PARRIS ISLAND, S.C. – For an extended Punching the Clock, I headed out of the county, then out of state to the U.S. Marine Corps boot camp on Parris Island, South Carolina, for an educators’ workshop. Now, I went into this with a limited and probably average understanding of the Marine Corps. I mean I saw “G.I. Jane” so I figured I had a pretty rich understanding of what they are all about. In hindsight, I was dead wrong. For starters, Demi Moore depicts a Navy Seal – which is in no way part of the Marine Corps – and she also does not go through basic training. So, needless to say, it was a humbling and eye-opening experience.
Some of the more benign surprises that were in store for me included a predominance of water phobia in new recruits, which I thought was interesting considering the Marines are an amphibious strike force. One of the recruiters chaperoning us, a Sgt. Franklin, confided in me that he once greatly feared water and had been unable to swim well when he enlisted. The most interesting part for me, however, was actually speaking with the recruits who had only been on the isle for a few of weeks.
The educators first day mimicked a toned down version of what the recruits experience upon arriving at boot camp. It began with the long drive across the causeway connecting Parris Island to the mainland. Shrouded in darkness, the bus passed over the paved road constructed nearly flush with the water surrounding it on either side. Unlike the recruits, the educators and I chatted merrily while peering through the windows with sleep-blurred eyes. When the recruits’ journey to the island, they do so in silence, with their heads tucked down close to their knees while raising an arm holding up their identifications in the air.
When the bus reaches the island it proceeds to drive around the 8,000 acre base, further disorienting the sleep-deprived recruits. When it finally comes to a halt, a drill instructor comes barging on board, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Although the educators did not experience the circuitous ride, they were shocked when a uniformed drill instructor, sporting a wide brimmed hat, barreled onto the bus pushing the limits of a voice which would have made the most stoic of individuals quake in their boots. Following the drill instructors orders, the educators hurriedly filed off the bus, presumably leaving behind one or more damp seats, and scampered to fall into line.
Although the stone-faced drill instructor maintained a somber demeanor, he had no quandary using his bone jarring vocalizations to fillet the educators’ performance with his overt displeasure. When the educators finally managed to fall in, they did so spaced out on top of the infamous Yellow Footprints, yellow painted silhouettes of shoes symbolic of the Marines recruits’ quest for unity. Just as they gained their balance though, the educators were issued new orders to shift to the left. Before they had gotten no more than a few feet they were ordered back onto the footprints. This continued for a couple of minutes, interjected with various other commands just as frustratingly pointless, such as raising up the left arm and putting a thumb up and down, a disjointed dance to the sound track of a shouting drill instructor.
“Face front! Yeah right, face me!” shouted Sgt. Campas, sending the eductors into a maelstrom of confused spins.
The rhetoric Sgt. Campas utilized was decidedly toned down compared to what the recruits experienced and there was no calisthenic to go along with it.
Throughout the remainder of our time on the island, we would approach any sort of outdoor movement in this manner: For the first day, I actually opted out of formation allowing me to take notes and better observe what was going on, but on the second day, I joined in the marching being dictated by the whims of Sgt. Campas.
“Step it out! Louder, sharper, faster! I have a bunch of individuals! We are going to keep going until I hear every one of you screaming at the top of your lungs! Your not screaming so you must not understand me!”
