I've been a women Marine for 19-years. As a combat correspondent (photojournalist), I have been one of the few privileged to work on Naval ships for short periods of time, train in the filed with grunts around the

world, and fly with the wing. This was in the 1980s, long before women were "allowed" to do these things.

I am proud of my accomplishments and always felt I provided a strong role model for other women, but especially my daughter.

After 19-years I've watched the military system change to except women on equal terms. However, it seems that misinformation still exists that keeps a few of us down. During this current tour, I encountered it in the strangest place of all.....my 11-year-old daughters 6th grade class.

I enrolled her in a private Catholic school in the south to ensure she was getting a quality education. She never mentioned what her mom did for a living to her friends or teachers, other than a journalist, and that was fine with me. Living in a civilian community can be difficult for military children.

One day she returned home and asked if I could teach a class at her school, in uniform. I thought this was a strange request, and asked why. She proceeded to tell me the events of the day. It seemed her history teacher

spent an hour lecturing on the military, and particularly the Marines. She went on to say how women where not allowed to be Marines, because they were too weak. That there were no women in the Marine Corps because they couldn't handle the physical demands and the stresses the way men do.

I asked my daughter if she defended me, she said "No, mom. I was angry, but I figured I'd just bring you to class in uniform, and you can square the teacher away."

Well.... lets just say a woman Marine gunnery sergeant in dress blues showed up for school the next day to give a class, and I'm proud to report for all women Marines, that teacher is now squared away!

Picture an 18 year old girl who had never been on an airplane and who had only been in 3 states in her life, WA, Or and Ca and who was on the way to Ft McClellan Alabama to participate in WAC Basic Training.

Don't remember the airports we stopped in but do remember the arrival at Ft McClellan. There were 3 of us together and we were sent over to the mess hall where we choked down some meat loaf, potatoes and the hardest brownies I had ever felt in my life. We were afraid not to eat it all.

Back to the barracks where this woman started screaming at us to get into the showers and then back out so we could learn how to roll up our underwear. Roll up our UNDERWEAR?????!!!!!! What had I got myself into? As the night wore on, more and more people showed and and the same routine of being screamed at to get in the showers, etc. By then I felt like an old veteran. Finally, we were told we could go to bed.

Well, the mattress on the bed was about 2 inches thick and the 2 blankets, one over the pillow and the other over the rest of the bed were as tight as anything I had ever seen. I gingerly removed the blanket from the pillow area, crawled into the bed and slept at attention all night, afraid to mess up the bed.

I survived the first night and many more to come and have never regretted my decision to join.

My fondest memories while serving 9 years in the Navy were while I was aboard the U.S.S. Samuel Gompers. I went aboard for duty in October of 1988. This was my first sea duty command. I had been at an air squadron (VS-41) out of NASNI San Diego, CA, for six years prior to reporting to my ship. When I first walked down the pier I was at awe to see this huge, but beautiful ship. It had been six years since boot camp and I forgot how to even aboard the ship. I watched as others went in front of me and learned real quick. After walking up to the Officer of the Deck in high heels and my Navy Blues (wearing my skirt) I realized that was the wrong thing to be wearing. I also had to carry my seabag. This was very hard and I about broke my neck.

The officer of the deck had the seaman of the watch take me to personnel. After Climbing about five sets of ladders, I checked in and they escorted me to the berthing (sleeping quarters) area, which would be my new home for the next two years. At first I was on the top bunk of three bunks. I had to lift the top of my rack (bed) and inside the rack was four compartments and a drawer to put all my clothes and belongings in. This was kind of an unusual experience considering I was only 4 foot 11 inches and the bed seemed sky high. Eventually I was moved into the middle rack, (which is considered to be the best rack).

The first day there I discovered a line which was a half an hour long just to get your meal. Voices were coming over the P.A. system. Bells were ringing, alarms going off, and a voice saying to stand fast. I thought what in the world did I get myself into.

While aboard this ship I learned to appreciate the little things in life. I was taught basically how to survive and adapt to any kind of life style. I learned how to put out a fire. I learned how to save a persons life. The ship even sent me to Navigation School to learn how to track radar and help plot the ship. I learned to identify different kinds of allies and enemy ships. I communicated with pilots from ship to air. I watched as our ship refueled out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I watched as they transported a man from our ship to another while out in the middle of the Pacific.

Our ship went to foreign ports like Japan, Hong Kong, Korea and the Philippines. We even went to Hawaii. I had a chance to see how other cultures live and how good it is to live in the United States. I have met so many people from around the world.

When people say it is boring out to sea, they are wrong. We had what we called Steel Beach Picnics, (a picnic on the flight deck), we had a talent show and game contest in the galley (mess decks), we had Aerobics classes twice a day on the flight deck. We had two gyms. Plus we had very little sleep. Being out to sea is a 24 hour job.

I had more fun and more experience in the two years while aboard ship than I have ever had in my whole life. I have since been out for eight years as a disabled veteran. Had I had the choice, by now I would have been in for 17 years and three more before retirement. It was truly the best experience one could have and I would recommend it to anyone who has the desire to join.

I will pin on my new rank October. I didn't really think anything about it except for the pay and getting new uniforms. Until today. I had the honor of being door guard for a brief period while the person I was replacing went to sickcall. In an office, not my own, down the hall I could here two brand new airman basics talking. As they discussed their views on their new lives in the military I felt the responsibility settle in. We all have had the discussion they were having which mainly consisted of "It's not fair" and "The way it should be..". What brought it home to me was the fact that I no longer saw their side of it. I was shocked to learn that somewhere along the way I had got "the big picture". It started me thinking. When had it happened? When did I become one of "them"?

Images came to mind. I was walking through the CBPO (MPF now) on my daily search for coffee when I heard absolutely nothing. I did not hear telephones ringing, people talking, or even the old printers shaking the tables through to the next floors. It felt like I was a person out of time. Then I heard it. The voice was scratchy and tinny. It came from a beat up old radio. "We are at War." I still shiver when I recall that. It was like a banshee called the name of everyone I knew in the military. It scared me.

Another time came to mind. It was during an exercise. Everyone was to bunk down in a common area. I was with the SP squadron then so all of my other would be bunk mates were male. The individual in charge of the area wouldn't hear of me bunking down with everyone else so he shipped me off. I wrapped up in my bag as best as possible and tried to sleep. I woke up when I heard the sound of two voices. It was my commander and the Chief. As I listened they talked about "the kids" and what to do to make sure that hot coffee and heater fuel went out to them first. They sat and talked for about an hour never knowing I was there listening. The words that stick in my mind are, "These shifts are getting longer." "You're just getting older." "Hah! You should know you wiped the water from my ears...." I was amazed! These harsh old men used to be young. Unthinkable.

Other more personal images came to mind but those really stuck out. I realized the big picture was like bits and pieces of a puzzle. You put each piece in with your experience. I don't know yet how big the puzzle is but I know that a few pieces fell into place today.

I would like to address the second message in the Vignettes subject area. It is obvious that this young lady became extremely frustrated with USAF "ammo" career field. I am a retired AF explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) person who performed the duties of an ammo troop in the old Strategic Air Command (SAC) because SAC did not have that career field assigned in the 1960s. Anyhow, I think women must realize that the ammo career field has always been a macho area. I guess you can say it's a mind-set that is and forever will be hard to break. I think it stems from the fact that the work has at times required a strong back to move bombs, ammo boxes, etc. Some of the men in the field - right or wrong - perceive women as not being able to help do the heavy work during those times of a heavy strength requirements. I think they forget that many of the men in the ammo field are of small stature too.

I believe that any woman who makes it through 20 years in the USAF as an ammo troop is "one tough cookie". I know that she has to have put up with a lot of negatives to reach that goal. She has to be a real diplomat too. I have all the respect in the world for that woman.

I am a seventh generation Marine, retired medically after a serious injury, but as we all know, there is no such thing as an ex-Marine. My worst moments were the times when, as a truck driver in the Corps, I had to carry the bodies of those who were killed in the Beirut bombing, back to Camp Lejeune. The entire twenty something miles between Cherry Point and Camp Lejeune had been decorated by the people living there, with black and yellow ribbons, and I don't recall a single foot of that road, without someone standing there, hat in hand, welcoming the Marines home. By the time I got to the main gate, I was crying so hard I could barely see, and I've never forgotten that moment, or the news reporter who jumped onto my truck and shoved a camera in my face. The guard at the gate jerked the reporter off and told him, "Touch that Marine again, and I'll break you in half!"

The best moment, or at least the one I will always remember with delight, was, believe it or not, one day while I was on Burial Detail. In the Marines, its a six month special assignment, and I was chosen to drive the bus to and from the burials. On this one day, we had a very young lieutenant, who was terrified at being in charge of a group of Marines who had more time in the Mess hall than he did in the Corps.

The church that we were to go to, was a small, very remote little white frame building outside of Smithfield, N.C., and it took us nearly two hours to get there. I was still trying to find the right church when the LT saw a church, told me to stop, and formed up the unit to do the honors as a hearse arrived. Two hours later, at the graveside service, when the salute had been fired, and the trumpeter blew Taps, the Lt. bent and put the folded flag into the hands of an ancient old woman who gave him a watery smile, "Oh Henry would have loved this... he always did want to be in the Marines..." Yep, wrong funeral. We were all trying to keep from laughing as the Lt. got onto the bus looking horrified, but one of the Sergeants at the back of the bus finally said calmly, "Lieutenant, if you want that flag back, you can do it yourself... I am not about to ruin her day..." The end result of that, was that the LT. was transferred to Greenland, and a new order came out, that all burial details were to arrive at the burial sight, check the name of the deceased before doing the honors.

That was the Marine Corps to me, a mixture of pain and laughter, incredibly wonderful people, and unforgettable times, highlighted by sorrow, pride, great joy and deep loss.

I am new to this site, but would like to share my career track. Sometimes the odds are against us, but we manage to go forward, anyway! I was the first woman ever assigned to [an overseas location] in the munitions career field. I was 18 years old in 1987, and quite nervous about my first assignment. There were 24 men waiting for me as I got off the airplane that night, and they laughed when they saw me. This began a long legacy of long days. I didn't realize that prior to my arrival there, the commander had a long talk with the "boys" and made them take down their Playboy calendars, clean the bathroom and get the place in order. This didn't go over too well with them, and they decided that they would make sure I was gone quickly, in order to restore the "proper" environment. So, before I ever set foot in this country, I was doomed!

My duty began in February 1987, and by the next February, I had accumulated 21 negative incident reports and was awaiting an Article 15, Nonjudicial Punishment. By this time, I'd been sexually assaulted twice, and poorly trained in order to be set up for failure and further negative paperwork (a guy who was leaving came forward on my behalf and testified to that fact). Needless to say, I was a wreck. Paranoid, stressed out, and no one to choke. The commander decided he wanted a written statement from me prior to announcing his punishment for the Article 15, and I wrote him three pages typewritten, encompassing all the things they'd done to me in that first 12 months. The next day, he tore the Article 15 in half in front of me, and said he was sorry for all that I'd been through. The flight chief was fired, and my new career in the Air Force finally began. From there, I became a training NCO, which was an awesome career field. I was sent to [another overseas, remote, location] for a year as an Ammo troop, and this time, it was different. My experience in training was something they desperately needed there, and I had enough confidence to stand my ground with them and gained their respect. I did get assaulted again (bet you'd never guess. . . an E-7, drunk old rowdy ammo troop with alibis a mile wide) but this time, I took justice into my own hands & ensured his gaining commander knew what an idiot he is. He'll never see E-8. Three years later, I am going into Air Force recruiting. What a difference! For us, it is not like other services where people are forced to recruit. We have to apply & be accepted for the job, and screening is tough. I now have a CONUS assignment and am on top of the world with only 8 more years to go till retirement! If I am really, really lucky, I hope to see E-7 before then. My dreams of being an E-9 will never be, because of the poor performance reports I got in that old Ammo dump. But the wealth of experience and confidence I have gained, along with wonderful people I have met, has made it well worth the journey. To those of you who are suffering, Hang In There! You can do it! If you ever want to e-mail me concerning such issues, feel free. Or for any other reason! Thank you for the opportunity to share.

I got my call the last week of January, 91. Report to Fort McCoy, WI for activation. Got to Ft McCoy, reported to Readiness Training Group. Some Captain said, "Boy, are we glad to see you." "Why?" I asked. His reply was "We found out that you are an instructor and you have the Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) of an 88M (Truck Driver). My reply, "I haven't driven a truck in 12 years." The captain's reply was "We need an instructor to get 47 soldiers "duty qualified" to drive trucks in the next 2 weeks or even earlier. But there is a problem, all of this unit's vehicles have been shipped to Saudi and they drive M916. Number one, I had never driven one and number two there were no M916 trucks at Ft. McCoy, WI. Next day, Readiness located some M916 trucks in a little town south of Ft. McCoy at a National Guard Armory. First I had to get the manual and "rehearse" driving this truck, get certified to drive one and then get a crew together and pick up these trucks. Believe me, the National Guard was not happy giving up their brand new trucks, but they had no choice. I got back, trained the soldiers for 2 weeks straight. I am happy to report, those soldiers got "duty qualified, went for six months and returned safely. They were with a reserve unit from Bellville, IL, the 9 something. There nickname was the "The Redball". I'm sorry, that I didn't get to go to Saudi as I wanted to, but I did meet a great bunch of people that went.

My career started in the Regular Army in 1982 for three years and then four years in the Reserves. At that point I decided I wanted to be on Active Duty again but not in the Regular Army so I became an Army Reserve Recruiter (it only lasted three years - THANK GOD). As you may remember, there was much controversy in the country while our troops were being deployed to Saudi Arabia and many of the recruiting offices were being threaten and even vandalized. A few days before Desert Storm started our Station Commander told us that if the situation escalated we would close down immediately. He did not want to endanger us any more than the advertisement of our uniforms.

He kept his word and it is a moment I will never forget. His mother called to say she was watching CNN and the war was in full force. He hung up the phone, told me to call the local police department to ask for additional patrol around the office and ordered us to leave (there were seven of us assigned at that time).

The next day is another I will never forget. The office was buzzing with citizens hoping to get a piece of those "towel heads." At one point I had five people sitting at my desk ready to enlist. Unfortunately, none of them were qualified and they all were extremely disappointed.

The most difficult part of that whole time was that I was watching friends of mine being deployed and I felt I should be going with them. One friend was in one of the first units to be deployed. It was extremely emotional to see her go - not knowing if she would be coming back in one piece. However, on the other side of that, when her unit returned the airport was filled with media, family, friends, and unknown well-wishers.

It was as if the country was trying to redeem itself for the way the veterans of Vietnam were treated while they were over there and when they returned. I remember the radio the stations putting audio clips of family members into songs; the campaigns to send cards and letters to Any Soldier/Sailor; the sweatshirts that had "Support Our Troops" decals on them; the yellow ribbons on poles, trees, front doors, and car antennas. Anything to make the troops feel as though they were doing the right thing.

It was difficult for those of us that couldn't get out of our assignments to go over an help - that's what we were trained to do and they wouldn't let us. Our job was to be a REMF and fill up the vacancies. We felt left behind.

The most agonizing of all was a letter I received from a friend that was pulled out of recruiting by the 82d Airborne to go to Saudi. He felt as though the country didn't support them (just like Vietnam) and they would be treated poorly when they returned. I tried to reassure him that it was very different - they were being revered rather than ridiculed.

I hope the letters, cards, packages, photos, and anything else that was sent over there helped to lift the spirits of those that needed it.

14 Sep 96: Submitted by an USAF active duty female Chief Master Sergeant* (E-9):

"My Supervisor"

Some of my fondest memories in the Air Force are those when my supervisor taught me lessons in leadership. These lessons I learned were never the result of a lecture or briefing but everyday examples of real leadership. I think that is something to remember when supervising to just be a good example.

One time back in the early 1980s, we were in my shop and involved in an exercise at RAF Alconbury, United Kingdom. I was a senior airman (SRA) and my boss was a Technical Sergeant (TSgt). We were assigned to the Combat Support Group, in Reproduction. The name has been changed several times and we are now Printing Management.

We were in the middle of an alert and the yellow siren went off. We were running offset presses at the time but we were supposed to don our gas masks. We did that, and waited for the red signal. My boss Don H. had on his mask and we were very uncomfortable. At the time, I was thinking "is this what I have to look forward to the rest of my enlistment?" Well, Don wore glasses and he couldn't see very well without them. He didn't have inserts for his gas mask and so he put his black Air Force issue glasses on over his gas mask. He looked so funny, I laughed hysterically, and thought how great it was to be able to laugh with my boss. What made it so special is that he could have been a hard nose and required us to sit quietly and sweat in our masks but he was able to be humorous and still succeed in meeting the mission. This was important to me especially when alerts were not a priority in an Airman's life. I had developed respect for TSgt H. already by that time and that day just made the Air Force all worthwhile. I think that was when I realized that being in the military was not just a job but a life-style.

TSgt Don H. retired in 1983 after returning to the states. I spoke to him recently after being out of touch for almost 15 years. I told him this story and it really surprised him that he had made a difference in my life and career. I'm now a supervisor and I try to remember that being an example is more important than any lecture or book knowledge.