28 DEC 02
Introduction
and
Basic Training -- Oct 71
INTRODUCTION: Too many times we get so caught up in where we are going; we forget to look at where we have been. In this section we hope to get stories and experiences that will show young women of today just how radically things have changed for women in the military since the integration of all the Women’s services into the mainstream of the military. This does not mean that women shouldn’t continue to move forward, but just a little something to help keep perspective of how much has been accomplished within the last 30 or so years. We hope to hear stories of what basic/boot was like back then, hear what working relationships were like, special problems they encountered, how the civilian sector viewed them, what differences where there between them and their male counterparts, restrictions they experienced, and just about anything else they care to tell us about. To get this ball rolling, I will start by telling you a little about what basic training was like.
BASIC TRAINING: I joined the Women’s Army Corps on Thursday 28 October 1971 and left for basic training at Ft. McClellan (the only place were women were trained), Alabama on Saturday 30 October l971. In these days, there were no delayed enlistment, you swore your oath and you were off and running. Basic had just recently been changed from 6 weeks to 8 weeks. I spent my first week or so in the reception platoon (which is another word for waiting until they have enough women to make up an entire platoon because you learned and did nothing but clean) and finally graduated from basic the 2nd week of January. Now if you add the numbers up, this sounds like more than 8 weeks; however, we had a two week break for Christmas. There were only two platoons of women starting basic when I did. This was considered an unusually high number of women to go through at one time. My group was C1 and the other group was C2. The nickname of our company was Charming Charlie. The nickname tends to send a message doesn’t it? Basic for women was very different from basic for men. In our basic, more emphasis was put on academics and appearance than on physicality. By the time a WAC graduated from basic, she was well versed in all regulations and could almost quote them chapter and verse. This was a big achievement considering that not only did we know Army Regulations, but we also had to know WAC regulations that many men didn’t even know existed and yes, there was a complete separate set of regulations that governed “particulars” of women serving. WACs had training in First Aid, Basic Land Navigation, UCMJ, Military Protocol, Military Regulations, Grooming, Drill and Ceremonies, just to name a few. We lived in open bays with four beds with a footlocker at the end and one wall locker (and we’re talking the old gray lockers here) facing it on either side of “God’s Aisle”. We did not have Drill Sergeants, women were prohibited from going through Drill Sergeant’s School, instead we had Platoon Sergeants. We also had a Corporal who assisted the Platoon Sergeant. Outside the Platoon Sergeant’s room was a huge academic poster. To max we needed 1000 points, I don’t remember what failure was. Each class had a variety of tests that you had to take and you were scored so many points for each section. Failure to pass any test was an automatic recycle. This didn’t happen often.
Every piece of uniform that we possessed (to include underwear, each sock and each shoe) had to be labeled with name, rank, and SSN in a specific place. Getting this accomplished took hours alone. In addition to the schooling we went through, we were also required to perform so many hours in extra details like pulling post police, KP duty, and painting just about anything that wasn’t nailed down. Much time was spent in housekeeping. We literally had to iron the corners of our beds and measure the angles and measure how much sheet to fold over. Demerits were giving profusely for infractions like BUB (button unbuttoned), DW (dry wrinkles), beds not tight enough, shoes not spit shined enough, dull brass, and many other things. We were not issued fatigues, women were issued what was called a PT Uniform which consisted of a blue denim type skirt that button up the front, blue denim type shorts that button on the side and were big enough to swim in, and a blue cotton blouse. These all had to be starched so that they could stand up by themselves. You wore this outfit your entire time in basic. For regular duty days, you would wear tennis shoes with black socks, and for formal occasions, you would wear this outfit with nylons and low quarters, but cover the whole affair with your raincoat and scarf so people couldn’t see you were wearing a PT outfit. We were not allowed to wear our Class A’s until the day we graduated.
Since we didn’t have fatigues, you may wonder how we did field problems. We didn’t. During these days women training barely touched anything that dealt with war. My weapons class consisted of a man walking through the room carrying a M16 over his head saying, “This is a M16”. This was my weapons class. Remember that during this time period, women were sent to Viet Nam without the benefit of being under arms. Towards the end of our training (and if I remember right it was our 6th week) we were escorted early one Monday morning to a warehouse. In this warehouse were cast off uniforms that some went back to WWII. We were each issued a man’s wool shirt and wool trousers (some were lucky and got cotton ones). We also received a poncho, a steel pot, canteen, web belt, gas mask, and half a pup tent. These were basics for what was termed our overnighter. This is when we received our training in CBR (Chemical, Biological, and Radiological {predecessor to NBC}), how to don a gas mask, and what to do in case of a nuclear attack (which at that time was to squat facing away from the blast and put the poncho over your body for protection, learned quite a bit different since then). We learned how to construct a pup tent also. The next day we marched out to the gas chamber and went through the drill pretty much the same as you do now. The overnight excursion was to teach us how to sleep in the tents and we would also eat C-rations and have a nuclear attack. No tactics, no weapons, just learn to run and hide. For my platoon, we never got to do the overnight excursion because it was “misting” that day, so they would not march us out in inclement weather. That would never happen in today’s Army.
Physical Fitness was not ignored; however, instead of concentrating on strength building our PT was more aerobic. We did jumping jacks, leg lifts, circle O’s, toe touches, bend and reach, mountain climbers, sit ups, bent knee push ups, and many others. Instead of running, we did running in place and no slack there, if you didn’t get those knees up, you lost your points. We never rode vehicles, but marched everywhere we went. Our final PT test consisted of 50 exercises with so many running in place every 5th exercise. The running in place started with a count of 50 then went to 100 respectively after your first set of 25 exercises and after your 50 exercise broken up with running in place you ended with 250 running in place. There was no rest period taking this test, you went from one right into the other. This may sound easy, but it truly was a difficult test and most women failed due to their running in place because they could not life their knees to proper height. You were allowed 500 points on this test and must make 490 (or was it 495) to pass. This test alone was one of the major reasons (outside of personal reasons like disciplinary problems or medical problems) a WAC would be recycled and eventually released from service.
As a WAC, you may not have been “good looking”, but by the time you got done with basic you were looking good. Starch was the watchword of the day. Every outer garment you wore was soaked in starch and we had to constantly “press off”. This meant as soon as you could get a break, you broke out the ironing board and iron and a spritz bottle and pressed the wrinkles out of your uniform (to include your old gray raincoat and Havelock). Every time you got a run in your hose, they had to be immediately changed, so you learned to carry extras with you which could be a challenge in basic as you did not carry a purse, but a ditty bag that just barely held what you needed for classes. Women did not wear pants, but we were required by regulation to wear at all times a bra, underwear, slip and a girdle. The girdle part was especially irritating because they had come out with pantyhose, but we still had to wear the girdle. Women were not supposed to jiggle. They would line us up in the light to insure we had slips on and they would check to make sure we had all the other goodies on also. Women were not allowed to use their pockets, so you learned to stash your cigarettes and lighter in your bra. You also could not walk and smoke. You always had to be stationary to smoke a cigarette (well today, you’re not even supposed to smoke). If you had short hair, it had to be feminine in appearance and those of us who had long hair could not braid our hair or have ponytails. Your hair had to be affixed to your head (and never have a hair out of place) and it had to be done so that no pins, barrettes, or rubber bands showed. No bands could show under your hat. If you had them, you had to part your bangs when you placed your hat on your head. We went through classes on how to apply make-up. Although eye shadow, mascara, and such weren’t required, we were required by regulation to have to wear lipstick. Gloss and chapstick were not acceptable substitutions. Pink was acceptable, but frowned on because it didn’t show up. They preferred red. Again, although we were issued low quarters, the shoe for the day if you were not marching was heels. Placement of nametags and brass on your class A’s was difficult because unlike men, we had no pockets on our uniform and our collars were rounded not square. Once you got them placed, you marked the site and hoped that it wouldn’t shift. Most WAC’s were taught to spin their brass and were taught to use Semichrome. It just added a sharper appearance to what little we wore on our uniforms. Very few women were awarded medals, but during the period I came in we were issued as we filed out the door the National Defense Service Medal. No one told us what it was for, just that we had to wear it. For many of us it was a pain because it meant lining up one more thing on a uniform that shifts. Because of all the training we got in grooming and personal appearance, you would be hard pressed to find a WAC that didn’t shine in her uniform.
Besides looking good, we were also taught classes in etiquette and deportment. Where men could uncover in a building; women would have their hats remain on. We were also required to wear gloves in a Class A uniform whether it was your Cords (the old summer uniform) or your Greens. With the Cords, you wore a tan set of gloves and with your greens you wore a set of black leather gloves. It was not acceptable for women to swear and were to speak in pleasant tones. We were taught how to walk and how to talk. We learned the proper way to sit in a skirt or dress. You were at all times possible to present a ladylike demeanor. Women were encouraged to use umbrella’s and you were not properly dress in your Class A’s unless you carried your GI issue black shoulder purse. Now mind you it was a shoulder purse, but you could only carry it on your arm. A WAC outside of basic training, would not be caught dead in their PT uniform unless they are doing PT. This means that if the weather was hot, we could not just slip into our shorts and get comfortable. No we had to wear the full Class A outfit. Once PT was done, you covered with the skirt and went immediately and changed into the uniform of the day (after proper grooming that is).
For those women who couldn’t cut the mustard, there was only one option. You could be recycled once during basic training. This meant that you would be sent to the platoon that was one week behind yours to try to make up the discrepancies that you had. Reasons for recycling could be too many demerits, failures on test, failing drill, or failing on PT. If you could not perform up to standard after recycling, then you were sent to the Casualty Platoon for processing out of the Army. You would be sent automatically to the Casualty Platoon for fraudulent enlistment, disciplinary problems, failure to adjust, medical problems, fraternizing with male personnel, contraband, fighting, being caught in prohibited areas, and even in some cases having your contract broken. It was rare to see a woman recycled and even rarer to see one put out. It did happen, but not often.
There were rewards that could happen while you were in basic that could really bolster your flagging emotions. One was being made Squad/Platoon Leader or Assistant Squad/Platoon Leader. My platoon was lucky to have both the Squad and Platoon positions because we were training in conjunction with another platoon. Most platoons were only offered Squad Leader and Asst Squad Leader positions. It was rare to find someone in a platoon that had a college education or were over the age of 18. This made it a challenge for Platoon Sergeants to “identify” leaders. By the third week, the Platoon Sergeant had pretty much picked the permanent leaders (except they continued to rotate the assistant positions in order to give everyone a chance at a leadership position). Those of us who were chosen for “permanent” status were then tagged for Junior Leadership Training. This was additional training for leadership positions in addition to what we were learning in basic. Upon completion of this training, we were awarded a diploma showing the completion of our leadership training. One of the most competitive rewards for good work in basic that was sought after by women was being assigned to the Drill Team. This is exactly what you think it is sans weapons. You learned to do show drill (and one of my favorite moves was the razzle dazzle) and the team was used for exhibitions for graduations or visiting dignitaries. If nothing else, we women could march up a storm. Another big reward was being chosen to be on the flag detail at WAC Headquarters. This was only during your last week of training and only the best of the best were selected for this honor. The biggest reward was being chosen for advancement to E2 (there were no Stripes for Skills, everyone entered as a E1) at the end of basic. Only 5% of the platoon was awarded the advancement.
The hardest thing about basic training in these days was high stress level. You were constantly doing something and given tasks with impossible time frames in which to complete them. You were thrown massive amounts of information that had to be absorbed in a short period of time. Attention to detail was very important and any little flaw would trip you up. Working with starch took lots of time – time to wash the uniform, dry the uniform, soak it in the starch, dry the uniform, and press the uniform. You didn’t just wax and buff floors, you scrubbed the floor on your hands and knees, you applied the paste wax (and usually with a sanitary pad), then you buffed the floor, then you buffed did a final buffing of the floor to take out the buff marks so that it looked like a sheet of glass. You learned who excelled at what and traded off menial tasks. I got merits on my bed making, so I made beds, but I couldn’t spit shine worth a darn back then, so someone else did my shoes. Someone who could fold properly would align the footlockers, another would dress and cover the lockers, and someone else would do the washing and ironing. You learned to make the most of someone’s strengths and cover for the other person’s weakness. Those who did well academically would tutor those who had problems, same for tutoring those who had problems with drill or PT. We really did clean grout with toothbrushes and shine the chrome in the latrine. Assigning tasks that were impossible to complete in the first week, became old hat by the last week because they had taught us to work as a team.
Believe it or not, this was only a quick look at what we did, but I think it will give you an idea of how different things were. I look forward to sharing other experiences and telling of some of the “quirky” things we dealt with. I also hope this will encourage others to share. I will end this by saying that we have “Come a long way, Baby!” but we need to see where we came from and I think it will help you appreciate that what these women endured quietly led to the advancement of women in the military as whole, just like our processor’s blazed a new path for us.
27 DEC 02
"Why I Joined the USMC -- 1962"
When people ask me why -- why did I join the Marine Corps -- I give the usual pat answer. Wrong line at the post office or I got a guy pregnant. But then I give them the serious answer. I'd been patriotic even before my first Letter to the Editor, written when I was eleven years old. Tears welled up in my eyes at parades, I played Army with my boy cousin and his buddies, and dreamed about traveling around the world. Mt. Morris, NY, the town where I grew up, was a place without much opportunity after high school.
College in 1961 was a goal for the more affluent. Driving to Rochester to work at something wasn't possible as I had neither a license nor a car. I often thought about the service. There was an old TV show on that featured a WAVE and I'd seen movies featuring women in the service. My thought was that they traveled and got to see a lot a lot of places I'd probably never see and they served their country. I never gave much thought to the training even after finally talking to a Marine recruiter in the spring of 1962. Neither of the two Sergeants I dealt with emphasized the harshness of boot camp. I chose the Marine Corps because it was the most elite with the fewest women. I also chose it because of the WWII movies I'd seen featuring Marines. I already had an inkling of what Esprit de Corps meant. I took the test and passed; discussed it with my mother and with my father by long distance. They were in favor of it although they had their doubts about me sticking to it. They (nor I) didn't realize that once in, there was no way out. I was an only child and lacked discipline in a lot of ways. My parents were divorced when I was fifteen and I lived with my father in Florida for a while and was more or less my own boss from then on. Whatever their doubts, they supported my decision. A couple of weeks after my physical in Buffalo, I went back there, raised my right hand and left on a train with another recruit for Yemassee, SC. A bus picked us up and took us to Parris Island. Since we arrived in the middle of the night, we were shown to our bunks and had four hours of sleep before our lives changed forever.
The next days were a blur of activity filled with feelings of nausea, fear, excitement, bewilderment, regret, enthusiasm, more fear, desperation, and a feeling of being trapped with no way out. It took me longer to adjust. I did too well in my classes to convince them that I wasn't cut out for Marine Corps life. I did try to convey that in many ways. Dying shoes, sewing on name tags and domestic things like that were just not up my alley. I caught on to drilling and even PT. I adjusted to being yelled at. Although stories told by many Marines will tell of hearing the WM Sgt.'s and Cpl.'s swearing and cursing the recruits out, I never heard one curse word from them. Not to say they weren't mean and green. They were all of that. 1962 I'm sure was a lot different from later years. The training itself has become harder and harder and more like the male's training based on what other women who enlisted in the Corps have told me. We had no slack but a lot of our time was spent in the classroom preparing. Preparing not to fight, but to free men to fight. That was our role so there was no rifle range. We did go through the gas chamber, the high dive off the board with full combat gear on (sans a rifle), there were no long hikes or obstacle courses at that time for the women. Graduation day was the first day we had any freedom and we went main side where most of us had ice cream sundaes to celebrate. As I sat there I could hardly believe that I made it. I would miss the camaraderie and the girls I had gotten to know through these eight weeks. Only seven others were out-posting to Camp LeJeune. We had a ten day leave waiting for us the next day. As I sat there still thinking back on the training and trying to really believe I'd made it, I heard a man call my name. None of my family had come to the graduation. Hardly any parents were there. In 1962 traveling further than fifty miles was a major event. I turned to look and saw a boy from my hometown who I had gone to school with. He was in the band at Parris Island. I'd heard he'd enlisted but to run into him on the only day on the Island that I had a two hour window of freedom was a minor miracle. We talked for a few minutes and then I walked back to the barracks with my friends, standing tall and feeling prouder than I ever had in my eighteen some years. We sang Sentimental Journey that night after lights out and the next day we said good bye to PI. It was over but in reality it had only just begun.
Boot leave was a short ten days but in a way, I could hardly wait to report to Camp LeJeune. We were asked to put down three choices as far as where we might like to be stationed (nothing was guaranteed). They tried to give us one of those choices. I chose those closest to my home, LeJeune was my third choice. HQMC was my first but at the time they had no need for a 2500 MOS. The sounds, smells and memories of Parris Island stayed with me during leave. I could hear the oscillating fans that were going day and night during the first four weeks I was there. The smell of the wax on the squad-bay floor, even the smell of the freshly ironed clothes hanging in the laundry room stayed with me. The sounds of cadence rung in my ears. Day to day routines were embedded in my brain. I remembered the eerie quietness of the base one night when I was sent to secure a classroom where the light had been left on. It was after lights out and I was alone, probably for the first time ever during training. I looked up at the sky brightly lit with stars and was absolutely in awe about where I was and what I was doing. I was at Parris Island, SC walking down a road with keys in my hand to unlock a building belonging to the United States Marine Corps. In less than two weeks I'd earn the title of Marine. Only a few short weeks ago I was a civilian on the road to nowhere. Now I had purpose and commitment. I loved the cleanliness; the orderliness of the Corps. Everything was squared away, and if for some reason it wasn't, it would be in short order.
Therein was the disappointment when reporting in at Camp LeJeune. Again, I arrived in the middle of the night for reasons only known to the fates. The Marine on watch took me to my bunk. I walked through the common area and saw disarray. Looking back now, it doesn't seem all that bad, but then? Right out of PI? I did sleep, albeit restlessly with this "concern" in the back of my mind. How could this be a Marine Corps barracks? They didn't prepare us for this at PI. So I had to find rhyme nor reason to it. It didn't take long. I formally reported aboard, and found that, coincidentally, my bunk mate was the company clerk. She had introduced herself and welcomed me at reveille but I didn't know where on the base she worked. I think she withheld that to surprise me. Being the company clerk she picked me for her new bunkmate, I guess based on my last name or because she'd never met anyone from NY, I really don't know. She helped me immensely to adjust. I found out that the barracks did sparkle on field night once a week and was always left squared away before everyone left for work in the morning. I saw that when returning to my area. I can't say it was Parris Island caliber but it was much better than what I'd seen in the middle of the night. At the moment though I still wished I had been sent back to PI for permanent duty or to HQMC.
I found one girl from my platoon who was in my squad-bay and she was also a 2500. We reported in together to the Base Communications Center and soon became the best of friends. The Comm center was in the basement of Building #1, the headquarters for Marine Corps Base. During the day while in the uniform of the day, we entered through the front door. For watches that began at 1600 or 2330, wearing utility uniforms, we entered through a window and climbed down a ladder which went into the main room of the Comm center. I met other women who worked on one of four watches. Most of them were billeted in Upper Port whereas I was in Upper Starboard along with Evelyn, my friend from boot camp. Our squad-bay wasn't cut out for watch standers so we had to make many adjustments. We were excused from inspections when coming off of mid-watches so we had to find someplace else to sleep such as on the pool table at the club etc. I became close with most of the Comm girls, as we were called, and found most of us had the same experiences regarding life in the Marine Corps at Camp LeJeune.
On the way to the base, the night I arrived at LeJeune from J'ville, I was on a bus with around forty Marines. All male. By the time I got off the bus, several of those Marines had volunteered to show me around the base and nearby town. I thought it was so nice of them. This is another thing that they hadn't prepared us for at PI. The onslaught of men, especially when stationed at a remote base such as LeJeune. Women were few and far between. I was told at that time there were 40,000 men and 150 women stationed there. There were some women in J'ville and the surrounding area, but a city it wasn't. The other new arrivals experienced the same friendliness from the troops and there is no doubt that those first few weeks on base was a head turning time. There was a lot to learn work wise, barracks wise and socially. We were prepared for hard work and we were prepared for inspections and the military way of life. I even recall being talked to about our moral code so to speak. However, keeping in mind what we went through to become Marines wasn't emphasized. Maybe it shouldn't have had to have been. {In my opinion a full course of how to handle the attention would have been very helpful.} So far, I would say, the first two months aboard, the gung-ho feeling we'd been so high on at graduation took a back seat to our new celebrity status. It may not have happened to every woman to set foot at MCB CamLej, but the majority were definitely affected by the non stop attention. Most of us figured it out on our own in time to re-prioritze and regroup so to speak. It wasn't us as individuals that the men were interested in, it was just that we were of a different gender; plain and simple. The men who became an important part of our all around lives at LeJeune were the Marines we worked with day in and day out. We worked every other weekend twelve hours on; twelve hours off. We went on burn runs (an era before paper shredding) worked side by side night and day, field dayed the Comm center, and our friendships grew just as they did between men in the field or in a war. I saw very few women become career Marines. It may have been different at other bases or it may have been because two events had yet to occur and when they did, life as we knew it would cease.
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