A Title Earned

The prelude: Lieutenant General Victor “Brute” Krulak once argued the United States did not need a Marine Corps, rather we wanted one. He believed, amongst other things, it was the quality of the citizens that carried the title “Marine” that convinced our nation to keep the Corps. He argued, as a Marine, should that calculus ever change the Marine Corps would cease to be. In 2019 the Marine Corps University and the Krulak Center for Innovation and Creativity held an essay contest with this prompt: “It is 4 February, 2040 and the United States Congress passes a law that dissolves and forever abolishes the United States Marine Corps.” To combat an outcome, we had to believe it could happen. One submission imagined an unceremonious congressional vote – with only 6 hold outs, all Marines:

?“They have embodied the warrior spirit and have never lost a battle. But, like the longbow gave way to the musket, and the bomber to the missile, even the mightiest weapons of war must evolve to face the grim realities of conflict. In these times of fiscal austerity and geopolitical upheaval, our nation cannot afford to indulge in a prestige corps that has no purpose on the modern battlefield. It is therefore with a heavy heart, yet enormous sense of gratitude, that on behalf of all Americans I say, job well done, Marines! You stand relieved. We have the watch.”

-?(Excerpt) An Island, by Captain Brandon M. Wilsey, USMC (link in comments)

We are always one generation away from the last Marine. Disbanding the Marine Corps was heavily discussed following World War Two, and again after each major conflict, and is currently in the process of downsizing. Krulak was right, we do not need a Marine Corps, yet still it persists and one of the many reasons is because civilians who know Marines want more of them. With that in mind, rather than create a story about our end, I’d like to share the beginning of one; after all, today is our Birthday.

The Decision: I was about eight when I decided I’d be a Marine. At that moment I was years into special education, and it had been made clear to me I would never be the smartest person in the room. Despite my parents’ great efforts, my dreams adhered to that belief.?It was around that time I saw an older brother become a Marine. This was not itself unique, our family had generations of Sailors and Marines (there may even be a rogue Army Soldier, but we’d never admit it.)

A Marine, I reasoned, was above reproach, a menacing foe, and the most steadfast of friends. The last being the most important to me, after all I had so few of them. I could not fathom a situation in which having a Marine by your side did not improve your odds. I dreamed I could be that for others.

A second brother joined the Marine Corps in the summer of 2001, at the time I wasn’t particularly close with either of my now two Marine Brothers; from where I sat, they were both unbelievably smart, they understood complex words and could communicate in ways other people understood. The same was true of my Marine Father. This was the first time I was intimidated by my dream – in comparison to them I felt inadequate; was this something I could achieve I wondered?

I graduated from high school, barely. Being the glutton for failure I was, I decided to try community college. After two semesters I determined my dream had been deferred enough. I enlisted in the Delayed Entry Program, took my physical on a Friday morning, went home, told my parents, and left early Sunday.

The Preparation: My Pop and two brothers walked me through what I should expect for the next thirteen weeks. They informed me that I’d meet Drill Instructors at the airport – they will be “kinder and gentler” than once I was on the “Depot”, the affectionate nickname of Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego (MCRD)– that’s right I’m a Hollywood Marine.

From there they’d get more hands on, and more direct, leading to the moment I’d meet my own Drill Instructors. Before meeting them, I’d be stripped of anything that gave me any semblance of an identity; they’d start with your name, your clothes, and finally your hair. From there they took thought and replaced it with an instant obedience to orders. Do not hold on to these things, they warned, they would do me no good. I was to give over to the process of change, listen carefully and do exactly what I was told to do as quickly as I could. Accepting my new reality before meeting my Drill Instructors would make what comes next easier. Make no mistake, it would not be a rose garden.

They told me about the phases of Marine Basic Training. After your identity was gone, you could begin to be molded into a Marine, this was done in four phases. In each phase there was acclamation to the difficulty, violence, and mental rigors of being a Marine. In this way it mirrored ascending a mountain and for good measure it literally included one named the “Grim Reaper”.

The Transformation: For Recruits at MCRD, Black Friday means something very different than at Amazon. That was the day we would meet our Drill Instructors. My Drill Instructors were Senior Drill Instructor SSgt Noel, Drill Instructor SSgt Anorga, Drill Instructor SSgt Fuentes, and Drill Instructor Sgt Gonzalez.

After our “introductions” (link in comment if you’d like to see one of these intros) we set out on the three-month long journey filled with drill, humps, gas chambers, weapons training, and of course pugil sticks. Each of these weeks was designed to present a new physical, emotion, and intellectual challenge. It was through relentless action that our Drill Instructors proved none of us was worth leaving behind, hurting beyond repair, or losing faith in. This was the balance Marine Drill Instructors struck while pushing, pulling, and motivating us by any means necessary to take just one more step. Grit I discovered, was a taught trait not an inherent one.

Throughout Basic Training, recruits broke, both mentally and physically. There were few moments away from training and through the passage of time they have become the most important – I have little use for swimming in full gear these days. On Sundays we got an hour for “square away time”, this meant painting our corfams (dress shoes) or organizing our footlocker. Our footlocker had no doubt been dumped out at least once the following week by an enraged Drill Instructor because we had failed to move with enough purpose at some point. This was also the time we learned about each other, and celebrated (discreetly), things like the birth of my squad leader's first child. He was over the moon that?they got his blue eyes.

Then there were Corps Values – rare moments when a Drill Instructor would remove their Smokey (their hat) and would teach us the value of being a Marine and its true standard. None of us would fight for high ideals, all we could muster was fighting for the person next to us. Through this we understood that small units must be capable of moral and ethical decision making in the absence of senior command. Corps Values were the compass for these moments.

The Title: SSgt Anorga was all the things the Marine Corps wanted recruits to see in a Drill Instructor, and more than that he was kind. Days before graduation, during a Corps Value session he was asked if he enjoyed being a Drill Instructor and he flatly answered no. He went on to explain, that it was a necessity. He motioned around the room and said each of you raised your hand during a two front war and said “I volunteer.” He respected and admired each of us for that one choice – the cost of which he reasoned would tax us for the rest of our lives.?He explained that he stood there to prepare each of us for what is to come and to ensure those who could not contribute did not pass. He did not welcome the responsibility with open arms. He was my first Marine leader and he taught me that the necessity and burden of leadership should not be assumed lightly.

From there I would go on to my occupational schools, and ultimately serve for four and a half years in the White House Military Office as a Military Working Dog Handler. I never dreamed I’d see the world as a Marine, but here I am. Once you earn the title of Marine, it is yours, it may not be taken and as a civilian you are duty bound to uphold the highest standards of the title. When I am thanked for this service, I smile and think “I wish we thanked everyone for following their dreams.”

As Civilians who’ve earned the title, we are as much responsible for the continuation of the Marine Corps as the Commandant. We must always remember this and act accordingly, in ev'ry clime and place.

Here is to our Corps’ and to one more year. Good night Chesty Puller – wherever you are.?

Semper Fidelis.?