Parris Island Reminiscence

By Ken DeHaas

2/1 H&S 70-71

 

WELCOME MAGGOTS

 

Here is a short preface to the many random recollections to follow.

 

I was a member of First Battalion, Platoon 182, Parris Island Recruit Depot.  My Plt. commenced training on 9 June 1969 and graduated on 2 August 1969.  The Commandant of the Marine Corps, at that time was General Leonard F. Chapman, Jr.  My senior drill instructor was GySgt C.J. Dotson.  Assistant DI’s were SSgt H.F. Gray and SSgt J.R. Boone.  Our platoon strength at graduation was seventy.  Welcome to this maggot’s memories.

 

CHANGE STEP

 

Our platoon was about 3 weeks away from graduation.  By this time the initial shock had diminished markedly.  So much in fact that I made the foolish decision to make a token display of my growing confidence.  We were marching in cadence to evening chow when I decided to execute a “change step” on my own.  I even chuckled as I performed the move.  Next thing I know I’m doubled over gasping for air!  SSgt Boone had seen my little exhibition and had launched a lightning fast fist into my unsuspecting gut.  He ordered me to report to him after chow.  Just great! This was all I needed.  Endless hours of side straddle mother f---ers, or maybe some quality time spent learning to walk like a duck.  Perhaps the worst scenario of all would come to pass.  My platoon would suffer along with me because of me.  Well I made the extremely risky decision not to report as ordered.  With graduation right around the corner I figured that our DI’s had their hands full with all the final preparations.  I was gambling that with so much to attend to, SSgt Boone just might not remember his instructions for me to report to him for an attitude adjustment.  Filed back into the squad bay after chow.  I didn’t do the “Bam Bam Bam, Sir Private DeHaas reporting as ordered Sir” routine.  I was certain that SSgt Boone would remember and descend upon me like the drill instructor from Hell.  But he never did.  Whew!!!

 

SMOKERS DRAW ONE

 

Sometimes during the processing phase smokers and non-smokers were ordered to form up in two separate columns.  And the DI’s weren’t being very patient.  This was my chance to quit the habit.  But man I needed more than a few seconds to decide.  At the last second I jumped into the cigarette line.  I was issued a carton of my favorite smokes along with a box of yellow book matches adorned with the Marine Corps emblem.  Found myself wondering if the carton would last me the entire nine weeks.  As it turns out, just one pack of Winstons would have been over kill.  The whole time at PI I had maybe seven or eight authorized cigs.  Actually our days were so filled with the process of transforming us worthless scumbags into Marines, that I scarcely had time to think of smoking.  If you had a flawless close order drill session, a good day at the rifle range, or if for whatever reason our DI of the moment was in a good mood, we would hear this eagerly awaited command: “Smokers draw one.  Non smokers make an extended head call”.  In civilian speak this means, “Smokers get into your foot lockers, take out a cigarette and some matches and prepare to smoke”.  “Non smokers, you get some extra time in the bathroom”.  Us tobacco addicts formed up around the wash racks.  Upon receiving the order to light up we commenced to smoke in unison.  Guess you could call it close order smoking.  After the smoking lamp was extinguished we double timed back up to our second floor squad bay, our heads spinning from the tobacco rush.

 

PHOTO SHOOT

 

About a third of the way through boot camp, Platoon 182 was informed that it was time to have their individual pictures taken for the graduation yearbook.  With the DI’s shock and awe campaign in full force, having my photo taken was close to the last thing on my mind.  I found myself getting excited at the prospect of having my picture taken in Dress Blues!  What a proud and unforgettable moment this was sure to be.  My chest expanded at just the thought of it.  We formed up on the parade field, better known as the Grinder.  We were soon marching to the singing cadence of “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon”.  GySgt Dotson took the liberty of replacing “Soldier” with “Raider” in the lyrics.  Whenever Dotson’s Devils stepped out to this old patriotic song, chills ran up and down my spine.  Dare say that many onlookers were spellbound with our marching rendition.  Made the wrong assumption that we were headed to a USMC tailor shop to be custom fitted for our Dress Blue uniforms.  Platoon Halt!!! We stopped in front of two typical military buildings.  We formed single file at the entrance to the nearest building and guess what?  This was the long awaited photo session.  I finally passed through the hatch and was ushered to a chair in the rear, center of the room.  On a nearby table lay three dress blue jackets, small, medium, large.  Along with the jackets were three barracks covers in corresponding sizes.  A couple of photographer’s assistants outfitted me with the proper combo and “Flash”, my black and white portrait was captured for our graduation book.  The fake blues were easily and hastily stripped from me as another potential Marine hurriedly took my place in the chair.  I doubled timed out the hatch and into formation in front of the other building. The Gas Chamber!!

 

THE GREEN STREAMER

 

Throughout the course of our civilian to Marine conversion, the four platoons in a series, competed for the top spot in several key areas of USMC expertise.  Different colored streamers were awarded to the most proficient platoon in each discipline.  Actually GySgt Dotson would receive any winning streamers in our stead, seeing as he was our head coach.  We would be allowed to share in his conquest and to share in his wrath if we were vanquished.  Any or all of those triumphant pennants were proudly displayed from our guidon.  It was the 1st squad leader’s privilege to bear our flagpole.  Platoon 182’s bright yellow flag was boldly emblazoned with the image of an imposing Devil.  Not just any devil, but “Dotson’s Devils”!! Back in my day I believe there were six or seven streamers that were up for grabs.  But without a doubt senior drill instructors coveted these two the most.  “Red” Streamer for the rifle range elite and “Green” Streamer for the Final Drill Competition cream of the crop.  To this day I really believe that our SDI expected to garner both the Red and Green pennants.  I was one of several that let our platoon down on qualification day at the range.  Needed a score of 190 to qualify as a low end Marksman.  My final score was 188, Non-Qual.  GySgt Dotson had a couple of garbage cans full of ice and cans of Coke in anticipation of capturing the Red Streamer.  Got a Coke anyway, but needless to say this was not a joyful afternoon at the rifle range squad bay.  By the way, this was the first of only two Coca-Cola’s that we got the whole time in boot camp.  Anyway, on to the crux of this story.  Word had it that GySgt Dotson’s three or four previous platoons had all garnered him Green Streamers.  Our preliminary drill competition in the early weeks was impressive.  But the closer it came to the final showdown, the more we began to hear persistent rumors that the upcoming competition was fixed in the favor of a rival platoon.  Of course we were a little restless, yet we were more than ready for the challenge.  As far as Platoon 182 was concerned, we had the best cadence caller and close order driller in all of Parris Island!!  We were the last platoon to strut our stuff.  All four platoons anxiously awaited the outcome.  Our SDI’s and the judges were in a heated discussion at our epicenter.  After a seeming eternity, the conference broke up.  GySgt Dotson once again assumed his rightful position at the head of his scummy wannabe Marines.  Thirty seconds, maybe more, passed before our stone faced mentor spoke.  Could be my imagination, but I could of sworn that I saw some mistiness in his frigid, stormy eyes.  Finally our leader spoke. “Well ladies, you did it”!! There was defiantly some mist in my eyes!!  Soon after we found ourselves donating blood.  Our second and last Coca-Cola to build up our iron.

 

WE DON’T WANT NO MAGGIES DRAWERS

 

To this very day any boot from Parris Island platoon would have more than a little difficulty convincing me that the senior DI of Plt. 182 was not the greatest cadence caller in USMC history! GySgt Dotson was the ultimate Maestro of composing and conducting our unique brand of vocal close order drill.  To the best of my remembrance, here are the lyrics to one of my favorite marching songs.  We marched to this ditty all through our training, but mainly during our time at the rifle range.  The targets for our M-14’s were 500 yards away.  Maggie’s drawers was a total miss, made all to obvious by a waving “red” disc on a pole.  A *6* was the prized bull’s eye, signified by the periphery of the black eye and was justly noted with a “black” disc on a stick.  I believe that this grand marching song has its roots somewhere in WWII.

 

We don’t want no maggie’s drawers, honey, honey.

We don’t want no maggie’s drawers, babe, babe.

We don’t want no maggie’s drawers…

All we want are 6’s and 4’s.

Honey oh babe be mine.

Go to your left, your right, your left.

Go to your left, your right, your left.