Chapter 20

THE LORD PRESERVETH THE SIMPLE.

(The Basic School, TBS, for Marine Corps junior officers’ training, Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia; from late September 1969, to the end of February 1970)

2h No daily commute.

Early the following morning on Wednesday 24(?) September, I arise at the appointed time, put on my uniform with gold 2^nd lieutenant bars, and walk to the nearby chow hall for breakfast. At the prescribed time, we load onto “cattle cars”, and are hauled back to Camp Barrett for a whole day of orientation lectures in that large auditorium. Officers lecture us on general things we need to know during the next 5 months we are to train here.

We eat lunch in Camp Barrett’s officers’ closed mess. The Basic School Commander (a colonel) is the last speaker in late afternoon, to climax the many speeches of the day. He is high spirited, colorful, and well suited for this job. So, this day he gives us a hot pep talk to fire us up to fight in Viet Nam. He tells us that all of his staff here at The Basic School (from himself down to the lowest ranking enlisted man), are Viet Nam combat vets. While they train and teach us, they will relate to us their “first hand” combat experiences in Nam.

“We don’t send you to war to die for your country! We send you to war to make the enemy die for his country!” That colonel’s enthusiasm in saying that, is matched by the enthusiasm of our roaring yells and applause. Each of us is highly in favor of that being the final outcome of us going to war. Sadly, it cannot always be.

At the end of this day, we bachelor lieutenants who live in Camp Upshur ride back there in cattle cars. The married men drive their cars home. There are only 2 or 3 times at The Basic School that I need my car in the line of work (somewhat). (And I could have hitched a ride with a buddy those times.) The Marine Corps hauls us around in those cattle cars when we go any distance on this training base, just as they did last summer at OCS.

I immensely relish a life of working right where I reside, with no daily commute. It saves time, money, and the chance of getting killed or injured in a traffic accident. Most of my time on active duty in the Marines, was a life of no daily commute. It suited me perfectly. Doing that roofing job, I commuted much; some commutes being long. I benefited from seeing many places. But long commutes are weary. Remember, I told you of driving to Daddy’s house from Mr. Mars’ house Saturday nights, and leaving Daddy’s place for Mr. Mars’ place early Monday mornings, about 110 miles each way. And I did most of a day’s hard manual labor those Saturdays and Mondays, along with driving 110 miles.

A side note of wisdom here, Mr. Mars traveled far and wide to drum up enough income from roofing. The much money he paid for motel rooms and café meals for him and me had to be passed on to the people who paid him to do their roofing work. That is poor economics. If he had enough work within a short drive of his house, it would have saved his customers considerably. I thank God for causing me to keep such economics in mind. You also will do well to keep them in mind, and strive to operate your life on the best economic principles.

2i A squared away, tidy environment and personal uniform.

In general, my Daddy was untidy by nature. For example, when I was small, our buckets, tubs and similar vessels were all made of tin or a similar metal. Plastic ones had not yet come onto the scene. Also, aluminum vessels were most rare and too expensive for us poor folks. When a hole rusted thru the bottom of a farm bucket, foot tub, washtub or such, and thus it would no longer hold water, Daddy usually kept it, because it could possibly be used to carry (or hold) dirt or some “solid”.

In like manner, Daddy kept most everything that wore out, because it just might possibly come in handy sometime for some secondary use. Such unsightly junk dotted the landscape around our house, barn, and other sheds. Also, plenty such junk items piled up inside each of those buildings. Overall, to some degree, it was a depressing sight to daily behold, worn out junk strewed, scattered, randomly everywhere around.

For maximum performance, safety and efficiency, our nation’s military majors on strictly maintaining all of its many material things in prime working or use condition, properly cleaned, and squared away in tidy array at all times. The same is required of me regarding my grooming and the Marine uniforms I wear. From the time I entered Navy ROTC, I frequently stood inspections regarding my haircut, grooming, uniform, and any military equipment (rifle, etc.) issued to me. I inherited much of Daddy’s untidy nature. Thus, I benefited greatly from the military requiring me to be tidy, and thus training me to be tidy. Tidy surroundings give serenity of mind, and greatly aids proficiency of work.

2j Proper equipment in good repair.

I could have put this under the previous topic. But I list it separately because of its importance. I know from much childhood experience the vexing and depressing frustration, inefficiency and loss of time that comes from having to use worn out equipment or any object that is in poor repair, and of having old equipment in use to tear up or break down.

At Fort Benning, at OCS in Quantico last summer, and now at TBS, all the buildings, grounds and the much equipment being tidy, squared away, and in good repair, simply makes a body feel much better about working and living in such an environment, instead of an untidy place with worn out junk strewed around, scattered and stacked everywhere, and often experiencing the frustration of working with worn out equipment and such.

The next day, Thursday 25(?) September, my training company starts attending classes in a large classroom at Camp Upshur. Each day, I walk to that classroom and to the chow hall, from my barracks.

At that time, the Marine infantryman’s rifle was the M-14. In class, they teach us all we need to know about that weapon, and we practice field stripping it in class. (We were accustomed to field stripping it from OCS days.) Soon, they start hauling us to the rifle range daily on the cattle cars to practice firing the M-14 rifle. The last day on the rifle range, we fire for test scores.

Similarly, in the classroom we are taught the .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol, the personal weapon for infantry officers. We learn to field strip it, clean it, and then to reassemble it, just as we were taught about the M-14 rifle. Soon, they daily haul us to the pistol range to practice pistol marksmanship. We fire for test scores on the last day, as we did with the rifle.

Soon after we finish firing each weapon, at a platoon formation our 1^st Lieutenant Platoon Leader awards our badges to us. Lowest scores are rated Marksmen, middle scores as Expert, and highest scores as Sharpshooter. The badges differ with each rating, and from then on, we wear them on our uniforms.

From the time I was 11 years old or so, I enjoyed firing firearms. Thus, this training suits my nature. These weeks on the firing ranges are a delight to me. It seldom or never rained the 2 or 3 weeks we were out on the rifle and pistol firing ranges. That certainly helped!

(Unlike the roofing job, the Marines seldom or never cancel ground training due to weather. Range firing would have been most uncomfortable in pouring rain. And cleaning and oiling the weapons at the end of each day to prevent rust, would have been a greater task than usual.) Most days on the shooting ranges were sunny, mild, pleasant autumn days that make a body feel good to be alive. Also, I was doing what I like to do! Outdoor shooting range practice delighted me!

For the first time in my life, I feel like I am definitely, entirely in my element, by training as a warrior in an earthly army. The next time I will similarly feel definitely in my element, will be when I become a missionary, a full-time warrior in my Lord’s army. Each time, it felt ever so good.

We trainees are assigned to “admin” leadership billets within the training company: Company CO, XO, Guide. Platoon Leader, Platoon Guide, Squad Leader. These billets rotate weekly. Early on (2^nd or 3^rd week), I am assigned as Platoon Guide for a week. Early each day, we 5 platoon guides meet with the company guide (a fellow trainee, Tom P. ⑦), to receive “admin” orders and instructions from him. I then pass that “word” on to all men in my platoon. I get to know Tom P. quite well this week. After Quantico, he will go with me to Vance AFB, and then on to Cherry Point Marine Corps Air Station, where we train together as pilots at both of those bases, getting closely acquainted. I will “house sit” for him and his wife at Vance AFB, when they take leave at Christmas (1970) vacation. We part ways at Cherry Point in the spring of 1972. In summer of 1979, he will be flying a one-man British Royal Air Force Harrier in Germany, when it crashes, killing my buddy, Tom.

Likely it is mid-October or later, when we finish both rifle and pistol firing. On the last day of September, I receive a paycheck for my few days of active duty thru 30 Sept. (likely from the 23^rd). Next payday is 15 Oct. (twice a month). That is a full paycheck. Also, travel pay from Vernon, Alabama to Quantico is included in 1 of these paydays. It sure helps my personal economy to start getting regular paychecks, and not miss a single paycheck till the last one in mid-February 1975, when I am discharged from active duty with the U.S. Marines.

We study and fire each of the “small arms” firearms the Marine Corps uses at this time. The M-60 machine gun might have been next. I’m taught in class what we need to know about hand grenades, and then go out to a grenade “range” and throw 1 live grenade, then squat behind the block wall, and the grenade explodes 15 to 20 yards away. They make a loud bang! I enjoy getting familiar with each of these deadly weapons.

We learn all about land mines and various booby trap devices. At the end of that study, we go out into the field where each squad is assigned a roped off section of ground. Within that plot, each squad plants mines underground. Above ground we set booby trap devices with trip wires and such. We eat C-Rats for supper, and after dark, my squad is assigned a different plot of ground to inch our way thru it searching for, and disarming each explosive device rigged by another squad.

Each explosive device is inert, but the underground mines have live fuses. If we fail attempting to disarm that fuse, it explodes with about the force of a firecracker. Each time one of those fuses explodes, an instructor sets off a large explosive in a special roped off area that no one is allowed into (for safety reasons, obviously). Each of those explosives equal a small stick of dynamite, and shake the ground under us when they explode. That definitely plays on one’s nerves. Fun and games!

Now, I’ll back up to the day I arrived at The Basic School, and talk about my extra-curricular activities since then. From OCS last summer, I firmly kept in mind the all-girls’ college down the road in Fredericksburg. The 1^st weekend here in TBS, when our training ends at noon on Saturday, Sept. 27, I shower, change clothes, eat lunch in the chow hall, and then spend the afternoon in the barracks studying subjects of our present classes (there are written tests on each subject), shining my shoes, boots and brass, and setting all my personal gear and things in order. This Saturday afternoon, I relax, rest, and chat with my new comrades, after this full week that began with Monday’s long trip up here from Birmingham, Alabama.

The following day (Sunday), after breakfast in the chow hall, I drive down to Fredericksburg, look for a church to attend, and then drive around in search of Mary Washington College. It didn’t take me long to find it. Cruising around slowly on the lovely, somewhat small campus, I spot the Baptist Student Union. I hadn’t even thought about a BSU being on this campus, but there it is. I file that important “find” in my brain, and soon drive back to Camp Upshur for another week of intense Marine officer training.

Tho my Marine buddy at Auburn (Fred) graduated the same day I did, he got assigned to the next class after me here at TBS, that starts in late October about a month after me. At Auburn, he and I were both aware of that situation. (I so wished he had been put in my class here at TBS.) From Auburn, Fred drove to his parents’ house in Maryland to stay there till he reported in at Quantico. “Come over and visit us on a weekend,” Fred kindly invited to me before we left Auburn, giving me his parents’ phone number.

So, I call Fred now from a Quantico pay phone and set up to go to their house on a Saturday afternoon, likely 4 October. It’s a lovely drive across the Potomac River and across narrow Maryland to the Lexington Park area where his parents and younger sister live near Patuxent Naval Air Test Center. Fred’s dad was an excellent Navy career officer, stationed many years here at “Pax River”. Likely his dad is already retired when I visit them. I stay Saturday night with Fred’s family, go to church with them Sunday morning, talk much with Fred in the afternoon, telling him what to expect at TBS, and head back to Quantico in late afternoon on a different route. Joyous stay!

Until I graduated from high school, I mainly saw only the scenery of our farm as I slaved away working on that farm. Tho that farm was lovely, God-created scenery, now I just soak in the vastly different scenes here of the ocean, Patuxent and Potomac Rivers, and landscape much different from our poor farm. I greatly enjoy cruising these areas in my nice T-Bird!

The next Saturday afternoon, I drive down to Fredericksburg to look around more. Well after 5 PM, I walk into the small BSU on campus at Mary Washington College. There was only 1 person inside, a young guy. That wasn’t what I expected at a girls’ college. We introduce ourselves, and I talk with Bob a while there in the lounge with the TV on.

Soon the lady BSU director returns with 4 college girls, new freshmen she had taken to her apartment for supper. She introduces each of them to me. Of the four, Brenda drew my attention, most poised and attractive with a soft radiant smile, and especially friendly and attentive to me, I thought (?).

The lady director is single, and appears to be in her late twenties. She starts telling me of their special events scheduled thru out autumn, and heartily invites me to join in them. I’m heartily glad for that invitation. A statewide BSU retreat at a retreat center in Roanoke, Virginia on a weekend. This local BSU’s upcoming Saturday workday to get missions funds. And this local BSU’s autumn hayride.

I make a reservation with her to spend Saturday night at their retreat in Roanoke. Most college and university students who attend that retreat drive there on Friday afternoon from campuses thru out Virginia. The retreat starts on a Friday evening. After my Marine training ends at Saturday noon that weekend, I quickly shower, change into nice civilian clothes, eat Marine lunch, ignite the T-Bird’s engines and blast off for Roanoke in the beautiful Appalachian Mountains of southwest Virginia. The rolling hills and mountainsides aflame with red, orange and yellow autumn leaves, make a most scenic drive.

Following directions the BSU lady had given me in Fredericksburg, I find the retreat center, check in, eat supper with a few girls from Fredericksburg, attend the services that night, and bed down in the room assigned to me and 2 other guys. On Sunday morning, we have breakfast, church services, lunch, and then say our Farewells to newfound friends. As we stand in the long lunch line on the cafeteria’s wooden porch surrounded by trees in their autumn beauty, someone starts singing, “I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back. No turning back.” Most of us spontaneously join in the singing. It was bless-ed!

As we prepare to depart, the Fredericksburg BSU director lady asks me if some of her girls may ride back with me.

‘Sure.’

“Here he goes again, our knight in shining T-Bird amour.”

Because no girls rode with me when I came, I assume they could ride back to Fredericksburg in the same cars they came here in on Friday. I further assume that the director and the girls desired for me to get acquainted with them on the 3 hour or so ride back to their dorms.

“Did you have any objections to getting acquainted with them, Lt. Richard?”

‘None whatsoever! None at all!!’

So, the lady director brings up 3 (of the 4) freshmen girls I met that first night I went into the BSU. We put their bags into the T-Bird trunk with mine, and I let those 3 choose where to sit in the car. I was happy to see that Brenda was one of the three. I was even happier when she got into the front seat beside me, and the other 2 girls got into the back seat.

“Lt. Richard, at this time, are you glad you didn’t buy the 2 seat Corvette you dreamed of for years?”

‘I sure am!’

I sense that Brenda had told the director that she wanted to be one who would ride back with me, and that likely Brenda kindly decreed to her 2 classmates that if they valued their lives, they would let her occupy the front seat beside me.

So, we head east back thru that lovely Virginia autumn mountain scenery on Sunday afternoon. After we 4 chat together for a while, the 2 girls in the back seat soon fall silent and begin to doze and sleep. But neither Brenda nor I slept a wink the whole way back. The two of us enjoy lovely conversations together, tho we have nothing more in common than being boy and girl human beings.

“Well…, that’s all that’s necessary, Naïve Country Boy!”

‘Well…Thank you for educating Slow Learner Me!’

Until I graduated from high school and was released from hard farm labor, my life of poverty (not so nice clothes or house, but nice outhouse, Daddy’s old car, and such), was not conducive to dating. The hardships of a childhood of toiling on the farm with almost no tender loving care, sort of built up calluses and sores on my heart and soul.

Being around the girls in the dining hall at Auburn (and taking one of them for a ride at times, and dating some of them), and this pleasant ride of 3 hours or so thru God’s lovely Virginia nature on a sunny afternoon with 3 college freshmen co-eds in the nice-looking new Thunderbird, rubbed much soothing and healing salve into those calluses and sores on my young heart and soul. I gladly welcome and soak into me all that good medicine to the fullest extent of my ability to do so.

Such “betterment” did me worlds of good at the time! And now in my old age, I have gained more spiritual ability to be ever so thankful to God for it, more ability to give thanks to God than I had at the time it was happening. Thank Thee, My Sweet Precious Lord Jesus, for blessing me so richly!

Brenda was a cultured young lady from Richmond, Virginia. As we approach a “junction” where we can head on to Fredericksburg or bear a little to the right and south on to Richmond, Brenda starts repeatedly urging me, “Let’s go to Richmond.” I thought for sure she was kidding. So, when we reach that “junction”, and I head toward Fredericksburg, she lets out a strong sigh of disappointment.

Days later, on our 2^nd or 3^rd date, as Brenda and I happily reminisce about this time, I remark, ‘You were kidding about going to your house in Richmond that evening, weren’t you?’

“No, I wasn’t! I wanted to introduce you to my parents!” She was that happy and proud about being with this farm boy, wanting to show me off to her parents. I don’t know what Brenda thought the 2 sleepyheads in the back seat would think of us 4 taking another 2 hours or more, for a detour to Richmond. Apparently, Brenda didn’t care what they would think. That weekend was a rich time for me. Fond memories! I drop the 3 young ladies off at their campus dorm in Fredericksburg, and travel on to my Marine sleeping quarters at Quantico with my soldier’s heart overflowing with joy.

That week, I call the lady BSU director to ask her for Brenda’s phone number in her dorm. Because this lady likes “Boy meets girl, Girl meets boy” episodes, she happily gives me the number. I happily call Brenda and ask her for a date Saturday night. She happily says, “Yes.” I take her to the officers’ club near Quantico Marine Base headquarters for a nice supper, and then to the base theater for a movie. We both enjoy the evening immensely talking much on the ride from and back to Fredericksburg. I’ve lived happily ever after. I hope and pray that Brenda has also.

My training company (class) lodged at remote Camp Upshur for 4 or 5 weeks till the most senior class graduated. Then we moved into the main BOQ at Camp Barrett. Likely that was on a Monday. Likely it was the following day (Tuesday) that my buddy Fred’s company reported for duty, and they went to lodge at Camp Upshur where we had been. So turns the training cycle.

Camp Barrett’s BOQ was 2 or 3 stories high and was quite a complex of several wings of rooms, the wings extending like spokes from a partial hub which contained the chow hall, classrooms, a library, and likely a barber shop, drycleaners, small BX (store), and such necessary facilities. In the cold winter, I never had to walk out of this building and cross outside to a nearby building for any of the above-mentioned necessities. Each company was assigned adjacent rooms in 1 wing of the BOQ. I think we were on the 2^nd floor. Lt. Wright was my roommate. Lt. Wooten (married) had a locker in our room. He would drive in early from his apartment and change into his uniform and such in our room. At the end of the day, he would shower in our “suite’s” bathroom, change clothes, and go home to his wife.

Lt. Ward is my only buddy from Auburn ROTC in my same company here. Also, he’s in my same 5^th platoon. He married a girl that ate in my dining hall back at Auburn. So, I knew her well also. So, I socialize a little with Ward and his bride here at TBS. We have little time for socializing, and I do most of mine down in Fredericksburg, not here at Quantico.

Two or three classmates at Auburn who graduated at the end of May (Spring Quarter), are now in the latter stage of their training here. I look up each of them, and when I have a little free time at night, sometimes I drop by one of their rooms to chat briefly. I sometimes drop by Fred’s room after his company moves to Camp Barrett 4 or 5 weeks after my company did. But my days and nights and weekends are full, causing me to seldom see these Auburn buddies. No problem.

Each week, five and a half days are full of intense training; PT, classroom instruction, and various training out in the field. Before it got cold enough to kill down summer plants, I contacted either Poison Oak or Ivy outdoors, and broke out quite badly with it. I reported to sickbay with it, and got calamine lotion to rub on it. But I didn’t miss any training over it, except for the gas chamber. That was a pleasant miss.

We were taught about poisonous gases that enemy soldiers might use against us, how to use the Marine issue gas mask, and other safety precautions, and such. Finally, each of us line up outside an 8-foot-high metal “container” filled with irritating gas. One Marine at a time fits his gas mask snuggly onto his face, opens the door on signal, and walks into the middle of the container where an instructor (major) stands wearing his gas mask. Then the trainee removes his mask from his face, and speaks aloud his name and rank (and possibly more) to the major. When that trainee takes his 1^st breath after removing his mask, the inhaled gas causes him to cough terribly. Then it’s a struggle to try to speak the remaining words required.

The doctor exempted me from the gas chamber because of possible harm from the gas to my skin broken out in poison. That was one time I was thankful to have poison from a plant, thus avoiding inhaling chemical poison into my lungs. Practicing suffering! I wonder if there’s possibly any benefit in doing such??

The Saturday night BSU hayride soon comes up. I ask Brenda to be my date. She agrees. The BSU director asks me to bring some more guys with me to join the ladies in their hayride. So, I spread the word among some of the few decent single guys in my platoon, resulting in 2 other guys joining in the hayride and refreshments.

Likely, it was the following afternoon (after Sunday morning church service) that Brenda was riding around with me in Civil War battlefields that are now lovely Virginia State Parks. Tree leaves were at their peak autumn colors, soon to fall. Clear, crisp fall air added to God’s beauty in nature, as we leisurely chatted, kidded and laughed.

Tho there was almost no traffic on those park roads, we met Lt. Willis who was in my training platoon. With him was his date from the same college as Brenda. Willis and I each stopped our cars so each pair of us could greet the other pair, basking in the beauty of nature and in the nice company we each had with us. Then we went on our separate ways over battlegrounds where thousands of Union and Confederate boys bled and died a most violent death about 104 years before.

Willis and I both knew the highly likelihood of each of us soon dying a bloody, violent death in the steaming jungles of Viet Nam. So, on this fine day in a peaceful surrounding, we were making the most of enjoying fine pleasures of life to the fullest, while we were still alive to enjoy them.

Possibly the next Saturday was BSU Workday for missions, a day that brought new blessings and new friends into my life. After Marine noon chow on that Saturday, down I-95 my T-Bird flies on autopilot to the campus BSU to join their workday. All Baptist families in the area were asked to have the girls come to their houses to do any needed chores in return for an offering to missions. I think Brenda went home to Richmond this weekend. I didn’t see her this day. (Or possibly, she considered herself too high class to do such servant work.)

The BSU lady director paired me with another girl (I forgot her name), and gave me a card with the Tiptons’ name, address, and directions to their house. The girl rode with me going 5 or 6 miles out of Fredericksburg to the Tiptons’ house at the end of a short gravel road in a quiet area with woods in back, a most lovely setting. Mrs. Tipton had us wash their house windows inside and out. We 2 didn’t finish all the windows that afternoon. Mrs. Tipton asked the girl if she and some of the BSU girls could come wash the remaining windows the following Saturday. The girl kindly replied that was not feasible. I spoke right up, saying that I would be glad to return the next Saturday afternoon to finish up the windows myself. Mrs. Tipton agreed to that, wrote out her donation check for the full amount, and gave it to the girl.

“Look at how brightly his knight’s armor shines, as he shines windows!”

When I return to the Tiptons’ house the following Saturday, their youngest son, Mark (about 10 years old), helps me wash windows. God graciously gives me this family’s friendship. Likely I attend their Baptist church in Fredericksburg the following day (Sunday). Likely, the next Saturday, I spent the night with the Tiptons after a date with Brenda, and went to church with them on Sunday. Such becomes my standard routine from Saturday afternoon thru Sunday evening, after a hard-charging 5 and half days of Marine Corps officer training. The change of scenery and faces (and the rest and relaxation) did me much good! Daily, it was a full life that was most fulfilling, in my element!

Throughout this autumn at Quantico, I especially enjoy each day we train outdoors in the nice autumn weather. (There are many classroom days.) Maps fascinate me, so I particularly like our study of military maps. Several hours of classroom map study over a few days, and then a test out in the field.

Field test: each of us is given a list of 12 or so separate co-ordinates (points) in a large area of fields, hills, and forests where we train. Using the map, compass, measure ruler, and pencil issued to us, we are required to individually go alone (walking), and find each location (point/fix) represented by the co-ordinates. At each “point” is an empty metal ammo box nailed to a wooden post about 5 feet high. A different number is painted on each box. That number is the answer for test purposes. I’m to find each box on my list, record the number on the box, and when I return at the end of the day, I turn in that paper to be graded.

We are strictly ordered to work alone the whole time, forbidden to “aid and abet” each other. When we come across a buddy looking for his next box, we’re not to give hints or answers to each other. Tho the instructor had recently walked the entire area to check that all boxes were in place, he said it was slightly possible that a vandal might have removed 1 or more boxes after that. They issue a C-Rations lunch to each of us. We have our canteens of water. Thus equipped, we set out by mid-morning or so.

I’m a loner by nature. I so enjoy working alone, especially hiking 7 miles or so this day out in God’s lovely nature. On the map, I plot my co-ordinates one at a time, draw a cross-line on the map where they intersect, measure the distance to that “point”, and “fix” the direction I would sight on the compass. Then watching my compass, I step off yard long steps trying to accurately count how many yards to that “point”, (while detouring around trees, wading streams, and such that can throw me off course). Upon counting off the 784 yards (for example), I walk around in that immediate area, looking for the ammo box nailed to a post. It was indescribable fun, challenge, and adventure. And I was getting paid well to do it! By God’s Grace, I was one of the very few Marines in my company that day to find all his assigned “points”. Wow!

As I head for one point, a couple of buddies coming separately from searching for the same point told me, “Forget it! That box is missing. I looked everywhere for it. Don’t waste your time looking for it.” They were not supposed to give such hints. Also, God-given instinct told me those dummies just could not find this difficult point amidst the forest growth.

So, I keenly watch my compass while carefully measuring and counting my steps. When I reach the distance, no box is in sight. I walk around, searching. There it is, difficult to spot because of trees and growth around it! I write down the number for that box several guys missed, and I score 100 on that test. After returning my paper, being dismissed, taking a nice shower and chowing down heartily at big helpings for supper in the chow hall, as I get ready to rack out, I’m elated over this day’s training (in my element). Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for good health to hike miles thru these lovely Virginia hills today.

Late autumn days wax colder. On a cold, rainy day we are out in the field all day, firing the M-16 rifle live fire, and doing other similar training. We all get soaking wet and muddy. We return after dark, and each of us fieldstrip, clean and well oil the M-16 we had used, to prevent it from rusting. Being soaking wet puts us into high, freaky spirits, getting us into an uproar as we clean our weapons. We each hand over our M-16 to our platoon commander for him to inspect its cleanliness.

Then we rush to our BOQ rooms, take a nice hot shower, put on clean dry clothes, and go downstairs to the warm chow hall that had been ordered to stay open late to serve us supper. We’re in quite an uproar as we eat. Morale is high! It feels good to be daily training with guys of kindred spirits, officers in a somewhat elite corps, pulling hard together to help each other in any way we can! We’re young, full of energy and vitality! What we are doing is most exciting to us. I revel in it!

We get Thursday and Friday off for Thanksgiving. Brenda goes home to Richmond. I spend 3 nights with the Tipton family, their holiday special meal being a delicious treat like I had seldom seen. I meet more of their extended family members. Christmas season approaches. One Saturday afternoon, I drive to the Tiptons’ house. Mark tells me his mother wants me to come pick her up at the department store in Fredericksburg where she works part-time, mainly during the holiday season. Mark rides there with me, and we go inside the store to find his mother.

We 3 head home in the T-Bird front seat, Mark beside me, his mother by the door. (Mark, about 10, was the youngest of 4 children.) After getting the car rolling, I push the 8-track tape of Christmas songs into the player. From the 5 speakers surrounding us in the car, comes lively music and Tennessee Ernie’s rich bass voice singing “Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere…That Jesus Christ is Lord.”

The music and vocal are so uplifting that Mrs. Tipton and I immediately join in singing. She claps her hands to the music and then tousles Mark’s bushy head of hair as she sings, causing him to grin from ear to ear. Thru out all my boyhood in my parents’ house, they never interacted in such a “fun fashion” with me. It just wasn’t their nature to do so. I think that is regrettable. It made my upbringing quite hollow. Now, driving my nice car with this fun “performance” going on with friends is most enjoyable. More healing salve on heart calluses!

At TBS, we get one week off for Christmas, likely from the afternoon of December 22 till the morning of December 29. Then we probably got New Years Day off. Most of the single guys (and some married ones) in my company go home for Christmas. I stay. Men from my company are assigned to stand duty officer the week we have off (one lieutenant standing duty each day). I volunteer for duty on Christmas Day, so that no guy in my company will have to work on that important day.

“That was kind and thoughtful of you, Lt. Yerby.”

‘Thank you! I strive to be a kind Marine officer.’

I report for that duty at 7 AM Christmas morning at Marine Base Headquarters, or some such place apart from The Basic School. I sit at a desk in an office where a captain is on duty along with a corporal “clerk”. We 3 do nothing most all day. Our first major snow of the season starts falling early this morning, right on Christmas Day. I’m required to eat in the enlisted men’s chow hall to inspect their chow. Then in the night, I go out and inspect the duty guard walking around patrolling. The snow is a little deep by now. I wish the guard a Merry Christmas, and commend him for standing his post on a cold snowy Christmas night. Then I’m allowed to turn in and sleep most of the night.

At 7 AM on December 26, I am relieved from those 24 hours of duty. I drive carefully thru the snow to my BOQ room, sleep a while, eat lunch in the almost empty officers’ chow hall, and then drive cautiously down snowy I-95 to the Tiptons’ house. Upon entering the gravel lane to their house, my car bogs down in the snow that was getting deeper. I had neither snow tires nor chains for the tires. I walk on to the Tiptons’ house. When Mr. Tipton comes home from work, he drives around my snow-bound car with his snow-tire equipped car, and then drives the lane a couple of times to pack the snow. Then I’m able to drive my car on to their house.

I stay 3 or 4 days at their house (not driving my car any) till we resume training at Quantico. Tho Christmas Day had passed; it’s still Christmas season. Extended family members of the Tiptons come to their house almost daily. I so enjoy tasty homemade fresh oyster stew and other delicious dishes of tidewater Virginia that I had never eaten before. It’s pleasant to talk to, and get acquainted with various people I meet in the Tiptons’ house this Christmas season. I usually sleep in an upstairs bedroom, and on arising each morning I enjoy looking out on the surrounding snow-white woods and fields. Brenda had gone home to Richmond for Christmas. I’m to see her again in early January. Just as Mr. and Mrs. Mars in Birmingham, Alabama “adopted” me, so do the Tiptons here in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for blessing me so richly.

Let me back up to November when I got my 1^st pay raise after starting military active duty in late September. At that time, the U.S. usually gave all government employees an annual “cost of living allowance” pay raise (called COLA) in November. It varied yearly from 3% to 5% or so. I now welcome my 1^st pay raise in the Marines. Upon entering The Basic School, we officers were required to buy 1 uniform after another at regular intervals of 3 weeks or so, till we bought all uniforms junior officers were required to have: winter service, summer service, dress blues for winter, (dress whites for summer, that I had previously bought at Pensacola while still at Auburn), and a couple more uniforms I forgot the names of. We were required to buy a Marine officers’ sword that we wore on very rare ceremonial occasions with our dress uniforms.

Very soon after entering TBS, I joined the base credit union at Quantico, and had to borrow money a time or two to pay for the uniforms. Soon, I was surprised when a MasterCard credit card came to me in the mail. I did not have to fill out an application for it, nor did I ask for it. They considered new military officers a good enough risk to freely mail credit cards to us. To date (2024), I still use that credit card when necessary, and I have almost always paid each bill in full upon receiving each bill, not living on credit.

We Marines get New Years’ Day off from work when 1970 arrives. I rejoice when Brenda soon returns to her dorm after New Years, and we resume dating. I turn 24 years old in January.

“Lieutenant Yerby, isn’t that somewhat older than a college freshman co-ed; like ‘robbing the cradle’???”

‘I had no “Say So”, as to when God chose to create each of us. Such matters are entirely in God’s Hands. And besides, I’m a few years behind baby Brenda in social maturity.’

One Saturday evening Mr. and Mrs. Tipton were going to some event, leaving their 3 boys at home to fix their own supper, and eat in their dining room.

Mrs. Tipton told me to bring Brenda out to their house, build a fire in the fireplace in the basement, and for Brenda and me to roast hotdogs over that fire in the basement and prepare our supper there from things Mrs. Tipton would prepare and leave for us to eat. Brenda and I did that, and enjoyed a most pleasant evening in front of that warm fireplace in the cozy basement, a snow-white world outside. Never before in my life, had I had an opportunity to entertain a date in such a nice house. I am most thankful for the Tiptons’ much kindness to me, and for many fond memories of Fredericksburg, Virginia.

At TBS Quantico, from the end of Christmas vacation till we graduate at the end of February, my company spends many days training out in the field, practicing combat maneuvers while taking turns leading a fire team, squad, platoon, and even the whole company. I lead a fire team of 3 other men 1^st, and later, I lead our platoon of 46 other men in an “attack” accompanied by an armored personnel carrier and 2 tanks. That required precise co-ordination with those big hunks of steel grinding their way thru the snow as we walk alongside them. This lieutenant commanded and led to the best of his ability, and got a kick out of it. Most classroom instruction is completed by now, and it is time to put the instruction into practice out in the forests, hills and fields, “attacking the enemy”. So, I go thru that training in the cold snow.

Looking back on this time, I thank God for the perfect timing of my training at The Basic School. The lovely, mild autumn weather (when I was on the rifle and pistol firing ranges, next, following my map and compass to find my “points” for the mapping test, and such), seemed to fit those situations perfectly. Autumn made that training a joy. During my time here at TBS, there is no hot and humid fatiguing weather like I endured for 6 weeks last summer at OCS a few miles from here. At this young age, I prefer the harsh cold to the extreme heat, that saps one’s strength.

2k Proper cold weather apparel that kept my body warm day and night in ice and snow.

In November they issued us cold weather gear, insulated rubber boots to wear over our leather boots, insulated mittens to wear over our gloves, a warm “skull” cap for our head to wear under our helmet, and a well-insulated sleeping bag for sleeping comfortably on snow and ice.

Growing up, often I didn’t have sufficient warm clothing (especially for my feet and hands), when I did outdoor farm work in the winter. I recall pulling corn in December when my hands and toes grew numb from the cold. My hands would chafe, chap, and turn raw from that work in the cold. And if our family was out of glycerin or lotion to rub onto our hands after such a cold day’s work, my raw and red, cracked-skin hands would “burn” with pain at night as I tried to sleep. In our poverty, at times we had little or nothing with which to “doctor” such hurting hands.

Let me now contrast that misery of boyhood poverty to one time of training in Quantico mid-winter cold (that was much colder than Alabama). This day, we practice war maneuvers all day out in the snow. Then we lie down to sleep in the snow all night with no tent. Then we are to arise about 4 AM to carry out a pre-dawn attack in the dark.

We wore long underwear and the winter apparel I listed 2 paragraphs back. The field pack on my back had my well-insulated sleeping bag strapped below it. We were to sleep inside our sleeping bags that would keep us warm during this very cold night. But to get into the sleeping bag I would have to take off my insulated rubber boots, leather boots, mittens and gloves, and then put them back on in the pitch-black dark cold about 4 AM. The boots would be most cold at 4 AM.

So, I opt to do differently. I un-strap my nylon poncho (normally used as a raincoat) from my pack, unroll it onto the white, frozen ground, and lie down on it. Perchance, my body temperature melts some snow and ice under me as I sleep, the poncho will prevent that water from reaching my clothing. I lie face-up on my back on that poncho, wearing both pair of boots and both the gloves and outer mittens, and my warm skullcap. I put my rolled-up sleeping bag under my head for a pillow, and gaze up at lovely twinkling stars in a clear, cold sky till I soon go to sleep, and sleep quite well in the open cold on snow and ice.

Arising about 4 AM, my buddies have to do much more than I, in the dark; putting on cold boots and gloves, rolling up sleeping bags etc. Using our flashlight or any small light is forbidden, because we’re “at war” with the enemy nearby.

We attack the “enemy” in the predawn darkness, are debriefed by a colonel upon completing the attack, ride back to the BOQ on the cattle cars as daylight breaks, take hot showers, change into clean uniforms, and head to the warm chow hall for hot meals (all you want to eat). It was a good, young life! It was fun playing soldier! I enjoyed it to the hilt!

Adversity (like that cold night sleeping outdoors on the snow and ice), can be endured much easier if we are properly equipped for it, which often entails having enough money to buy the necessary equipping. Oft-times during my boyhood, my family’s poverty prevented us from being sufficiently equipped for adversities. Thus, we simply suffered. I suffered doing outdoor farm work in the cold. Returning home, there was no running hot water for a shower. I huddled near the wood burning stove or fireplace to try to keep warm. It was a life filled with plenty of misery and suffering. (I will end this 2^nd stage of betterment in life, with this 2k, thankful to the utmost for these No. 1 and No. 2 most welcome improvements in life upon entering adulthood!)

Lord God, I thank Thee for helping me to be content with food, raiment, and with the least of necessities that make me somewhat comfortable in the heat, in the cold, and in such adversities. Thank Thee; Lord, for leading me to give (much of the resources and monies with which Thou doest bless me), to poor people thru out the world to help alleviate their sufferings from their poverty. Help us all to be compassionate.

Likely it was late January or early February (nearing graduation), when our company had its Mess Night, a formal banquet to sort of celebrate our accomplishments. We wore our dress blue uniforms. No wives or dates were allowed, just Marine men.

I look at the several tiny glasses of wine at my place setting at the banquet table, and each time a toast is made to the President of the U.S, the Secretary of Defense, the highest Navy admiral, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Quantico Base Commander, The Basic School Commander, our Company Commander, (and possibly 1 or 2 more “big shots”), I hold up each designated glass in the fashion of toasting, and never once put a glass to my lips, thank God.

“You were rude!”

‘That was the mindset of some officers around me, but certainly not the Mind of my Creator and soon-coming Judge.’

Then we have an extravagant banquet meal, after which we stand around talking to our instructors, and the few “big shots” (high ranking Marine and Navy officers) that are present. A few Marines officers in my company keep chugalugging wine till they are sot drunk, a pitiful sight to see.

The next morning, my entire company loads onto buses that take us to Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base right on the ocean between Norfolk and Virginia Beach, Virginia. They well plan the drunken Mess Night so that we pass much of the next day sitting on buses, allowing the drunks some time to recover from their hangovers that hamper all useful activity by them.

That afternoon, we board 1 or more Navy ships that sail out a ways and back during the night. The next morning, we climb down the nets on the ship’s side into amphibious vehicles that take us to shore, where we disembark and attack the “enemy” (practicing an amphibious landing on a “hostile” beach). Likely that very afternoon (likely a Saturday), we ride the buses back to our BOQ at Quantico.

Soon afterward, this redneck country boy Marine lieutenant got a most special honor that scant few Marines ever get. I was one of the very few (4 or so) chosen out of our company to attend the Staff War College’s Mess Night. I think I have the name right: “Staff War College at Quantico Marine Base”.

It was a high-level school (college, training) for Marine field grade officers, majors and above, (majors, lieutenant colonels, and possibly colonels). Officers who had made field grade and were most serious about being a career officer requested to train at this Staff War College (or they were appointed and ordered to do so). The majority were majors and lieutenant colonels. These men were slated to become top ranking Marine officers to make war for our nation. They were elite Marines officers, right now in high-level strategic training, much of it being Top Secret classroom instruction.

Likely they chose a few of us 2^nd lieutenants from The Basic School to attend their mess night as “guests”, to inspire us to stay in the Marines for a career. I think my platoon leader chose me as an attendee because he knew I didn’t drink, and therefore I wouldn’t get skunk drunk and make a complete idiot out of myself in front of all those high-ranking officers, including the Commandant of the Marine Corps, 4 star General Leonard F. Chapman, Jr., the highest-ranking Marine. It was customary for the Commandant to attend The Staff War College mess night, and to give the main speech.

This was the most elite banquet I have ever attended. I dined amongst those majors and lieutenant colonels that were attending the War College. I sat amongst, and stood and chatted with their instructors who were colonels and likely a general or two. And I shook his hand, and stood and chatted with the Commandant of The U. S. Marine Corps. A photographer took my picture with my Commandant, just the 2 of us.

“Lieutenant Yerby, can I p l e a s e have your autograph!”

‘Sure, just get at the end of the long line and patiently wait! No pushing or shoving, Boy, or you won’t get an autograph!

Seriously, we few 2^nd lieutenants who were invited as guests, had to be on our best behavior. I was. And I was thankful for the privilege of attending this high-ranking U.S. Marine Corps Staff Officers’ War College Mess Night at Quantico Marine Base, meeting and chatting with the Commandant. Only a small percentage of Marines ever see their Commandant in person from a distance. Likely only a tiny fraction of a percent, ever get to shake hands with him and talk together personally. This farm boy was one of that tiny fraction. I thank God for giving me this special occasion while I was a Marine.

From the time I arrived at The Basic School last September, I gave this tough training the utmost of my physical and mental abilities in order to place as highly as possible in my class. An upbringing of hard manual farm labor naturally trained me to work to the extent of my ability. Another highly motivating factor at this critical period of Marine training is that I want to be selected for pilot training instead of being sent to Nam to lead a Marine infantry platoon in the enemy-infested jungles.

Toward the end of TBS, we will be allowed to request the MOS (military occupational skill) we desire to pursue during our active-duty time in the Marines. I intend to request “Pilot”. And I well know that the higher I stand in my class, the better chance I’ll have of being granted my first request. Thus, I study hard to make high grades on all the written tests on classroom instruction. I exert all my physical energy on the 2 or more PT (physical training) tests we are graded on. And I give my utmost on the rifle and pistol range, map and compass test, and all the training and leadership we do out in the field.

Previously, I wrote of being somewhat devastated when Major Cleveland at Auburn ignored my request to be sent directly from Auburn to pilot training at Navy Pensacola, but he instead got orders for me to come to Quantico for TBS. I was plenty sure this route was heading me straight into the Marine infantry (foot soldier).

So, upon starting TBS training, I keep my eyes and ears keenly alert to all that is said and done about our choice of a MOS. I am immensely relieved when a major lectures us on choosing our MOS, saying that all who request pilot training (and who pass the physical medical exam for pilots), will be allowed to go on to pilot training.

And it’s at this time that I first learn what I told you in Chapter 16. Because the Marines need many pilots in the Viet Nam war, Pensacola Naval Air Station cannot train them all. So, the Marine Corps got quotas with the Air Force to train jet pilots, and quotas with the Army to train helicopter pilots. Here at The Basic School, I’m permitted to request Air Force pilot training strictly for jet pilots. Had I gone to Pensacola from Auburn, I would not have been permitted to request jet pilot training at the start.

Here at Quantico, in every area I push myself to the limit of my ability, resulting in me ranking quite high in my whole company. I report to the base hospital for a physical exam by a Navy doctor. I pass it. By God’s Grace, my request for Air Force jet pilot training is granted. My roommate in the BOQ (Lt. Wright) also requests jet pilot training. He ranked somewhat lower in our class than I. He was sent to Army chopper flight training instead. Soon I receive orders to report to Vance Air Force Base, Enid, Oklahoma to start pilot training a month after graduating from The Basic School at Quantico. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for Thy Abundant Grace bestowed upon me.

About this time, the U.S. Army sends my brother, Joe, to Viet Nam to be in that ground war for one year.

As time grows nigh for me to graduate from TBS and leave Quantico, one night I drop by Fred’s room in the BOQ, chat with him a while, and bid him Farewell. (He will graduate from TBS about a month after me, he being the very last of my Auburn class to finish TBS.) Fred is gung-ho, and wants to be an infantry platoon leader in Viet Nam. I think of the likelihood of Fred being killed in Nam, and me never seeing him again in this life. (I thank God that wasn’t the case.) Anyway, I bid this Marine good buddy a warm Farewell before leaving Quantico. (I will see him again, years later.)

TBS Graduation Day is a weekday right at the end of February. The previous evening, I had packed and loaded my few belongings into the trunk and back seat of my Thunderbird, leaving the front seat empty for my 2 passengers. Brenda skips college classes today to attend my graduation. Early in the morning, I drive to the Tipton house in my dress blue uniform, pick up Mrs. Tipton, then stop by Brenda’s dorm, pick her up, and drive back to Quantico with those 2 friends.

I think our graduation was held in the base theater with The Basic School Commander (that colorful colonel) shaking each of our hands, and handing each graduate a scroll as each of us walk across the stage, when our names are called.

Our Honor Graduate (the officer who placed 1^st in our class) was a captain with a high IQ. This day, he was handed the “honor scroll” and an officers’ sword (I think), as a reward. Also, this great achievement goes onto his record. As best I recall of his history, upon graduating from the U.S. Naval Academy with honors, he got permission to go on to law school before attending TBS. Thus, he had been promoted to 1^st lieutenant and then to captain (while in law school), before entering our TBS class. So, I will call him Captain “Law” ⑧.

He was not in my platoon, so I wasn’t close around him much. I perceived him to be conceited and aloof, wrapped up in his own greatness. Three years or more later, I heard from a classmate that he was practicing low-level flight in an A-4 Sky Hawk, too low, and hit the trees. Later I heard from a different classmate that he was flying the Harrier and crashed, likely transitioning from horizontal to vertical flight to land. Either way, he was killed when he crashed. Short-lived honor.

Our Graduation Ceremony was late in the morning. Wives of all the married men attended. Several single guys had their sweethearts here, as I did. We had all moved completely out of the BOQ this morning, before the ceremony. We each had our written orders with our luggage in our vehicles. Thus, upon the ceremony’s completion, we were totally dismissed from TBS at Quantico. So, I bade hurried Farewells to buddies in my platoon. (Since that day, I have only seen about 7 or so of those men, out of the whole company.)

Back in Chapter 15, as I told you of Officers’ Candidate School in a different area at Quantico in the summer of 1968, I mentioned “kindred spirits” briefly in 1 sentence. Those “kindred spirits” were more concrete here in The Basic School, now that we are “real” officers. There is much satisfaction in bonding with fellow Marine officers during our intense training together. Thus, manly comrade emotions stir to some degree as we now part. I now have all my belongings in my car (along with orders to Air Force pilot training). It’s time to move on to new adventures playing soldier high in the sky. This day is a proud highlight in my life!

I take Mrs. Tipton and Brenda to the officers’ club for lunch, and some leisure time in that area. Then I drive us 3 back to the Tiptons’ house. There I change out of my stiff collar dress blues into comfortable civilian attire I have in my car. Brenda and I have supper with the Tipton family, and then we 2 go down into the basement to sit together in front of the glowing fireplace, chatting a while in an act of Farewell, before I drive her back to her dorm. I haven’t seen Brenda since. I pray that our Lord’s Most Abundant Blessings have been upon her and all her family. Parting from Brenda at her dorm’s entrance, I drive back to the Tiptons’ to spend the night there.

“Good night, Marine Officers’ Basic School Graduate!”

‘Thank you!’

2^nd Major Change in life, from May 1969 thru January 1970

2a A new, safe, large, nice-looking car reliable for long trips. (Ch. 19)

2b Finished with the dirty roofing job. (Chapter 19)

2c No Job Search upon graduating from university. (Ch. 19)

2d Now a Marine officer and a gentleman. (Ch. 19)

2e I gain a regular paycheck with 30 days paid vacation per year. (Ch. 19)

2f All necessary medical and dental treatment totally free. (Ch. 19)

2g I start my desired “career”. (Ch. 19)

2h No daily commute. (Chapter 20)

2i A squared away, tidy environment and uniform. (Ch. 20)

2j Proper equipment in good repair. (Ch. 20)

2k Cold weather apparel that kept me warm, day and night in ice and snow. (Ch. 20)

Precious Lord Jesus, I am most grateful to Thee for these wonderful accomplishments and betterments in life that You sent my way in 1969 and 1970. Save me from living a selfish life. Cause me to do all I can (with all the means Thou doest give unto me), to relieve the suffering of precious human souls anywhere on this earth. Amen!

The End of Chapter 20

On to Chapter 21

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