Any injury was (not usually debilitating) were imparted by the platoon members on those that just didn’t get it or we’re inept. It usually consisted of a hard nudge by one or more of the other recruits or verbal education as to the turd balls need to stop doing things or improve in one or another activity so the rest of the platoon didn’t have to suffer the idiots idiocy. I did experience one that got me “this recruit” a black eye just before an inspection in our greens by the company CO. Want to see some scared and pissed off DIs, man. My rake was by the door of the Quonset hut and we were all doing things that needed to be done for the upcoming inspection. I was polishing my M14s stock, standing by the rake near the hatch. The Senior DI was “coaching” in a loud a boistous manner another recruit, that was short skinny little guy in the fashion of Motimer Snerd and very “INEPT” that we nick name Weasel and couldn’t seem to do any thing right including put his name in his scivies even with his “loving, caring, nurturing Senior DI, “calmly” instructing him in that manly art. It was quite noisy in there as I recall. And a lot of those terms we heard every day were being uttered in rapidfire fashion and all the rest of the recruits present, of course, were feeling sorry for that poor soul, with very small smiles on our faces. When, the DI decided there was nothing more that he could do and decided to leave, in a hurry, I, unfortunately, got in his way as he stormed out of the hut muttering his displeasure. I turned and ran smack dab into you know who, the Rifle butt hitting me in the face, with an eventual black eye. He did not slow down and let me know of his displeasure.
I, “this recruit” was called then to the dreaded home of our beloved DIs knocked on the frame of the hatch in the proper manner that, “thank GOD” and was admitted to the inner sanctum, for the only time while at MCRDSD, for a few question from the entire cadre of DIs assigned to our care and education. I was asked what I was going to say viza vee the black eye, in as many way as could be asked by all. I was then dismissed, did a perfect, if very nervous about face got the hell out of there. As I ran for my life back to my asigned home for 12 weeks. Upon entering I was told that the Senior DI was outside his home away from home slashing the air at my back with his sword. Looking back, obviously to amuse the rest of the platoon. At inspection I was asked about the black eye, DUH, and dutifully reported the truth of the matter to our CO that I had met my Senior DI in a big Oops at the door, etc.
By the way, Weasel turned out to be a good guy in the end and after additional instruction of our friendly DIs and counsel of eventual friends.
C.M. Gibson, SSgt Aircraft Radio replacement expert for A4 C- E and shop assistand supervisor, at the end, 1963 – 9. Fun time. Semper Fi!