The Rope

Bubblegum and Baling Wire

When I was in the Marines, I had a buddy who drove a 68 Chevy Pickup. It had a big V8 and a 4 barrel carb. It was pretty fast.  In addition to the Marine attitude of improvising, adapting and overcoming, Tyrone had the self-reliant attitude prevalent in people from Nebraska.  He claimed he could fix anything with bubblegum and baling wire.

His custom repairs (and please forgive me if I’m not accurately describing things, I’m not the mechanic he was):

1. Tyrone needed to do something to the transmission or clutch but didn’t feel like dropping the tranny, so he cut a hole in the truck’s floor and made the repairs from inside. Then he took an old metal garbage can (black with painted flowers), cut a patch from it, flattened it, and riveted it over the hole.

2. Somehow the tension on his alternator belt was maintained with an old broomstick, precisely cut and wedged in there.

3. He once made his own brake fluid out of WD40, motor oil, who knows what else. He just kept mixing stuff until the consistency looked about right and put it in. He drove on it for years and never had a problem with his brakes.

4. Not a fix, but the top piece of aluminum trim on his tailgate was only attached on the driver’s side. At high speeds, the trim piece would lift up off the tailgate on the passenger side and kind of hover at different heights, depending on the truck’s speed. We referred to this as his variable geometry tailgate.

Though none of these repairs utilized bubblegum and/or baling wire, the old Chevy certainly had character, almost as much as Tyrone.  It had nice wheels, too.  He used to call it “The Gimp.”

Semper Fi, TD.

Tax dollars at work

I was on a machine gun team (M240G) and we were practicing for a competition at a Reserve base called Camp Parks, out by Dublin, CA.

Adjacent to the MG range is a police academy. Our two gun teams got the attention of a few of the police instructors who walked over to have a look. They told our platoon sergeant that if we let them put a few rounds through the gun, he’d take us on a ride through their driver training circuit.

I sat shotgun and two of my teammates got in back. The training course was a big paved lot with cones marking the course. It connected to another lot, also marked with cones and this lot was just hosed down so it would have standing water on it.

This cop was the best driver I’ve ever seen. He flung that heavy Chevy through the cones with the precision of a Blue Angel F/A-18. Only on the watered track course did he clip a few cones, and it was never by much. We were sideways a lot of the time.

We were in a mid-90s Caprice something or other with a Corvette engine and space shuttle suspension. I don’t remember the details anymore but I do remember looking back and seeing one of my buddies gripping the door handle he’d just pulled out of the door trying to hold on.

A Green Brother

Today I got a call from Joe Taylor.  It’s been a few years since I last talked to him.  Back then he was mostly T and I was always D.  There was another guy named O.  We were all Sergeants  and we were all Marines with the Scout Platoon, 23rd Marine Regiment.

T and O were in the Gulf War together.  They were on the same operation at the Kuwaiti Airport, but didn’t know each other until the Scout Platoon.

I was usually the point man for our team/platoon when we went out on patrols.  I remember one patrol, summer of 1999, or maybe it was 2000 and we had been going up and down the hills of Camp Pendleton for several days.  We were at the end of our patrol and had reached our extract rallypoint, a concealed spot by a dirt road.  Our means of extract was a Humvee.  Sergeant O directed me to place a marker on the road so the Humvee would know where to stop.

I set the marker, two crossed branches, in the middle of the road beside our hide site.  Right at the prescribed time, we heard the Humvee coming up the road.  We watched as it drove over the marker and kept on going up the hill out of sight.  Sgt. O asked me if I put the marker out like I was supposed to.  Yes, of course, exactly like I was supposed to.

I had used branches that were maybe a little too small.  Now somebody needed to go up the hill to get the Humvee.  Obviously, that somebody was me.  Sgt. Taylor immediately volunteered to go with me.  We dropped our rucksacks, keeping only our weapons and combat harnesses containing ammuntion and water, and started up the hill.

Taylor had come to the Scouts from Recon.  This guy would run like 7 miles a day without breaking a sweat.  We were going up that hill in the early afternoon and we were hot and exhausted.  I was glad for the company.  The dirt road was nearly treeless.  I’d pick out a tree a few hundreds yards up the hill, playing that mental game of saying to myself I’m going to at least make it that far before taking a sip from my canteen.

It got to the point where I was mentally willing each step up that hill.  T trudged along beside me.  I kept picking a tree, and then another, and another.  These were short bushes more than they were trees.  Up ahead was a larger tree and it threw down some shade.  It looked like an oasis to me.  We looked at each other and both knew we’d be stopping for few minutes to rest and drink some water.

I’ve always said that there were few civilians who could appreciate the warm, plasticky water out of a hot canteen the way a thirsty Marine could.  Joe Taylor and I stopped under that tree and drank what I’m sure was the best water I’ve ever had.

“Thanks for stopping, D.  I didn’t think I could take another step,”  Taylor said.

I was floored by this statement because I was sure I was more tired than he was.  This was T talking, who used to warm up for a run by going for a run.  There’s no way I would have made it up that far without stopping if he hadn’t been walking up also.

When Taylor called today, the first thing he said was, “D, it’s Joe Taylor.”

“The guy who went up the hill with me.”

“Roger that.”

It was a great call.  We caught up, talking for a few minutes and  exchanging emails.  Joe was calling from Kentucky.  He’s driving for a trucking company right now, seeing different parts of the country.  I had driven through Kentucky back in the late 80s, with a Marine buddy who often comments here under the name “Printolive.” 

I must have mentioned Kentucky to Taylor, some ten years later.  Now this afternoon, five years later, Taylor says to me, “I’ll never forget how you described Kentucky, with its miles and miles of white horse fences.”

It surprised me a little Joe remembered that after all these years.  That’s T, though.  He still has that easygoing, breezy way about him, too.  And me?  I still like drinking my water at room temperature.

Semper Fi, Scouts. Semper Fi, Joe.

1st picture was taken on the LZ, we were in a tight 360 photo op.  Closest to the camera: Me, Sgt D.  Patrol leader in the center: Sgt O.  That’s Sgt T in the back, facing to the right.

2nd picture taken near Red Beach.  The 23rd Marines Scouts were attached to 4th Recon for annual training at Camp Pendleton.   

The Dumb Grunt Stereotype

The Army, Navy and Air Force like to point at Marines and label them dumb jarheads.

In his non-fiction book Marine: A Guided Tour of a Marine Expeditionary Unit, Tom Clancy points out there were five major tactical innovations of the 20th Century:

1. Armored Assault (Panzerblitz)
2. Airborne Assault (Paratroopers)
3. Amphibious Assault
4. Close Air Support
5. Vertical Envelopment (Helicopter Assault)

Of course Germany developed and perfected the Panzerblitz, and all of the major powers fighting in Europe experimented with paratroopers during WW2, but the last three innovations were developed by the United States Marine Corps.  So to me, the score looks like it’s US Marines 3, the Rest of the World 2.

Semper Fidelis

Surveillance and Target Acquisition, Treasure Island

In the late 90s, I was with the Surveillance Target Acquisition Platoon with HQ Company, 23rd Marine Regiment.

The Brig Chaplain’s Ghost

In early 1985, I reported to Brig Company, Support Battalion, Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, North Carolina.

War Memorial or Political Statement?

The beautiful town of Santa Rosa, CA has plans for a memorial to honor the 430+ war dead from Sonoma County who gave their lives from WWI to present.

The statue depicts a sailor and a soldier (or Marine) standing behind two children who are carrying a folded flag.  The plan to build this monument has become derailed.  Why? 

There are no women depicted in the monument.

Opponents point out the increasing role of women in our military services and the danger those in the past have faced as well.

Not to discount the women’s contributions from WWI to now, but this is a memorial to those Sonoma County residents who gave their lives for our country.

I hate to muddy the waters with the FACTS, but all of those war dead are men.

Should we rewrite history just to be inclusive?  Why not add a handicapped, intravenous drug-using, Haitian, transsexual midget to the US Marine Iwo Jima Memorial at Arlington?  Except for one Indian, sorry: Native American, all those guys are white.

One thinks their commander could have sent a more diverse group up Mount Suribachi to plant that flag.

 

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