Why Would Someone Sign Up for This?
The Virginian-Pilot
December 18, 2004
PARRIS ISLAND, S.C. - For a middle-of-the-night bus ride into a spooky world full of biting gnats and even meaner drill instructors who scream so hard they lose their voices?
For 12 weeks of sweat and tears without a single cigarette, can of soda or glimpse of television?
Why would anyone volunteer to trudge 42 miles shouldering a full rucksack and M-16 rifle, of course in a 54-hour exercise with just hours of sleep and four meals to sustain them?
They do it, in large part, for the moment when they finally are allowed to call themselves Marines.
For one group, that moment came Thursday. Marching onto the massive parade field in front of thousands of teary relatives muddy camouflage clothes and smelly boots replaced by crisp, tan-and- olive uniforms and patent leather shoes these men and women celebrated a transformation that will define the rest of their lives.
But these days, graduating from Parris Island marks more than just a rite of passage. It signals an almost inevitable trip to Iraq, where just last month, in the bloody streets of Fallujah, 83 Marines died.
Since the war in Iraq began in March 2003, more than 350 Marines have been killed 28 percent of U.S. fatalities. The Army has accounted for nearly 53 percent of American deaths in Iraq.
While family members are outwardly concerned about whats next, most of the teenaged and 20-something Marine hopefuls at Parris Island last week had other pressing worries: passing the swim test, qualifying on their rifle, seeing their loved ones again.
They were moved to enlist, they say, by a combination of factors. As freshmen and sophomores in high school, some watched their country endure the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, and wanted to do something in response. Others are interested in money for college. Most say they sought discipline and a chance to do meaningful work.
They want to make their families proud. They want to make a difference. And they want to wear the uniform of what they see as the most demanding, elite branch of the U.S. military.
Service rivalries aside, Marine boot camp is generally accepted as being harder than that of the Air Force, Army or Navy. It is three weeks longer than the Armys training. Its physical standards are stiffer, its drill instructors legendary.
It all starts with receiving, when recruits arrive before dawn in buses or vans.
From the time they are driven onto the base, recruits are told to keep their heads down and eyes closed. The less they know about the bases layout, the less likely they are to try to escape.
They pull up in front of the recruit receiving building, unmistakable for the 72 pair of yellow footprints painted onto the asphalt outside. It is on those outlines that they stand in their first formation.
It is 2:30 a.m. Wednesday, and Staff Sgt. Edgardo Borrero is the drill instructor on duty. A barrel-chested Marine with a thick Spanish accent and a flat-brimmed, Smokey the Bear hat perched on his crew cut, Borrero looks straight out of central casting.
He bounds onto the bus to greet about 40 recruits in T-shirts and jeans, some with shaggy hair or Afros.
Lets go! he screams. Get on the yellow footprints! Fast! Fast! Get on my yellow prints!
The men women recruits are trained separately, by female drill instructors run off the bus and line up, shoulder to shoulder, on the yellow feet. They carry no luggage, just packets of paperwork, and their fear is palpable.
Instructed to keep their shoulders back and chest out, they listen to Borreros memorized speech.
You have taken a first step to become a member of the worlds finest fighting force, the U.S. Marines, he shouts. He instructs them on military laws they must now obey such as disrespect through words, gestures or facial expressions not being tolerated.
You will now become a team. You will train as a team. The word I will no longer exist in your vocabulary. You will now refer to yourselves as this recruit.
Say, Yes sir, Borrero shouts.
Yes sir, they answer.
Scream, Yes sir! he repeats.
Yes sir! they yell.
Just after 3 a.m., Borrero marches them into the building through the heavy silver hatches that he tells them are one-way in. Then they are sent to a long wall with a row of 10 phones.
The recruits make mandatory calls home, following a script posted above the phones. Its a one-way conversation: This is recruit (state your name). I have arrived safely at Parris Island. Do not send any food or bulky items. I will contact you within 3-5 days via postcard with my address. Bye.
Then its into the barber chair, where a civilian shears each head like a sheep, down to the skin.
There is no turning back.
For 19-year-old Kenneth Andrew White of Virginia Beach, memories of the receiving process are still fresh.
White has been a recruit for nine days. Early Wednesday morning, he is one of hundreds of men in running shorts, T-shirts and New Balance sneakers being put through the rounds of physical training.
White, who joined the Marines with his 18-year-old brother, Princess Anne High School graduate Kenneth Alexander White, has a large double bar kind of like an equal sign across his olive T- shirt . The sign, he explains, indicates that he is overweight and needs to drink plenty of water. Recruits who are underweight or have light skin and need sunscreen have the same T-shirts .
White, who wants to train as an aviation mechanic, says he felt he needed more discipline in his life and didnt want the easier training standards offered by the Air Force, which his mother served in.
White says has already learned some discipline.
Right now weve got bugs flying all around, he says, referring to the ubiquitous sand gnats that were leaving small red bites up and down his sweaty arms as he stood at-ease, with his hands clasped behind his back.
Im not scratching.
He figures he will be stationed in Iraq within a year, but that doesnt scare him.
The way were trained, I figure if we keep smart, we can protect ourselves, he says. We all our life ends some time. Take it where it leads you.
Little Joe Gibson, Jr ., an 18-year-old graduate of Salem High School in Virginia Beach, has made it a third of the way through boot camp. Hes in his fourth week of training, which means lots of time on the confidence course and its variety of ropes, logs, bars and walls at different angles and heights.
Gibson, whose father spent 20 years in the Navy and works for the military now as a civilian electrician, long imagined himself on stage, not a ropes course. He has been writing songs, singing and rapping since kindergarten. Although he still dreams of being a rap producer and R&B singer, Gibson says he took his fathers advice to do something as a back up to a music career.
I know, during the long run, all this should benefit me, Gibson says.
His advice to friends back home thinking about the Marines: Mentally and physically, be prepared for everything. Dont come down here thinking its going to be easy.
Gibson admits he doesnt relish the thought of combat.
To be honest, Im real scared to go to Iraq and have to fight in a war, he says. But thats my job .
Moments later, Gibson tackles the Slide for Life, a sloping rope suspended over a pool of murky water. He starts out on top of the rope, pulling himself along hand over hand, but cant manage the transition to flip upside-down.
Standing in the chest-high water, he gets a chance to test his pipes. A drill instructor orders him to put his hands on top of his head and sing the Marine hymn. His smile gone, Gibson starts:
From the halls of Montezuma ...
On a different part of Parris Island, Stephanie Anderson works on the core trade of the Marines: shooting the M -16A2 rifle.
All Marine recruits, regardless of what job theyll end up with, spend three weeks at boot camp mastering the rifle. The Army gives all soldiers a week of rifle training, although those in the infantry get advanced training.
Anderson lies on the ground and rehearses shooting from the prone position. With each shot, she marks down where she thought the bullet hit the target 500 yards away, then waits until a recruit behind a bunker circles the bullet hole and raises the target again.
Anderson, 18, graduated this year from Southampton High School. A three-sport athlete, Anderson says she wasnt ready for college , and the idea of being one of the few, the proud, appealed to her.
Service in Iraq doesnt scare her.
I felt called to it, just to help out and be a part of it, she says of the U.S. mission there.
She has struggled with homesickness and the constant barrage of criticism and orders from her tough-as-nails drill instructors. The first week, she says, you cry and youre scared and youre away from home and depressed.
But eventually, you get this shell. You become stronger inside. You learn manners. You just become disciplined, more than you ever believed you could b e.
Down behind the line of fire, Gunnery Sgt. David Bauman nurses the frog in his voice and memories of another recruit he trained.
Like most drill instructors, Baumans vocal chords have taken a beating. Instructors dont call them drill sergeants work 120 to 140 hours a week for 12 weeks at a time, following a company of recruits from receiving through graduation. Most instructors get frog voice during the process, and rely on Cepacol lozenges, Halls cough drops and tea with honey to get them through.
They consider that a small price to pay for the privilege of molding recruits into Marines.
Bauman, who was born in Portsmouth and graduated from Green Run High School in Virginia Beach, has been a Marine for nine years and a drill instructor for two. He did it, he says, because he wanted to make a difference. He hoped to reach just a few recruits profoundly, in a lasting way.
One recruit in particular sticks in Baumans mind Dimitrios Gavriel, a 29-year-old financial planner with an Ivy League degree. He worked on Wall Street, and lost two friends in the World Trade Center on Sept. 11.
Gavriel gave up a six-figure salary to become a Marine grunt earning less than $20,000 a year.
Have you seen the pay scale recently? Bauman recalled asking him.
Gavriel died last month, one of the 83 killed in Fallujah. Bauman says the news hit him hard, but that theres value in Gavriels death.
Its beneficial for new recruits to hear about him, Bauman says. I tell them, He was my recruit. Its going to happen. It makes them understand why were here on the rifle range.
Thursday afternoon, two Hampton Roads teenagers reap the rewards of enduring 12 weeks at Parris Island. Their families the Merkels from Virginia Beach and the Coffmans from Newport News gather a few yards apart in the stands at the parade deck to watch their sons get the eagle, globe and anchor pins that identify them as Marines.
Jeff Merkels parents, Fran Matthews and J.D. Merkel, say their son was inspired to join after watching his best friend become a Marine. He also realized he needed focus and direction in his life, they say.
J.D. Merkel, drafted for Army service in Vietnam, says he wasnt crazy about Jeffs decision because of the war in Iraq. But its his life, he makes his own decisions, Merkel says.
As the men march onto the field, their movements sharp and precise, the Merkels and Coffmans get teary-eyed. Cici Merkel, Jeffs 12-year-old sister, points out her brother as the short one with the glasses, five men from the end.
Kimberly Coffman cant contain her emotions. With a red face and tears flowing, the proud mother screams with joy when the recruits stand at attention. She pumps her fist in the air.
Afterward, she grabs Timm Coffman and holds him close.
Theres an ache, I cant explain it, she says. Theres something that happens between a mother and her son. Im so proud of you I just cant even stand it. Its terrible to worry and wonder.
Matthews asks first about her sons foot he suffered a hairline fracture during training and then about his hair.
Younger sister Cici mocks her brothers thick, military-issue spectacles nicknamed BCGs, or birth control glasses, because theyre so ugly.
He looks like a geek because of the glasses, Cici says. No offense.
Merkel, 20, says he doubted at times that hed make it to graduation, but he had a lot of fun, too like basic warrior training and shooting moving targets at night and with a gas mask.
Merkel, who worked for four years at the McDonalds restaurant across from the Virginia Beach Municipal Center, says he couldnt wait to head to the golden arches.
The first thing Im going to do, he says, is go to McDonalds and get myself something to eat.
The Virginian-Pilot
December 18, 2004
PARRIS ISLAND, S.C. - For a middle-of-the-night bus ride into a spooky world full of biting gnats and even meaner drill instructors who scream so hard they lose their voices?
For 12 weeks of sweat and tears without a single cigarette, can of soda or glimpse of television?
Why would anyone volunteer to trudge 42 miles shouldering a full rucksack and M-16 rifle, of course in a 54-hour exercise with just hours of sleep and four meals to sustain them?
They do it, in large part, for the moment when they finally are allowed to call themselves Marines.
For one group, that moment came Thursday. Marching onto the massive parade field in front of thousands of teary relatives muddy camouflage clothes and smelly boots replaced by crisp, tan-and- olive uniforms and patent leather shoes these men and women celebrated a transformation that will define the rest of their lives.
But these days, graduating from Parris Island marks more than just a rite of passage. It signals an almost inevitable trip to Iraq, where just last month, in the bloody streets of Fallujah, 83 Marines died.
Since the war in Iraq began in March 2003, more than 350 Marines have been killed 28 percent of U.S. fatalities. The Army has accounted for nearly 53 percent of American deaths in Iraq.
While family members are outwardly concerned about whats next, most of the teenaged and 20-something Marine hopefuls at Parris Island last week had other pressing worries: passing the swim test, qualifying on their rifle, seeing their loved ones again.
They were moved to enlist, they say, by a combination of factors. As freshmen and sophomores in high school, some watched their country endure the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, and wanted to do something in response. Others are interested in money for college. Most say they sought discipline and a chance to do meaningful work.
They want to make their families proud. They want to make a difference. And they want to wear the uniform of what they see as the most demanding, elite branch of the U.S. military.
Service rivalries aside, Marine boot camp is generally accepted as being harder than that of the Air Force, Army or Navy. It is three weeks longer than the Armys training. Its physical standards are stiffer, its drill instructors legendary.
It all starts with receiving, when recruits arrive before dawn in buses or vans.
From the time they are driven onto the base, recruits are told to keep their heads down and eyes closed. The less they know about the bases layout, the less likely they are to try to escape.
They pull up in front of the recruit receiving building, unmistakable for the 72 pair of yellow footprints painted onto the asphalt outside. It is on those outlines that they stand in their first formation.
It is 2:30 a.m. Wednesday, and Staff Sgt. Edgardo Borrero is the drill instructor on duty. A barrel-chested Marine with a thick Spanish accent and a flat-brimmed, Smokey the Bear hat perched on his crew cut, Borrero looks straight out of central casting.
He bounds onto the bus to greet about 40 recruits in T-shirts and jeans, some with shaggy hair or Afros.
Lets go! he screams. Get on the yellow footprints! Fast! Fast! Get on my yellow prints!
The men women recruits are trained separately, by female drill instructors run off the bus and line up, shoulder to shoulder, on the yellow feet. They carry no luggage, just packets of paperwork, and their fear is palpable.
Instructed to keep their shoulders back and chest out, they listen to Borreros memorized speech.
You have taken a first step to become a member of the worlds finest fighting force, the U.S. Marines, he shouts. He instructs them on military laws they must now obey such as disrespect through words, gestures or facial expressions not being tolerated.
You will now become a team. You will train as a team. The word I will no longer exist in your vocabulary. You will now refer to yourselves as this recruit.
Say, Yes sir, Borrero shouts.
Yes sir, they answer.
Scream, Yes sir! he repeats.
Yes sir! they yell.
Just after 3 a.m., Borrero marches them into the building through the heavy silver hatches that he tells them are one-way in. Then they are sent to a long wall with a row of 10 phones.
The recruits make mandatory calls home, following a script posted above the phones. Its a one-way conversation: This is recruit (state your name). I have arrived safely at Parris Island. Do not send any food or bulky items. I will contact you within 3-5 days via postcard with my address. Bye.
Then its into the barber chair, where a civilian shears each head like a sheep, down to the skin.
There is no turning back.
For 19-year-old Kenneth Andrew White of Virginia Beach, memories of the receiving process are still fresh.
White has been a recruit for nine days. Early Wednesday morning, he is one of hundreds of men in running shorts, T-shirts and New Balance sneakers being put through the rounds of physical training.
White, who joined the Marines with his 18-year-old brother, Princess Anne High School graduate Kenneth Alexander White, has a large double bar kind of like an equal sign across his olive T- shirt . The sign, he explains, indicates that he is overweight and needs to drink plenty of water. Recruits who are underweight or have light skin and need sunscreen have the same T-shirts .
White, who wants to train as an aviation mechanic, says he felt he needed more discipline in his life and didnt want the easier training standards offered by the Air Force, which his mother served in.
White says has already learned some discipline.
Right now weve got bugs flying all around, he says, referring to the ubiquitous sand gnats that were leaving small red bites up and down his sweaty arms as he stood at-ease, with his hands clasped behind his back.
Im not scratching.
He figures he will be stationed in Iraq within a year, but that doesnt scare him.
The way were trained, I figure if we keep smart, we can protect ourselves, he says. We all our life ends some time. Take it where it leads you.
Little Joe Gibson, Jr ., an 18-year-old graduate of Salem High School in Virginia Beach, has made it a third of the way through boot camp. Hes in his fourth week of training, which means lots of time on the confidence course and its variety of ropes, logs, bars and walls at different angles and heights.
Gibson, whose father spent 20 years in the Navy and works for the military now as a civilian electrician, long imagined himself on stage, not a ropes course. He has been writing songs, singing and rapping since kindergarten. Although he still dreams of being a rap producer and R&B singer, Gibson says he took his fathers advice to do something as a back up to a music career.
I know, during the long run, all this should benefit me, Gibson says.
His advice to friends back home thinking about the Marines: Mentally and physically, be prepared for everything. Dont come down here thinking its going to be easy.
Gibson admits he doesnt relish the thought of combat.
To be honest, Im real scared to go to Iraq and have to fight in a war, he says. But thats my job .
Moments later, Gibson tackles the Slide for Life, a sloping rope suspended over a pool of murky water. He starts out on top of the rope, pulling himself along hand over hand, but cant manage the transition to flip upside-down.
Standing in the chest-high water, he gets a chance to test his pipes. A drill instructor orders him to put his hands on top of his head and sing the Marine hymn. His smile gone, Gibson starts:
From the halls of Montezuma ...
On a different part of Parris Island, Stephanie Anderson works on the core trade of the Marines: shooting the M -16A2 rifle.
All Marine recruits, regardless of what job theyll end up with, spend three weeks at boot camp mastering the rifle. The Army gives all soldiers a week of rifle training, although those in the infantry get advanced training.
Anderson lies on the ground and rehearses shooting from the prone position. With each shot, she marks down where she thought the bullet hit the target 500 yards away, then waits until a recruit behind a bunker circles the bullet hole and raises the target again.
Anderson, 18, graduated this year from Southampton High School. A three-sport athlete, Anderson says she wasnt ready for college , and the idea of being one of the few, the proud, appealed to her.
Service in Iraq doesnt scare her.
I felt called to it, just to help out and be a part of it, she says of the U.S. mission there.
She has struggled with homesickness and the constant barrage of criticism and orders from her tough-as-nails drill instructors. The first week, she says, you cry and youre scared and youre away from home and depressed.
But eventually, you get this shell. You become stronger inside. You learn manners. You just become disciplined, more than you ever believed you could b e.
Down behind the line of fire, Gunnery Sgt. David Bauman nurses the frog in his voice and memories of another recruit he trained.
Like most drill instructors, Baumans vocal chords have taken a beating. Instructors dont call them drill sergeants work 120 to 140 hours a week for 12 weeks at a time, following a company of recruits from receiving through graduation. Most instructors get frog voice during the process, and rely on Cepacol lozenges, Halls cough drops and tea with honey to get them through.
They consider that a small price to pay for the privilege of molding recruits into Marines.
Bauman, who was born in Portsmouth and graduated from Green Run High School in Virginia Beach, has been a Marine for nine years and a drill instructor for two. He did it, he says, because he wanted to make a difference. He hoped to reach just a few recruits profoundly, in a lasting way.
One recruit in particular sticks in Baumans mind Dimitrios Gavriel, a 29-year-old financial planner with an Ivy League degree. He worked on Wall Street, and lost two friends in the World Trade Center on Sept. 11.
Gavriel gave up a six-figure salary to become a Marine grunt earning less than $20,000 a year.
Have you seen the pay scale recently? Bauman recalled asking him.
Gavriel died last month, one of the 83 killed in Fallujah. Bauman says the news hit him hard, but that theres value in Gavriels death.
Its beneficial for new recruits to hear about him, Bauman says. I tell them, He was my recruit. Its going to happen. It makes them understand why were here on the rifle range.
Thursday afternoon, two Hampton Roads teenagers reap the rewards of enduring 12 weeks at Parris Island. Their families the Merkels from Virginia Beach and the Coffmans from Newport News gather a few yards apart in the stands at the parade deck to watch their sons get the eagle, globe and anchor pins that identify them as Marines.
Jeff Merkels parents, Fran Matthews and J.D. Merkel, say their son was inspired to join after watching his best friend become a Marine. He also realized he needed focus and direction in his life, they say.
J.D. Merkel, drafted for Army service in Vietnam, says he wasnt crazy about Jeffs decision because of the war in Iraq. But its his life, he makes his own decisions, Merkel says.
As the men march onto the field, their movements sharp and precise, the Merkels and Coffmans get teary-eyed. Cici Merkel, Jeffs 12-year-old sister, points out her brother as the short one with the glasses, five men from the end.
Kimberly Coffman cant contain her emotions. With a red face and tears flowing, the proud mother screams with joy when the recruits stand at attention. She pumps her fist in the air.
Afterward, she grabs Timm Coffman and holds him close.
Theres an ache, I cant explain it, she says. Theres something that happens between a mother and her son. Im so proud of you I just cant even stand it. Its terrible to worry and wonder.
Matthews asks first about her sons foot he suffered a hairline fracture during training and then about his hair.
Younger sister Cici mocks her brothers thick, military-issue spectacles nicknamed BCGs, or birth control glasses, because theyre so ugly.
He looks like a geek because of the glasses, Cici says. No offense.
Merkel, 20, says he doubted at times that hed make it to graduation, but he had a lot of fun, too like basic warrior training and shooting moving targets at night and with a gas mask.
Merkel, who worked for four years at the McDonalds restaurant across from the Virginia Beach Municipal Center, says he couldnt wait to head to the golden arches.
The first thing Im going to do, he says, is go to McDonalds and get myself something to eat.
