An unexpected reunion.

hardheadjarhead

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Several weeks ago I was in the YMCA locker room talking to one of my black belts, Jonas, when a man about my age came in. Jonas greeted him and the two started chatting. They knew each other from Boy Scout. The man was a local Scout administrator and Jonas is an Eagle Scout who is still active in Scouting at the age of 22.

I learned the man, Chuck Conard, was a former Marine gunnery sergeant. I introduced myself as a former marine. As we talked, I learned Chuck did a tour as a D.I. on the drill field in 1978.

“I went to Boot Camp in 1975,” I said.

“Really?” he said, “I went to Boot Camp in 1975.”

“Where did you go,” I asked, “Parris Island or San Diego?”

“San Diego,” he said.

Wow. Small world, I thought. “So did I. What battalion were you in?”

“3rd battalion,” Chuck said.

“Whoa. So was I. You were there in the summer of 1975?”

His eyes got big and wide, and he looked at me strangely. He hesitated, and didn’t say anything.

I ventured in a rather small voice, “I was in Platoon 3061.”

He yelled, “I WAS IN PLATOON 3061!”

To Jonas’ shock, we both screamed “AAAAUUUUURAAAAAH!” and hugged. We had both gone to Boot Camp together 30 years ago this June 20th.

We instantly started talking about things long forgotten, our most hated and favored drill instructors, our worst experiences. For those that haven’t gone through this sort of thing, it is both awful and transforming…a secular purgatory that reshapes a person. It was a rush to finally run into somebody who remembered the experience.

When my father died in 1986 my mother thoughtlessly threw out much of our family memorabilia. She discarded all my pictures from childhood, the WWII regalia my father had brought back from the Pacific and saved for me, and everything and anything that recorded my experiences as a young Marine. One thing she pitched was the “Guidebook” that we were given upon graduation, a memorial “yearbook” such as high school students get on graduation. The Guidebook chronicled our 12 weeks in Boot Camp and had our pictures in it.

Chuck asked if I still had mine, and I told him what my mother had done. Without blinking he said, “You know, I have two of them. I’ll give you one.”

This morning we had coffee and he gave me the Guidebook. It was one of the nicest things anybody has ever done for me.

Enclosed are some of the pictures from it…I include Chuck’s, though he doesn’t look much like that anymore. The Marine Corps surgically corrected his overbite while he was a D.I. at Parris Island. He also now has hair. I don’t look much like that either…but I still don’t have hair.

Thanks for letting me share this.


Semper Fi.



Steve

Pics:

Two shots of me on the rifle range (one I’m the one wearing the eye-patch on the side of my head…with the Buddy Holly glasses). One each of Chuck and me in dress blues. A top and bottom shot of Chuck and me during final inspection, each of us at the right end of the picture wearing glasses. These glasses, incidentally, are called BCG's...or "Birth Control Glasses." You can see why.
 

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Feisty Mouse

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That.is.so.cool.

I'd love to look at the Guidebook if you have the time.
 
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hardheadjarhead

hardheadjarhead

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Feisty Mouse said:
That.is.so.cool.

I'd love to look at the Guidebook if you have the time.


Any time. You might even meet Chuck some day.

He's a really nice guy. Nice family, too.


Regards,


Steve
 

arnisador

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Ah, hugging in the locker room...a touching story!

Neat coincidence. That must have been a nice lift for your day!
 

Rich Parsons

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Hey Steve, you bringing it to Buffalo? OR will it be in a safety deposit box :). I could see both, proud and wanting to share with those like me who would like to look and making sure you do not need another saint, to come along and get your hands on a third one.

It was very nice of your Brother in Arms to do this for you.

:asian:
 

mj-hi-yah

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Great story Steve! :ultracool Thanks for sharing!:)
 

Lisa

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That is an incredible story Steve. Thank you for sharing it. You once again get to relive precious memories that you had tucked away for safe keeping. I am envious.
 

shesulsa

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Steve ... :asian:. WAY KEWL, man. That's great you got to do this. Congratulations.
 
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hardheadjarhead

hardheadjarhead

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Rich Parsons said:
Hey Steve, you bringing it to Buffalo? OR will it be in a safety deposit box :)

I have done all but place the thing under armed guard.

Nalia..."precious" describes the reunion's memories, but not Boot Camp.

One day we were given a "pit call" (punitive physical training) in a sand pit called "Happy Valley" at Edson Rifle Range. This was a tradition for the Regiment, apparently. "Happy Valley" was exactly the size of a platoon and had been formed by the constant pounding and digging of boots over the years.

We stayed in that pit for an hour and a half doing non-stop push-ups, bends and thrusts, and mountain climbers. The temperature was in the mid to high eighties.

Men in the middle squads got sand kicked in their faces. Men on the outer squads had to do their pushups with their feet elevated outside of the pit. The D.I.'s had us "about face" every so often so the 1st and 4th squads could get their feets elevated and have a chance to get sand kicked in their faces. I was in third squad. I ate lots of sand, but didn't have to elevate my feet.

It was the first time in my life I ever got an endorphin high...it made the sensation only slightly less painful, but incredibly surrealistic. The dust and sand hung in a cloud over us with a slightly reddish tint, and gave everything a sepia tint. Time slowed down. Sound echoed...I mean really echoed to the point of it almost being an audio hallucination. I noticed the most trivial things...the taste and smell of the dust...it had a slightly sweet and spicy smell imparted to it by the decaying plants and grasses of southern Caifornia. There were little bits of shells in it, little snail and cone shells the size of a grain of rice whose owners had been dead for ages. I remember looking to my right and seeing the Platoon Scribe (later Honor Man), and he was crying.

Where there was sweat we were black, the dust having turned to mud. Where there wasn't enough sweat we were tan. Every man in that platoon-black, white, hispanic, Hawaiian, Samoan, Chinese, Japanese, Filipino--was the same mottled black and tan color.

They ran us inside, had us change into shorts and t-shirts, and then we joined the rest of the company for formal physical training and an eight mile run to the beach and back.

Chuck, having been a D.I. later, told me that what they did that day was illegal even by the standards of 1975. I have never in my life suffered like that, before or since. I will never forget it...and since that day have never regretted it.



Regards,


Steve
 
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rmcpeek

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Wow!! Great story!!! It's amazing sometimes how small the world can be.
 

Gemini

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That's an amazing story. Glad you shared it. From time to time I think of the people I once knew and have always hoped to have such a reunion, but in 30 years, never have. Oh well, maybe tomorrow. Ya never know.
 

GaryM

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Hey Steve, MCRD San Deigo, 1974, 3073. I visited the same pit the summer before you! I turned 18 ten days after I graduated boot camp. Two guys in my platoon shot thier trigger fingers off on purpose on the rifle range to get out. have both of my 'yearbooks'. They sent one to my father and I inherited it when he died, as well as his from P.I. back in the 50's.
Semper Fi
 
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