Ol'Harry

PARRIS ISLAND PRIMER

Reading and writing about the Marine Corps is a passion for me.  Without argument, my brother joining the Marine Corps when I was six years old had lots to do with that passion.

PLATOON 76 EXCELLED ON THE RIFLE RANGE -- MANY OF US
BECAME RIFLE COACHES AT QUANTICO, INSTRUCTING MARINE
CORPS OFFICERS HOW TO FIRE THE M-1, BAR & COLT 45

I can’t say that I learned to read by reading about the Marine Corps, but reading about the Marine Corps was a top priority after I did learn to read.

Without argument, I learned a lot about writing by writing about the Marine Corps.  There should be an adage -- you learn to write best by writing from your heart. 

Even though I’ve come close to heart-writing on articles over the years pertaining to Memorial Days, Veterans Days and Marine Corps Birthdays, I’ve never really, really written about the Marine Corps experience from the depth of my heart.

Until now.

That hesitancy has to do with advice given me by a pastor-friend of years past, “Life comes down to three major choices – your vocation, your partner for life, and alignment for your after-life.”

He was as wise as indicated by the stream of initials that trailed his name.  However, either from a sheltered background or academic naiveté, he failed to account for guys at my juncture, who were incapable of making such heady choices.

While family and a covey of earlier pastors helped me along with my after-life alignment, only the Marine Corps could have conditioned me to make sound choices in the areas of choosing a vocation and a partner for life.

Good grades came easy for me, even though I goofed off in high school and my first two years of college.  Parris Island was pre-destined to be my first real test.

I suspect a good number of family and friends seriously doubted I had the heart to make it through boot camp, a premise strongly articulated by my drill instructor, just after passing the point of no return (Yemassee, SC).

To that point, the piece of gum I swallowed after the DI expressed his strong disfavor, was the last piece of gum that ever entered my mouth. 

Records say I reported to Parris Island July 7, 1955 and departed September 23, 1955, seventy-seven days inclusively. 

GRADUATION DAY @ PARRIS ISLAND, SEPT1955
FELLOW GRADUATE FROM CO-LIN, JIMMIE RODGERS
BEING AWARDED, HARRY THETFORD IS NEXT

Stated another way, for seventy-six evenings, I thanked the Lord for another day of survival.  And, wondered to myself if I had the heart to make it one more day.  And, on the seventy-seventh evening, I thanked Him for life itself. 

While “goofing off” in college was a skill set for me, Parris Island Drill Instructors deleted that from my persona in microseconds.  Instantaneously, I tried to do my very best in every respect of boot camp.  I wanted to be the first to fall in for formation.  I’m a slow eater, but was never, never last out of the chow hall.

I learned how and when to respond vociferously, and how and when to remain very quiet.  I tried to jump higher, run faster, last longer, shoot better, memorize faster, and spit-shine glossier than all others. 

I learned this was a lost cause unless I helped all others jump, run, last, shoot, memorize and spit-shine as well as I could.

I could say it was OK for sand fleas to chew on me, since that meant buddies standing nearby were being spared.  I could, but that would be a huge lie.   

If the Marine Corps wanted to teach me something, I wanted to learn it.  Again, a moot point unless all others learned it as well.

Did this make me the best man of the sixty-nine graduating Recruits in our platoon?  Far from it!  Sixty-eight others had the same aspirations.  Most of these aspirations were drill instructor-inspired, but a covert group always took up any slack.

That “covert group” persona has probably been around since 1^ST LT Pressley O’Bannon put the initial unit of Marines together in 1775.  It exemplifies the Marine Corps.  

 

After boot camp, we learned the Marine Corps already had a term for this covert group mentality that no Marine should be left behind.  They called it, “Esprit de Corps”!

In today’s vernacular, the Marine Corps left me with an attitude.  While I never had an eagle, globe and anchor tattooed on my arm, the same three items tattooed on my heart are holding up quite well.      

It isn’t fair to say that everything I’ve learned, I learned from the Marine Corps.  There is no question that everything I’ve learned has been brought into sharper focus by my Marine Corps experience.  

This isn’t a puff piece for the Corps, and no apologies are offered for those from other services with equal or better experiences – just words from one Marine’s heart –  well over a half century after the fact.

Every Marine has a story.  I recently golfed with a retired Army veteran with thirty years’ service.  He noticed my surprise to see his car loaded out with Marine Corps decals and paraphernalia. 

He explained, “I spent a hitch in the Marines before I went Army!”  On the way home that afternoon, I knew it was time to write my Marine Corps heart article.  

God bless America, and God bless the USMC, it’s never been a greater time to be “One of the Few!”