The following material has been excerpted from NO KIDS NO MONEY AND A CHEVY: A Politically, Incorrect Memoir By Chuck Mansfield Copyright © 2002 Charles F. Mansfield, Jr. All rights reserved. *}■< B £":- 11 :,-r< ' ; v f - Part II. The Vietnam Era / have come to know that the tears of a veteran seldom dry and are rarely seen. They teeter precariously on the rims of aging eyes, spilling mostly at the time of remembrance, borne from pride and the responsibility entrusted to them as they made their way through the horrors of combat. Flashbacks emerge from the simplest stimulants. They are images that aren't remembered until one accidentally brushes up against them, like hitting a forgotten wound that hadn't quite healed. A wound that shouldn't heal. Is there such a thing? A wound that shouldn *t heal? - A Daughter of a Veteran 100 7 Marine Corps Officer Candidates School 26 July - 4 September 1965 Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines don't have that problem. - President Ronald Reagan eneral Charles C. Krulak, the thirty-first Commandant of the Marine Corps, has said: “The Marines really provide only two essential services to our nation: We make Marines; we win battles.” General Carl E. Mundy is “Chuck” Krulak’s immediate predecessor as commandant (fromG 1991-1995). I had the pleasure of meeting him for the first time in Quantico, Virginia, in 1992 at the retirement ceremony of my friend and fellow Chaminade alumnus, Major General Matthew C. Caulfield. General Mundy and I met again after his retirement at a Marine Corps University Foundation luncheon in New York City a few years later. He has written words that are inspirational, whether one has served in the Corps or not. Being a Marine is a state of mind that comes from an imbedded belief that he or she is, in fact, unique, a cut above. A Marine is, most of all, part of an organization that demands a difference - and delivers excellence beyond others in all it is and does. Being a Marine comes from the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor that is tattooed indelibly on the innermost being of those privileged to earn the title. It is a searing mark, one that does not fade over time. Few who have borne the title fail to identify with it throughout their entire lives. These are words I applaud but then they are from Marines and I confess to a certain pro- Marine bias. Consider what Rear Admiral Paul T. Gillcrist, USN (Ret.), a 1946 Chaminade alumnus, says about the Corps: 101 ...becoming a Marine is probably the best thing that (a) young man could do with his life regardless of how long he stays in (the Corps). There is simply no other form of discipline that molds a young man's sense of purpose and personal accountability as well as service in the Marine Corps...and that from a former Navy man should be viewed as a great compliment. He can't go wrong. In the spring of 1965 Lieutenant Colonel Donald McKeon, USMC, was the Marine Corps Officer Instructor at the Navy R.O.T.C. at Holy Cross. In addition to teaching us “Marine Science,” he was preparing us for our first true taste of Marine Corps training. I refer to Officer Candidates School (OCS), which is located at the Marine Corps Development and Educational Center (then called Marine Corps Schools or MCS) in Quantico, Virginia, about forty-five minutes by car south of our nation’s capital. Lt. Col. McKeon took pains with us to explain the ins and outs, the dos and don’ts, of OCS. He also recommended that our group of “candidates” travel to Quantico together and, more importantly, report for training in a group, which would virtually guarantee our being in the same platoon for the seven weeks of boot camp for would-be officers. It worked. Those from my Holy Cross class who went to OCS that summer included Roger Hunt, Bob Lund, Ed Matthews, Dick Morin, Steve O’Neill, Bill Sheridan, Jim Stokes, Frank Teague and me. All of us were assigned to OCS’s Sixth Platoon under the command of Staff Sergeant William Surette, Jr. USMC, alias Wild Bill, already a Vietnam veteran. A native of Olean, New York, he was salty (an old hand), much as the vernacular of some of those in his charge would soon become. The platoon consisted of some forty-two young men, approximately twenty-one years of age, from all over the country. None of us knew what to expect, except that OCS would not be a picnic. And therein lies a story. President Lyndon B. Johnson was in office and his younger daughter, Luci Baines Johnson (who shared her Dad’s initials, along with the rest of the family, Lady Bird, the president’s wife, and Lynda Bird, his elder daughter), was dating her future husband, one Patrick Nugent, who was an Air Force enlisted man. The president, however, encouraged her to make 102 the rounds of various military installations as a goodwill ambassadress, if you will, to encourage our men in the military. After all, the conflict in Vietnam was escalating substantially, and many of those in uniform at the time could use a generous helping of encouragement. Well, one weekend, the young and charming Luci made her way to a picnic that was held on the base at Quantico. Some officer candidates, including our own Ed Matthews, attended - in uniform, of course. An iffy day weatherwise, the sky was overcast and some precipitation appeared likely. At the very moment Ed shook hands with the president’s daughter, he and she felt the first drops of rain. After exchanging pleasantries, Ms. Johnson commented on what a lovely time she was having and how much she appreciated the presence of the Marines at the picnic. Completely unwittingly, I am convinced, Ed offered the following: “It’s nice to be here with you too, Miss. Too bad it had to fuckin’ rain.” Her eyes suddenly glazed over like those of a deer caught in headlights, Ms. Johnson quickly let go of Ed’s hand and excused herself. Relative extrema, anyone? One of the first things that happened at OCS was the ritual of having our heads “shaved.” As a former barber, I can say with some confidence that administering this haircut required no tonsorial expertise whatsoever. All that was involved was the application of electric clippers to the entire scalp; it was, in essence, a shearing. Thus, one’s hair was cut as close as possible without actually being shaved. Each sitting for this service took approximately forty seconds. Thereafter, we were to keep our haircut “high and tight,” although it was permissible to let it grow out on top, which wouldn’t be excessive, given OCS’s 41-day duration. Next we candidates had to report to an outdoor area paved with concrete and surrounded by a six-foot-high chain-link fence. Here each of us was given clothing that included summer service uniforms, covers (military hats called “piss cutters”), utilities (fatigues), combat boots, “Mickey Mouse” uniforms and “782 gear.” 103 The Mickey Mouse apparel consisted of a red baseball-type cap with a yellow M stitched on its crown, a bright yellow shirt with the letters USMC emblazoned in red on its front, red gym shorts with a small pocket and a round Marine Corps eagle, globe and anchor insignia patch stitched to the right front, and sneakers. The 782 gear was decidedly more military: canteens, entrenching tool, ammunition belt, ammo pouches, helmet (both the steel pot and the light-weight silver liner worn under it, or by itself), bayonet, and various other items essential to the would-be trained killers we aspired to become. Gunnery Sergeant Tolson was the “Gunny” for all of OCS, then possibly the senior enlisted Marine in the organization. He was so tough that it was said he held his socks up with thumb tacks. Be that as it may, one of his collateral duties was personally to make a presentation to all officer candidates on the importance of a message that is ubiquitous today: Don’t drink and drive. At that time, the military services were losing too many men from drunk driving accidents. Well, it was apparent from the outset of his talk on this subject that the Gunny was not accustomed to public speaking. Yes, he would generally get his message across but he lacked poise and had a tendency toward malapropisms. Perhaps he was just nervous. Anyway, as his presentation reached its crescendo, his message lost some of its potential impact when he stressed the urgency of “not drinking under the influence.” There are two types of people: Marines and those who wish they were. - Bumper Sticker At 5:25 each morning our platoon was awakened by Wild Bill Surette, who would switch on the bright overhead lights in our squad bay (living quarters) and shout us out of the rack (bed). From that moment all forty-two of us had five minutes to wake up, don our Mickey Mouse gear, visit the head (bathroom) and be outside in platoon formation for PT (physical training). PT consisted of calisthenics and a run of, say, a mile or two just to get the blood 104 circulating well prior to morning chow and the main work of the day. Ed Matthews dubbed the still sleepy platoon formation “The Symphony,” his classic code for the amazing volume of audible flatulence that was forthcoming from the candidates as they waited to be called to attention.