The Last Day

The Chase

I ran. I’ve never run so hard in my life. I feared they would catch me, but I kept running. One foot in front of the other. An even steady pace. Rhythmic breathing, in and out. I timed the pumping of my arms with my legs. It was still dark out, but I could feel them gaining on me. I could hear them. I knew if I looked back, they would catch me, so I never did. I just kept running. I felt the sweat on my brow and felt it accumulate before it dripped off and into my eyes. I let it drip. The pain in my legs was unbearable. Every time my foot struck the ground, I felt the pain reverberate from the ball of my foot upward and into the small of my back. The pain didn’t stop there. I could feel it in my jaw every time I gritted my teeth.

The sun was breaking the horizon, and I had not slowed down. I could hear their footsteps behind me. They were definitely closer. I stretched out my legs as far as they would go and I pumped my arms faster. My sides felt as if they were about to explode. I couldn’t catch my breath. Only a little farther and I would be back in civilization, where I could summon help. I rounded the corner, and I saw a group of men standing about 200 yards in front of me. They were too far away to help me now. I needed to get closer. Whoever was chasing me had gained significantly. I could hear their feet pounding in sync with mine and I could their heavy breathing. If they intended to catch me, they were going to work for it. I was much closer to the men now, and they were staring at us. Surely they recognized what was happening. Six men stood there, and all six of them were glaring intently at me.

I was too weak to call out for help. I feared if I so much as waved my arms in their direction, I would fall and they would grab me. Then it was all over in a flash. I crossed the finish line. I had won. No one had beaten me. I had the fastest time and had finished first for the last physical fitness test prior to graduation at Marine Corps Recruit Training Depot Parris Island, South Carolina. Tomorrow morning, I would graduate as honor private, along with 36 other recruits who were members of First Battalion A Company Platoon 1098. Today was the last day.

The pain in my legs was unbearable. Every time my foot struck the ground, I felt the pain reverberate from the ball of my foot upward and into the small of my back.

I needed no help. I was the winner. Although my feet and legs screamed in agony, I wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of knowing how much pain I was in. I calmed my breathing as rapidly as I could and strode over to the water cooler where I waited my turn for a chance to get a taste of cold water. I also made sure not to make eye contact with any of the instructors. To do so would is a challenge and would bring down the wrath of angry men that would make me pay physically for having the audacity for looking at one of them in the eyes. After all, for the next 24 hours, I was still a recruit and didn’t rate such things.

Most of the recruits who crossed the finish line after me fell out on the ground as if they had just finished a marathon run or were chased by wild animals. Many made their way over to the water coolers and guzzled as much water as their bellies would hold. Some got sick and vomited in the grass. The run was only three miles long, a mile and one-half out and the same back. To get a perfect score, you ran it in eighteen minutes or less. To pass, you had to run it in under twenty-eight minutes, no exceptions.

There were fat bodies and piss poor runners that would push the limits on the twenty-eight-minute rule. Some couldn’t make it, no matter how hard they tried. For those unlucky ones, there were always another four to six weeks of training on the island. Marines were famed for their speed. They had proven themselves throughout history and all over the world for their ability to take the fight to the enemy no matter where they were holed up. And in order to produce Marines capable of doing that, it had been determined that a recruit needed to run three miles faster than twenty-eight minutes. Frankly, by the time I graduated boot camp, I could walk three miles in less than twenty-eight minutes.

Left alone

We awakened at 4:30 o’clock in the morning. The room was quiet. Someone opened overnight the windows during the night and the smell of the swamp permeated throughout the room, leaving that wet, musky, sour odor that smells almost like spoiled milk. The windows were curtainless and we could see the lights sparkling on the bridge that connected the island to the mainland. After twelve weeks of looking outside through this window, we knew there were at least two miles of swamp between us and the mainland. We began with seventy-four recruits on training day one. On the day of graduation, our platoon size had slipped to just thirty-six recruits. We lost many during the first four weeks of training, the rest during the second four weeks of training.

Every day beginning at 4:30 o’clock in the morning, they awakened us by shouting at us and throwing metal trash cans down the middle of this large room. Less than an hour later, we had showered, dressed, exercised, consumed our first of three meals, drilled and most likely exercised or drilled some more before attending our first class, usually scheduled at 6:00 o’clock in the morning. Thus, we found it odd when we woke up this morning of our own accord, with no shouting, no name-calling, no metal trash cans. We awakened like normal human beings except it was still 4:30 o’clock in the morning. We were like lost sheep. For nearly three months, we had been told what to do and when to do it. Now we were wandering around aimlessly. The drill instructors normally gathered in the duty hut prior to 4:30 o’clock in the morning to drink coffee and plan their day with us. This morning, the lights were still off inside the office and we were alone.

We did what they trained us to do. We made our racks. We showered and shaved. We cleaned the room we called home, but it was actually called a squad bay. We weren’t quite brave enough to go outside alone, unchaperoned. So when we finished those things, we stood in line at the foot of racks, or we sat on the empty footlockers staged at the end of our racks, and waited. None of us got dressed because we hadn’t been told what to wear. We didn’t know if we were to dress in our everyday utility uniform or in our dress uniforms. Graduation didn’t occur until 9 o’clock in the morning and it was just now approaching 6 o’clock. We knew that someone would come for us eventually, and they did.

The Big Moment

At 7 o’clock in the morning, one of our drill instructors arrived wearing his full dress uniform. He entered the squad bay from the entrance by the parking lot and sashayed down the center of the large room to the duty hut. He never once acknowledged our presence. When he got to the duty hut door, he opened it, turned on the light, and entered it. A few minutes later, he stuck his head out of the door and motioned for the platoon guide, me, to meet him inside the duty hut.

I ran over to the duty hut, stopped, stood at attention, and then, using the palm of my right hand, I slammed my right hand into a wooden board attached to the wall three times. I announced, “Sir, Recruit Delarosa reporting as ordered, Sir.” The drill instructor replied for me to enter and I did so promptly by running into his office, stopping one pace from the front of his desk, standing at the position of attention, and staring at a spot on the wall above his head.

“Stand at ease, Private Delarosa.”, ordered the drill instructor.

I replied, “Aye-aye sir.” and I immediately placed both of my hands together behind the small of my back and stood in a semi-relaxed position of attention by moving my left foot away from my right foot about 18”.

“Private Delarosa, recruit training is officially over. I am no longer a sir. I am a Sergeant. You don’t have to refer to me as sir anymore. Do you understand?” said the drill instructor.

“Aye-aye sir, err, I mean aye-aye Sergeant!”, I responded.

“Good, now listen up. I want you to go back outside and inform the rest of the platoon they have exactly one and one-half hours to get dressed into their full dress uniforms, pack their gear, and store their gear outside where we normally form up to march to chow. Do you understand?” said the drill instructor.

“Aye-aye Sergeant,” I replied. “You’re dismissed.”, responded the drill instructor.

I did an about-face and exited the duty hut, and found the squad leaders, and relayed to them what the drill instructor’s orders were. Within a few seconds, we filled the room with quiet energy as we dressed and staged our gear outside. Prior to finishing, the remaining drill instructors arrived, including the senior drill instructor. We were all nervous because so far everyone had been almost nice to us this morning. None of the instructors had yelled or cursed at us. There had been no shoving or threats of violence. Just everyone working in unison toward the goal of graduation.

The senior drill instructor exited the duty hut carrying a large stack of papers. He raised his hand and everyone froze in place. They had taught us since the first week of training to always watch him and if he raised his hand to freeze. The purpose of this training had to do with combat situations where the man in charge might have to rely on hand signals to communicate. They were ineffective if no one was paying attention. So we learned early on to always be aware of where the senior was at and what he was doing. This paid dividends later on in my life. After we had frozen in place, the senior uttered “school circle”. His voice was barely audible, but again, we knew to read his lips for the same reasons.

We formed a loose circle around the senior and he began reading from the stack of papers our names, military occupational specialties, and duty stations. Then he handed each of us our orders. After he finished, he gave us all a pep talk and wished us luck in our future careers as Marines. We continued to dress. Since it was the middle of the winter, our dress uniforms comprised a woolen pair of slacks, a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and a wool blouse. If they expected the weather to be freezing, like today, we wore a wool overcoat that stretched to our mid-calves.

We stepped outside to where we staged our gear. Normally, where we stood in formation to prepare for any movements for drill, school, or meals, our seabags now stood. On top of each seabag lay a brown garment bag that contained our dress uniforms. Tucked inside each garment bag, we stored a black zipper case that contained our service record book, our orders, and a check for the money we had earned over the past three months while training. I couldn’t believe it, but we were truly on our last day. The senior exited the building right after us, called us to attention, and marched us out to the grinder.

The grinder is the large drill field used to train recruits in the Marine Corps way. Imagine a large parking lot unlike any you’ve ever seen. I’m not exactly sure how big this thing is, but I would guess it’s easily four square miles, maybe larger and it’s all paved in asphalt. No vehicles can drive on the grinder. The senior marched us to the center of the grinder by the review stands and stopped us, along with the other platoons in the series that were scheduled to graduate today. At promptly 9 o’clock in the morning, the graduation ceremonies began. People whom I had never heard of addressed us and the crowds in the reviewing stands. There were generals and colonels present, along with our families. They awarded honorary promotions along with outstanding achievements. I received a meritorious promotion to Private First Class for having the fastest run time and highest physical fitness score for the entire graduating class. No sooner had the ceremonies began, and they were over. It was a good thing too.

Although we wore wool, we still froze. It was a wintry day, and the ocean wind blowing across the grinder made it colder. When the senior dismissed us, the first step in our career was over. We were officially Marines. We had ten days’ leave before our orders dictated us to be someplace else. Little did I know what was to come.

Memories

I entered the Marines at the ripe old age of eighteen years old. I had plans to go to college, but those fell through the cracks when I learned that college cost a lot of money and my folks didn’t have the money nor the desire to help me figure out how to pay for it. I bummed around for a month after high school graduation before deciding to enlist. My Dad and Mom had been encouraging me to consider a career in the Air Force or the Navy. I shocked both of them when I came home one Friday afternoon with the news that I had joined the Marines and I would report to Parris Island for boot camp in less than a month. It was the only time I ever recall watching my dad cry.

When our senior drill instructor shouted, “Dismissed!”, not only was he dismissing us from his charge, he was forever dismissing our boyhood.

It has been sixty-two years since I made that decision. My dad watched me graduate boot camp, but he never saw me finish my first tour. He died young from a heart attack at fifty years old. I’m now eighty years old and my mom is still alive, but she lives in an assisted care living facility because of many strokes. In my life, I’ve married twice, have four children, a beautiful granddaughter, and lived a wonder-filled life. I’m blessed to have a woman who still loves me. My body fails me now. My eyesight is nowhere like it used to be. I’m surprised each morning if I’m blessed to find a body part that doesn’t ache or hurt. And my memory, my memory fades sometimes. That is the worst.

I forget things. I forget people’s names. I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. I forget memories of things that I shouldn’t forget. It’s horrible. But there’s one memory that has never failed me. It is the memory of my last day at Marine Corps boot camp. I can’t understand why. There wasn’t anything monumental or prolifically eventful that happened that day. Yes, it was the last day of boot camp. Yes, I won the physical fitness run. But that’s not as important as getting married. That’s not as important as where I was or what I was doing on the morning my son was born. Everything that happened on the last day of boot camp pales compared to the events that followed.

Epilogue

I’ve mentioned twice now that life events that followed my last day of boot camp were more significant than the events of graduation day, yet that day is forever etched in my memory. Over the decades, I’ve pondered why, and now in my twilight years, I believe I’ve discovered the answer. In my life, I’ve fought wars. Later, I arrested some terrible people. I’ve traveled the world and I’ve seen places that most folks will never get to see. I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting interesting people. I could fill a book on the things I’ve seen and done, yet they all pale when compared to that last day of boot camp. The reason is when I took the last march from First Battalion Company A to the center of the grinder; I left my youth in that squad bay. When I graduated from boot camp, I ceased to be a little boy or an adolescent on that day. When our senior drill instructor shouted, “Dismissed!”, not only was he dismissing us from his charge, he was forever dismissing our boyhood. From that moment forward, we would be men and we would also be United States Marines.