Becoming a Marine: AFEES

January 23, 1978

The Armed Forces Entrance Examination Station (AFEES) in Miami is where young people from all over Florida gathered on our way to boot camp. It was a large and lively group but there were only four of us headed for USMC basic training. We spent the day waiting together as we were herded from one event to another. Tony and his best friend, Jim, joined as buddies. They had grown up together and would go to basic together. Tony was very talkative and excited about the adventure. He wanted to give everybody nicknames. Jim didn’t say much. Roy rounded out our quartet.

We had all arrived early in the morning, but it was not until late afternoon that we finally got on the bus to Miami International Airport. Family and friends came to say goodbye. These were the days when everyone was allowed to come to the gate. It was another couple of hours before the plane would take off.

Late that evening we arrived at the Charleston, South Carolina, airport. The airport was empty except for the growing group of Marines arriving from all over the Eastern US. We all waited for all the flights to get in. Tony, Jim, Roy and I hung together. There was not a lot of talk. It had been a long day for all of us. It would get longer.

When the last flight landed, we boarded a military bus headed for Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. It was past midnight as we got off the bus and stood in our first formation. We were instructed to stand on the yellow footprints provided for our convenience. It was cold.

We walked to a counter where we surrendered our cigarettes, paperbacks, magazines, snack foods and all other contraband. We were given a bottle to fill with urine and, once that task was completed, sat quietly in tight rows on backless wooden benches. Hands on our knees, exhausted, we waited.

Becoming a Marine: The Recruiter

Me at 18 the year I joined the Marines

I kept hearing, “You ought to join the military,” from my elders. In the post-Vietnam era, there did not seem to be a downside. They gave you room and board, uniforms, pay, and a chance to travel. A brochure from a couple of young Marines at a car show prompted me to talk to a recruiter.

I did not want to join the Marines. Their reputation for toughness seemed to be a thing to be avoided, not embraced. So, I made an appointment with an Army recruiter.

As I arrived for my appointment, I saw an Army NCO with a large belly in an ill-fitting uniform getting in his car. The closed Army recruiting office immediately let me know that the obese sergeant had blown off our appointment.

I stood there for a moment, looking sad, when a booming voice called out, “He went home but I can talk to you.”

Across the hall stood Marine Staff Sergeant Danny Thornton. He looked like a recruiting poster, wearing a tailored unform with a chest full of awards. I walked into his office filled with posters of Marines in action. Videos of Marine aircraft operations on a carrier played on a small TV.

After a brief introduction to the magnificence of being a United States Marine, SSgt Thornton suggested that I take a quick pre-test to see if I qualified. After the short test, he said I did well and scheduled me for the full Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) test the next day.

I met him at his office the next morning. He drove me to the induction center and brought me back after the test. SSgt Thornton revealed the test results to me in his office. He was impressed. “You scored high enough to be in aviation,” he said.

I did not understand what that meant but I was flattered. “That doesn’t mean anything if you’re not physically qualified,” he said.

I agreed to meet him again the following morning. He would Take me back to the induction center for the comprehensive physical exam that would determine if I was healthy enough to stop a bullet.

Having passed the physical exam, I took the oath of enlistment that afternoon of November 18, 1977. It was three days after I first met SSgt Thornton, five months from my high school graduation, three months since the death of Elvis Presley, and 43 years, 9 months and 19 days from today.

 

Peregrine Tales

My boot camp photo

As a teenager, I dreamed of buying a van and driving to California. I had spent most of my life in Miami and wanted to travel some. All I knew of America came from TV and I had envisioned adventures like on The Fugitive, The Incredible Hulk and, especially, Route 66.

That didn't happen. Instead, I joined the Marines and began an adventure that would take me to every clime and place on air and land and sea, as the Marine's Hymn says. That was just the beginning.

This blog is a collection of stories past and present of my travels and adventures and the people I have met. My peregrinating (journey) has taken me as far east as Kuwait, as far north as Norway, south to Ecuador and west to California. I have been in the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Mexico. I have endured temperatures as high as 138°F (Kuwait) and as low as -18°F (Lake County, IL). I have been at sea, on seashores, jungles, deserts, mountains, forests, prairies and swamp.

A peregrine is a pilgrim, from the Latin word for foreigner. He is a traveler on a journey of discovery. These are my peregrine tales.