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June of '81 here, and I still have a few more months to go before I hang up the uniform.

The thing I'll never forget about the first few days at MCRD is the sight of newly shaken heads covered with white fuzz from the pillowcases we were given. It gave all the boots the appearance of being oddly old when first rousted from the rack - old bald heads on young gangly bodies. I also recall the suprising amount of blood that highly stressed young men could produce when trying to shave, more than a few for the first time. Just to be helpful, our DI's would scream accusations of suicide at the clumsy shavers.

After all these years I'm still amazed at the transformation that occurred. It's hard for a civilian to imagine just how awkward, hesitant and spastic young men in that Marine Corps cauldron called "Boot Camp" are when they first get there. When we graduated we were a machine, moving as one and ready (we thought) to take on the entire world.

If the Lord will let me grow older and grayer, I doubt time will ever allow the memories of that life transforming journey to remain very far from the front of my mind, nor would I will them away if I could.

Certainly that hard as nails Private the Marine Corps produced would be a little incredulous to see the middle aged apparition he has become, but he would be pretty pleased to see Master Sergeant's stripes on the old dog. I don't exactly know what I'd say to him if I could travel back in time, but I'd sure shake is hand for becoming a Marine, the same as I do for every Marine I meet.

Happy anniversary and Semper Fi, Ern.

Thanks! I still wonder as to the reasoning for certain things in Boot Camp...such as when we first got there, our issued footwear was high top sneakers, and we were told to only lace them every two or three spaces - keeping 'em pretty loose.

Also, I'm betting it was a self-discipline thing, but it seemed like they'd never let us take a pee until our little bladders were ready to burst...and I remember at least twice where guys couldn't hold it any longer and let loose. One was midway through boot camp, and we were at parade rest in a parade formation for bigwigs - taller guys up front as usual. Being a couple of rows back, some of us heard - and then saw - the liquid running between one private's legs as his legs quivered a bit; Sgt. Landers heard it too, because he halfway turned toward him, turned beet red, and told him his ass was grass as soon as formation broke.

I really don't remember what happened to the poor guy, but I'm sure he recalls it to this day, assuming he's alive!