By Ken DeHaas
2/1 H&S 70-71
WELCOME MAGGOTS
Here is a short preface to the many random recollections to follow.
I was a member of First Battalion, Platoon 182, Parris
Island Recruit Depot. My Plt. commenced
training on
CHANGE STEP
Our platoon was about 3 weeks away from graduation. By this time the initial shock had diminished markedly. So much in fact that I made the foolish decision to make a token display of my growing confidence. We were marching in cadence to evening chow when I decided to execute a “change step” on my own. I even chuckled as I performed the move. Next thing I know I’m doubled over gasping for air! SSgt Boone had seen my little exhibition and had launched a lightning fast fist into my unsuspecting gut. He ordered me to report to him after chow. Just great! This was all I needed. Endless hours of side straddle mother f---ers, or maybe some quality time spent learning to walk like a duck. Perhaps the worst scenario of all would come to pass. My platoon would suffer along with me because of me. Well I made the extremely risky decision not to report as ordered. With graduation right around the corner I figured that our DI’s had their hands full with all the final preparations. I was gambling that with so much to attend to, SSgt Boone just might not remember his instructions for me to report to him for an attitude adjustment. Filed back into the squad bay after chow. I didn’t do the “Bam Bam Bam, Sir Private DeHaas reporting as ordered Sir” routine. I was certain that SSgt Boone would remember and descend upon me like the drill instructor from Hell. But he never did. Whew!!!
SMOKERS DRAW ONE
Sometimes during the processing phase smokers and non-smokers were ordered to form up in two separate columns. And the DI’s weren’t being very patient. This was my chance to quit the habit. But man I needed more than a few seconds to decide. At the last second I jumped into the cigarette line. I was issued a carton of my favorite smokes along with a box of yellow book matches adorned with the Marine Corps emblem. Found myself wondering if the carton would last me the entire nine weeks. As it turns out, just one pack of Winstons would have been over kill. The whole time at PI I had maybe seven or eight authorized cigs. Actually our days were so filled with the process of transforming us worthless scumbags into Marines, that I scarcely had time to think of smoking. If you had a flawless close order drill session, a good day at the rifle range, or if for whatever reason our DI of the moment was in a good mood, we would hear this eagerly awaited command: “Smokers draw one. Non smokers make an extended head call”. In civilian speak this means, “Smokers get into your foot lockers, take out a cigarette and some matches and prepare to smoke”. “Non smokers, you get some extra time in the bathroom”. Us tobacco addicts formed up around the wash racks. Upon receiving the order to light up we commenced to smoke in unison. Guess you could call it close order smoking. After the smoking lamp was extinguished we double timed back up to our second floor squad bay, our heads spinning from the tobacco rush.
PHOTO SHOOT
About a third of the way through boot camp, Platoon 182 was
informed that it was time to have their individual pictures taken for the
graduation yearbook. With the DI’s shock
and awe campaign in full force, having my photo taken was close to the last
thing on my mind. I found myself getting
excited at the prospect of having my picture taken in Dress Blues! What a proud and unforgettable moment this
was sure to be. My chest expanded at
just the thought of it. We formed up on
the parade field, better known as the Grinder.
We were soon marching to the singing cadence of “She Wore a Yellow
Ribbon”. GySgt Dotson took the liberty
of replacing “Soldier” with “Raider” in the lyrics. Whenever Dotson’s Devils stepped out to this
old patriotic song, chills ran up and down my spine. Dare say that many onlookers were spellbound
with our marching rendition. Made the
wrong assumption that we were headed to a USMC tailor shop to be custom fitted
for our Dress Blue uniforms. Platoon
Halt!!! We stopped in front of two typical military buildings. We formed single file at the entrance to the
nearest building and guess what? This
was the long awaited photo session. I
finally passed through the hatch and was ushered to a chair in the rear, center
of the room. On a nearby table lay three
dress blue jackets, small, medium, large.
Along with the jackets were three barracks covers in corresponding
sizes. A couple of photographer’s
assistants outfitted me with the proper combo and “Flash”, my black and white
portrait was captured for our graduation book.
The fake blues were easily and hastily stripped from me as another
potential Marine hurriedly took my place in the chair. I doubled timed out the hatch and into formation
in front of the other building. The Gas
Chamber!!
THE GREEN STREAMER
Throughout the course of our civilian to Marine conversion,
the four platoons in a series, competed for the top spot in several key areas
of USMC expertise. Different colored
streamers were awarded to the most proficient platoon in each discipline. Actually GySgt Dotson would receive any
winning streamers in our stead, seeing as he was our head coach. We would be allowed to share in his conquest
and to share in his wrath if we were vanquished. Any or all of those triumphant pennants were
proudly displayed from our guidon. It
was the 1st squad leader’s privilege to bear our flagpole. Platoon 182’s bright yellow flag was boldly
emblazoned with the image of an imposing Devil.
Not just any devil, but “Dotson’s Devils”!! Back in my day I believe
there were six or seven streamers that were up for grabs. But without a doubt senior drill instructors
coveted these two the most. “Red”
Streamer for the rifle range elite and “Green” Streamer for the Final Drill
Competition cream of the crop. To this
day I really believe that our SDI expected to garner both the Red and Green
pennants. I was one of several that let
our platoon down on qualification day at the range. Needed a score of 190 to qualify as a low end
Marksman. My final score was 188,
Non-Qual. GySgt Dotson had a couple of
garbage cans full of ice and cans of Coke in anticipation of capturing the Red
Streamer. Got a Coke anyway, but
needless to say this was not a joyful afternoon at the rifle range squad bay. By the way, this was the first of only two
Coca-Cola’s that we got the whole time in boot camp. Anyway, on to the crux of this story. Word had it that GySgt Dotson’s three or four
previous platoons had all garnered him Green Streamers. Our preliminary drill competition in the
early weeks was impressive. But the
closer it came to the final showdown, the more we began to hear persistent
rumors that the upcoming competition was fixed in the favor of a rival
platoon. Of course we were a little
restless, yet we were more than ready for the challenge. As far as Platoon 182 was concerned, we had
the best cadence caller and close order driller in all of
WE DON’T WANT NO MAGGIES DRAWERS
To this very day any boot from
We don’t want no maggie’s drawers, honey, honey.
We don’t want no maggie’s drawers, babe, babe.
We don’t want no maggie’s drawers…
All we want are 6’s and 4’s.
Honey oh babe be mine.
Go to your left, your right, your left.
Go to your left, your right, your left.