I'm guessing the Marine Corps doesn't do this anymore, but when we hit the racks at night in bootcamp the last words out of our mouths were "God Bless Chesty, wherever he is."
I'm guessing the Marine Corps doesn't do this anymore, but when we hit the racks at night in bootcamp the last words out of our mouths were "God Bless Chesty, wherever he is."
My pops was a drill at Ft. Dix, where I was hatched. He told of stories of basic during the Nam Era and how wild shit was for the Army.
I bet shit for the Corps was fucking crazy back then?
Here's one for you:
The DI's weren't permitted to hit a problem recruit. But they got around that pesky regulation by lining everybody up in front of their racks, at attention. Then the Senior DI would walk up the squad bay and give everybody, one-by-one, a punch in the stomach. If you were a squared-away private, you got a powder-puff hit that hardly hurt at all. But when he got to the fuck-ups, BAM!
The logic was, according to the SDI, "If one of you maggots reported me for hitting you, I'd be in trouble. But if all or you reported me hitting you, nobody'd believe it."![]()
I know Shelby well. Earl Scruggs came from Shelby. So did Floyd Patterson. Those two guys probably banged some of those old ladies BITD.
This guy was once part of the West Point Superintendent's staff. I knew him primarily as a cook but I'm sure he had other responsibilities as well. I only met him a couple of times but I distinctly remember how big his arms were.
I also saw him out running on post one day. Not just jogging, a full-out sprint. WAY faster than I would have expected someone that big to be able to move.
this pic popped up in my FB feed this morning and reminded me of him.