II Gyrene.
Not many of us old Marines left from those days. Sgt Grit has little for that generation anymore.
Happy sailings and Semper Fi!
Burke O'Kelly, '43-'45
Note: You are right. Not much from those days. Not many of you left, so not many stories submitted. I can only print what I am sent. About the Plt #'s, the numbering system changes often. There is not a continuous system. So to try to gauge when someone went through boot camp by the plt # is impossible.
I Still Love Reading The Stories
After nigh onto 16 years or so of being a loyal Grit newletter/catlogue reader (I even recall his four or five page mimeograph catalogue!), I still love reading the stories in the newsletter. Needless to say, many of them rattle this 81 year old brain housing group as I tend to reminisce (that's a privilege of aging) about "the old Corps" whenever that was.
In any event, here's one of my favorite vignettes. 'Twas 1954 and I had been in the Far East with the First MarDiv's R&R Center in Kyoto, Japan for about a year and a half. One day I had been playing pool in the base recreation hall when I stepped out of the building directly into the street for that was the way all our buildings were - no steps, stairs, sidewalks, etc. As I stepped into the street a First Lt. walked by and without even a second thought and without saluting him I bowed ala Japanese politeness with a hearty "good morning, Lieutenant." The look on his face said it all, erasing my embarrassment on my part. His immediate response, sans a butt chewing, was, "just how long have you been in Japan, Corporal?"
As an aside, and thinking of all the recent stories about pith helmets, if any Marine (other branches included but without the typical Marine Corps hospitality afforded brother and sister Marines) visits the Atlanta, GA area, they might want to check out a local bar and grill in Woodstock, about 20 miles north of downtown Atlanta where they will find a pith helmet given me by a veteran of Guadalcanal, Saipan and Tarawa. The bar, Semper Fi, is our local slopchute akin to the famous Eagle, Anchor and Globe in Quantico, owned and run by a retired Top. The food is great, the stories abounding are typical and there's a ton of memories, including my recent donation, on the bulkheads.
Temporary And Original Orders
I read the letter from Jim Wilson who entered the Corps in March 1966 and went to language school in fall of '66 and recieved a 8611 mos. I was probably a langusage school class ahead of him, starting May 30, 1966 through August 12, 1966. My PMOS was 0311 and the language school orders were temporary and my original orders returned Aug 12. I kept my 0311 until Jan 1967 when I got a 0231 secondary. I think we were the first class so they probaly changed things later. I was an S-2 scout HqCo 1st Marines.
Cpl RVN '66-'67
A Slightly Different Perspective
Been reading the various BES and subsequent related assignments in the Sgt Grit Newsletter – 17 MAR 2016. I have a slightly different perspective.
Following Boot Camp, ITR, Boot Leave, my orders directed me back to MCRD San Diego about April, 1968. We were then ordered to BES, across the street from COM ELECT School. I seem to recall there being two different BES classes, but not sure. Our class also picked up two Sergeants E-5 who had opted for an MOS change as part of their reenlistment options. We also had two of our students (one male, one WM) marry each other while we were there.
Upon completion of BES, (about August, 1968) some of us were sent across the street to COM ELECT school. The rest of us were transferred to MCB 29 Palms, where we were assigned to the Radar Fundaments School, followed by AN/UPS Search Radar School.
We graduated about April, 1969 as AN/UPS Search Radar Tech (5949). We were sent to various commands from there.
I was sent to MATCU-75 (Marine Air Traffic Control Unit) at MCALF Camp Pendleton. The Unit was brand new with much of its gear still in crates. I spent some time in Supply unpacking, inventorying, and properly storing new supply parts. We also uncrated larger pieces of gear, and learned what a MATCU did and how.
I was at CamPen until December, 1969, when I received orders to RVN via Staging Bn at CamPen. We were transferred to RVN in April, 1970.
Upon arrival at Da Nang, I was further directed to the MATCU at Chu Lai. Our AN/UPS Search Radar was hard down, and never did work while I was there. I was assigned the position of Test Equipment NCO. This was a challenging assignment, as I inherited a small building full of spindled, folded, and mutilated test equipment. A few months later, we were informed that the entire MATCU was being transferred to CONUS and El Toro, minus me. I had too much time left to serve in RVN. When the MATCU left, I was transferred to MASS-3 on Hill 327 (Freedom Hill) in Da Nang and FSB Birmingham in support of the US Army 101st Airborne.
This led to other adventures and activities before I was transferred back to CONUS.
Following promotion, reenlistment, further training, I finally wound up in another MATCU at MCAS (H) New River as a 5959 GCA Technician in April, 1971.
All of this following that first day at BES, when the instructor tossed a small object into the center of we seated students, the yelling "Watch out, it's a thousand ohm!"
Another Marine went on duty at the main gate in heaven. Sad to report my good friend Edward Placko passed today. A Korean War Vet, Ed was wounded on hill 229 and was sent stateside for the rest of his tour. Commander of American Legion Post 537 Oregon, OH.
I was wondering if there has been or if anyone is planning a reunion for plt. 3118 San Diego MCRD 1969? Please contact C.E. Corrales from El Paso, Texas.
Does anyone out there know what MOS 3513 is? If you do, you were with a Motor T unit. Still looking for my yellow sweatshirt.
Just to correct the Marine, we wore Utilities not Fatigues as he points out when he wore the Yellow suit shirts.
Great bunch of stories from the jar Heads, thanks for sharing with me. Beer thirty for this old Marine of 75 years old. I want to go back and do it over... if there was a place for me.
Sgt John Zink
Semper Fi - I am 70 years old now and as much of a Marine as I was at 20. I maybe a little rusty in my moves, but thank God and to the U.S. Marines, I can still move!
Sgt. Sam P. Hendrick
I went thru Boot Camp at PI, Jan. 1942, no sweatshirts, no yellow footprints, but we did have pith helmets. DI MCRD San Diego 1948-49-early 50, no yellow footprints, first group to ship out to Korea, 1954 had occasion to be at MCRD San Diego, now had the yellow footprints.
Wayne G. Schroeder
And still a Marine.
I concur with Cpl Harkness, about only being issued a Yellow T-Shirt & Red Shorts (No Sweatshirt). I went through PI Oct. '63 & our DI referred to the Yellow T-shirt with Red Shorts as our "Mickey Mouse Uniform".
"Honor, justice, and humanity, forbid us tamely to surrender that freedom which we received from our gallant ancestors, and which our innocent posterity have a right to receive from us. We cannot endure the infamy and guilt of resigning succeeding generations to that wretchedness which inevitably awaits them if we basely entail hereditary bondage on them."
--Thomas Jefferson (1775)
"No compact among men ... can be pronounced everlasting and inviolable, and ... no mound of parchment can be so formed as to stand against the sweeping torrent of boundless ambition on the one side, aided by the sapping current of corrupted morals on the other."
--George Washington (1789)
"You cannot exaggerate about the Marines. They are convinced to the point of arrogance, that they are the most ferocious fighters on earth--and the amusing thing about it is that they are."
--Father Kevin Keaney, 1st MarDiv Chaplain, Korean War
"There are only two kinds of people that understand Marines: Marines and the enemy. Everyone else has a second-hand opinion."
--Gen. William Thornson, U.S. Army
"You can take a man out of the Marine Corps; you will never take the Marine Corps out of the man."
"If we weren't already crazy we would go insane!"
"Who is that tapping on my door? I can't hear you t-rd!"
"The smoking lamp is lit for one. Guide, light it and pass it around."
God Bless The American Dream!