Lasting Visions

It Comes With the Rank

by Frederick Fenwick

A Merriam Press Military Monograph 135

• Paperback (ISBN 978-1470069292) — #MM135-P —  $21.95
• Hardcover (ISBN 978-1-257-85325-0) — #MM135-H —  $46.95
• PDF file on DVD disk by mail — #MM135-PDF — $4.99
• PDF file with immediate download after purchase available here.
• eBook file with immediate download after purchase available here.
  [Note: this is an ePub file that works on the iPad, Nook and most eBook readers but it will not work on the Kindle.]
  
• First Edition (July 2011)
• 530 – 6 × 9 inch pages
• 49 photos
• Booksellers: This title is available in paperback direct from Merriam Press at a discount as well as distributors; hardcover is available only from distributors.
  

The author joined the United States Marine Corps at the young age of eighteen. His destiny was to serve his country as a Marine and make the Marine Corps his career. Thirty years later he retired at the highest enlisted rank of Sergeant Major. He reported to Parris
Island, South Carolina in 1969 for recruit training and retired in 1999. During his initial first three year enlistment he would serve in Vietnam and Okinawa.

In August 2010 he published his first non-fiction book titled Lasting Visions: With the 7th Marines in Vietnam 1970. It captured his first year and a half in the Marine Corps. His first book takes you through combat in Vietnam and his subsequent tour in Okinawa and the Orient. Lasting Visions: It Comes With The Rank is his second non-fiction book. He has picked up where he left off in his first book and continued through a 30-year Marine Corps career. For the full story and complete understanding of this Marine’s military career, Lasting Visions: With the 7th Marines in Vietnam 1970 is a must read.

The author’s unique style of storytelling will capture your attention and keep you in suspense. He errs on the side of comical, unbelievable, crazy, and downright egotistical. His personal experiences, while progressing through the enlisted ranks, take on a whole new perspective of what some may believe happens within the ranks. His stories shed some light on what it is like receiving orders and working alongside those in the position of authority. As long as there are officer and enlisted ranks in the same unit there will always be differences of opinions and individual ideas of how things should work. As with most command decisions, the author believes that anyone in a position of authority, must always practice good common sense. His stories convey that this is not always the case.

Contents
•    Dedication
•    Disclaimer
•    Foreword
•    Chapter 1: Republic of the Philippines (1971-1972)
•    Chapter 2: Drill Instructor Duty (1974-1976)
•    Chapter 3: Marine Barracks 8th and I (1977-1980)
•    Chapter 4: 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines (1980-1981)
•    Chapter 5: Istanbul Turkey and Wellington New Zealand (1982-1985)
•    Chapter 6: 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines (1986-1988)
•    Chapter 7: Bangkok, Thailand (1989-1991)
•    Chapter 8: Sergeant Major (1992-1999)
•    The Author

Excerpt from the Book:

Chapter 1

Republic of the Philippines

(1971-1972)

My true stories and experiences picks up from where I left off on my first non-fiction book titled Lasting Visions: With the 7th Marines in Vietnam 1970. I had just returned home from a tour in Vietnam and the Far East. It was April 1971. My next assignment was to be with the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. I was still a lance corporal in the Marine Corps and had 17 months left to serve on my first three year enlistment. I wondered what my future might hold and if I would see combat again during my tenure in the Marine Corps. I wanted to get back to the Orient for some strange reason. Duty was so much better overseas. It wasn’t as much spit and polish as we were accustomed to at stateside bases. Besides, the Far East seemed so beautiful and exotic to me. I hoped that I would once again be afforded the opportunity to travel overseas and experience the customs and way of life of the oriental people.

      My time on leave at home was coming to an end. I prepared my uniform that I was to travel in and meticulously packed my olive drab seabag. My uniform items had to be folded and crammed into the seabag as tight as possible in order to get everything to fit. I would normally travel with my seabag and hand carry a USMC duffle bag. The seabag was a real pain to carry through the airports. It was heavy and awkward. At times I had to throw it onto one shoulder in order to move from one place to another. Marines prided themselves in presenting their best personal appearance while in uniform. For a Marine dressed in the service uniform, carrying a seabag tended to mess up your personal appearance.

      The day came when I had to say goodbye to my family once again. The hardest part was saying goodbye to my mother. It was heart wrenching to see her cry and it felt as though my heart was being squeezed real hard. Even in the car while heading to the airport I could feel the lump in my throat and the vision of my mother with red teary eyes as she hugged me goodbye. It was a sight I had seen many other times when a family member departed away from home. They used to say that the Marine Corps would make a man out of you, but when it came to saying goodbye to my mother, it was as if I was a child who had never grown up. I felt that the next year and a half of my enlistment would soon pass and that I could once again be close to her.

      My older brother, James H., offered to drive me to the airport. James H. was as hard as nails and had already served an enlistment in the Marine Corps. He never showed much emotion and things like saying goodbye to a family member didn’t seem to faze him much. But deep down, I knew that he cared for me and that he was a good man. He would do anything for me. My younger brother, Larry, accompanied us so he could say his goodbyes at the airport. Larry was 13 years old and was already beginning to talk about enlisting in the Marine Corps. There was no doubt that he would one day enlist when he became of age. When that happened, all five of the Elmer and Floy Fenwick sons would serve in the United States Marine Corps. I hated to say farewell to my brothers at the airport but I felt consoled that they were there for me. As I departed to board the airplane James H. called out, “Hey Freddy, give ‘em hell!”

      I flew down to Jacksonville, North Carolina on Piedmont Airlines. The plane must have made about eight stops before I arrived at my destination. It was the most boring flight I had ever been on. Finally I was finding my way through the Jacksonville airport, found a taxi, and was on my way to Camp Lejeune. We passed through the gates and I explained to the cab driver where I was supposed to report in. When I arrived at Personnel they checked me in and told me where my unit was located. There was no transportation so I had to lug my seabag about a quarter of a mile to get to the company. As I crossed a hard top road I noticed the base theater to my right and then made my way to the barracks. It was Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines. I was assigned a bunk and told to report back the following morning to start the check in process.

      Early the next day on April 28, I picked up a check in sheet from the company office and started to report into the various sections within the battalion and company. At the company level it was important to check in with the admin chief, unit diary clerk, Service Record Book (SRB) clerk, platoon sergeant, company gunnery sergeant, and the company first sergeant. The 1st Battalion headquarters was located across a grassy area about five hundred feet from the company office. At the battalion level it was important to report in with all the S-shops; S-1 Personnel, S-2 Intelligence, S-3 Training and Operations, and S-4 Logistics. Additionally, battalion check in consisted of the career planner, chaplain, mailroom, armory, and supply. A few places such as Medical, Dental, and Special Services were away from the battalion area so I had to walk all over the place trying to find them.

      Before long I was all checked in and decided to square away my wall locker and 782 gear that I had drawn from supply. My platoon sergeant came by and told me about an upcoming uniform inspection. It was called a “Junk on the Bunk” (or simply J.O.B.) which included all uniforms displayed in the wall locker, all 782 gear laid out on the bunk, and a personnel inspection. I was instructed to get with my squad leader so he could determine if I had all the required uniforms. The squad leader inspected my gear and determined that I needed a couple of sets of skivvies and some green work socks. He pointed me in the direction of Cash Sales where Marines could purchase uniforms and accessories. I gathered what money I had on my person and headed for Cash Sales. It was across the main road of Holcomb Blvd and in the industrial area of Camp Lejeune. I walked for what seemed like a long time trying to find the building. In those days only Marines with a rank of Staff Sergeant and above could be seen driving around on base in their privately owned vehicles. No enlisted Marines owned a vehicle and even if they did they were not allowed to drive and park a vehicle aboard the base.

      When I returned to the barracks I was told I had to fall out for a company formation. I hurriedly shoved my uniform items that I had purchased at Cash Sales into my wall locker and proceeded outside the back of the barracks for the formation. The company gunnery sergeant passed some word about an anti-war protest that was to take place in Washington, D.C., and that the company would be on air alert. I got a chance to meet the other members of my squad. They did not appear too friendly and seemed distant to me.

      I was told I would get used to the formations. There would be a formation in the morning to march to chow, another formation at 0700 for accountability, another chow formation at 1100, another company formation at 1300 and another formation at 1600 each day. I wondered why so many formations but reasoned that it was the Marine Corps way to ensure the accountability of all Marines. We were told that for the next 0700 formation that the company commander would walk through conducting a personnel inspection. The uniform designated was the Service Charlie uniform which was tropical trousers, khaki short sleeve shirt, and ribbons. I had to borrow an iron that night to press out my uniform for the personnel inspection.

      We formed up in company formation the following morning and waited for the company commander to walk through the ranks for his uniform inspection. I felt proud of the fact that I was wearing my four ribbons which included two Vietnam ribbons and a combat action ribbon. As we stood at ease I looked around at the other platoon members. Some lance corporals and PFCs were wearing three and four rows of ribbons. Most had already seen combat in Vietnam. My squad leader came in front of me to look my uniform over prior to the company commander coming by. As he stood directly in front of me I looked at his ribbons above his left breast pocket. He had a purple heart with four bronze stars which meant that he had been wounded in combat five different times. I was amazed that he had been wounded all those times and lived to tell about it.

      We were then told that we would be on air alert during the rest of the week and deploy to Washington, D.C., over the weekend in anticipation of the anti-war protests that were to take place on May 3. Being on air alert meant that every Marine was to remain in the company area at all times, and if we had to be away from the company for a valid reason, we had to check out with the proper authority. There would be numerous formations for accountability and 782 gear inspections to ensure we had everything required for deployment. During the weekend the battalion formed up on a grassy area waiting for transportation to Washington, D.C.

      We received briefings about the anti-war protest and what our mission was to be. They called it the May Day Protests. There were to be thousands of anti-war activists trying to disrupt and shut down the federal government in protest of the Vietnam War. Our mission was to back up the D.C., Metropolitan Police and National Guard. We would fly up and establish a bivouac site near the city and set up General Purpose (GP) tents. Then we would be transported to the capital and place Marines on the streets in strategic locations.

      When the company reached our destination we began to erect the GP tents. Cots were brought in and we were arranged in the tents with squad and platoon integrity. I managed to get a cot near the entrance of the tent. We didn’t really know what to expect but we settled in to await further orders. Early the next morning I was laying inside my sleeping bag but was awake. Suddenly the corporal squad leader entered the tent. He asked for some volunteers to police trash up from around the area and to empty the GI cans. Of course, no one volunteered. Then he said that if no one volunteered that he was going to pick someone.

      The squad leader kicked my rack and said, “Wake up; you are going on this working party.”

      “I’m a lance corporal,” I replied.

      “I don’t care if you are a general,” he snapped, “get up and get your ass moving.”

      “I said I am a lance corporal,” I replied. “I don’t go on working parties. Get one of these PFCs or privates to go.”

      He responded, “If you don’t get up I will put you on report.”

      Angrily I snapped, “A lance corporal ain’t about shit around this place. Since when are lance corporals assigned to working parties when you have privates and PFCs? I thought rank has its privileges.”

      “The squad leader answered, “You are right. A lance corporal ain’t shit around here. That’s why you are going on this work detail.”

      I had no choice in the matter so I joined other Marines in picking up trash and emptying GI cans. I hoped that one day I would get promoted to corporal so I could have a few privileges. In the meantime, I was just another pee-on.

      When the protests started on Monday we were heli-lifted to D.C. Two Marines were assigned on streets that the authorities deemed were critical for security. I ended up with another Marine walking up and down Constitution Avenue waiting for protesters to appear. We heard that they were raising hell in other parts of the city. I wondered what just two of us could do against a mob of demonstrators. We were informed that every bridge coming into the city was lined with troops. We could also see helicopters flying in and landing near the Washington Monument. Then the troops were dispersed to different parts of the city. In the meantime the police went throughout the city making massive arrests. We guarded the nation’s capital for the next few days. Thousands of protesters were arrested. This was my first visit to Washington, D. C., and I hoped that if I ever returned at a later date in time, that it would be a more peaceful city. The Vietnam War had a lot of people angry and on edge. After a week or so we returned to Camp Lejeune to the boredom of barracks life.

      One day we had Winter Service Alpha uniform inspection with ribbons and badges. For every four years of service a Marine would place a service stripe, commonly referred to as a hash mark, on both sleeves of the blouse. I was surprised at formation when I saw several junior Marines wearing service stripes. One Marine in particular caught my eye. He had about four purple hearts, his rank was private, and he wore three hash marks. This meant that he had over twelve years of service and was only a private (enlisted pay grade of E-1). I asked him what had happened that he couldn’t seem to get promoted. He told me he had been busted from PFC several times for getting into trouble. He said that he had been up for promotion a few times but that he refused to accept promotion to the next higher rank. He was quite content of serving in the Marine Corps as a private with fewer responsibilities.

      At one of our formations the platoon sergeant asked for volunteers to go on guard duty which consisted of walking a post around the battalion armory. It was to last for thirty days. No one volunteered for this boring duty. The platoon sergeant told the squad leaders to pick someone on the double. As my squad leader stepped out from his position in ranks, and saw me standing with my head down, he told me that I would be the one to go on guard duty. There was nothing I could say or do, but comply.

      I lived in the squad bay with the rest of the platoon, but I was strictly devoted to guard duty. I had certain times to report to the proper battalion authority in order to walk post around the battalion armory at night. I stood a four hour shift every night at different times starting at around 1600 and lasting through the night until around 0700. It was the most boring duty I had ever pulled. Around and around the armory I walked. The Marines had made a dirt path in the grass. Sometimes it would pour down rain and I would get drenched. The Marine Corps issued a nylon rain coat that did very little to keep out the rain.

      Every night a duty officer would come by to check the sentry walking post around the armory. Some would hide in the darkness and then jump out to see what your reaction might be. We always had to challenge our post by calling out, “Halt, who’s there?” Once they identified themselves I would tell them to place their ID card on the ground in front of them and then take three paces backward. I would then move forward to check the ID Card. Once the individual was identified as the Officer of the Day, I would salute and say, “Sir, Lance Corporal Fenwick reports this post all secure; nothing unusual to report during my tour of duty.” If there was something to report, then I would report that to the duty officer. Some would ask a lot of general order questions to see if they could trip me up. If I was unsure of an answer, they loved to chew out a lance corporal.

      I got so bored walking post around the armory while the rest of the platoon was conducting training that I sat down one day and rummaged through some of my paperwork. I came upon an official notice from Headquarters Marine Corps that I had received just after boot camp. It stated that after an ultimate assignment to Vietnam that I was to receive orders to Marine Barracks Washington, D.C. It was for the same assignment that I had been interviewed for in boot camp. I decided that I would be bold enough to send them a letter asking if I could still be assigned to Marine Barracks 8th and I. I mailed the letter off to the address shown on the notice, and hoped that I would not get into trouble for going straight to headquarters, but I was desperate. I did not like the infantry company I was in and wanted to get out.

      In the meantime I walked my security post around the armory every night. We had eleven general orders that all Marines have to recite from memory. Jokingly, a fictitious general order was concocted by someone unknown and it caught on pretty fast. I thought it was a somewhat catchy phrase. “I will walk my post from flank to flank and take no shit from any rank.” It reminded me of the various officers who checked my post each night and how they would try to test my knowledge and obedience to the rules and regulations. I would walk around and around the armory with my M16 and switch it back and forth from right shoulder to left shoulder arms. I prayed that my thirty days of guard duty would soon end.

      In about a week I received a letter from Headquarters Marine Corps. I was excited as I opened it up to read it. The letter started off by thanking me for my letter and interest in being assigned to Marine Barracks 8th and I. Then as I read on it stated that although I was interviewed and accepted for assignment upon completion of a tour in Vietnam that the orders had been canceled. I was very disappointed. I wanted out of this company and now my dreams had been dashed.

      ­Finally my stint on guard duty came to an end and I was replaced by another Marine from my platoon. Every day we had some type of Marine Corps training on the schedule and physical fitness was a top priority. We cleaned weapons, studied essential subjects, and trained in our primary Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). For me it was the same ritual I had been accustomed to in Okinawa as part of a machine gun team. It was boring at times but I would have to make due with what an infantry company had to offer me. I began to fit in with the rest of the platoon members and gave one hundred percent effort at all the training evolutions. Someone must have taken notice of my performance as I was nominated for meritorious corporal.

      My platoon sergeant broke the good news to me. I was elated that I was considered above and beyond some of the more seasoned veterans in my platoon. He told me to study hard and to square away my uniform because the meritorious corporal board was to take place within a week. I readied my uniform and used my essential subjects handbook to brush up on my essential subjects and MOS proficiency. I knew the meritorious board panel would be asking me questions about the M60 machine gun since that was my MOS.

      The day arrived when I was to appear before the battalion meritorious corporal board. I would compete with the other battalion lance corporals nominated for meritorious promotion. We all gathered at the battalion headquarters conference room at the designated time and date. The uniform was Service “C” which was the khaki short sleeve shirt with ribbons and tropical trousers. There seemed to be about ten lance corporals competing for one meritorious promotion. We were all briefed by the battalion sergeant major and then awaited our turn to report to the senior member of the board. One by one the Marines were called in to report and after about ten minutes they exited the conference room. We were given strict orders from the battalion sergeant major not to discuss any of the questions and answers with any of the Marines competing for promotion when we were dismissed. Finally, it was my turn to report.

      I opened the door and then closed it behind me. Then I walked to within three paces from the senior member of the board. It was a Marine Corps captain. Standing at the position of attention I reported to him.

      “Sir, Lance Corporal Fenwick reporting to the senior member of the meritorious corporal board as ordered.

      “Very well, Lance Corporal Fenwick,” he said. “Have a seat in the chair behind you.”

      I looked behind me and took a seat with my heels together, feet spread at a 45 degree angle and my upper body at a modified position of attention. I quickly looked from left to right at the meritorious promotion board panel. The senior member of the board was a captain and there were two other officers and two Staff Noncommissioned Officers (SNCOs). The SNCOs were on the extreme left and right. I noticed the battalion sergeant major on the right side. I was amazed at how many chevrons he wore on the sleeves of his uniform. I mentally started to count his stripes; there were three stripes up, four stripes down, and a star in the center. Momentarily, I daydreamed of the possibility of ever becoming a Marine Corps sergeant major, the highest enlisted rank in the Marine Corps. They were true leaders of the Marine Corps and had decades of service, experience, and commitment under their belts. The sergeants major were respected and feared by all junior enlisted Marines and were no match for most junior officers. I wondered what it would be like to one day wear all those chevrons on my uniform. Suddenly, my daydreaming was interrupted by the senior member of the board.

      “The captain said, “Lance Corporal Fenwick, welcome to the battalion meritorious corporal board. Evidently your superiors think so highly of you that they have put you up for meritorious corporal. I am sure you are a great asset to your company. Good luck to you as you compete with the other nominated Marines. Now we will start the questioning.”

      With a gruffly voice, the SNCO on the left asked me the first question.

      “Who is the Commandant of the Marine Corps?”

      I replied, “The Commandant of the Marine Corps is General Leonard F. Chapman, Jr.”

      “Affirmative,” he said. “How many types of packs are there?”

      “There are five types of packs,” I answered.

      “What are they?” he asked briskly.

      “The five types of packs are the light marching pack, marching, pack, field marching pack, transport pack, and the field transport pack.”

      He asked a few more questions and then the officer next to him started bombarding me with questions. He was asking me tactical questions such explain and describe the Forward Edge of the Battle Area (FEBA), Line of Departure (LOD), and a Five Paragraph Order which was Situation, Mission, Execution, Administration and Logistics, and Command and Signal (SMEAC). I felt I was a little shaky on one of his tactical questions. Then it was the senior member of the board’s turn.

      “Lance Corporal Fenwick,” he said, “I see you are a 0331, machine gunner.”

      “Yes, sir,” I responded.

      “Okay, I am going to ask you some questions on your primary MOS. What are the characteristics of the M60 machine gun?”

      I responded, “The characteristics of the M60 machine gun is that it is a gas-operated, air-cooled, belt-fed, automatic weapon that fires from the open-bolt position and has a maximum rate of fire of 550 rounds per minute.”

      “And what is the maximum range and maximum effective range of the M60?” he asked.

      “The maximum range of the M60 machine gun is 3,725 meters and the maximum effective range is 1100 meters.

      “Okay, Lance Corporal Fenwick, what is the length of the M60 and how much does it weigh?”

      “The length of the M60 machine gun is 43.5 inches and it weighs 23 pounds. With the T&E mechanism and pintle the total weight is 39 pounds.”

      “Very good,” the captain said in reply. “Now, can you explain the rates of fire for the M60 machine gun?”

      “The rates of fire for the M60 machine gun are the sustained, rapid, and cyclic. The sustained rate of fire is 100 rounds per minute, with 6-9 round bursts with 4-5 seconds between bursts, and the barrel is changed every 10 minutes. The rapid rate of fire is 200 rounds per minute, with 10-13 round bursts, and the barrel is changed every 2 minutes. The cyclic rate of fire is 550 rounds per minute, firing a continuous burst, and the barrel is changed every minute.”

      “Sounds like you know your MOS,” the captain said.

      “Yes, sir,” I responded.

      Then the other officer began to question me. “Well,” he said, “just a couple more questions on your MOS.” What types of ammunition does the M60 fire?”

      I answered quickly, “The M60 machine gun fires the 7.62 mm ball, tracer, armor-piercing, blank, and dummy round.”

      “What is the cycle of operation for the gun?”

      “The cycle of operation for the M60 machine gun is feeding, chambering, locking, firing, unlocking, extracting, ejecting, and cocking.”

      “Very well,” the officer said. “Now I’m going to give you some land navigation questions. How do you read a map?”

      “You read a map, right and up.”

       “How many degrees does each click of the bezel ring on the lensatic compass represent?”

      “With each click of the bezel ring on the lensatic compass it moves three degrees.”

      “How do you get a back azimuth on the lensatic compass?”

      “You get a back azimuth by using the LAMS rule, Less Add, More Subtract. If your original azimuth is less than 180 degrees you add 180 degrees to get your back azimuth, if your original azimuth is more than 180 degrees then you subtract 180 degrees to get your back azimuth.”

      Then the officer asked me to recite one of the articles of the code of conduct verbatim. I got a little mixed up on the article. I told him, “Sir, the lance corporal does not know, but I will find out.”

      The officer smiled and then passed the questioning on to the sergeant major. “What is your 6th general order?” the sergeant major asked.

      “Sir, my 6th general order is to receive, obey and pass on to the sentry who relieves me all orders from the commanding officer, officer of the day, and officers and noncommissioned officers of the guard only.

      Then the sergeant major said, “I see in your Service Record Book that you have been on a cruise from Okinawa, is that right?”

      “Yes, sir,” I replied.

      “Did your ship get to the Philippines during that cruise?” the sergeant major asked.

      “Yes, sir,” I stated.

      “What is a Benny Boy?” he then asked.

      I paused for a moment as I did not quite know how to respond. I was expecting some hard question that would require a detailed answer.

      “A Benny boy is a Filipino man who likes other men,” I replied.

      “How do you know this?” he asked while smiling.

      “I heard other Marines talk about Benny Boys on the streets of Olongapo and warned us to stay away from them,” I told the sergeant major.

      He laughed and said, “Just checking to see if you are an honest Marine who tells it like it is. What do you want to accomplish during your first enlistment in the Corps?”

      “Sir, I would like to get promoted to corporal and achieve the NCO rank. I feel I can best serve the Corps as a leader and not a follower. I would also like to get back overseas before my enlistment is up.”

      The sergeant major said in reply, “Well, son, that just might be an attainable goal for such a dedicated Marine. Keep charging!

      “Yes, sir,” I answered, “I will continue to put forth my best effort.”

      The sergeant major laughed and told the other panel members that he had no further questions.”

      The senior member of the board once again addressed me. “I see you have a combat action ribbon. What unit were you with in Vietnam?”

      “Sir,” I answered, “Mike Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines.”

      “Seen much action in Vietnam?” the captain asked.

      I responded, “Sir, I’ve seen enough to last me a lifetime.”

      The captain then said, “Very well, Lance Corporal Fenwick, keep up the good work. You are dismissed.”

      I rose from the chair, took a step forward, and replied, “Aye, Aye, sir!” Then I executed an about face and exited the conference room. I wandered back to the barracks and immediately opened my wall locker. I found my essential subjects booklet and looked up the article of the Code of Conduct that I had messed up on at the board. Time would tell if I got meritoriously promoted, I reckoned.

      A couple of days later my platoon sergeant told me that someone else had beat me out at the meritorious promotion board. I was a little disappointed, but figured he had not missed any questions. One day I was assigned as the company runner. A “runner” spent the entire day going back and forth from the company office to battalion headquarters on administrative matters. It was more like a go-fer, “go for this, and go for that.” I must have made three trips back and forth carrying all sorts of documents and found myself waiting on a bench in the hallway of the battalion command post. I was right next to the conference room where I had attended the meritorious corporal board.

      As Marines of various ranks passed me by I began to daydream. Suddenly a voice caught me by surprise.”

      “Hello, Lance Corporal Fenwick.”

      I looked up and saw that it was a captain. I rose to my feet and replied, “Good Morning, sir.”

      “So how are things in Alpha Company?” he asked.

      Then I realized that it was the same captain that had been the senior member of the meritorious corporal board when I had competed for meritorious promotion. “Sir,” I replied, “nothing unusual to report during my tour of duty.”

      The captain laughed out loud and said, “You did a mighty fine job at the meritorious board the other day. I was impressed by your performance. I wish I had a company of Marines like you.”

      “Thank you, sir,” I commented.

      “I am the company commander of Charlie Company. If you ever want to leave Alpha Company and join a good outfit I’d be glad to have you.”

      “Well, I don’t know,” I said reluctantly.

      “What do you want to do in the Corps?” the captain asked.

      “Sir, I would really like to get back overseas. I’m not too keen on stateside duty.”

      “So where do you want to go overseas?” he asked.

      “Well, sir, I would like to go to the Philippines.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “When I was on cruise to the Philippines I saw the Marine sentries at the main gate at Subic Bay. I would love to be a security guard there.”

      “Well, Lance Corporal Fenwick, it just so happens that I know the lieutenant who runs personnel assignments. They get quotas for overseas assignments all the time. I could talk to him to see if there are any quotas for the Philippines. Would you want me to do that?”

      I replied, “Sir, I don’t know what to say. You would actually do that for me?”

      “Well,” the captain answered, “I wouldn’t do it for everyone, but I would do it for a hard charging Vietnam Vet. I think you have great potential.”

      “In that case, I’d be honored if you would check on it for me.”

      “Okay then,” the captain said, come on over to my company headquarters in a week or so if you haven’t heard anything from personnel and I will follow up for you.”

      “Roger that, sir, and thank you much.”

      With that the captain left through the hatch and I sat back down on the bench. You could have hit me with a baseball bat at that very moment and I would not have felt a thing. I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. I began pacing up and down the hallway taking in deep breaths. I could not believe what had just happened. Then I went outside for some fresh air. I was on top of the world. Then I heard someone inside the battalion headquarters yell out, “Where’s that goddamn runner?” I quickly stepped back inside and once again I was delivering papers like a mailman.

      I waited for something to happen over the next week but there was no word. I thought to myself what my next move should be. Should I go to Charlie Company and boldly ask the company commander about it. I gave it a few more days. Then I got impatient. I wandered over to the Charlie Company office and asked to see the company commander. I would have been in big trouble if my superiors knew I was going directly to a CO of a company without going through the proper protocol. The clerks had this flabbergasted look on their faces when I as a lance corporal waltzed up to the counter and asked to see the CO of Charlie Company. Finally I told them that he was expecting me. One of the clerks approached the company commander in his office to ask him if he wanted to see me. He looked up and saw me standing at the counter and motioned for me to step inside his office. I proceeded to his office without haste. He addressed me as I entered.

      “I am just too damned busy to drop everything right now,” the captain told me. Can you come back in about a week and I will see what I can do for you.”

      “Yes, sir,” I replied.

      I then left and returned to my barracks. I began to think that the captain was a phony and was just leading me on. I became a little upset, then disappointed, then disgusted. I figured that getting out of Alpha Company and going back overseas was not going to happen. I did all the training with the company and prepared for a wall locker inspection. I would sit on my footlocker for hours on end staring into my opened wall locker. There I would prepare each and every stitch of clothing for a uniform inspection. It was strictly by the book, right down to cutting the last Irish pennant.

      Another week passed and I got up enough courage to go see the captain again. This was my last desperate effort to take the captain up on his promise. I managed to talk my way past the admin clerks once again and the captain told them that he would see me. I entered his office and he told me to have a seat.

      Then he looked me dead in the eye and said, “You know, I have been so busy that I have completely forgotten about you. It is a good thing you stopped by a second time.”

      I replied, “Well, that’s okay, sir. If you are too busy I will understand. After all you have a company to run. I won’t bother you again about it.”

      “Nonsense,” the captain said. “I don’t make promises to Marines that I can’t keep. Just sit tight while I make a phone call.”

      He dialed a number on his black office phone and began speaking with some clerk at personnel. He asked for the personnel officer and in a few seconds he was referring to the officer on the other end of the phone line by his first name. He mentioned that he knew a hard charging lance corporal that was chomping at the bit to go to the Philippines and asked if he would keep an eye out for a quota. He told the personnel officer that I was a squared away Marine and that he could vouch for my professionalism. Then he said that I was not in his company, but rather in Alpha Company. He asked if the personnel officer could keep it between the two of them. After a few minutes he hung up the phone and told me that if he heard anything from the personnel office that he would contact me. I thanked him and returned to my company area and barracks.

      A few days passed and I was about to give up on the idea. I was not going back over to bug the captain of Charlie Company. I felt that I was bound to get into trouble. Then one morning I was called into my company office and a clerk said that the captain of Charlie Company wanted to see me, pronto. He asked me what I had done to get into trouble. I told him I didn’t know. With that I ran at the double time to Charlie Company. The captain saw me enter the building and stopped me in the hallway.

      “Fenwick, you better get your ass over to personnel on the double and see the personnel officer. He may have a surprise for you.”

      “Yes, sir,” I said excitedly.

      “Well, what are you waiting for; get the hell outta here before someone else grabs your quota to the Philippines. And one last thing, I never helped you with this, understand?”

      “I understand, sir, and thank you very much.”

      I ran out of the building and ran as fast as I could to personnel assignments. I told a clerk that I was there to see the personnel officer. He doubted my intentions so he asked the personnel officer if he knew me. The personnel officer said that he did not know me but to send me back to his office. There the lieutenant introduced himself to me and mentioned the CO of Charlie Company. He had a large dot matrix printout that he scanned over with his eyes.

      “Ah, here we go,” he said. “One quota for a lance corporal to Marine Barracks, Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines. Do you want to take that quota?”

      “Yes, sir, I’ll take it,” I said almost instantly.

      He smiled, handed me a data sheet, and said, “Some Marines would give their left nut to have orders like these. Here, fill out this data sheet with your name, rank, serial number, unit, and all the other pertinent information and I will get the ball rolling on this. When you are done, hand it to one of the clerks outside my office and they will process it for orders.”

      “Aye, Aye, sir,” I said.

      I stepped outside his office to fill out the form. One of the clerks looked it over and then went through an assignment checklist with me. He had to ensure that I was completely qualified for overseas assignment. A detailed checklist provided the basic qualifications prior to issuing orders. I did not meet one of the prerequisites which required junior enlisted personnel to have 15 months remaining on their enlistment contract. At the time I only had about 13 months to go to my enlistment expiration date. The clerk told me that he would let it slide but for me not to mention it to anyone. Mentally I was willing to extend two more months to have the obligated service. I was afraid, however, that if I stopped the process now in order to extend my enlistment, it may have delayed my departure date. I didn’t want that.

      Once that was completed I returned to my barracks and tried to keep a low profile. I kept quiet and did not tell a soul because I didn’t want to jinx it for me. A few days later I heard the platoon sergeant yell out from down the hallway for me to get my ass in his hooch. He had a small office just down from our squad bay that he shared with the platoon commander. I bolted down the hallway and stood at the door. The platoon commander was not present at the time.

      “Get your ass in my office, Fenwick,” the platoon sergeant said forcefully.

      I entered and stood there motionless. I just knew I was in a lot of trouble.

      “You ass,” he said. “What is this shit about you getting orders to the Philippines? How the hell did you manage that?”

      “I don’t know,” I replied.

      “Yes you do know,” he said. “You little snake in the grass, who did you have to suck up to for these orders?”

      “No one,” I responded.

      “I’ve been trying to get orders to the Philippines my entire career and here you are a lance corporal and you beat me out. Hell, you haven’t been in the company for only a few months. Well, this shit ain’t gonna happen. I am going to cancel these orders and take them myself. You don’t rate to go to the Philippines.”

      “Please don’t cancel the orders,” I begged the staff sergeant. “I really want to go back overseas again.”

      “Consider them canceled. Now get back to the squad bay while I go to the company office and take care of this.”

      With my head down I left his office and returned to my squad bay. I pulled the olive drab footlocker from underneath the rack and sat down on it. I just sat there staring down at the floor. I would never have another chance for a set of orders like these. Then all of a sudden the platoon sergeant yelled out for me again. I walked down to his office anticipating a royal ass chewing for going behind everyone’s back.

      “Lance Corporal Fenwick, I ought to tear up your orders to the Philippines. What do you think about that?”

      “Whatever you think is right,” I responded.

      The platoon sergeant then said with a smile, “Get your ass to the company office and pick up your check out sheet. Your orders are effective in about a week so you don’t have much time to pack your trash. You lucky bastard!”

      “Roger that,” I said.

      I went to the company office and got a check out sheet. Several Marines asked me how I managed to get orders to the Philippines. I played dumb and tried to get away from them to keep from answering questions. I had never been so excited. I thought I might get a copy and frame the check out sheet. After totally checking out of Alpha Company it wasn’t long until I was packed up and would be heading home once again for a few days leave. I couldn’t wait to tell my Mom and Dad about me going to the Philippines. It was the happiest I had ever been in my life.

      On July 16 I picked up my permanent change of station orders from the company office. I couldn’t wait to lug my seabag from the barracks to the Camp Lejeune bus station. I had to be in the Alpha uniform to receive my orders, so it would be very awkward carrying my seabag on my shoulders, with the form fitting winter service blouse. But I didn’t mind. I was getting out of the grunts and looked forward to my new destiny.

      At the bus station I bought a ticket and joined a group of junior Marines of my rank who were waiting outside the terminal for transportation. I joined in the conversation and soon we were talking about the Marine Corps and life in general. A few of the Marines seemed cocky and were taking advantage of not being directly supervised by anyone. Two put there hands in their pockets which was taboo for a Marine. I didn’t say anything because I was leaving anyway. Then some Marines removed their covers (piss cutters) and tucked them up under the belt of the blouse. I thought that was a cool idea so I removed my cover and did likewise. I had worked up a sweat from lugging my seabag around and removing my cover allowed me to cool down. We did not notice the Marine officer, a major, who was approaching us.

      He took all of us by surprise when he blurted out, “What is this, some kind of Chinese cluster fuck? You Marines better take your hands out of your pockets and render an appropriate greeting to a Marine commissioned officer.”

      The other Marines quickly put their piss cutters on their heads and rendered a hand salute while saying good morning to the officer. In my haste to render the salute I had completely forgot that I had removed my cover. I executed a hand salute without a cover which was also taboo for any Marine.

      “What the hell is wrong with you?” the major asked of me. “Do you think you are in the Army? Marines do not salute without a cover on. Now get your shit together and render a proper salute.”

      I reached quickly and grabbed my cover and put it squarely on my head. Then I nervously rendered a hand salute saying, “Good morning, sir.”

      He returned our salutes but said nothing. Then we all terminated our salutes. He walked straight in front of me and looked me up and down as if inspecting my uniform.

      “Been to Vietnam I see, Marine,” the major stated. Did you forget how to wear the Marine uniform and salute officers while you were away from the flag pole?”

      “No, sir,” I replied.

      You are a poor excuse for a lance corporal. You had best square your shit away, do you understand?”

      “Yes, sir,” I answered.

      “What is your name?”

      “Lance Corporal Fenwick,” I replied.

      “What unit are you with?” the major asked angrily.

      “Alpha Company 1/2,” I responded.

      “I’m gonna make sure your company commander is aware that he has a Marine that doesn’t know how to salute officers.”

      “Aye, Aye, sir.” I said.

      “You Marines carry on,” the major then said.

      “We all snapped a hand salute, the major returned our salute, and then he continued on about his business.

      When he was out of ear shot one of the Marines said, “What an asshole.”

      I did not say anything as I knew we were in the wrong. I felt guilty that a major had to square me away and felt embarrassed for saluting without wearing a cover. I would have to be more attentive. I was glad that I did not have to return to Alpha Company. We boarded a bus that took us to Jacksonville airport. Soon I was on my way back home for another leave period. I was flying on another Piedmont aircraft which made several stops between Jacksonville, North Carolina and Kentucky. I didn’t mind for I was going home.

      Being home for the last half of July and the first few days of August was a fun time for me. The farm chores were in full swing. I actually enjoyed helping my father work on the farm. I drove the tractor every chance I got. I also had some free time to fish in the lakes and just take it easy until I had to be off to the Philippines.

      My brother, Larry, had managed to obtain some white rabbits for pets. He kept them in a cage outside by the cellar. His cage was made of 2X4s and chicken wire. He loved to just hang out by the cage and watch them frolic inside the cage. He had one male stud rabbit that had his way with the females. He brought a whole new meaning to the expression, “wham bam thank you ma’am.” The rabbits multiplied so fast that he did not know what to do with them. I figured it was a matter of time before he gave up on the idea of raising rabbits.

      I spent a great deal of time bonding with my mother and father. Each day my father would have some type of farm chore to do and I enjoyed helping him. My mother was concerned about me going back overseas but she was content knowing that it was what I wanted to do. She kept asking me about the Philippines and what the country was like. I shared some of my stories with her from when I had visited Subic Bay during 1970 and 1971 aboard the USS Iwo Jima. She had told me several times, “Freddy, you had better be careful over there.” I assured her that everything would be fine and that in about a year I would be back home and ready to get out of the Marine Corps. By then my first enlistment would be up and I did not intend to reenlist at that time.

      After annual leave at home I was soon on a jet plane on my way to the Philippines. I felt so independent now. I was fast becoming a world traveler after only two years in the Marine Corps. I wouldn’t have had this opportunity if I had settled down on a farm in Kentucky, that was for sure. If I had to spend my next year in the Marine Corps, during a time of war, I might as well spend it in the Philippines.

      I flew from Kentucky to Norton Air Force Base near San Bernardino, California. I was to have a two day layover there. It was a very boring two days waiting around for a connecting flight. I kept checking with the Marine Liaison at the terminal to determine when I could finally depart California. When the date and time was announced for my departure I was so glad the wait was over. I had a stop in Hawaii and Guam and finally arrived at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines at 0300. I was bone tired as I made my way to the next Marine Liaison, Naval Air Traffic Coordinator, at Clark. Fortunately a helicopter was going to Subic Bay at 1000 that same morning so I was able to get onboard.

      We would be flying in a southwest direction approximately 33 miles to the U.S. Naval Air Station Cubi Point. Cubi Point was a Navy facility located at the edge of the Naval Base Subic Bay and abutting the Bataan Peninsula. During the short flight I managed to get a few winks of sleep. The chopper landed at Cubi Point and then I caught a truck to the Marine Barracks headquarters. This was about another 4 mile drive initially heading northeast around the Subic Bay harbor and then veering west toward the main gate of Subic Bay and the Marine Barracks. Finally, I had arrived at Marine Barracks, U.S. Naval Base, Subic Bay, Philippines. At headquarters I checked into the mail room and a few other places. I was assigned a temporary rack with the other headquarters Marines.

      I quickly learned the company breakdown at Marine Barracks Subic Bay. There was A Company (Headquarters, Mainside), B Company (Separate Guard Company, Cubi Point), and C Company (Detached Guard Company, San Miguel). When I arrived at Marine Barracks Subic Bay, the average monthly strength of all the combined companies was about 559 enlisted Marines and 16 officers on the rolls. At the time Marine Barracks was 30 below the authorized enlisted strength. Initially I did not know which company I was to be assigned to but had hoped that it would be Subic Bay. That was because I was familiar with the base after having explored it somewhat while in port that same year. One of the Marine NCOs gave me a printout with an explanation about the various letter companies and the different missions of each. He said they were spread out in various locations to provide security.

      A Company consisted of about 160 Marines that stood the gates leading into Subic Bay, checking ID cards, vehicles for contraband or controlled PX items. The pedestrian gate was the most challenging and hectic as the Marines had to deal with searching bags, hand luggage, checking for proper identification, and sometimes drunken and rowdy Marines and Sailors returning from Olongapo. Some of the Marines were assigned to the Provost Marshal’s Special Operations Branch and patrolled the jungle area surrounding the Subic Bay Naval Station. They had a full time job detaining intruders and those aboard the base in possession of drugs.

      B Company was the largest company with about 340 Marines. It was located aboard the Naval Air Station at Cubi Point which was adjacent to the Subic Bay complex. They had many 24 hour security posts and about 50 miles of roads to patrol while providing protection for the U.S. Naval Magazine. They also had about 20 miles of shoreline to patrol. Not only that, they also provided honors and color guard details as required.

      C Company was the smallest company with about 100 Marines. It was located some 30 miles northwest of Subic Bay at the U.S. Naval Communication Station, San Miguel. They provided security for the main gate to the station and various other posts throughout the station. Additionally, they provided security for the antenna field and communications compound that housed the radio transmitting and receiving equipment that serviced the fleet in the western Pacific. There was a compliment of both Navy and Air Force personnel at the communications compound. The company also provided security in a remote transmitting station located 70 miles north of the company at Capas, Tarlac.

      I watched the Subic Bay Marines prepare their uniforms, shine their brass, and polish their shiny helmet liners to prepare to go on various posts. They seemed to enjoy what they were doing. They spoke of a running guard schedule which basically meant that the off going duty watch personnel had to augment the oncoming relief because of the shortage of personnel. The headquarters building was always in a state of good police. There seemed to be Marines always sweeping, swabbing, emptying trash, and buffing the floors. It received a lot of visibility from the various high echelon staff. When the Marines came back from standing post at the main gate, which was the gateway into Olongapo City, I heard them tell all sorts of stories of crazy happenings during their watch. I couldn’t wait to be a Marine Security Guard.

      On the second day I was called to the admin office. I was informed that I would be going to Detached Guard Company at San Miguel. Some of the Marines had told me that Detached Guard was way out in the boonies.

      “What’s my chance of getting my orders modified and staying here at Subic Bay?” I asked the clerk.

      “Not good,” he responded, “Detached Guard is short on people and you have been designated to fill one of the quotas.”

      “But I’ve heard that is it out in the middle of nowhere,” I said. “I am more familiar with the Subic Bay area.”

      “You can always ask to be transferred here later on if you want, but right now you have to carry out your original orders,” the Marine replied. “Besides, you may like it at Detached Guard since you will be away from the flag pole.”

      “Reckon I’ll just have to see,” I remarked.

      After my orders were finalized I was instructed to pack all my gear and meet up with two Filipino drivers who were taking a government vehicle to San Miguel. After I readied my gear I went on the outside of the building to find them. They were waiting for me. I threw my seabag into the back of the vehicle and started to climb into the back. The driver of the vehicle told me it was okay to sit up front with them so I grabbed the seat nearest the passenger door. The three of us then started our trek toward a place totally unknown to me. I was a little leery traveling with two complete strangers but figured if they worked for the American government that they would be trustworthy.

      As we departed the Subic Bay area the truck passed over a bridge and then veered left onto National Highway. At first we passed a lot of huts on the right side of the road with the Subic Bay harbor on the left. Then the road began to wind along the top of some very hilly countryside. As we started our descent down into the valley there were built up towns along the way with a country backdrop. It must have been about five miles of the Subic Bay harbor and beach on our left side. We passed by a place called White Rock Beach. The driver of the truck told me it was a resort and a good place to visit and relax. I would have to keep that in mind for future reference as a tropical getaway.

      Then as we bypassed the built up areas the scenery gave way to open fields of rice paddies, small villages, and jungles in the background. It looked so much like Vietnam. I thought I was having flashbacks. I loved to see the large green banana tree leaves on the edge of the treelines. It looked so peaceful and serene. After several minutes of driving we were going through a town called San Antonio, Zambales. I just gazed out the window to take in as much scenery as possible. I noticed the truck turned in a northward direction. The road now was straight and the driver said that we were getting closer to the main gate of the base. Soon we passed by some bars on both sides of the road. I took notice of some bar signs on the left side of the road. I called them out as they caught my eye. There were names such as Grand Nautilus, Sampaguita Club, Diamond, My Place, and Pink Elephant. One the right side of the highway there was Blue Haven, Mama’s Hideaway, El Rio, Playboy Club, and the Road Runners. Somewhere in the mix was a Theresa’s Upscoop.

      The Filipino driver of the truck made the comment, “You can hab a verrie good time in The Crossroads. Many bootiful girls stay here.”

      “I responded, “Yeah, I reckon. Many maganda (beautiful) and malibu (horny) girls.”

       Both the Filipinos laughed at my comment. I imagined that this street would be filled with bar girls when night fell. Just as we passed the bars, the driver turned left heading west and told me this intersection was called “The Crossroads.” As we turned I glanced back and saw yet another bar at the intersection called Goldmine. I thought the bar signs were very unique.

      “Only one mile to go now to main gate,” the Filipino driver declared.

I was getting tired and dreary from the long trip. We had been driving for about an hour since we left Subic Bay through the towns, villages, farmland, and sometimes bumpy and winding road. This access road to the main gate was flat with open fields on the right and huts on the left. When we arrived at the main gate I looked up and saw the white sign with red lettering. It had the inscription, Naval Communications Station Philippines. The base was also referred to as U.S. Naval Communications Station, San Miguel. I had arrived on August 9, 1971. This would be home for to me for the next 13 months.

      The driver stopped at the main gate and told the two Marine sentries that I was going to Detached Guard. One Marine radioed the Corporal of the Guard (COG) back at the barracks and told him that a new Marine had just arrived. He was informed by the COG to have me dismount the vehicle and standby at the main gate for further transportation. The Marine guard vehicle would be coming back through the main gate after posting a Marine and relieving another at Fort Apache. I could hitch a ride on it back to the barracks. The two gate guards had just been posted for their four hour shift. I had no clue what they meant by Fort Apache but knew that in time I would find out. I thanked the two Filipino men for the ride from Subic Bay and got my seabag out of the back of the vehicle. Then I stood at the main gate waiting for the guard vehicle. The two Marines began to ask me questions but were side tracked with the traffic coming through the gate. Once in awhile they would search a vehicle and thoroughly inspect it.

      After a while one of the Marines told me that the guard vehicle was on its way. “That’s it,” one of the Marine sentries said. I looked and saw an unusual vehicle approaching from outside the main gate. It was an extra long vehicle, faded grey in color, had four doors, and a covered bed. As it came to a stop beside the front gate, the Marine driving the vehicle told me to jump in the back. I grabbed my seabag and threw it into the back. There were wooden seats on each side of the vehicle and a Marine was sitting in the back. I climbed in and sat across from him. The vehicle pulled away from the main gate and soon we were off the asphalt road and onto a dusty dirt road heading to the next Marine post. The Marine sitting in the back was to be posted there at the pistol range. I noticed that he was armed with a shotgun and was dressed in utilities.

      As we bounced along this bumpy road, clouds of dust kicked up by the vehicle came rolling into the back of the open end. It was beginning to be difficult to breathe and it was extremely hot in this enclosed space. I was still in the Service “A” uniform which was a long sleeve blouse that was winter service material. It was the designated uniform for Marines reporting to a new command. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and trickled down my face. I felt the coolness of my upper body underneath the hot blouse that was now saturated with sweat. I knew that my sweat stained and dust filled uniform would need to be dry cleaned thoroughly before I could wear it again.

      The Marine across from me was checking me out but not saying much. Then he said to me, “You’re going to hate it here.”

      “Why is that?” I replied.

      “This place is all hosed up,” he said. “Just wait, you’ll see. They PT the hell out of us and we are always standing inspections. This guard duty is for the birds. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

      I replied, “Well, guess I’ll just have to make the best of it because this is my duty station for at least 13 months. I intend to enjoy my last year in the Marine Corps.”

      “Good luck enjoying this dump,” he said.

      I paid him no mind as the truck came to a stop. He got up and jumped out the back of the vehicle.

      “What post is this?” I asked.

      “Post 5,” he replied, “we’re at the pistol range.

      Soon the relieved Marine from Post 5 entered the back of the vehicle and sat across from me.

      “How’s it going, Marine?” he asked me.

      “Okay, I guess,” I replied.

      “Just reporting in?”

      “Yeah,” I said. “I’m supposed to be going to Detached Guard.”

      “Well, you are in the right place,” he commented. We are heading to the barracks now. So, where are you from in the States?”

      “Kentucky,” I replied.

      “What part?”

“Springfield,” I answered. “It is in the central part of Kentucky. Just a small town with a population of about 3500.”

      “Then I’m your neighbor,” he said, “I’m from Cincinnati, Ohio.”

      “So what do they call you, Kentucky?” he asked.

      “Fred,” I replied, “and you?”

      “Mike,” he responded. “Good to meet you, Fred. You can have a good time here in the Philippines. There is plenty of work to go around, but we always find time to party.”

      “I’m ready for that,” I said.

      Mike chuckled somewhat. Soon the vehicle stopped. I followed Mike out of the back of the vehicle while lugging my seabag. Once he was on the ground he helped me with my seabag and ditty bag. I stood beside the vehicle and looked at the building.

      “Is this it?” I asked.

      “Yes,” Mike replied. “What’s the matter, expecting some grand hotel or something?”

      “No, not really,” I said, “but it just does not look like a typical barracks.”

      “You stay right here for a few minutes,” Mike told me. “Let me turn my .45 pistol into the armory and I will come back out and take you to where the clerks can get you checked in.”

      “Roger that,” I answered, “I’ll be here waiting for you.”

      The other Marines coming off guard duty got out of the vehicle and proceeded to a clearing barrel used for ensuring their weapons were unloaded prior to entering the barracks. Each Marine removed the magazines, cocked the weapons and dry fired into the hollow tube that was filled with sand at the bottom. Then they walked inside the barracks at raised pistol and shotguns at port arms to the armory to turn in their weapons. Most seemed to ignore me standing there dressed in the Alpha uniform with my seabag standing up next to me.

      I took this opportunity to stand and gaze at my new surroundings. I was standing facing the entrance of the barracks. As we had entered the barracks parking lot there was a red sign with yellow lettering next to the main road just a few feet from the barracks. It read, “Detached Guard Company, Marine Barracks.” It also had the Marine eagle, globe, and anchor in the center. Next I looked to my left and saw a little grassy knoll with small bushes and a white retaining wall. It had a large Marine Corps emblem painted in different colors and there was a chain that ran along some waist high posts in the front. It was obvious that this area was kept well groomed at all times by the Marines. The barracks had a roundabout drive with a small parking lot in the front. A vehicle could enter the driveway and continue in a small circle until it exited out of the same entrance. I looked up at the top of the barracks. The barracks was painted white with red trim all around. Sitting on the top eve of the roof was another Marine Corps emblem flanked by the inscription, United States Marine Corps.

      At that moment, my Vietnam experience must have kicked in, as I began to determine direction and get my bearings. Back behind me was east and facing the barracks was west. I figured north was to my right and south was to my left. I glanced in the southward direction. There looming in the background was a large and beautiful mountain range. I would learn later that the largest mountain to my left as I looked at them was called Mount Maubanban and the smaller one on the right was called Mount Pundaquit. They looked so majestic, peaceful, and serene. It seemed the base itself was nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains.

      My thoughts were interrupted by four Filipino men who were shining brass, shoes, and boots for the Marines. One of them asked me if he could be my houseboy. He told me for a small fee, he would wash all my laundry, iron my clothes, and shine my boots and shoes, and all of my brass. I immediately told him that I did all that sort of stuff myself. By now Mike was coming out of the barracks and overheard me talking to the houseboy.

      “You’re gonna need a houseboy,” Mike said. “They will do a lot of things for you and they are fairly cheap.”

      “I’m not used to having someone else shine my boots and brass and wash my clothes. I think I am going to do that myself.”

      “You’ll change your mind,” Mike replied. “After you get settled in I will introduce you to my houseboy. He does a great job in taking care of me. But for now, come with me and I will take you to the company office where the clerks can get you properly checked in.”

      We proceeded through the front entrance and turned left. We passed by the COG who was to our immediate right. He sat in a maze of telephones, intercom apparatus, radios, and other guard property. Mike made the comment that they called it the Corporal of the Guard Shack. We passed the armory and ended up at the small company office. Mike said that beyond the company office were the offices of the commanding officer (CO), executive officer (XO), and company first sergeant. He introduced me to a clerk and then told me he would see me in the squad bay up on the second floor when I had finished at the company office, then he departed.

      I pulled out my permanent change of station orders and handed them to the clerk. He reviewed my headquarters check in sheet that I had started at Subic Bay. Then he dated a company check in sheet August 10, and handed it to me. After the company clerk had done as much paperwork as he could for the first day, he told me that I would be able to check in with the company key personnel the following day. The priority was to get a rack assigned to me in the squad bay. He went with me upstairs to take me to a rack. As we entered the open squad bay I saw that the racks were stacked two high just like previous squad bays I had been accustomed to. He took me about halfway down the squad bay and pointed to a bottom rack on the right side. Then he showed me which footlocker and wall locker that I could use. He told me to report to the company office the next morning at 0730 to finish up my company check in.

      I thanked him and hurriedly opened the combination lock on my seabag. I dug into my uniforms and found a set of sateen utilities that I had already pinned on the lance corporal insignia. Then I located my boots, socks, web belt, white T-shirt, and utility cover. I commenced to take my Service uniform off as quickly as possible. I found my shaving gear, flip flops, and white towel. Then I proceeded to the head that I had passed on the way into the squad bay. I just had to have a shower to get all the sweat and grit off of me. It had been a very long journey from the time I had left home in Kentucky, to my final destination in the Philippines, but now I was finally at my new command.

      After my shower I returned to my rack and got dressed in utility trousers, socks, and T-Shirt. It felt so good to get into clean clothes. There were about five wire clothes hangers in the wall locker so I used them to hang up some of my uniforms. I would have to get more clothes hangers later so I could get organized. I fully unpacked my seabag and stuffed some things in the footlocker. Under the pillow was a folded Marine Corps olive drab blanket, pillow case, two sheets, and a mattress cover. We called the mattress covers, fart sacks. I put the fart sack on the mattress first and then made the rack just like I had been taught by my drill instructors during boot camp. After I had finished, I took a deep breath and lay back on the tight rack I had just made. It felt good to finally rest a bit.

      In a few minutes Mike came by to check on me. He pulled out my footlocker and sat on it while I lay back in the rack. I listened to him speak and tell me about Detached Guard, where things were located, and general information about the base. It was as though he had known me his whole life. Then he suggested that we go to the mess hall together for the evening meal so he could show me where it was located. I couldn’t wait to go to chow, for I was very hungry. Mike returned to his rack on the opposite side of the squad bay but soon returned.

      “Here, Fenwick, I have something for you to read,” Mike said.

      “What’s that?” I questioned.

      “It’s a welcome aboard pamphlet for the base. It is meant mainly for the Sailors but there is some useful information in here about San Miguel.”

      “Thanks Mike,” I said, “I’ll give it back to you when I’m done.”

      “No rush,” Mike answered. “I have already read through it. I know all about the PI.”

      “Sure you do,” I said with sarcasm.

      Mike smiled and then walked back to his rack. I laid down on my pillow and began to thumb through the welcome aboard pamphlet. I read that the locals called the base San Miguel and that it was established in 1958. The Naval Communication Station Philippines (NCSP) was a key element in the Southeast Asian communications network and that it played a vital role in support of the Seventh Fleet. NCSP was adjacent to a fishing barrio just north of the municipality of San Antonio, Zambales Province, Island of Luzon, Republic of the Philippines. It got its name San Miguel after the name of the barrio.

      The communications complex at San Miguel was 2,158 acres of sandy soil a few feet above sea level. The climate was noted to be generally pleasant and had three seasons: hot, rainy, and cool. The hot season was from March through May followed by the rainy season that lasted until mid-October. During the rainy season, the station could sometimes get soaked with as much as 10-15 inches of rain a day. Then there was the arrival of the cool season which was comparable to spring in the United States. The pamphlet mentioned the typhoons that occur between May and December and that the station was usually spared from much damage due to the protection on three sides by mountains.

      I read about the roads being dangerous, narrow, and in need of repair. There was a lot of traffic on the roads such as tricycles, jeepneys, carabao-drawn carts, and pedestrians. The tricycle was a motorized three-wheeler, the Philippine version of the rickshaw, consisting of a motorbike attached to a sidecar. The jeepney was the most popular means of transportation throughout the Philippines. You could find them all over the country. They were originally made from U.S. military jeeps left over from World War II. The jeepneys were known for their unique decorations and lavish paintings. They became symbolic with the Philippine customs and culture and were really a cheap means of transportation.

      Speed limits on and off base ranged from 10 kilometers per hour (about 6 mph) to 70 kilometers (about 43 mph). Drivers were cautioned to be extremely wary. Transportation aboard the station was by walking, bicycle, scooter, motorcycle, car, or jeepney. Watch standers and day workers were bussed between the barracks and the various working sites. Navy buses were provided for the trip between San Miguel and Subic Bay Naval Base at no charge. The jeepneys aboard the base were jeep like vehicles contracted by the Navy Exchange with a charge of 10 cents per person per trip. I figured you couldn’t beat that price anywhere.

      U.S. dollars and Philippine pesos were used by the military and American currency was the official medium of exchange for U.S. personnel at all military bases in the Philippines. Dollars were not to be used off base and pesos should be used to pay for domestic help. Money exchange transactions were to be conducted only at the bank in the Navy Exchange building and the various station clubs. All personnel were warned about black market activity. Such involvement could result in severe penalties through both Navy channels and Philippine civil authorities. Anyone’s privileges could be curtailed when there was an indication of black market activity through excessive purchase of black marketable items from the Navy Exchange or the Commissary.

      I skipped to the club section as I was interested in knowing what type of enlisted club they had aboard the base. The San Miguel Enlisted Men’s Club was divided into two sections. The Pair-O-Dice Club was for pay grades E-5 and E-6 and the Starlite Club was for pay grades E-4 and below. I knew that for me I would soon be introduced to the Starlite Club. Club privileges were extended to adult dependents and escorted guests of members. Each club contained an air-conditioned bar, lounges, game rooms, amusement machines, and areas for playing cards. In addition to the enlisted club, they also had a Chief Officers’ Mess for E-7 through E-9 and Officers’ Mess.

      Then I noticed some items that were more on the recreation side. The pamphlet mentioned the community center, golf, athletic fields, fishing, sailing, swimming, skin diving, bowling, hobby shop, and gymnasium. I wondered if there was anything that this remote naval base didn’t have. The swimming included the outdoor pool and the beach. I loved the beach. I would try and get there the first chance I got.

      Being tired from my long journey I lost my concentration in reading the welcome aboard pamphlet. The next thing I knew, Mike was standing over me and telling me it was time to go to the mess hall for chow. I had fallen sound asleep on my rack with the pamphlet still laying across my chest. After fumbling a bit I managed to put my boots on and we were soon going down the steps and out the back door of the barracks.

      As we exited the back door I looked to the left and saw an area with tables where the Marines used for cleaning weapons. It was basically a roof held up by poles with open sides. Mike told me he was taking a detour to the mess hall in order to show me the PX, bank, dry cleaners, barber shop, snack bar, and commissary. We had only walked a short distance when we came upon the complex. It was so small and compact. I wondered how they managed to get all these conveniences packed into a very small area. I figured I could throw a baseball from one end to the other. As we passed the barber shop Mike told me the cost of a haircut was 25 cents.

      “Here’s the Gedunk,” Mike then said.

      I looked at the small snack bar. It was such a short distance from the barracks. We continued on and he pointed out the theater and swimming pool. He told me that if we were to continue walking straight ahead that we would end up on the beach and that it was within walking distance from our barracks. I figured this was the paradise that I had longed hoped for. Then we turned and walked toward the mess hall. When we neared the mess hall I noticed how beautiful the outside landscaping was. Then we entered the mess hall doors and I was again amazed at how clean and neat it was. I saw several Marines and Sailors sitting around eating the evening meal. When I went through the line I stuck out my tray to one of the servers for some unfamiliar meat.

      I looked at it on my tray. “Mike,” I said, “what kind of meat is this?”

      “Jackrabbit,” he replied.

      “Jackrabbit?” I answered. “Where in the hell do they get jackrabbit in the Philippines?”

      “I assume it is shipped from somewhere in the States, I guess,” Mike said.

      “Never had jackrabbit,” I commented. “Guess there is a first time for everything.”

      “They serve jackrabbit here in the mess hall a lot for some reason,” Mike added. “I can eat it, but I don’t like it much.”

      After we sat our trays down I proceeded to the milk machine and got a glass of milk. I returned to my tray and sat down. I had jackrabbit, mashed potatoes with gravy, bread, mixed vegetables, and a small cake. The jackrabbit had a strange wild taste, but I was too hungry to care. I ate until I was stuffed.

      While we sat eating, Mike began to tell me about Detached Guard. He had arrived a few months before me and knew all that went on within the company. He spoke of the character of the commanding officer, executive officer, and first sergeant. He told me the Marines called the executive officer, “Dudley Do-Right.”

      “Dudley Do-Right?” I asked. “That’s a funny nickname for a XO.”

      “That’s because he does things strictly by the book,” Mike said. “And if you screw up, he’ll have your ass in a heartbeat.”

      He told me that we were also getting a new company gunny as our current one would soon rotate back to the States. Mike told me the Marines had heard that the incoming company gunny had been a drill instructor and that he would probably PT our butts off. Mike also gave me the run down on some of the Marines in the barracks, the good ones and the ones to avoid. Of course, I didn’t have a clue who he was talking about as I had not met them.

      He explained that we had a port and starboard guard force. It would be two days on duty, two days off, and every other weekend off. I thought that schedule was unlike any I had ever been accustomed to. Immediately following a shift we would have 4 hours of standby which meant we were the reactionary force in case something happened aboard the base. After that we could check out on liberty but had to be back 4 hours prior to assuming post for our next 4 hour shift. Mike informed me that in addition to standing guard at the various posts, at times we were called upon to provide an eight man firing detail, for various ceremonies and for deceased U.S. servicemen.

      When we got back to the barracks, Mike had to get some rest prior to assuming duty again later that night. I was informed that our present company gunny would be administering the PRT (physical readiness test) to me the following morning. I was a bit surprised at having to take a PRT that soon after arrival. I had been on leave for over thirty days and hadn’t ran or done any exercises the entire time. I dreaded the idea as I settled in for the night. I was also informed that I could go on liberty, but for on base liberty only. I wasn’t about to wander away from the barracks as I knew nothing about this remote American base in the Philippines.

      The next morning at 0700 I met the company gunnery sergeant outside the barracks and he took me to the pullup bars. He was a dark skinned Samoan and had been my platoon sergeant in Vietnam. As he stood there with clip board, tally sheet, and stop watch, he told me what order to do the exercises. He would time me and then enter my score for record. I did the timed PRT exercises such as Jump and Reach, Pullups, Situps, Bends and Thrusts, Pushups, Mountain Climbers, and a 3 mile run. As I was not acclimated to the hot and tropical climate, and a bit out of shape, I did not achieve a passing score on the situps and bend and thrusts. After the company gunny tallied my score, he told me I had failed the PRT, and that I would have to retake it and pass it prior to standing post. I was so exhausted and embarrassed that I had failed my first physical readiness test in the Marine Corps. He would give me another chance in three days.

      I was instructed that I would be snapping in on each post over the course of the first week with an experienced Marine. Later that day I started snapping in on Post 1 which was the main gate. The oncoming COG dropped me off while posting his guard relief. The two Marines at the main gate began to explain the guard log books, communication equipment at the post, and standing operating procedures. In between conducting their regular duties, they went over the general orders and special orders of the post. One showed me a sheet in a black binder that had the 5 code listed and he told me that I would have to memorize it before I would be allowed to stand post. In addition, there were guard tests that I had to take and pass before they would actually let me stand post on my own. I knew there would be a lot of studying to do on my part. I quickly glanced over the 5 code as I was not familiar with the terminology. I took notice of the meaning of some of the codes such as 517 meant location and 522 meant proceed. So if you combined the two in reverse order and said 522 to my 517 it meant to proceed to my location. Some were emergency codes which alerted the guard force when used.

      The Marines also explained about the black market and how people could buy items at the PX and commissary and then sell them for a higher price out in town. There were rules and regulations in place that required property passes for some items taken off base. A valid ID and receipt was also required. Only a certain amount of cigarette cartons could be bought and taken off base. Vehicles were stopped and inspected for suspicious contraband and security threats and all drivers of civilian and government vehicles had to have proper ID, driver license, and trip ticket for the government vehicles. Post 1 was a very busy post and I was a bit overwhelmed with all the things I needed to learn.

      Just to the right side of the main gate was the visitor control gate. All civilian Filipinos who worked aboard the base entered through that gate. The Marines at the main gate monitored the activity at the pedestrian gate although it was manned by the local Filipino guard force. It seemed to be very busy as well with foot traffic entering and exiting the base. The Marines explained to me that the Filipinos worked all over the base as houseboys, housegirls, child nurses, laundresses, cooks, yardboys, gardeners, house keepers, baby sitters, drivers, and entertainers. Others worked at the Post Exchange, commissary, barber shop, laundry, swimming pool, snack bar, managed the beach, and a host of other miscellaneous jobs aboard the base. Some had clearances and worked in the staff sections and offices.

      While I was still snapping in at the main gate, the Sergeant of the Guard (SOG) drove up to check the post. He was a very dark tanned Marine sergeant, slim, about six feet tall, and was very squared away in his Service “C” uniform with ribbons. He introduced himself to me and then started asking the other Marines if everything was okay and if they had any problems. They talked for a few moments and then the sergeant turned his attention back to me.

      “You have just arrived here in the PI, huh?” he asked.

      “Yes, sergeant,” I replied, “just yesterday.”

      “Welcome to the Philippines and to Detached Guard,” he said. “You will have a very rewarding tour of duty here. There is never a dull moment. We work hard but we get time to play as well. It will take about a week before you will be allowed to actually stand post without someone training you. Just make sure you study the material that will be given to you and that you pass the guard tests. No Marine can stand post until they pass the tests.”

      “Yes, so I’ve been told,” I replied. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’ve got one helleva tan.”

      “I’m Filipino,” he said. “It’s in my blood. I don’t have to lay out in the sun to get a tan, it just comes natural. We also have another SOG who is Filipino, but he is crazier than me.”

      I laughed and then the sergeant got back into his vehicle to check the other posts. He seemed such a nice Marine and really down to earth. I hoped that he would be my SOG when I started standing post. While at Post 1, I was informed that there was another Charlie Company at NCSP that was totally separate from the Detached Guard Marines. They worked alongside the Navy. I was told that they stayed pretty much to themselves and that they didn’t socialize much with the Detached Guard Marines. After our four hour shift the Marines were relieved and we proceeded back to the barracks. I learned that Detached Guard had received three new joins from the States. It looked as though they were trying to beef up the guard force at Detached Guard.

      When I returned to the barracks, Mike introduced me to his houseboy and said he was a pretty cool dude. He explained that for a nominal fee the houseboy would wash and iron my civilian clothes and military uniforms, shine my boots and shoes, and polish my brass. I was amazed that he would be allowed to do all this for a Marine. Some had three and four Marines that they took constant care of. It was a way they could make a living on a bare bones income aboard the base. I thought it was a good deal for I was used to spending a lot of time preparing my uniform to meet Marine Corps standards. I made a deal with the houseboy with a handshake. I would pay him $15.00 U.S. every two weeks. The exchange rate was 1 peso and 35 centavos to one U.S. dollar, therefore, my houseboy would receive about 40 pesos monthly. He was authorized inside the barracks to collect our laundry, deliver our washed and ironed clothes, and place the shined brass on our racks. One thing that he was not allowed to do was to make the Marine’s bunks. I could live with that.

      The next day I was to snap-in at a place called Fort Apache, which was Post 2. This was about a mile and a half from the main gate to the communications compound. Here I went over the procedures with the Marine standing duty which seemed less complicated than the main gate. I was also taken to Post 3, the Terminal Building, which was aboard the base and just a short distance from the main gate. The Marine guard duties were to check for proper identification and access to the building by the Navy and Air Force personnel.

      The following day I was taken to Post 4, the beach area. The Marine’s post on the beach was at the top of a watch tower overlooking the antenna field and beach facilities. The sentry would also patrol the beach in search of any intruders. There were no fences so any of the local Filipinos could wander onto the base if not stopped by the Marines and local authorities. The tower was about 30 feet high and we had to climb up a ladder on the outside of the tower. The Marine was armed with a shotgun so it was a chore climbing up the ladder with a shotgun dangling off his shoulder. I felt, however, that this would be the most peaceful and serene post of all as it was right on the beach with the constant sea breezes to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The next post was Post 5. It was located at the Pistol Range near the beach. Here the Marine guard was once again armed with a shotgun. His mission was to guard the pistol range against any looters or trespassers. It too was a very peaceful post but it would prove to be very dimly lit and daunting during the hours of darkness.

      After training on all the posts I was summoned again to retake the physical readiness test. I would be taking it with the other new joins. By now I had gotten somewhat acclimatized to the tropical weather and felt that I could do better this time around. The other Marines struggled as I had done on my first try. It took all I had to pass this strenuous physical agility test. This time I passed and was satisfied with my score. I would not have to take it again for a couple of months or at least I had hoped.

      The guard sections consisted of a port and starboard side. One section would be on duty for two straight days while the other section was off duty. It would be two days on, two days off, and every other weekend off for both guard sections. The section had three shifts that stood four hours on post before being properly relieved of duties by the oncoming guard relief. It just so happened that I was assigned to the same section as Mike. As time passed he taught me a lot about preparing for post and getting my uniform squared away to meet the Detached Guard standard. He also quizzed me on my upcoming guard tests. I passed the guard tests with flying colors and was excited about being more confident and able to stand post on my own with the rest of the company. I was beginning to enjoy the barracks life.

      One night Mike came to me and said that it was time for us to patronize the enlisted club. It was directly across the street from the barracks and within a short walking distance. He told me to wear civilian clothes so I wouldn’t get blood on my uniform. I was a little taken back by his comment and asked him what he meant. He told me that the Navy also attended the club and that the Marines kicked ass. It sounded like a free-for-all so I told him that I did not want to get into trouble having just arrived at my new assignment. Mike assured me that he would make sure that I was taken care of.

      We showered and got duded up to hit the club. I liked the smell of Aqua Velva after shave and splashed on liberal amounts to my face and neck. I had heard that Filipina ladies, referred to as Entertainers, frequented the club and I wanted to smell nice if I got a chance to burn up the dance floor. After we finished dressing we proceeded down the steps of the barracks and exited the front door. We walked straight ahead through our barracks parking area, crossed an asphalt road, and then walked along a sidewalk leading to the entrance of the club. I made a comment to Mike that the club was so close to our living quarters. He acknowledged my statement and suggested that we didn’t have too far to crawl back to the barracks.

      “We may get so drunk that we have to crawl back to the barracks, but we’ll crawl back like Marines,” he commented.

       As soon as we entered the enlisted club a group of about twelve Marines were all sitting together at one large table. They hollered for us to join them. Mike and I proceeded to the table and we each pulled out a chair and sat down. Then a waitress came over and took our order. We both ordered a San Miguel Beer. One of the Marines at the table said, “San Miguel Beer, the drink of a real man.” We laughed together and then joined in the conversation.

      The Marines who thought they were the old salts of the company, and who had been in the Philippines the longest, began telling outrageous stories about liberty out in town. It was just a small town they referred to as The Crossroads. Within The Crossroads they spoke of various bars where they could dance and listen to music. There was also an abundance of ladies of the night. Mention of Theresa’s Upscoop and The Pink Elephant caught my attention because I had seen those bars as I passed through town on my journey to NCSP. Some of the Marines were saying that they were heading to the ville after getting lit at the enlisted club. That way they could arrive in town already with an alcohol buzz and save money on drinks as the cost of beer in town was more expensive than at the enlisted club.

      I looked around at my surroundings while the Marines were chit chatting. At the entrance there was a stage and a dance floor. I noticed that band instruments had already been set up for the evening. There was a juke box that Marine and Navy personnel were feeding with quarters. Off to my left as I sat facing the stage was banquet rooms where they held various types of parties and ceremonies. In the back they had a kitchen that could serve up various types of dishes and food to order. It seemed like a very nice place to hang out and just relax. It appeared that the Navy and the Marines sat on different sides of the club and I sensed some resentment on both sides. Some of the Marines talked about kicking the Navy’s ass and in loud voices. It made me a little uncomfortable knowing that a fight could break out without warning.

      I raised my San Miguel to my lips and caught movement at the entrance. All of a sudden a group of about ten Filipina women came strolling into the club. They were all dressed nicely and grinning from ear to ear. Their laughter began to drown out our voices and we became quiet to get a good look at them. A few of the Filipinas walked directly to a Sailor of their choosing and took a seat beside them. It was obvious that they knew one another. The other women in their little group took seats at some tables that were closest to the dance floor. Some glanced our way in a girlish flirtatious manner. They ordered drinks and sat talking among themselves in their native language, Tagolog.

      I inquired as to the status of the so-called Entertainers. All the Marines at the table were more than happy to give me the run down on them. They told me that the women were authorized to come into the enlisted club by our base security and socialize with the Marines and Sailors. They could sit and talk, accept drinks from the servicemen, and dance the night away. They were not supposed to leave the club with a male partner and were to leave together as a group when the club closed. Another house rule was that they could only spend thirty minutes talking with one person before they had to move to someone else. That way it did not look like they were playing favorites or give the impression that they had a boyfriend. They were to be entertainers for any and all servicemen who entered the club. It prevented a lot of fights in the long run due to jealousy. It seemed like an okay arrangement to me.

      It wasn’t long until a Filipino band took the stage and began to play rock and roll music. They sounded good as they strummed on their guitars and the lead singer sang American songs in their best broken English. I was enjoying this very much. One of the Marines said, “I’m gonna go dance, watch this.” He walked over to a girl who was sitting with a Sailor and asked her to dance. She gladly accepted. I had to laugh out loud when I saw the look on the Sailors’ face. He was in awe that a Marine was so bold as to approach his table and take his girl away. If looks could kill, the Marine would have been dead. Fortunately, he did not attempt to lash out at the Marine. Soon the Marine was on the dance floor dancing like crazy and having the time of his life. A few other Marines got up and escorted a Filipina lady onto the dance floor. I laughed at the way some of the Marines danced. They were quite comical.

      Mike told me that we were going to try another drink, a Singapore Sling. I had sampled this cocktail before when I was off ship on my first visit to the Subic Bay enlisted club. When the waitress brought the Singapore Sling I sat and examined the mixture. I could see the distinction in the various liquors within the mix. Even when I stirred the glass, the liquors took on individual characteristics. We consumed our drink and enjoyed talking about Ohio and Kentucky. Then someone at the table bought a round of cheer. Now there was a Mai Tai sitting on the table in front of me. After downing a good portion of the drink I got brave enough to ask a lady to dance. I did not get the prettiest girl in the house but she could dance her butt off. After dancing to two songs I escorted her back to her table like a gentleman.

      When I arrived back at my seat the Marines wanted to go hit the ville. We finished off our drinks and made our way to the door. Fortunately there had been no fights in the enlisted club that night. Our little group of Marines began walking to the main gate which was about a half mile from the barracks and enlisted club. We walked along the asphalt road and crossed over a small bridge. It was almost a straight shot to the main gate. Since we were jabbering away and walking fast we arrived there in short order. We conversed with the two Marine sentries at the main gate for a minute before heading outside of the pedestrian gate. Once off the base, there were all kinds of tricycles and jeepneys parked not far away, which was a cheap and convenient means of transportation. We all jumped into the back of a jeepney and started counting out money in order to share the cost of the ride. I was surprised at how cheap it really was.

      The jeepney driver sped down the straight road toward The Crossroads. It was almost a mile from the main gate. A Marine who had collected the pesos from all of us paid the jeepney driver as we got out of the back of the jeepney. I stood off to the side of the road and noticed there wasn’t much in the way of street lights. The lights from within the bars shined out onto the street. We all followed the lead of a red-headed Marine and entered a bar and then sat at some small tables. We ordered a round of San Miguel Beer. Each of us paid 1 peso for a San Miguel Beer, which was about 74 cents in U.S. currency. Filipina girls started coming over to the table asking for us to buy them a drink.

      “Buy me one drinki,” they would say. “I love you no shit, buy me air conditioned Honda.” Others would taunt us saying, “Buy me one drinki, I love you no shit, buy me electric stove.”

      One Marine commented, “Yeah, you love me no shit all right, all you want is a free ticket to the land of the big PX, the good old USA.”

      We were in no mood to be forking out money for these girls so we just sat and listened to the juke box. As soon as one song finished playing there would be another Marine or Sailor putting a quarter in the juke box for more songs. Some Americans and Filipinas were dancing in a real small area. There were about three girls to one man in this little bar. I noticed that there was a cloud of cigarette smoke that filled the bar. The only ventilation I saw was the front door.

      After a few minutes we got up and went just down the street to another bar. This one was called the Pink Elephant. It was about the same atmosphere as the first and not much to do except drink San Miguel Beer and converse in Marine talk. We could come up with some doozy conversations but all the while I was learning more and more about Detached Guard, the base itself, and the local people. I thought that this was probably the best duty assignment that I had seen thus far. I wanted to make the best of it.

      On our way to catch a jeepney back to the main gate a couple of Marines wanted to stop at an outside stand where a woman was selling all types of tie-dye T-shirts. She had several stacks of different sizes and lots of different patterns. The tye-dye shirts were very popular with the Marines when lounging around in the barracks or when down on the beach. I picked me out a nice tye-dye shirt and bartered with the woman on the price; we finally agreed. A couple of Marines bought T-shirts as well. I noticed that some venders were selling switch blade knives, butterfly knives, and sandals. We got into a jeepney and headed down the access road leading to the main gate. In a few minutes the driver stopped in front of the main gate and we paid him for his services. Then we walked through the gate and continued walking the half mile back to the barracks. I had now seen enough of The Crossroads to last me a while.

      As the days passed, I became accustomed to my new surroundings. I had stood all the posts and was confident with my abilities. I was pleased that I had a place in the grand scheme of things. One morning after chow at the mess hall Mike told me that we were going to the beach and hang out there all day. We had just came off our two days of guard duty and was looking forward to relaxing. I had stood post down at the pistol range and watch tower by the beach but I had not actually had the time to enjoy it. From what I could see it was a very beautiful beach. We would carry along our sun tan lotion, swimming trunks, towel, and our wallets. If we were going to hang out on the beach all day we would need some drinks and possibly a snack to get us through the day. There was a Nipa Hut next to the watch tower where we could get cold sodas, beer, water, or a snack.

      We walked out the back of the barracks and passed by the PX, complex and the Navy enlisted barracks. We passed by the theater, library, pool, gym, bowling alley, and community center. We found ourselves walking along President Lane through a housing area. It was part of the base housing for military members who were married with dependents and who were high enough in rank to rate such privileges. We eventually veered off the asphalt and onto the sandy road leading to the beach.

       As we neared the beach the watch tower was on the left and the Nipa Hut and pavilion was to the right. Mike hollered up to the Marine in the tower to wake up. The Marine in reply assured him that he was walking his post from flank to flank and taking no crap from any rank. We smiled at each other and continued to saunter out onto the beach. The view was spectacular as we watched and listened to the gentle crashing of the waves. Then we picked out a spot on the beach and laid our towels to mark our spots. We initially sat up and looked up and down the beach. It seemed we had the beach to ourselves this particular morning but we knew that by noon the beach would have plenty of swimmers and sun worshipers.

      We shed our shirts, kicked our shoes to the side, and put on our swimming trunks. Then we generously applied some sun tan lotion that Mike had purchased from the PX. We smelled of coconut scent after we had applied the lotion. We then laid back on our towels and started talking about anything and everything under the sun. There were no limits and no boundaries as we opened up to one another like we had known each other our entire life. We just seemed to hit it off from the very beginning and it was nice to have a Marine buddy and friend. As the morning wore on we fell asleep and awoke knowing we had been laying on our backs way too long. It was time to turn over and tan our backsides.

      It wasn’t long until some Navy dependents and Sailors with their wives or girlfriends were frolicking in the water and running up and down the beach. Mike and I liked to discuss the women’s butts as they pranced around without a care in the world. We decided to stroll down the beach to our left which was in a southern direction. The beach was most beautiful to the eye. As we walked along near the border of San Miguel we could see a string of huts that appeared like villages along the sea shore. We came upon a small stream running down along the foot of the mountains and into the sea. At the stream’s mouth we came upon two Filipina women each carrying two baskets on a pole that rested on their shoulders. We decided to stop and ask what they were carrying.

      “Hey mamasan,” Mike said to them. “What are you ladies carrying in the baskets?” The women said nothing and continued to walk toward us. “What are you carrying?” he asked again.

      The women stopped and put their baskets down. They began jabbering away in their native tongue and suggesting that they spoke very little English. Mike motioned that he wanted to see inside the baskets.

      “Hell, these nice old ladies may just have some contraband that they smuggled off the base. We can’t have you two taking things off the base, now can we?” Mike asked.

      I laughed at Mike’s comical sense of humor. The women were more than happy to show us inside the baskets. They opened them up and a terrible odor rose from them. As we peered inside each basket there were little minnows that they had caught in the stream. It smelled like they had been in the baskets for days.

      Mike held his nose and said, “Peeu! I think I’m gonna gag. These fish smell awful.”

      The women thought his gestures were very comical and began to laugh at him. We knew they were somehow making jokes and carrying on. We got a kick out of just watching them laugh. Here we were with total strangers and the locals seemed so friendly. We decided to break away from them and walk down to the waves. I looked out to sea and saw some islands not far from the beach. I asked Mike if he had ever been to the islands. He told me they were called the Capones Islands and that he had not yet been there. He informed me that we could rent a banca boat to take us there and that we could also spend the night and camp out. It was something that I definitely wanted to do before my tour was up. Back at the Nipa Hut we got a cold soda and a snack. Then we headed back to the barracks and hinted that this would not be our last trip out to this wonderful beach. It was the closest thing you could get to paradise, I reckoned.

      Mike and I were known within the guard section for enforcing the rules and regulations to their fullest extent. We knew our general and special orders and would not deviate from them. In our way of thinking, we were on post for a reason, and that was to guard the base and enforce the commander’s policy. That was what we were going to do. After all, we were in an official capacity and in the line of duty that required constant vigilance and law enforcement. We made a pledge to uphold the law.

      One day Mike and I were standing Post 1 together. It was a very busy day as we had a lot of vehicles coming in and going off station. We switched sides of the sentry booth periodically so we could break up the monotony and work both sides. At one point Mike was on the right side checking vehicles as they departed the base. A bus load of Sailors approached us who were all being taken to their work place at Fort Apache. It was in our orders that all military personnel riding the bus would be covered (headgear properly positioned on their head) and all military ID cards checked for validity. The bus pulled up to the main gate and stopped. Mike walked around the front of the bus and boarded the vehicle. He began checking ID cards as he walked down the center of the bus. Each time he came in front of a Sailor who did not have his cover on Mike would tell them to put their hats on. Some got the hint and voluntarily put their covers on their heads. Others decided to wait until told to do so. After Mike checked all the ID cards he got off the bus and walked around the back of the bus looking underneath for anything suspicious. We also had a wand with mirror that we could use to check under the vehicles.

      Mike stepped up to the sentry booth and started to wave the bus through. Then he noticed that about half of the Sailors had already removed their covers. As the bus did not have air conditioning he yelled out to them to put their covers back on their heads. Some did and others did not. Without hesitation Mike boarded the bus again and told the Sailors that they were not going through the gate until everyone donned their covers. The Sailors reluctantly put their hats on their heads and Mike got off the bus and waved them through. We noticed that as soon as the bus exited the gate and turned left to go to Fort Apache that half of the Sailors removed their covers again out of spite. Mike made the comment that he was going to get their ass when they came back through the gate.

      We switched sides and now I was directing the outbound traffic. Soon a grey government vehicle with a group of Seabees came to a stop at the gate. I asked the Sailor driving the government vehicle for his military ID Card. He told me he left it back at the barracks. I in turn told him that everyone needed an ID card prior to exiting the base which was written policy. He tried to convince me to let them go and that he would get it the next time. I denied his request and sent them back to their barracks to get his ID card.

      After about fifteen minutes the vehicle showed up again. The driver showed me his military ID card and sarcastically yelled out, “Here, satisfied?”

      I did not reply directly to his question. Instead, I asked him to show me his government driver’s license. He angrily reached for his wallet.

      “It’s not here,” he said. “I must have left it in the barracks.

      I told him that he could not operate the government vehicle without a valid government license. He backed up his vehicle and sped back to the barracks to fetch his government driver’s license. Directly he was back again. He pulled up to the gate and handed me his military ID card and government drivers’ license.

      “I hope everything is in order,” he said with a sneer.

      I looked at them, handed the cards back to him, and then asked to see his trip ticket for the government vehicle. All government vehicles had to be checked out of motor transport and a trip ticket issued where the driver kept track of his destinations, mileage, etc.

      “I don’t have no damned trip ticket,” he said. “They didn’t give me one at the motor pool.”

      I informed the good Sailor that without the proper trip ticket that I could not allow him off the base. Once again I had him back up from the main gate to go and get a trip ticket. By this time he was fuming with anger. He must have called me every name in the book on his way to the motor pool. Mike and I laughed among ourselves at his stupidity. Soon he returned but this time with a second government vehicle following closely behind him. Both vehicles pulled up to the gate. Out of the second vehicle a commander of the Seabees came walking up to me. I rendered the proper military salute. The commander did not return my salute.

      “I hear you have been giving my driver a hard time here at the main gate,” the commander said. “We don’t have time for fun and games. We have a mission to perform outside these gates and by God we are going to do it. Now you let these two vehicles through the gate on my authority.”

      I explained to the commander that I just couldn’t disobey my verbal and written orders. I explained about the Sailor not having his military ID card and government driver’s license. All the driver had to do now was to produce a valid trip ticket for the government vehicle he was driving and he was free to go. The commander did not like my response. He busted past me and into the sentry booth and picked up the telephone.

      “Sir, you are not authorized inside my sentry booth,” I said.

      “You had better shut your mouth Marine,” he replied. “I will go wherever I like. What is the number for your commanding officer at Detached Guard Company?”

      I looked on the phone listing we had posted inside the sentry booth and read the CO’s number out loud to him. As he dialed the phone number, Mike and I looked at each other thinking that we would be in a lot of trouble. We heard the Seabee commander discussing the issue with our company commander, a Marine Corps captain. After a few minutes the Seabee commander slammed down the phone and proceeded past me without saying a word and ordered the driver to go back to the motor pool to get the trip ticket. The commander was mad as hell.

      It wasn’t long until the Sailor returned with the proper paperwork. The commander jumped in the passenger seat of the vehicle to ensure they got through the gate. I checked the valid trip ticket and waved the vehicle through the gate. The vehicle and commander waited on the other side of the gate for the second vehicle to come through. When the second vehicle pulled up I checked the driver’s trip ticket and all the Sailors ID cards. Then I asked the driver for his government driver’s license. I looked at the license, it had expired. I told the Sailor that he could not leave the base driving a government vehicle with an expired license. The commander in the first vehicle sensed that something else was wrong. He got out of the vehicle and proceeded back to the sentry booth. I rendered a hand salute as he approached. He did not return my salute for the second time.

      “What the hell is the problem now?” the commander asked me.

      “Sir, the driver of the vehicle has an expired license. He will have to swap drivers in order for this vehicle to be driven off the base.”

      The commander’s face was red as a beet. He yelled at the driver, “Get your ass down to the motor pool and switch drivers. On the double!”

      The commander stomped around pacing back and forth. Then he came back inside the sentry booth and picked up the phone. I knew that I had not better push my luck so I said nothing. He was calling the station commander’s office to complain about the incompetency of the Marine Guards at the main gate. I made myself busy and tried to avoid hearing his conversation. He finally hung up the phone.

      “You haven’t heard the last of this, Marine. Do you understand?”

      “Yes, sir,” I answered.

      When the government vehicle returned from the motor pool they had switched drivers and I didn’t even check his credentials. I merely waved them through the gate. I could hear the Sailors talking among themselves that my ass was going to be in hot water.

      When we had about an hour left of standing post the telephone rang. It was my commanding officer at Detached Guard. He summarized the events and checked to see if I was following orders properly. Everything I told him about the events that unfolded he agreed with my actions, although he said that I could check all the credentials all at one time instead of piece-milling it together. Then he gave me a stern warning.

      “Lance Corporal Fenwick, if you are correct in your actions while standing post, I will back you 100 per cent, but if you screw up, I will hammer your ass. Do we understand each other?”

      “Yes, sir,” I replied, “I understand.”

      He made a few more comments to me and then ended the phone conversation with, “Lance Corporal Fenwick, keep up the good work.”

      “Aye, Aye, sir,” I responded.

      Directly the bus that transported the Sailors to Fort Apache was returning to the base. Mike was on the left side of the sentry booth to greet them. Only a few had covers on their heads as the bus pulled up to the gate. Mike walked around the front of the bus and boarded it. Then he walked up and down the center isle of the bus. I heard him screaming and yelling like a drill instructor.

      “I told you people to keep your covers on when you are on this bus. That means everyone. I will not tolerate disrespect and disobedience of lawful orders. Do you understand?”

      A few of the Sailors stated in low voices, “Yes, sir.”

      “I can’t hear you,” Mike yelled out.

      Then there were over half of the bus yelling out, “Yes, sir.”

      “Now get them damned covers on your heads and keep them there,” he barked.

      Mike exited the bus but before he waved them through he paced up and down the outside of the bus to determine if anyone else had removed their cover. Once he was satisfied he waved them through.

      “Damned Fenwick,” he said to me as the bus drove off. “Those Sailors were scared shitless. I had them assholes calling me sir. Did you hear that?”

      “Yep, I heard,” I replied. “You may be a drill instructor one of these days. I can just see you in a Smokey Bear Cover now.”

      We laughed and thought that we had a very interesting four hours on Post 1. It was one of many instances that we would encounter while standing post together.

      In a letter home I remember telling my parents about my new duty assignment at San Miguel in the Philippines. I explained that everything was within walking distance and that the barracks was in the center of base. The EM Club was about 200 feet across the street from the front of the barracks. Out of the back door were the PX, barber shop, snack bar (Geedunk), laundry and dry cleaning, post office, beauty salon, movie theater, swimming pool, gym, and mess hall. Medical and Dental was also available. They had a hobby shop, motorcycle race track, nine-hole golf course located in the central area of the station, 18-hole lighted miniature golf course, and tennis course. In addition, there was a football field and baseball field. Also there was government housing for the senior military that were on an accompanied tour with their dependents and a Navy barracks for the single Sailors. Best of all was the beautiful beach that we could walk to from the barracks in a matter of a few minutes. It was only about three quarters of a mile from our barracks. I forgot to mention that in addition to all these amenities that there was a gas station on base, cobbler shop to fix shoes and boots, barracks laundry service for the linen, watch repair, and a jeepney taxi service.

      I soon found out that the Navy had a small store operated by the supply department and had an ample supply of uniform items. The Marines were excluded as we had our own distinct uniform requirements. In order to purchase new or replacement uniform items we would have to take the hour bus ride to Subic Bay where they had a Cash Sales that sold Marine uniforms. We could also order uniform items through the Cash Sales. Another surprise to me was that the base had a Military Affiliate Radio System (MARS) Station at San Miguel. Sailors and Marines could send messages home free of charge and make telephone calls to the States at a minimum cost.

      Additionally the Blain Community Center was located in close proximity to the pool and gym. It was air conditioned throughout and had an indoor theater and two libraries (one technical and one comprehensive). The theater had 385 seats. The center also had a reading room, multi-purpose room, music room, and a lounge-lobby with a snack bar. Surrounding the Community Center there were tennis and volleyball courts, horseshoe, and shuffleboard areas. I was beginning to really like this place called San Miguel which was contrary to comments received from others that I would hate this place. For me, if there was a better paradise than San Miguel in the Philippines, I had to see it with my own eyes.

      I stood all of the Marine guard posts but I enjoyed the main gate the most. It was a lot going on at Post 1 and keeping busy made the time pass quickly. The two Marines manning the main gate checked for several things. With regards to black market items, we had to ensure that anyone who purchased high value items at the PX or commissary, and who were transporting these items off the base, that they had valid property passes for the items. These property passes were issued at the facility where the items were purchased and signed by the proper authorities. Only 3 cartons of cigarettes could be taken off the base by any one person at any given time. Other items that we were suspicious of were perfume and playing cards. The Filipinos loved playing cards and would give double the amount to purchase a deck of cards outside the main gate.

      Our detailed inspections included checking the expiration date on all ID cards. We inspected under the hood and inside the trunks of privately owned vehicles. All vehicles, be they government, privately owned, or jeepneys were subject to search. We enforced the policy for all Navy and Marine Corps personnel to be in the proper uniform of the day. Any time we found a blatant infraction of the rules we were instructed to write up an Incident Offense Report (IOR). I witnessed many military personnel try to coerce the Marines on Post 1 not to write up an IOR that could get them in trouble with their immediate supervisors.

      There was no love lost between the Navy personnel aboard the base and the Marines of Detached Guard Company. We had a security mission to perform at San Miguel and some of the Sailors resented the fact that we took our job so seriously. This included those who were high in rank and stature. They just couldn’t understand why we enforced rules and regulations without regard to rank or position. What some didn’t realize was that the Marines were acting according to the rules, regulations, and policy of the NCSP Navy Commander and the commanding officer of Detached Guard Company. As with any military organization our guidance came from a higher authority.

      One day while I was standing Post 1 with another Marine, a Navy Chief Petty Officer (E-7), approached the main gate from inside the station. He was coming from the PX and had just bought a small refrigerator. The jeepney pulled up to the right side of the main gate where I was working. The Navy Chief was sitting in the back of the jeepney and handed me his ID card. I looked at the photo to make sure it was the same person and then flipped it over to check the expiration date. It was good to go so I handed it back to him.

      “Thanks Chief,” I said. “Is that your refrigerator in the back of the jeepney?”

      “Yeah,” he responded, “I just bought it at the PX.”

      “Where are you taking it?” I asked.

      The Chief commented, “I live off base and I am taking it to my house.”

      “Let me see your property pass and receipt,” I told the Chief.

      “Property pass?” he asked. “I don’t need no damned property pass. I’m a Navy Chief.”

      I replied, “Chief, anyone who purchases an item such as this, and takes it off base, needs the appropriate property pass and receipt. If you didn’t get one at the PX, you need to go back there and have them write one up from you.”

      “Now you listen to me, Marine,” he said. “I’m not going all the way back to the PX and get a property pass for something I have already paid for. You just step out of the way and let me go through this gate.”

      “Sorry, Chief,” I replied. “I can’t do that. Rules are rules and the rules say you need a property pass to take this refrigerator off the base. Please have the jeepney driver take you back to the PX.”

      The Chief got very angry and said that I hadn’t heard the last of him. I instructed the jeepney driver to proceed through the gate but to turn around and return to the PX. As the jeepney passed through the opposite side of the gate, the Chief was cussing and swearing about Marines being worthless. After a few minutes the Chief returned to the main gate and the jeepney stopped next to me. From the back of the jeepney the Chief thrust the property pass to me.

      “Here’s your damned property pass,” the Chief said.

      I took the property pass and looked it over closely. “Everything looks in order,” I told the Chief. “Now if you will show me your receipt for the item you will be on your way.

      The Chief fumbled around in his wallet to find the receipt. “I must have left it back at the PX while I was getting the property pass,” he finally said.

      “Well Chief,” I said, “since I didn’t see the receipt the first time you drove up to the gate, I need to compare that with the property pass.”

      “Marine, I’ve about had enough of your shit,” the Chief said. “What is your name? I’m going to report you to the commanding officer.”

      “Fenwick,” I replied, “Lance Corporal Fenwick.”

      “Your ass is mine,” he threatened.

      “Very well, Chief,” I responded, “if you still want off this base with your refrigerator, you will need to go and retrieve your receipt.”

      The Chief began cursing all sorts of profanity. Once again I instructed the jeepney driver to turn around and head back to the PX. When the Chief finally returned he handed me his ID card, property pass, and receipt. I looked them over and allowed the jeepney driver to exit the gate.

      As soon as the Chief was outside the station I heard him say, “Dumb son-of-a-bitch Marine.”

      Mike and I decided to hit the ville one afternoon. Outside of the main gate there was always an abundance of jeepneys and tricycles. The Filipinos transformed the jeepneys to accommodate several passengers. There were two seats in the back, one on each side, and the jeepney could hold up to 16 people. The Filipinos, however, crowded into the jeepneys and could pack in 20 or more people in very tight quarters. The jeepneys had metal roofs for shade but sometimes it felt like a sauna in the back of one. All of the vehicles were decorated with vibrant colors and bright chrome hood ornaments.

      We both figured that we would get a tricycle since it was just the two of us. A tricycle was merely a motorcycle with a side car attached that could hold two small people. Mike and I were Americans and larger than the Filipinos but we managed to cram into the side car. We wanted to go to The Crossroads which was in the opposite direction that we were facing. The driver, in his best broken English, asked us where we wanted to go. Since we were facing the main gate I told him to turn around. He still didn’t quite understand me so he asked again where we wanted to go. I told him, “Turn around, turn around.” Once he got turned around I was going to point him in the right direction. The driver of the tricycle began making sharp turns around and around in circles. After about the fourth circle in place I yelled out to him, “Teka Muna” (wait first). I then pointed for him to go straight down the access road toward The Crossroads. He finally headed for a straight path down the hardtop road. Mike and I looked at each other and laughed all the way into town. We figured there was a definite language barrier.

      On base liberty at San Miguel was safe, peaceful, and quiet. Liberty aboard the naval base at Subic Bay was decent but there were lots of Sailors and Marines running around. Besides the ones who were permanently assigned to Subic Bay, American ships from all over the south pacific pulled into port for liberty and maintenance of the ships. It could get downright crowded at times. Our off base liberty at The Crossroads was the usual bar scene with girls of the night and lots of San Miguel Beer. The small area of The Crossroads didn’t hold a candle to the craziness of Olongapo City just across the river from the Subic Bay Naval Base. I thought that Detached Guard was the better deal in relation to A Company and B Company located at Subic Bay.

      One day at formation we learned that two Marines were going to make the bus ride to Subic Bay while escorting a Marine prisoner. He had screwed up somehow and was going to be placed in the Subic Bay Brig. One of the escorts was an American Indian. Some of the Marines in my section started kidding with the two prisoner chasers that they might get down to Subic Bay, go to Olongapo for liberty, meet up with some honeykos, and that we would never see them again. One Marine stated that the prisoner himself could talk them into going unauthorized absence (UA) with him in this single Marine’s paradise. We all laughed and joked about it but the two chasers seemed determined to get the prisoner to Subic Bay and return to San Miguel without any problems. They also knew of the consequences if they let a prisoner escape while in their custody.

      I was on the main gate that day when the bus to Subic Bay pulled up. I climbed aboard and checked the passengers ID cards. The two chasers and prisoner were sitting near the back of the bus. I bid them farewell and told the chasers that I would see them back at San Miguel when they returned. They had all their required paperwork for the prisoner and seemed to have everything under control. I watched as the bus departed down the access road and continued with my Post 1 duties.

      After a few days, word started spreading that the chasers and prisoner never made it to Subic Bay. It was suspected that they had all gone over the hill. We just couldn’t believe that the chasers could have done that. Pay day rolled around and all of a sudden the two chasers returned to San Miguel. We had a chance to quiz them as to their whereabouts before the senior leadership got a hold of them. They had said that the prisoner had convinced them to go UA with him and to shack up with some nice Filipina girls. So they took him up on the offer. They ended up somewhere up in the hillsides of Olongapo shacking up with the ladies. They had to return to base when their money ran out. The ladies of pleasure in the Philippines had a saying, “No money, no honey!” It looked as though the chasers would now wind up in the brig themselves.

      One of our missions was to provide security for any pay rolls or bank transfers of large sums of money either coming aboard the base or off the base. Mainly it was the transfer and safe keeping of monies involving the post exchange, commissary, and recreational activities. A government vehicle that we referred to as the money truck would pick up two Marines from Detached Guard and transport us to the helo pad. We were armed with .45 caliber pistols and shotguns. As the chopper neared the helo pad we would provide security around the landing zone, supervise the off-loading of the bags of money onto the government vehicle, and then jump into the back of the vehicle to ride with the money. Mike and I thought it was a cool detail. Although we were responsible for a lot of money, we stood up in the back of the vehicle with war gear on, shotguns at the ready, and looking meaner than hell. We enjoyed the attention we got from the pedestrians and those driving vehicles aboard the base as we drove past armed and ready for combat. It was a job we liked. Once the money was transferred we carried out our regular duties.

      One day my guard section had two days off but most of the Marines just hung around the barracks while catching up on their sleep and writing letters. All of a sudden we heard the bank react alarm go off. Someone came through the squad bay yelling for everyone to get downstairs and draw weapons at the armory and to activate our reactionary force. It didn’t matter that our section had the day off. We started to get dressed in our uniforms and one of the sergeants told us there was no time to change. We all rushed down the steps with our weapons cards and ID cards in order to draw weapons. There seemed to be a hold up at the front of the line. It turned out that the Marine armorer responsible for all the weapons would not allow any Marine to draw his weapon while in civilian attire. Some of the NCOs were scolding him through the reinforced armory bars. No matter what they said he refused to issue any weapons to any Marine in civilian clothes because it was written policy not to do so. At the time there was no one around except the off duty Marines. Some Marines managed to hurry back upstairs, get their utilities on, and then back to the armory. They were allowed to receive their weapons and a small group proceeded to the bank to take up strategic locations.

      The executive officer caught wind of the commotion down the hallway from his office and intervened. He was very much upset at the fact that there was so much confusion by the Marines of Detached Guard Company responding to a bank alarm. It turned out to be a false alarm and everyone stood down. A few days later it was announced that because of the confusion, there would be a stand-by reactionary force at all times in the barracks. It would be the relief just coming off post after a four hour watch. That guard relief was to remain in uniform for the next four hours and not be allowed to check out of the barracks for any purpose. We all blamed it on the company armorer for not allowing us to get our weapons while in civilian attire.

      One day when my guard relief was on stand-by, we got word that there was a mob at the main gate threatening to overrun Post 1 and demonstrate aboard the base. The alarm was sounded and we all proceeded to the armory to draw weapons. I was about to draw a M14 when the armorer yelled out through the bar grills of the armory door.

      “Are there any Marines here with the MOS of 0331?”

      “I responded, “Yeah, I’m a machine gunner.”

      “Great,” he said, “my orders are to issue you a M60 machine gun with tripod, spare barrel, and ammo.”

      “I’ll need a gun team for all that,” I quipped.

      “Okay,” he yelled out again. “How many more of you are machine gunners?”

      Two more Marines yelled out in the affirmative. They stepped up to the armory door and together we received all the M60 machine gun equipment. Soon we were in trucks heading for the main gate. When the truck stopped at the main gate I grabbed the M60 machine gun and started to move to the main gate. I was intercepted by the executive officer of Detached Guard Company.

      “Mount that machine gun on this grassy area facing the gates and this mob.”

      “Aye, Aye, sir,” I said.

      I quickly moved to an area just to the right side of Post 1. Soon one of the other Marines with the tripod dropped it down in front of me and handed me the traversing and elevating mechanism. I mounted the gun on the tripod and faced the mob in a prone position. Then the ammo bearer arrived with the machine gun ammo. I hesitated a bit and looked at the mob outside the gates waving their banners and shouting chants at us. I assumed they were protesting the base itself but really didn’t know why they chose this day to raise hell.

      Suddenly I heard the executive officer command, “Lock and load.”

      I couldn’t believe that I was about to receive a command to mow these people down like ducks in a pond. I loaded a one hundred round belt of ammo into the machine gun and prepared my weapon to fire. I was ready to rock and roll but I didn’t see any weapons with the protesters. I didn’t have a warm fuzzy feeling about this. Some Filipinos who had their hands on the gates moved away when they saw that I put live ammunition into the gun. We were informed not to shoot unless given specific orders and that would only come if they stormed the gate. Luckily the crowd shouted a while longer and then moved away and dispersed. I could not imagine the bloodshed and international incident had the angry crowd stormed the gates. I was so glad that I hadn’t been put to the test that day.

Our first company gunny’s tour came to an end at Detached Guard. After he departed the new company gunnery sergeant arrived. He was a tall and lean black Marine. He was just off the drill field and we expected that he would give us a rough road to travel while he was stationed at the barracks. My section fell out one morning for physical training. It was a very hot and humid morning. The company gunny did the calisthenics with us that consisted of pushups, situps, mountain climbers, leg lifts, side straddle hops, bends and thrusts, and finally pullups. Then we formed up for a three mile run. The company gunny started us off calling cadence as we double timed on the hard surface road. He had a good command voice and left no doubt in our minds that he had been a drill instructor.

      We were all shouting and repeating the chants as the company gunny ran alongside the formation. We started running on Pacific Avenue toward the main gate. We neared the bridge over the Dinumagit River that flowed through the station. Everyone was sounding off while running, but as we reached the other side of the bridge, we suddenly heard one of the sergeants calling cadence. We thought that the company gunny had turned the formation over to the sergeant. A few of the Marines in the formation looked back and saw that the company gunny had fallen out of the run and was gasping for breath along the side of the road. He was completely out of breath.

      We all laughed among ourselves within the formation. The company gunny was supposed to be a bad ass drill instructor and couldn’t even keep up with us on a measly three mile run. There was a pause in calling cadence and the Marines within ranks began to ridicule the new company gunny.

      “Hey Marines, look at the limp dick drill instructor,” one of the Marines said out loud. “He can’t run for shit. We’ll put his dick in the dirt on our PT runs.”

      Another Marine commented, “Yeah, I thought drill instructors were supposed to be in top physical shape. We’ll run his ass in the dirt.”

      The sergeant in charge of the formation told us to knock off the chatter in ranks and we continued to run sounding off in cadence. We passed through the main gate, took a left turn, and headed down a road leading to the Terminal Building and Fort Apache. It was about a mile and a half stretch of straight road from the main gate to Fort Apache. This morning we would go the entire distance and then back to the barracks. From the barracks to Fort Apache our physical fitness run would be about a five mile run. I was beginning to get used to the strenuous PT as I was now completely acclimated to the hot and humid temperatures of the Philippines.

      Our running formation was stopped right in front of the barracks and the sergeant faced us toward him. Then we did a few pushups before being dismissed from the formation. We were soaking wet from sweating. It had been a good old fashioned PT session and there would be many more to follow. When we entered the barracks we began to look around for the company gunny. We did not see him. On the way up the steps to our second floor a Marine made the comment, “Non-hacker.” We laughed at the gunny’s inability to keep up with us on a run.

      After we took showers we were to fall out in formation wearing the prescribed uniform for the post we were assigned during that particular guard schedule. Some Marines would be in the green sateen utility uniform while others wore Summer Service “C” with ribbons. The Service “C” uniform consisted of a khaki shirt with either tropical trousers or khaki trousers. We wore a helmet liner that was painted white with a red stripe on both sides and a shiny brass Marine Corps Emblem attached to the front. The painted helmet liner was shined with brasso or buffed with car wax to give it a high shine. We also wore a belt we referred to as white gear. It was a white waist belt that had brass keepers to adjust the size, ornamental brass pieces, and a brass waist plate with Marine Corps Emblem. In addition to our uniform items we would be armed with the weapon designated for a specific post. Most wore the .45 caliber pistol with black leather holster attached to the white belt while others were armed with a shotgun.

      We drew our weapons and fell out into formation. All of our section formations were in the parking lot just in front of the barracks. The Marines standing in the ranks were somewhat surprised to see the new company gunny coming out of the barracks to conduct a personnel inspection. We mumbled among ourselves that the company gunny was probably out to prove a point that he had been a drill instructor. We figured we would get royally reamed for the slightest infraction of the regulations. The company gunny and the sergeant in charge of the formation started with the front rank and worked their way down to their right. The second and third ranks were given parade rest while the company gunny inspected the first rank. This would keep us from standing at the position of attention for a long period of time and risk passing out on the asphalt parking lot. I was waiting patiently in the second rank to be inspected. As the gunny got closer I could hear that he was asking questions about the duties on the posts that the Marines were about to assume. He quizzed them on their general orders and special orders. Then the company gunny came to a Marine in the front rank who was just in front of me.

      “Marine, you need a haircut,” the gunny stated.

      The Marine decided to test him. “I don’t have any money for a haircut,” the Marine responded.

      “You must have money,” the gunny replied, “I understand that pay day was just a few days ago.”

      “Well, I don’t have any money, gunny. It is all gone.”

      “What did you do with it?” the gunny asked.

      “I spent it all at The Crossroads,” the Marine answered.

      The Marines in the formation began to snicker and laugh. The gunny looked at us and told us to knock it off.

      “How much is a haircut over at the PX?” the gunny asked.

      “Twenty-five cents,” replied the Marine.

      “And you don’t have twenty-five cents?” the gunny commented.

      “No gunny,” the Marine responded, “I’m flat broke.”

      The gunnery sergeant reached in his pocket, pulled out a shiny quarter, and gave it to the Marine. “Now you owe me a quarter,” he said. Get your butt over to the barber shop and get a haircut. When you are finished, come back and report to me so I can see it. And it had best be within Marine Corps regulations. Do we understand each other?”

      “Yes gunny,” the Marine replied.

      The Marine left the formation to get a haircut. Then the company gunny saw another Marine who needed a haircut. He gave him the same song and dance story that he had spent all his money out in town. The gunny gave him a quarter as well and told the sergeant to keep track of the ones he gave money to so they could pay him back. I thought this was a bit comical, but the gunny seemed to be an all right Marine after all.

      We stood our various posts for the next few days. We noticed that the company gunny was doing physical training every day as he was trying to get used to the hot climate. Before being relieved by the other section, we were to have a morning PT run prior to liberty being sounded. We could hardly wait for liberty because it meant two days of “libbo” while the other section stood the various posts. The designated uniform for this PT formation was utility trousers, red T-shirt, and boots. The red T-shirt was issued to each Marine upon reporting to Detached Guard Company. On the front of the shirt it had a white Marine Corps emblem. Above the emblem in white lettering was the inscription DET. GRD. CO. and below the emblem was the letters USMC.

      We thought it odd that we were going to run in boots. As we formed up in ranks for the PT run, the company gunny came out of the barracks to lead us in PT. A few Marines suggested that he wouldn’t get too far before he dropped out with heat stroke. We did the usual calisthenics prior to forming up for our jog. When we started running, the gunny was calling boot camp cadence and the Marines in formation became motivated as we shouted out the chants. We expected to see the company gunny fall out at the bridge leading to the main gate as he had done before. But this time, he was stronger and seemed way too motivated for us. When we got through the main gate we headed down the same usual road leading to Fort Apache. It was now becoming familiar territory.

      All of a sudden, the gunny veered the formation to the left and we went running clumsily through bushes and branches. We were ducking and dodging limbs as we ran through the undergrowth. Our PT formation popped out on the other side and ended up running along the beach. We expected the gunny to lead the formation along the shore line where the sand was hard but he took us right down the beach in the soft sand. It was very difficult running down the beach as our heavy boots sunk about four inches into the soft beach sand. We ran for what seemed like a very long time until the gunny finally turned us around and we ran back in our same tracks. We all thought the gunny was trying to kill us, but we wouldn’t dare fall out of the run.

      All the Marines were extremely exhausted by the time we reached the hard surface road. Everyone was trying to catch their breath for the run down the road leading back to the main gate. The gunny had the squad leaders up front slow down the pace some and he began a bellowing cadence as we repeated after him. It was the best cadence I had heard and it really motivated the entire platoon. As we neared the main gate we all got more enthusiastic as there were the two Marines manning the front gate, vehicles were coming in and going off the base, there were many Filipinos going through the pedestrian gate to work aboard the base, and there were an abundance of tricycles and jeepneys parked on the outside of the gate.

      Our chants got louder and louder. We were sounding off at the top of our lungs and all eyes were upon us. One Marine standing post opened the gate and we double timed past the main gate and headed for the barracks. A couple of the Marines began to fall out of the formation. The gunny simply turned the formation around in order to pick up the stragglers and get them back in the formation. When we arrived at the barracks parking lot we got even louder to let the other section know how motivated we were. Finally the formation was stopped and the gunny faced us toward him. He congratulated us for hanging tough and sticking with him on the run. The gunny had proved to us that he was one to be reckoned with. From then on we dreaded to see the company gunny at our PT formations, but he had gained our respect.

      Our new company gunny had a zero tolerance for run drops during our physical training runs. Granted, some Marines were suffering from hangovers and late nights while on liberty, but the gunny didn’t care. If you fell out of a formation run you were placed in his special platoon he referred to as the “Clutch Platoon.” To the gunny, Clutch Platoon meant that there were no brakes to stop the forward movement, and therefore, Clutch meant that we would keep on rolling until we were in top physical condition. The gunny would form his Clutch Platoon about three days per week and always after-hours. If you fell out of one of the gunny’s runs, you had better show up for his Clutch Platoon unless you were physically standing post or he would hunt you down and find you.

      The gunny also came up with an idea that the off duty Marines needed to get back to the basics and re-familiarize ourselves with infantry tactics. He gathered some off duty Marines one day and went over land navigation and the use of the lensatic compass. Our group was divided into three, 4-man teams. We were to be provided maps, compasses, and PRC-77 radios, so we could patrol outside the perimeter of the station. Our objective was to practice our land navigation skills and be on the lookout for any suspicious characters. The “suspicious characters” spiel seemed a little too much for me to get serious about.

      We started after the hours of darkness. Each team had flashlights and was to hit certain checkpoints that had been pre-designated on our maps. Every time we hit a certain checkpoint, we were to radio back to the COG, who could monitor our progress on his PRC-77. My team unanimously volunteered me to lead the team since I had Vietnam experience. After about 45 minutes of walking around in the darkness, and through bushes that ran along the beach, all three teams called back to the COG, that we had reached the first checkpoint.

      The night continued and my team thought it strange that one team was always last in calling in their checkpoint. Sometimes we could hear laughing and giggling in the background. At one point I heard some women’s high pitched laughs and voices. I asked over the radio where their location was. When someone responded over the radio, we were told that they were at a checkpoint close to The Crossroads. We didn’t think too much about it but it seemed that the Marines seemed jovial throughout the night. Finally our night patrols secured at around 0200. When my team reported back to our barracks one team had not yet returned. We thought they may have lost their way in the darkness. The next morning as we were stirring around and going to eat breakfast in the mess hall, it was learned that this squad had spent the entire evening in some upstairs bar in The Crossroads. It was a place where both Sailors and Marines used to hang out and watch people go by. They had been drinking and chatting with the ladies while calling in the various checkpoints that they had never been to. I was upset with their antics but they swore us all to secrecy. Had the gunny found out that a patrol was calling in checkpoints while hunkered down in a bar, it would have been hell to pay, for all of us.

      While my guard section was off for two days, Mike suggested that we go and terrorize the enlisted club. I could hold my own in a fight but I always elected to walk away from fights if given the chance. We ended up at the club and commenced drinking San Miguel Beer. It was cheaper than the beer imported in from the States. After listening to the live band for awhile, Mike decided that we should go and try our hand at some of the game machines that they had in the club. We left the main bar area and entered the game room. We started feeding the machines coins and having a blast as we jumped from one machine to another. I got interested in one pin-ball machine and started concentrating on it. Mike moved on to another machine further away from me.

      The next thing I know, Mike had started a fight with a Sailor over something trivial. They started throwing punches and it seemed the Sailor was getting the best of Mike.

      “Help me, Fenwick,” Mike yelled out. “This son-of-a-bitch hit me in the nose. C’mon, help me kick this squid’s ass!”

      I tried to break up the fight between the Sailor and Mike but the Sailor caught me a good lick up side my head. It was just enough to piss me off. I grabbed the Sailor and started to punch him. He seemed to be overcome by Mike’s and my blows and I thought it was about over, until Mike grabbed the Sailors’ head, pulled it toward him and bit his left ear. Blood started oozing from the sailor’s ear and we all stopped fighting. The Sailor swore at us and stated that he would see to it that we were put up for assault charges on a Navy Petty Officer First Class. We did not know that the Sailor was an E-6 in the Navy. We decided to get out of the club as quickly as possible while the Sailor was still holding his ear.

      The next day Mike and I were very nervous about the happenings at the club the night before. Our most dreaded fear came true that day when we found out that the First Class had filed assault charges on both of us. He had provided the company commander of Detached Guard Company a sworn statement and the desire to put us up for non-judicial punishment (NJP). We were called in later that day and told by the company first sergeant that we were both to receive Captains Mast for the incident in the club. He told us the time to report the following morning for the proceedings. Great, I thought to myself. I had already received one NJP after I left Vietnam and was assigned to 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines in Okinawa. It had been for sleeping thirty minutes past reveille, while aboard the USS Iwo Jima, when the Lima Company Duty NCO failed to wake us up at 0600. I didn’t need a second NJP in my service record book. I sarcastically thanked Mike for getting me into trouble.

      The next morning at the designated time we reported to the company first sergeant. He read us our rights under Article 31 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Then he told us to individually report to the commanding officer of Detached Guard Company for Captain’s Mast, the official term for non-judicial punishment. Mike entered the company commander’s office first. I heard him report to the captain and then it was my turn. I walked in sharply, stood rigid at the position of attention while looking straight ahead, and reported.

      “Sir, Lance Corporal Fenwick reporting to the company commander as ordered.

      Mike and I stood there rigid at the position of attention, but we could see out of the corner of our eyes, that the Navy First Class was standing in the office as well. The First Class was standing at the “At Ease” position. The CO of our barracks read the charges of assault to us.

      “Do you both understand these charges as I have presented them to you?” the captain asked.

      “Yes, sir,” we said in unison.

      He asked Mike how he pleaded. “Guilty, sir,” was Mike’s response.

      And you, Lance Corporal Fenwick?” the captain asked.

      “Guilty, sir,” I said.

      The captain looked at the First Class who had a big white bandage over his right ear.

      “So tell me in your own words, First Class, what did these Marines do to you?”

      The First Class started from the beginning and explained the fight in the club. He said we had all had a few too many drinks and that it had gotten out of hand. He stated he didn’t mind the punching part, but when Mike almost bit his ear off, that was taking it too far. I could have sworn that I saw the captain grin slightly when the First Class said that.

      “Are you hurt badly?” the captain asked the Sailor.

      “No, sir,” he replied. “I’ll be just fine. I may have a scar, though, to prove that I have tangled with a Marine.”

      The captain laughed a little but then regained his composure. In a stern voice he asked Mike, “Do you just go around picking fights with E-6’s in the Navy? And then biting their ears? Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Marine?”

      Humbly Mike announced, “Sir I want to apologize to the First Class. I was out of line. I am sorry for almost biting off his ear. It will not happen again.”

      “And what do you have to say for yourself, Lance Corporal Fenwick?” the captain asked me.

      “Sir, I want to apologize also. We did not mean to hurt the First Class. We have made a very big mistake.”

      “Now I gotta figure what punishment to award the both of you. I can’t have Marines running wild and beating up senior Navy personnel. That is not how we conduct ourselves as Marines, do I make myself clear?”

      “Yes, sir,” we answered.

      The captain started shifting through some paperwork. Out of the blue the Navy First Class spoke up.

      “Sir, I would like to say something if I am allowed.”

      “Yes, First Class, say what’s on your mind.”

      “Sir,” the Sailor said, “I accept these Marine’s apologies.”

      “What?” the captain asked.

      “Sir, I accept these Marine’s apologies. I wish to drop the charges that I have placed on them.”

      “Are you sure?” the captain asked.

      “Yes, sir,” the Sailor said. “I’m sure they are sincere and that it will not happen again. I hate to see these hard-charging Marines get into trouble.”

      “Very well,” the captain replied.

      He looked at the both of us and told us to tell the First Class that we were sorry.

      “I am really sorry First Class,” Mike said while reaching across to shake his hand.

      I followed Mike’s lead and reached out to shake the Sailor’s hand, “I am really sorry too.”

      “You may leave now, First Class,” the captain said. Thank you very much for coming today.”

      The Sailor was dismissed and Mike and I still stood there waiting for the captain to release us. He looked at me and asked, “Well, Fenwick, I won’t ever see you in my office again for office hours, will I?”

      “No, sir, you won’t see me again,” I agreed.

      “And you Marine,” he said to Mike, “you won’t be going around biting off ears anymore, right?”

      “No, sir,” Mike replied.

      The captain smiled. “You both do an outstanding job when you are on duty at the main gate and at the other posts. Don’t let a little liberty go to your heads. Now get the hell out of my office. The charges are dismissed!”

      Mike and I executed an about face and departed his office. We talked amongst ourselves as we proceeded back to our squad bay. We knew that we had lucked out and we were thankful to the First Class and the commanding officer of Detached Guard Company for allowing us to learn from our mistakes. It was a valuable lesson learned.

      Before we departed each others company I joking said to Mike, “From here on out, if you pick a fight in the enlisted club, you are on your own.”

      “I hear that,” Mike said. “From here on out I’m gonna cool my heels in the club. I have some time to do when I get back to the States and I don’t want to get into trouble here in the Philippines.”

      When it came time to run the physical readiness test we wore PT shorts, white T-Shirt, and tennis shoes. I wore the same tennis shoes that I wore on liberty, black converse all stars. I had worn them as a kid and I liked the look and feel of them. We had one Marine who always ran the 3 mile run barefooted. This was a real feat, as our 3 mile course was all on asphalt road. We all thought he was crazy and no one in the position of authority ever said that he could not run that way. What was ironic about it was that this Marine was always the first one across the finish line. There was hearsay that a Marine could be put up for non-judicial punishment if he caused injury to his own body and that injury prevented him from performing his regular duties. An example would be if a Marine went to the beach, got badly sunburned, and then couldn’t function the next day. We had heard that charges could be filed for destruction of government property since Marines were considered as government property. So whenever this Marine ran the 3 miles barefooted, even though he could barely walk the next day, he would force himself to act normal to avoid any repercussion.

      One morning at formation my name was called out as part of a security detail that was to be going to Capas, Tarlac. It was the main transmitting station serving Naval Communications Station Philippines (NAVCOMMSTA PHIL) that had been operational since 1962. Although San Miguel was considered the nerve center of Southwest Pacific naval communications, some component activities throughout Luzon were also the responsibility of the commanding officer, San Miguel. The Marines called it U.S. Naval Radio Station, Capas, Tarlac, Republic of the Philippines. The Navy sometimes referred to it as the Naval Radio Transmission Facility (NRTF), Capas, Tarlac.

      After formation I went to the company office to receive my orders. My Temporary Assignment of Duty (TAD) Orders read as follows:

 

UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

Detached Guard Company

Marine Barracks, U.S. Naval Base

Subic Bay, Philippines

 

JDW:jdw

5500

23 October 1971

 

From: Company Commander

To: Capas, Tarlac, Marine Security Detail

 

Subj: Capas Marine Security Detail; assignment to

 

1. Detached Guard Company will be furnishing a five (5) man detail to assist the Capas, Tarlac, command with training and security. The first detail will depart for Capas, hopefully by helicopter, on 27 October 1971. The following personnel are assigned to this detail:

 

LCpl FENWICK

Note: The orders also listed a Noncommissioned Officer-in-Charge (NCOIC), a sergeant, and 3 other lance corporals.

 

2. The detail will remain at Capas for a one (1) week period, at the conclusion of which they will be relieved by another detail. They will return to Detached Guard Company and be given two (2) days liberty and then be placed on the guard roster. They will be on call 24 hours a day for seven (7) days at Capas in a reaction force capacity. When not actually responding to a call for the reaction force, they will be utilized to train the contract security force presently providing the security at Capas.

 

3. Personnel assigned to this detail should have in their possession upon boarding the transportation to Capas the following items:

 

            3 – sets of utilities                    1 – raincoat

            2 – pair of boots                      1 – cartridge belt

            4 - sets of underwear               1 – canteen w/cover

            4 – pair of work socks             1 – first aid pouch

            2 – web belts                           1 – bayonet w/scabbard

            2 – starched utility covers        toilet articles

            1 – towel                                  1 – magazine pouch (M14)

 

      The Executive Officer (XO) of Detached Guard Company had signed the TAD orders. Our five man detail readied our uniforms and gear in preparation to board a chopper on October 27. It was a Wednesday when we boarded the chopper at the San Miguel helo pad. Capas, Tarlac, was about 50 miles northeast of NCSP. It was only about 20 miles north of Clark Air Force Base. We knew we would be flying close to Clark on our way to Capas, Tarlac.

      When we got to Capas, Tarlac, we discovered that the facility was headed by a Navy Officer-in-Charge, had a barracks, club, and limited recreational facilities which included an outdoor pool and messing facility. Our NCOIC quickly got us squared away in the barracks and we were soon indoctrinated as to what our mission was to be while at this remote station. We would patrol all the areas within the base, all its buildings, and antenna fields. It appeared that the New Peoples Army (NPA) would come aboard the compound and steal transformers. One of our missions was to deter this type of unauthorized activity and capture or detain such individuals if possible.

      We were loaded for bear when we patrolled inside the perimeter fence. Our equipment for patrols consisted of a shotgun, 5-6 magazine pouches with plenty of shotgun shells, bayonet with scabbard, flak jacket, helmet, and gas mask. We rode around in a grey government vehicle in two man teams. We alternated the hours actually standing duty which allowed time to rest prior to standing the next shift. We also alternated between daylight and nighttime hours. The time we were not actually standing duty me and another Marine enjoyed sunbathing at the outdoor pool. We started working on our tans and got really dark.

      At nighttime our two man team rode around and around the perimeter of the compound to check for intruders. There was a chain link fence on the border of a gravel road that everyone referred to as Perimeter Road. Our truck had a very strong spotlight mounted on the driver’s side of the vehicle. My Marine partner and I liked to shine the spotlight on the huge owls that landed on the fence and then try to sneak up on them. I had never seen such huge owls.

      We scanned the wilderness with the aid of the spotlight for trespassers. The chain link fence had barbed wire running across the top, but that did not deter the Filipinos. They simply dug a hole underneath the fence or found weak areas and came through the wire. One night we spotted about three Filipinos running away from one of the transformers. We drove closer to them and then dismounted the vehicle in pursuit. The further we ran away from the truck’s headlights the darker it became. We found ourselves stumbling around and tripping on bushes and vegetation. We finally gave up the chase and returned to the truck empty handed. We figured it wasn’t worth chasing the Filipinos in the dark, especially on foot. Before our tour was finished at Capas, Tarlac, a Marine had been stabbed by some Filipino in the darkness and had to seek medical attention. We knew then that is was a dangerous place.

      Our Capas, Tarlac, detail was short lived. We were relieved by another group of Marines from Detached Guard Company and I returned to our barracks at San Miguel on November 3. After our two days of liberty, we were all placed back on the guard roster on a Saturday. That following week I found out that I was getting promoted to corporal. I had been in the Marine Corps for a little over two years now and was finally going to step up to the Noncommissioned Officer rank. Lance Corporals and below were referred to as non-rates so I knew it would be a change for increased responsibility and privileges.

      When my guard section found out that four of us lance corporals were being promoted, they decided to take us to the enlisted club to celebrate and get plastered. It was our own little tradition of ringing out the old, as in promotion to the next higher rank, and ringing in the new. Once we were promoted to corporal, we were no longer supposed to fraternize with the junior ranks. In fact, once we put on corporal chevrons, we were required to move into the NCO quarters which were located in the same squad bay, but on the upper end. The area was blocked off with wall lockers to keep it separate from the non-rates. Junior enlisted Marines were not allowed into the NCO quarters for any reason. It was a way to ensure that the leaders did not become buddies or play favorites with the lance corporal and below.

      The night before our big promotion I readied my uniform that I was to wear at formation the following morning. After I was satisfied that I had a neatly ironed and sharp uniform prepared for my promotion, I got dressed in civilian attire, and a group of us walked over to the enlisted club together. The Marines pulled some tables together and eventually we were joined by other Marines from our barracks. We almost had our entire guard section at the club that night. We were all having the time of our lives. The Marines started off with San Miguel Beer. The ones who were to be promoted were not allowed to buy a round of cheer. The beers kept coming and there was always at least two in front of me. Then someone decided to switch to whisky sour. We drank and talked and were feeling no pain. The next thing I know there is a margarita rimmed with salt setting in front of me. I didn’t care for it much but who was I to turn down a drink from my fellow Marines? Somewhere in the mix there was a mai tai and Singapore sling and then back to San Miguel Beer again. I knew I was in for a rough night of celebration.

      I began to feel a bit nauseous and needed some fresh air. I told my buddies that I was going to step outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air. They were more engrossed in talking Marine lingo and having a good time to care. I proceeded to the door and started to exit. Just to my left was a vending machine with candy bars and assorted pogey bait. I looked through the glass and saw these M&M’s chocolate candies. They looked so good and I was a bit hungry as we hadn’t eaten much before we started drinking. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a coin to feed the machine. Out came one M&M’s packet and I commenced to eat every last one of the colorful button-shaped candies. Then I proceeded to the outside of the club and walked off to my right several feet and onto the grass. The spot where I came to a stop was darker than on the sidewalk but the moon gave off enough light for me to see where I was going. I looked up at the bright stars in the sky and felt the warm evening breezes against my face. It felt so good at night when it cooled the heat of the day.

       All of a sudden I became sick and vomited. The candy had put a hurting on me. I knew that alcohol and sweets was not a good combination but I had chosen to ignore it. In a few minutes I threw up again. By now I was really feeling bad. I laid down on the grass and propped my head up out of the grass while laying on my bicep. I fell asleep. Later that evening I heard people giggling and laughing and departing the club. I even heard some of my Marine buddies leaving, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t raise my head up to ask for help back to the barracks.

      The next thing I knew, the rising sun was shining in my face. It was now daylight. I had slept on the grass all night long just outside the club. I had the worst headache I had felt in my entire life. I felt like throwing up again, but managed to keep it down. I heard someone’s footsteps approaching me.

      “Damn, Fenwick,” he yelled out. “Have you been here all night? We wondered what had happened to you. We all thought you went to town to get a piece of ass. We thought you may have gone UA.”

      “Help me up,” I begged. “I’ve been sleeping on this hard ass ground all night. I need to get to the barracks and crawl into my rack.”

      “You don’t have time for that,” the Marine responded. “The promotion formation goes in thirty minutes. You have just enough time to get back to the barracks, get dressed in uniform, and fall outside for formation. Let’s go, now move your ass.” He reached out his hand and helped to pull me to my feet.

      “I don’t think I can make it,” I said. “I feel like crap. I don’t even think I will be able to stand in formation without throwing up.”

      “Now you hear me, Fenwick,” the Marine commanded. “What do you want, get promoted to corporal or be busted down a rank to private first class?”

      “Promoted,” I replied.

      “Let’s go,” the Marine ordered. “I’ll walk with you back to your rack.”

      It seemed like a very long walk but was actually only a few hundred feet away. We walked up the back stairs to the second floor in order to avoid going past the Corporal of the Guard shack.

      When we entered the squad bay the Marine escorting me back to the barracks said out loud so all could hear, “I found him crashed outside the club on the grass. He laid there all night long.”

      Mike was standing in front of his wall locker getting dressed for the formation. He turned and saw me walking in the center of the squad bay on my way to my rack and wall locker.

      He said to me, “Damned, Fenwick, you look like shit. We thought you went to The Crossroads when you didn’t return to the barracks last night and was shacked up with some honeyko.”

      “Stay away from the M&M’s,” I told Mike.

      “What?” he asked bewildered.

      “Stay away from the M&M’s. They don’t go good with San Miguel Beer.”

      Mike and some other Marines laughed at my statement. Then Mike offered to help me get into uniform. I thanked him for his offer, but I had to dash to the head to conduct my business. I retrieved my shaving kit from my wall locker and hurriedly walked to the head. I brushed my teeth and gargled with a lot of mouth wash. I managed to shave and shower in a matter of minutes. I knew the clock was ticking before we were to be standing tall in formation outside in the parking lot. I rushed back to my wall locker, fumbled with the combination lock to unlock it, and then put my uniform on as quickly as possible. It was a very good thing that I had worked on it the night before. I practically ran down the steps to go to formation but I was stopped by the company gunny. I thought he was about to chew me out. Instead, he schooled four of us how to march out from behind the formation when the time came. Fortunately, I wasn’t the one to be calling cadence for the rest of us.

      The company first sergeant came out of the barracks followed by the commanding officer. After the company gunny turned the formation over to the first sergeant, he in turn faced about and reported to the CO that all were present and accounted for. The first sergeant took his post to the left side of the CO and commanded, “Personnel to be promoted, front and center, March.” The four of us marched to the front of the formation, faced right, and executed a hand salute. The CO returned our salutes and then started with the first Marine to his left to start with the individual promotions.

      I could only imagine what I looked like. I just hoped that I would not pass out in front of everyone. As the CO came in front of me with my promotion warrant I tried not to speak too loudly so he wouldn’t smell the alcohol on my breath. The date of my promotion to the rank of corporal was November 1, 1971. Once the last Marine received his promotion warrant, our group faced to the left and marched to our original spot behind the formation, and faced back to the front. The CO said a few words of encouragement to us before dismissing the formation. The newly promoted corporals were then told to stand in front of the large Marine Corps Emblem on the grassy knoll to take a photo with the CO. After that the CO and the staff departed.

      I was glad the promotion formation had concluded. I thought it was all over until the NCOs in my guard section started hitting us in the arms and kneeing us in our thighs. It was the standard pinning on of the enlisted chevrons, and in the case of a newly promoted corporal, the NCO stripes. The NCO Stripes were sometimes referred to as blood stripes. They were scarlet trouser stripes worn on the blue dress trousers that represented the NCO high fatality rates in the Battle of Chapultepec. The red stripes were to be worn on the outboard side of the trousers legs from the ranks of corporal through sergeant major.

      One of the sergeants told me to move my personal belongings into the NCO quarters. I proceeded to the NCO quarters just at the other end of the squad bay to look for a vacant rack. There were double racks in the NCO quarters and the only vacant one was a top bunk. I never liked the top rack in any squad bay but this would have to do. Soon I had removed all my uniforms from my wall locker and moved them into my new home. Then I swapped the empty footlocker under the rack with my full footlocker and carried all my loose boots, shoes, flip flops and the like and set up my gear exactly as it was in the open squad bay. I was now separated from Mike who was my best friend, but I would nonetheless see him frequently, because we were still in the same guard section. I would also have him in my guard relief because as a newly promoted corporal, there was no haste in assigning me duties as Corporal of the Guard. This meant I would be responsible for a guard relief during our watch schedule. I would be held accountable for everything that happened or failed to happen with regards to my guard relief.

      The first order of business was to “snap-in” as COG. It was a special enclosed office just inside the front doors of the barracks. Here the COG ran the show for the entire duration of his watch. He was a direct representative of the commanding officer for the four hours he was performing his official duties. The room contained a desk and chair, weapons safe, two radios, two telephones, one switchboard, and several log books. The COG issued weapons to his guard relief and was accountable for all guard property. One of the logbooks was a VIP logbook of those coming aboard the station and those leaving. It was broken down into four categories; Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. Delta was the highest in rank and status. We also had the COG logbook where we entered anything unusual or significant events. It was a chronological listing of date and times of everything that occurred on post within every passing hour of each and every day. Another log book was used to log fuel trucks in and off NCSP. In addition to performing COG duties, corporals were assigned Duty NCO for the company from time to time. It made for a very busy schedule.

      The first time I stood COG I first issued the weapons to my relief and then formed them up on the outside for a personnel inspection. There would be seven Marines to inspect prior to assuming post. The two Marines assigned to stand Post 1 (main gate) and the ones standing duty at Fort Apache and the Terminal Building would be dressed in the Service “C” uniform with ribbons and badges. The Marines assigned to the Watch Tower on the beach and the Pistol Range would be in sateen utilities. One of them would be a supernumerary which was assigned to each four hour guard relief. A supernumerary was an extra Marine who was dressed and ready to assume post at a moments notice. It was for situations when there was an emergency, a Marine on post got sick and couldn’t stand post, or someone just didn’t show up for duty. It had happened time and time again.

      As I inspected the junior Marines I would pay particular attention to their personal appearance and the wearing of their uniforms. I checked for proper shaves, haircuts, shined brass, shined helmet liners, clean white gear, and an entire checklist of do’s and don’ts. I ensured they had the proper weapon and ammo for the post they were to assume and I quizzed them on their general and special orders. There were always a few with excuses why they couldn’t pass my inspection. I heard every lame excuse under the sun; no money to get a haircut, my houseboy forgot to shine my brass, I didn’t know I was on the duty roster, my khaki shirt is in the cleaners, need a replacement so I can play on the barracks basketball and baseball teams. I had heard it all.

      Once I was satisfied that my relief was ready to assume post, I would load them all up in an old grey truck, which was dedicated for the barracks use, and drive them to the various posts. Once I got promoted to corporal I had to get a government drivers license. The truck had a front seat, back seat, and a covered area in the bed of the truck. The front and back seat could hold three Marines if jammed in tight and the bed of the truck could hold as many as six comfortably. Instead of cramming in the front and back seats, usually there would be only two with the rest of the relief sitting in the back of the truck.

      I drove to the five posts and supervised the turnover of the off-coming and on-coming reliefs. When I arrived back at the barracks I relieved the old COG and began my four hour shift. That was the fastest four hours I had spent in my life. The two phones would be ringing off the hook at the same time plus the Marines on post would be calling me on the two radios. I tried to inventory and account for all the guard property in between answering the phones and the radios. I also had to make the appropriate written entries in the various log books that was maintained in the COG Shack. Visitors to the barracks would also come up to the window and ask for directions and information. In addition to all this there was a switchboard to operate much like a regular telephone operator. I was confused at first trying to move the connection wires from one hole to the other on the switchboard. When plugged in correctly, different Marine posts could talk with one another over the phone. The SOG would also stop in from time to time to check my post and see if everything was going okay. He would also drive to the various posts, inspect them, and report back to me any discrepancies that were found.

      This Corporal of the Guard post was very busy and hectic and I wished that I could once again stand the regular post with the other Marines. My favorite post was Post 1 at the main gate. Now that I was a corporal, I wouldn’t be physically standing those posts again. My new job would be with me for the duration of my tour at Detached Guard. As Marines were promoted to the next higher rank and assumed more authority and leadership responsibilities, the Marines would say, “It Comes With The Rank.”

      As time went on I became very proficient in my new duties as COG and it was rewarding for me to supervise other Marines. One particular Sunday afternoon I was running late in getting the guard relief posted. I was pushing the old truck pretty hard trying to make up for lost time. I had already posted the Marines at posts 1, 2, and 3 and was departing the Terminal Building and heading for the watch tower at the beach. On my way I had to pass by the golf course. I wasn’t wasting any time as I flew by on the hardtop and then jumped off onto the dusty and sandy road leading to the beach. The truck left a huge cloud of dust behind us. After posting the guard relief I returned to the barracks to assume COG duties.

      I wasn’t inside the Corporal of the Guard Shack but a few minutes until I got a call from the Sergeant of the Guard. He wanted to know who the hell was driving the guard vehicle through the base like a maniac. I told him that I was driving the vehicle. The SOG then passed that information on to the CO who was on the phone with him. Directly the SOG relayed a message to me from the CO.

      “I was on the golf course playing golf when I saw this vehicle flying through the base. Tell Corporal Fenwick to slow it down! The base speed limit is 5-10 miles per hour and he must have been doing 50.”

      I figured I would be in a lot of hot water with the CO, but time would tell. At around 0345 the next morning I was once again running behind in getting my guard relief posted. Some of the Marines were slow to get out of the rack and get dressed for their 0400-0800 shifts. I was driving along the road outside the main gate and heading toward Fort Apache. It was foggy that morning and I was finding it hard to see the road ahead of me. There was open and flat land on both sides of the road. Suddenly, I came upon a herd of caribou that were laying all over the road. I told one of the Marines in the back seat of the relief truck to get out and shoo the animals away.

      He walked to the front of the truck and started yelling, “Shoo, Shoo!”

      “City Slickers,” I moaned to myself. I rolled down my window on the driver’s side and told him to shout out, “Hay, Hay!” I had heard my father yell those words to the cows time and time again when I was growing up on the farm.

      A few of the caribou lazily moved off the road but there were a few that wouldn’t budge. I got out of the truck and started kicking the rumps of the caribou. They finally moved out of the way. On the way back to the relief truck I stepped in dung and got my spit shined shoes dirty. We both got back inside the truck and I started moving again.

      “These damned caribou are holding us up,” I said out loud. “Looks like I’m going to be late again in posting this relief. The next time I’m gong to wake you Marines up an hour earlier. This can’t happen too many more times before I get my ass chewed out.”

      The Marines all laughed and said it wouldn’t matter for the off going relief to stand post a few more minutes longer.

      “How would you like it if you were on post for 4 hours and the oncoming relief was constantly late?” I asked.

      One Marine replied, “I would not like it one bit.”

      “That’s my point,” I said.

      Just then another caribou was blocking my way. It was really foggy now and I couldn’t see but a few feet in front of the guard vehicle. I started blowing my horn for the caribou to move, but it was no use. I decided to bump it with the front of the truck. When I bumped the animal it stood up and moved forward just slightly.

      One of the Marines said, “Hit it again, this truck is built like a tank.”

      I bumped it again and it got far enough off the road for me to proceed. I hit the accelerator, and as the vehicle sped forward, we felt two bumps where the font and back wheels had run over something. I stopped the truck, retrieved a flashlight from the glove compartment, and walked to the back of the truck. Laying in the middle of the road was a baby caribou that I had not seen over the hood of the vehicle.

      “Damn,” I yelled out. “I just ran over a baby caribou.”

      Three of the Marines stepped out of the truck.

      One of them said, “Corporal Fenwick, you are in a lot of trouble now. When the authorities find out you killed a caribou you will have to pay the family big bucks. They think more about the caribou than human life and I’ve heard there is a hefty fine for killing an animal.”

      I had a Marine in our guard section from The Republic of Trinadad Tabago, an island in the southern Caribbean, and he had a very distinct Caribbean accent. He happened to be in my guard relief this night. He was a very personable Marine and we all loved his accent. His name was Grecia. Because of the hot and humid climate in the Philippines, his skin took on a shiny texture when exposed to the heat of the day. He always wanted to look nice and squared-away in uniform and on post and he hated to perspire through his freshly ironed and starched uniforms. Mike and I started calling him Greasy Grecia. I would add a little more jest to it and call him “Greasy Grimy Greasy Grecia.” At first he hated it, but after awhile, he got to where he expected being called that. We had a lot of fun with him. As I stood there pondering what to do next he spoke to the other Marine.

      “Hey mahn, who’s ta know. Dere’s no one around for miles. Who’s gonna tell the authorities that Corporal Fenwick ran over a damn caribou, tell me now, who? I sure ain’t gonna squeal to the authorities. It couldn’t be helped, mahn, I’m telling ya.”

      I responded, “Thanks Grecia, for trying to cover my ass, but right now my main concern is to get this guard relief posted. Somebody help me drag the carcass off to the side of the road.”

      Grecia did not hesitate. He grabbed one hind leg and I grabbed the other and we dragged the dead caribou off the side of the road. Then we all loaded into the truck, proceeded to Fort Apache, and then I posted the rest of the guard relief. Fortunately, it was quiet for the graveyard shift. It gave me a chance to ponder about the day’s events and wonder if I was facing some sort of disciplinary action.

      At around 0650 several Marines from the off duty guard section were returning from town after overnight liberty. They walked right up to COG Shack to turn in their liberty cards. I was hurriedly logging the Marines back off liberty in the liberty log book. In the crowd of Marines the CO walked straight up to the counter and got my attention. I saluted and gave the proper greeting. He acknowledged my salute.

      “Broken any speed barriers lately, Corporal Fenwick?” the CO asked.

      “No, sir,” I responded.

      “Make sure you observe the posted speed limits aboard the base,” he said. “I don’t want you running over innocent bystanders.”

      “Aye, Aye, sir,” I responded.

      The Marine captain then smiled at me and continued walking toward his office down the hallway. I thought to myself what a down to earth type of commander. He had a genuine concern for the morale and well being of his Marines and he practiced good common sense. He seemed very professional and mature. The captain was a highly decorated Vietnam Veteran and I reckoned that in itself made him a reputable leader of Marines.

      On the same shift, 0400-0800, I got a real surprise one morning. Everything up until about 0650 was going as planned and the shift was a bit boring in the early morning hours. Suddenly and without warning the executive officer of Detached Guard Company showed up at the COG Shack. He was to personally observe any Marine coming in late off overnight liberty. Liberty expired for the Marines at exactly 0700. Due to some not waking up early enough to get back aboard the base, lack of early morning transportation, and a host of other reasons, some had been coming back into the barracks a few minutes after 0700. We called the executive officer, Dudley Do-Right, since he had a reputation of enforcing rules and regulations strictly by the book without any deviation. He was at my post to put a stop to this nonsense.

      He came inside the COG Shack where I was. He began explaining that he wanted me to write down every Marine’s name that came in the barracks past 0700 after overnight liberty. After his detailed brief, he paced back and forth in the foyer just inside the front doors of the barracks. It was a bit comical seeing the Marines returning from overnight liberty. Some had blood shot eyes, hair uncombed, looked like they hadn’t shaved for days, and their civilian attire looked like they had rolled in the grass with them on. I kept logging them in the liberty log book and for a moment forgot what the XO had instructed me to do.

      “Why ain’t you writing these Marine’s names down like I told you to do, Corporal Fenwick?” he asked angrily.

      “It is not past 0700,” I responded.

      The XO looked at his watch. “It is now six seconds past the hour. Write down this Marine’s name.”

      I saw the Marine approaching me to turn in his ID card.

      “What the hell is going on here?” he asked me.

      “I have to log in all Marines that return to the barracks after 0700,” I commented.

      “What?” he asked out loud. “Whoever heard of anything so stupid?”

      Just then the XO interrupted our conversation. “Corporal Fenwick, I want you to make sure you have this Marine’s name on that list that I told you to fill out. Put down the time of unauthorized absence as six seconds past the hour.”

      “Sir,” I responded, “you mean to tell me you that you are placing this Marine on report for being six seconds UA?”

      “That’s affirmative,” the XO replied. “Here are more Marines coming into the barracks who are UA, put down the time as 0701.”

      “I mumbled to myself, “One damned minute past the hour, I ain’t believing this shit.”

      “What did you say?” the XO asked of me.

      “Nothing sir,” I responded, “absolutely nothing.

      This continued until around 0720 until the oncoming COG showed up to relieve me. I had about ten Marine’s names on the hit list. The XO had ensured that I wrote down the name of every single Marine coming through the doors after 0700. He took the list of names from me and allowed me to resume my duties so the oncoming COG could post his relief. The XO had said that all the Marines would face office hours for violating written orders. After I was relieved of duties I went upstairs to my rack. I heard a lot of conversations between Marines about what had happened. Dudley Do-Right was living up to his nickname. We were not privy to any disciplinary action so we assumed the CO had overruled the XO. We were cautioned at formation to make sure we were back in the barracks prior to 0700 when returning from off base liberty.

      Early one morning about 0200 I was lying in my rack asleep. I was suddenly wakened by my rack trembling. I glanced at the curtains we had over the windows and saw that they were swaying from side to side. At first I didn’t know what was going on. The other Marines in the NCO quarters were still fast asleep. My rack continued to quiver and then as quickly as it had begun it subsided. I had felt my first earthquake. There would be more of the same as earthquakes and tremors were a common occurrence in the Philippines.

      I was at the back entrance of the barracks one day getting ready to inspect my ongoing guard relief. The company first sergeant walked up to me and asked if I played basketball. I told him I used to play on the varsity team when I was a freshman in high school. He then told me that he needed me on the Detached Guard basketball team and started rattling off the practice times. I knew I had my hands full as COG so I told him that I could not play on the team. Time and time again Marines on my ongoing guard relief would tell me that they had to be excused from standing post so they could attend practice or even play a game. The excuses didn’t set well with me. The first sergeant tried to coerce me into playing, but I persisted that I would not have time for it. He became aggravated and frustrated with me but then finally left me alone.

      A few weeks passed and I heard through the grapevine, that the company first sergeant who was the basketball team coach and the company gunnery sergeant who was the assistant coach, got into an altercation at one of the games. The company gunny had gotten so pissed at the first sergeant, that during the argument the company gunny punched and knocked out the first sergeant, right there on the basketball court and in front of the crowd. We all thought that was quite funny.

      In December the pistol range at Post 5 was turned over to the Filipino guard force. It was one less post that I had to concern myself with. Our Post 4, the beach watch tower, was close to the pistol range, in fact, we could keep an eye on it from the tower. As I stood COG early one morning at around 0200 it was very quiet for me. That gave me a chance to update all the log books and inventory the guard property. All of a sudden one of the radios started blaring with transmissions. It was the Marine on Post 4. He was ranting and raving and sounded totally out of his mind. He said he was physically hurt so I immediately called the roving SOG so he could drive to the beach to check on the Post 4 sentry. I kept conversing with the Marine on the radio while the SOG was on his way to the beach. The Marine explained to me that he had seen “The White Lady” at the beach tower. He sounded scared and hysterical.

      There was a ghost story told by local Filipinos that once upon a time a woman on the beach had been brutally assaulted, sexually molested, and killed. Her spirit had been known to occasionally appear at the beach near the watch tower. When her apparition had appeared to those claiming to have seen her, she always appeared in a solid white dress. Thus the name, The White Lady, emerged. The Marine was telling me that after he saw the ghost he quickly tried to climb down the ladder of the tower. Before he could reach the ground she appeared right beside him again. He got so scared that he jumped off the tower. He had fallen about twelve feet before impacting the hard ground and twisting his ankle. He wanted off the post and away from the beach ASAP. I notified the supernumerary for my relief to wake up, get dressed, and standby to assume duties as the Post 4 sentry.

      When the SOG arrived on the scene he radioed me and asked if the supernumerary was up and ready to assume post. I told him he would be at the COG Shack in a matter of minutes. The SOG then informed me that he would pick up the supernumerary immediately after dropping the injured Marine at the local dispensary. It wasn’t long until the Marine was ready to assume post but he was a little leery about standing security at a post where there was a reported ghost. I jokingly assured him that The White Lady was no match for a bad ass Marine. The SOG arrived at the barracks and transported the supernumerary to the beach tower. After the injured Marine had been seen at sick bay he returned to the barracks and went up to the squad bay.

      The SOG later told me that the Marine had supposedly seen The White Lady climbing up the ladder of the tower. He had expended a magazine of M14 rounds and then attempted to climb down to the ground. Out of fear and excitement he jumped prematurely to get away from the ghost. That was one for the log books; “0200-Marine on Post 4 expended a magazine full of M14 rounds at The White Lady.” Whether the story about The White Lady was fact or fiction, I never saw such an apparition. It did however, put several Marines on edge when they had to stand guard at the beach watch tower.

      Three Marines in my guard section decided they were going to rent a bangca on the beach and spend a day picnicking at Capones Island. They asked me to go along with them and finally convinced me that I’d be missing out on an opportunity of a lifetime if I didn’t go along. We picked a date that we would all be off the watch schedule at the same time. It was during the month of December. It was winter back in the United States, but not in the Philippines. The weather was warm and comfortable and there was always a sea breeze at the beach. It was simply beautiful.

      A bangca was a type of canoe that had one or more lateral support floats known as outriggers that were fastened to one of both sides of the main hull. The Filipinos referred to the canoes as a bangca which basically meant boat. The Marines always called them bangca boats. We thought it was funny when we were corrected by the Filipinos that in essence we were calling them “boat boats.” The bangcas were inexpensive compared to what the operators would do for us. Their package included the use of the motor powered bangca, a round trip to the Capones, and some would even remain on the island overnight if the party was camping out. They did this in case there was an accident and someone had to get back to San Miguel for medical attention. It was up to the party renting the boat to bring along their own food, water, tent, camping equipment, snorkels, and other sundry items.

      Capones Island was about 2.5 miles off the coast of the base at the San Miguel Beach and it took about 45 minutes to reach it by bangca. It was known for its white beaches and crystal clear water along the beach. It was also a camper’s paradise. You could walk the island and take in the natural beauty. There were no commercial establishments on the island. The only structure was an old Spanish lighthouse that was built in 1890 to guide ships entering and leaving the bays of Manila and Subic Bay and to warn passing ships of the dangers of rocky shores around the island.

      As the time for our excursion grew near, some of the Marines wanted to bring along their Filipina girlfriends for the outing. At first I didn’t like the idea of going on a picnic with girls because I felt they would just get in the way. However, I was overruled and we all met on the beach by the watch tower on the pre-designated day. I had managed to get a date as well. There were eight of us to rent two bangcas. Each bangca would transport four people, so it would be two Marines and their dates in each bangca, five if you counted the boatman. We spoke with the two Filipino men who operated the bancas and agreed on a price. They would take us to Capones Island for a nominal fee and stay with us during the day until we were ready to leave.

      I took note of the bangca that I was to be in for the ride over to the island. It was named Mary Car. The boatman was very helpful and friendly. He assisted us in getting our gear stowed in the bangca. Before long we were skimming across the top of the ocean waves on our way to Capones Island. We could see it from a distance. It was quite an enchanting ride although the waves got a little rough at times. The ocean water was crystal clear and I could see various forms of aquatic life as we moved along.

      When we reached the beach I thought that it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I had never seen such white sandy beaches. The island itself was a mere rock jutting up from the depths of the ocean but had vegetation growing inland. We parked the bangcas, retrieved our gear, and headed to a cliff close by. It would offer shade from the sun and was the perfect spot to picnic. We got settled in and a few of us Marines started throwing a Frisbee on the beach. It wasn’t long until the young Filipina girls, same age as the Marines, began to complain that it was too hot. I felt they just wanted attention but it caused the Frisbee tossing to stop. The Marines began talking about different things and we were all having a good time.

      One of the Marines grabbed a snorkel and divers mask and proceeded to the gently crashing waves. I went with him. I stood on the beach and watched him wade into the clear salt water. Soon he had his mask on and inserted the snorkel into his mouth. He dived into the water and then floated along the surface with the top with his head submerged and the snorkel sticking above the water. Once in awhile he would dive into the depths and after a minute or so he would resurface. He seemed to stay down for a long time. After about twenty minutes of snorkeling he returned to the shore where I was waiting. I told him I had never snorkeled before and asked him if he would show me how to do it. He was more than happy to give me a quick lesson.

      After I got the hang of it he went back up to join the others and to dry off. I started to snorkel and drifted across the top to the water while peering into the depths. I could breathe quite easily through the snorkel. Then I began to hold my breath and dive toward the bottom of the ocean floor to observe the wonderful underwater world. I just wanted to stay under the water for as long as I could hold my breath because the scenery was just breathtaking. I saw all sorts of different colored fish, both large and small. The beauty of the coral reefs was mesmerizing. It was as though I was in a large aquarium. Fascinated by the beauty, I drifted further out to sea and the crashing waves. Just as I started to dive a big wave caught me and slammed me up against the sharp and jagged coral reef. My right knee hit first and it hurt like hell.

      I pulled my right knee toward my chest in order to take a look at it. My knee had a large gash on it and was bleeding. I tried to stand up on the coral but that was impossible. Another wave hit me and I fell over. I knew that I had better get back to the beach before the waves and the sharp coral made mince meat out of me. The only way to get out of my predicament was to swim on my stomach back toward the beach. I could feel the rip current pulling me into deeper water. I swam with much force and seemed to be barely making any progress. Just as I felt I could make it to shore another large wave pounded on top of me and I went tumbling under the water. This time I hit my left elbow on the coral and it cut me like a knife. This cut was worse than the one I had in the knee. The first thing I thought of was sharks. My arm and leg was now very sore and I could see that the water was turning a blood red. With all my strength I managed to clear the coral and was able to step foot on the soft sand once again. I waded to the shore bleeding like a stuck hog. Besides the larger cuts on my leg and arm I had nicks and cuts all over my body.

      When I reached the group they noticed that I was bleeding. The Marine who had taught me how to snorkel grabbed two towels and wrapped them around my wounds. My only concern at this point was to stop the bleeding. After a few minutes of direct pressure my cuts stopped bleeding. I probably needed a couple of stitches, but we were too far from the base to worry about it. I felt that eventually my wounds would heal by themselves. I was very sore from the cuts but I tried to play it off as if it wasn’t too bad. I had learned that you don’t snorkel on top of a coral reef with ocean waves pounding the surface.

      Our little picnic soon came to an end. Because of the girls complaining, we packed up early and headed back to the San Miguel beach that afternoon. We reached the beach before sunset. I hated to leave this little island without thoroughly exploring it, but for the time being I was stiff and sore and wouldn’t have been able to hike anyway. I hoped that I could revisit it again one day, but even if I didn’t, I would always remember how majestic, serene, and peaceful this little island was.

      Detached Guard received Essential Subjects Lesson Plans from headquarters at Subic Bay and we commenced to study hard for the Essential Subjects Test. Mike and I studied and quizzed each other on all the general military subjects. The test would include such topics as General Orders, Leadership, History and Customs and Courtesies, Interior Guard, Close Order Drill, First Aid and Field Sanitation, Uniform Clothing and Equipment, NBC Defense, Physical Fitness, Service Rifle and Marksmanship, Land Navigation, Individual Tactical Measures, Substance Abuse, and The Code of Conduct and Military Law/UCMJ. When it came time for the written test, we had no problem in passing it.

      Christmas passed me by almost without realizing it. Although it was December in the Philippines the tropical temperatures gave no hint of winter even existing. I enjoyed the fact that I didn’t have to deal with any snow or cold weather. The hot climate suited me fine as I was in my element. I was in a comfortable environment and I relished the idea of being in the Orient.

      In January 1972 two Marines from Detached Guard Company was assigned as part of a security detail for the Seventh Fleet Conference. I was one of them. The conference was to be held at Camp John Hay, an Air Force base near the city of Baguio. I had heard the name of Baguio mentioned in casual conversation but I did not know where it was or what it was like. I reckoned that time would tell. In part, my original orders read as follows:

 

UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

Marine Barracks, U.S. Naval Base

Box 56, FPO, San Francisco, California 96651

 

S1/eas

1300/1

6 Jan 72

 

From: Commanding Officer

To: Cpl F.W. FENWICK/Serial Number/0331 USMC

 

Subj: Temporary Additional Duty

 

1. Effective 8 January 1972, you will proceed to John Hay Air Force Base, Baguio City, R.P. for temporary duty for a period of about eight (8) days in connection with providing security for the Seventh Fleet Scheduling Conference thereat.

 

2. Travel via government vehicle transportation is directed for the travel involved in the execution of these orders.

 

3. Upon completion of the above temporary additional duty, you will return to your present duty station and resume your regular duties.

 

4. Before departing on this temporary additional duty, you will have in your possession Summer Service “C” Uniform with ribbons and badges and a Barracks Cover with White Gear.

 

5. You will insert a copy of these orders on the top inside of each accompanying piece of baggage.

 

6. Government quarters will be available to you while on this temporary additional duty, however, government messing facilities will not be available to you while on this temporary additional duty. You are authorized to draw advance per diem.

 

7. Travel Order Numbers will be cited on all transportation requests and vouchers pursuant to these orders.

 

      On January 7 myself and the other Detached Guard Marine assigned temporary additional duty at Baguio took a bus to Subic Bay. We would have our orders endorsed at headquarters and go to disbursing to receive our per diem pay. The plan was to spend the night at Subic Bay and then head out to Baguio the following day. We managed to find the U.S. Naval Station Disbursing and received $51.00 to cover our meals for the eight day period.

      The following day was my birthday and the day we were supposed to start our journey to Baguio. For some reason, we were delayed until the next day. So on my birthday I just wandered around the base enjoying the sights and stopping in at a few recreational facilities. On January 9 at 0600 we formed up outside the headquarters building for accountability. There was a total of 12 Marines who were assigned to this detail from the various Marine Barracks companies. This included one staff sergeant who was the Noncommissioned Officer-in-Charge. We would be riding in four government vehicles with Filipino drivers who worked aboard the base. They knew the way and could speak the language in case we ran into any problems. Baguio was approximately 112 miles away from Subic Bay, as the crow flies. It would be a long ride from Subic Bay through unstable, unpredictable, and treacherous winding roads.

      After our personal seabags and dittybags were loaded onto the vehicles our little convoy of government vehicles made its way off the Subic Bay Naval Base and around the eastern outskirts of Olongapo. I enjoyed our ride in the lowlands and took notice of the beautiful mountains to our west. We were heading in a northeasterly direction toward Clark Air Force Base. We rounded Clark and proceeded up the road to Capas, Tarlac. It was all flat land here and I recalled our patrols around the Naval Radio Station when I was assigned temporary duty there. After a few hours of riding we neared the municipality of Rosario and passed on the eastern side of it.

      From here the road connected to Kennon Road. This road would wind through a narrow and steep valley. It was the fastest route to Baguio, but it was perilous, with landslides during the rainy season. It was as scenic as it was dangerous as it had endless winding roads and poor road conditions. A mountain river flowed along a rocky canyon from the lofty heights, and following this course the road was cut above the river bed. For about forty miles we followed the river up through the mountains. On both sides of the road the mountains towered high into the sky. The upward climb revealed a picturesque view of the mountains and lush vegetation.

      As we started climbing higher into the mountains we made a stop at some sort of rest area. It gave us a chance to stretch our legs and purchase snacks if we so desired. I glanced around at the beautiful scenery. I had been on top of the Que Son Mountains in Vietnam, but this beautiful scenery up in the mountains of the Philippines, was almost breathtaking. I imagined it as a stairway to heaven. Soon we were on the road again winding around twisting turns that ran right along the outer edge of the mountains. I decided to get a few winks of sleep for I didn’t want to be wide awake if the vehicle I was riding in went over the edge. It was a long way to the bottom of the gorge.

      As we got closer to Baguio the mountain sides had huge pine trees growing all along the mountains. I could feel the change in the temperature also. The higher we climbed the cooler it got. At one point the vehicles went right through one of the low lying clouds. I thought it was a unique experience to ride a vehicle through a cloud. Finally, after about a seven hour drive from Subic Bay, we finally reached John Hay Air Force Base, Baguio City, Republic of the Philippines. We located the building where we were to report in and got our TAD Orders stamped. I looked at the stamp on my orders. We had all arrived on January 9, at approximately 1300.

      All the Marines in our security detail were directed to building 204. This would be our billeting area for the duration of our stay. I found a rack in the squad bay and unpacked my seabag. While I was organizing my uniforms in the wall locker the NCOIC gathered all the Marines for a briefing. One of the Air Force permanent personnel was going to show us where we were to stand security duty and explain the procedures to us. We were lead to a very nice building and shown the entrance to the door where the Seventh Fleet Scheduling Conference was to be held. The NCOIC explained that we would need a small table and a couple of log books to log high ranking officials in and out. After that we went back to the barracks and set up our guard roster. As fate would have it, I drew the first 0800-1000 watch on the first day of the conference. I really didn’t know if this would be any different than standing watch back at Detached Guard Company but I was to soon find out.

      I found an iron and ironing board and started ironing my uniform for the next morning. As I was ironing, a middle aged Filipino, approached me and asked if he could iron my uniform. I told him that I would rather do it myself. Then he told me that he could spit shine my black leather dress shoes and would take care of my uniforms while I was staying in the barracks. Because I wanted to look my best for the conference, I turned him down. I ended up spending a long time preparing my uniform by polishing my brass, washing my white gear, and shining my dress shoes. I made it to the Air Force mess hall that evening for a good meal and returned to the barracks. I hit the rack early as I was exhausted from the long ride up through the mountains.

      I was up at the crack of dawn the next morning. I ate breakfast at the mess hall and returned to the barracks to get ready for guard duty. We were to be driven in a government vehicle to the convention center. After I got dressed the NCOIC rode along with me to pass on any further instructions and to observe the start of the conference. When we arrived at the convention center we proceeded to one of the upper floors to where the conference room was located. I prepared a green logbook for visitors and was told I had to check each and every individual entering the conference regardless if they were in uniform or not.

      At around 0730 the first Navy officers started to go inside the conference area. I would salute each one, check their identification, and then log them into the log book. I figured this duty would be a piece of cake until 0745. Then there were groups of officers, dignitaries, VIP’s, support staff, etc. I had never seen so much brass in one place. It was a good thing the NCOIC was there to help me out as it was very hectic the first few hours of the conference. The Marines would be required to stand during the entire watch and project a sharp military appearance. There would be no sitting down on this post. Finally I was relieved of duties by another Marine and went back to the barracks to relax and prepare my uniforms for the next time that my name appeared on the duty roster.

      As the first couple of days passed quickly, I remained in the barracks even when the other Marines would go on base liberty and off the post into Baguio. The same houseboy that had approached me before noticed that I was sitting by myself on my footlocker one day while spit-shining my shoes. Once again he asked that he be allowed to be my houseboy. At this point I finally gave in and let him do it. His services didn’t cost much at all, but I wanted to be cautious about spending my money since I wouldn’t get paid until I returned to Detached Guard Company. After the houseboy collected my shoes, clothes, and brass he sauntered away to get back to work. I decided to lay back on my rack and get some rest.

      As I lay daydreaming it wasn’t long until the houseboy returned with my gear. He had already shined my shoes and polished my brass. It looked better than I could have done.

      “Wow, that was fast,” I said.

      “I’m verrie good,” the man said. “Been doing this for a verrie long time.”

      “I’m glad I let you fix my uniforms,” I responded, “now I can concentrate more on my official duties.”

      “Not to worry, I do a good job for you,” he replied.

      I smiled at the man and he went back to the other end of the barracks where he was working on uniforms for some of the other Marines. There were several houseboys in the barracks but this one took a liking to me for some reason. A few more days passed and one afternoon I was sitting on my footlocker writing a letter to my parents. He passed by me on his way to another Marine’s rack to drop off some uniform items. When he approached me again he stopped in front of my footlocker.

      “How come you don’t go liberty with other Marines?” he asked.

      “I don’t want to waste my money,” I replied. “I don’t have too much money and besides, I wouldn’t know where to go anyway.”

      “You should at least see Baguio while you are here. It is a very beautiful city. What do you want to see? Baguio have a lot of things.”

      “Jokingly I said, “Bars, lots and lots of bars.” I smiled and then said, “Just kidding.”      

      “Oh Baguio have verrie nice bars. I can show you some nice bars with pretty girls.”

      “I would end up spending all of my money,” I replied. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

      How about park, you like park?” he asked.

      “What kind of park?”

      “Baguio has very beautiful park with lots of nice trees and beautiful plants and flowers. We call it Burnham Park.”

      “I’m not into flowers,” I replied, “but I wouldn’t mind touring the park just to see what it looks like.”

      The Filipino said, “Okay, we go tonight. Just you and me. I show you good time in Baguio. And don’t worry about money, I pay for you.”

      I was beginning to get a little suspicious. Going off base alone, with a Filipino that I hardly knew, wasn’t my idea of safe liberty in a strange city.

      “You may take me to town and have your buddies rob me,” I stated. “I’ve heard of that happening in Olongapo.”

      “No, no,” he said. “I will take good care of you. Baguio is not a dangerous city. I live here my whole life. I know just where to take you. You will be safe with me as your guide.”

      I thought about it for a few seconds then said, “You know whut? I might just take you up on that offer. It is getting a little boring in the barracks anyway. When do you want to go into town?”

      “After I finish work,” he replied. “You get ready and I come by to pick you up. Then we go to Baguio and I show you some beautiful sights. You see, Baguio verrie beautiful.”

      I showered and shaved for the evening ahead and then got dressed in civilian clothes. After a few hours the houseboy came by my rack and we were off to see the sights. We walked to the John Hay main gate and I noticed a golf course nearby. It surprised me that they would have a golf course on the top of a mountain. This had to be the best kept secret in the Air Force. The base was very secluded and had all the amenities as any other military base. After exiting the main gate we took a taxi to Burnham Park that the houseboy had been referring to. It seemed to me that it was right in the middle of the city. It was quite beautiful and the Filipino man talked me through all the sights and sounds. It appeared that he had given his orientation of the park time and time again. He should have been a tour guide. I could tell that he was a man who was very proud of his city and of his heritage. I began to feel more comfortable around him the more we talked.

      For hours we walked around the city. As we walked side by side he informed me about the city of Baguio. Baguio was the summer capital of the Philippines and was 5,000 feet above sea level in the Cordilera Central mountain range in northern Luzon. The cool climate required a sweater at night. It was a stopping-off place for trips further north, namely to the world famous 2,000-year old rice terraces. Camp John Hay was a rest area operated by the U.S. Air Force. Military personnel and dependents used the facilities. Shopping in the city included wood or silver as a favorite pastime.

      He explained that the road coming through the mountains was constructed back in 1903 by combined efforts of Filipinos, Americans, Filipino-Chinese and Japanese nationals. In addition to the Filipino engineers and U.S. Army Engineers headed by Col. Lyman Kennon, one thousand five hundred Japanese immigrant workers persevered to accomplish the difficult road project. In carving out the road against the river canyon walls, five hundred Japanese workers died while engaged in the project. Baguio itself covered an area of about 57 square kilometers. Most of the developed part of the city was built on uneven, hilly terrain of the northern section. It was known for its mild climate and was nicknamed the “Summer Capital of the Philippines.” The average temperatures ranged from about 60-74 degrees Fahrenheit which was much cooler than the rest of the Philippines.

      Later that evening we ate at a restaurant. It was real nice. Then I told him that I should be getting back to the barracks.

      “Don’t go now,” he said, “I will show you some nice bars and some verrie pretty girls. You want pretty girl tonight?”

      “No, not me,” I replied. “I can look but not touch.” I need to concentrate on my security duties here and not worry about getting VD.”

      “Okay,” he said, “just look, no touch.”

      “All right, let’s go check it out,” I told him.

      We walked across the park and ended up on a street that had a few clubs and bars. We entered the first bar we came upon and went inside. We were more curious than anything else. Inside the bar there were several Filipino men sitting around drinking beer and chatting up the girls. They all just stared at us for a few seconds and then went about their business. It didn’t look like too much was going on so I told him that we would have one beer and leave. When we left the bar he told me that I would really like the next stop. He had been there before. “Lots of pretty girls,” he said.

      I was beginning to be a little doubtful as I thought that he would be leading me around to a bunch of dive joints. We entered a night club and I was expecting to see the main bar area on the first floor. Instead, we climbed the stairs to the second floor. When we reached the top of the stairs it was a fairly large area with several tables, bar area, and a stage for a band. Again the Filipinos stared at us for a few seconds. I guess they thought it strange that an American was carousing around town with a Filipino. It was by far the nicest bar I had seen in the Philippines. There were several Filipino men at the tables and bar and plenty of nice looking women. They were not the typical bar girls; they seemed more sophisticated and projected a great deal of courtesy and manners. We sat down at a table in the back of the bar with my back to the wall. I liked it that way so no one could sneak up from behind me.

      We ordered two San Miguel beers then sat and talked. To keep the conversation going I asked a lot of questions about Baguio and he was more than willing to tell me stories. A couple of the Filipino men came over to our table. I thought we might be in for trouble. Instead, they began talking to my tour guide in Tagalog. Then he introduced me to them. Surprisingly enough, they reached out to shake my hand. I shook their hands and they began speaking English to me. They welcomed me to Baguio and hoped that I had a pleasant stay. Then as they turned to rejoin their table they told us to enjoy the band and the pretty ladies.

      More women began coming into the club. They were all dressed in nice clothing, most of them in dresses. It appeared that they were out on the town to dance the night away. When the band started to play an American song, the dance floor came alive. Here I was, the only American in this club, but I enjoyed watching the Filipinos having a good time. Before I knew it, the waitress brought us two more beers. One of the Filipinos who had earlier greeted us had bought us a round of cheer. They seemed very friendly. I noticed that my tour guide was trying to get the attention of some girls he obviously knew. They started coming over to our table.

      “No girls,” I told him. “I don’t want to sit with any girls. All they want is for me to buy them a drinki.”

      “No,” he replied. “These girls just want to dance. They buy their own drinks. You see.”

      Almost immediately our table had about five girls hovering over us. I glanced at their faces. They were quite pretty and seemed high class. They sat down with us. There was a mix of the English language and Tagalog between us. Then the gentleman I was with told them all to speak English. That was the first time I had ever witnessed anything like that. One girl asked me to dance and we proceeded to the dance floor. All the Filipinos on the dance floor smiled as this six foot tall American started cutting the rug. I was having the time of my life and the music was very good. In between breaks I sat with my friend and toasted a few San Miguel Beers. I didn’t want to push my luck so I told him I had to return to the barracks.

      As we began to depart the girls told me, “You come back tomorrow and dance with us.” I just smiled. We caught a taxi and he took me back to the main gate of Camp John Hay. He let me out and told me that he would have the cab take him to his home. I gave him my share of the cab fare and thanked him for escorting me around the city of Baguio. Then I proceeded to the barracks to turn in for the night. This houseboy was a nice gentleman and I trusted him, however, I would not go out with him on liberty again. Regardless if the Filipinos seemed friendly in Baguio; I just didn’t want to stray away from the security of the base. After all, I had to keep reminding myself that I was in a foreign country.

      When our security duties at Camp John Hay concluded, we departed Baguio by way of government vehicle once again. We departed January 15 at 0730. The trip back through the winding road in the mountains and eventually the lowlands seemed even longer than the first trip. Although Baguio was an interesting place, I was anxious to get back to my buddies at Detached Guard Company. At 1400 on the same day we arrived at headquarters Marine Barracks Subic Bay. We would get our orders endorsed and then the two of us Marines from Detached Guard would catch a bus to NCSP.

      In February 1972 I received TAD orders to Noncommissioned Officer (NCO) Leadership School. Instead of the school being at Subic Bay I would have to travel to Okinawa. In part, my orders read like this:

 

UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

Marine Barracks, U.S. Naval Base

Box 56, FPO, San Francisco, California 96651

 

S1/eas

1300/1

31Jan72

TON 28-72

 

From: Commanding Officer

To: CPL F.W. FENWICK (Serial#/0331 USMC)

 

Subj: Temporary Additional Duty (NCO LEADERSHIP SCHOOL)

 

Ref: (a) CG Third MarDiv msg 210604Z Dec 71

 

Encl: (1) Clothing and Equipment Requirements

 

1. In accordance with reference (a), effective on or about 2 February 1972, you are to report to the Officer-in-Charge, Navy ATCO, Clark Air Base, R.P. for air transportation to Okinawa on flight ROC8Y, show time 1535. Upon arrival in Okinawa you will report to the Officer-in-Charge, NCO Leadership School, Building 2382, Camp Hansen, Okinawa on temporary additional duty for a period of about twenty-two (22) days.

 

2. Travel via government air is directed for the travel involved in the execution of these orders. Class II priority is certified for the travel involved.

 

3. Upon completion of the above temporary additional duty, you will return to your parent command and resume your regular duties.

 

4. Before departing on your temporary additional duty, you will ensure that all of the clothing and equipment shown on enclosure (1) is in your possession as required.

 

5. The total cost of travel expenses in connection with these orders is $42.00. The total cost of per diem is $22.00.

 

6. You will wear the Summer Service “A” or “B” uniform while in a travel status in connection with these orders.

 

7. You are authorized sixty-six pounds of baggage while traveling via government air transportation. You are cautioned that the carrying of any kind of explosives aboard military aircraft on your person or in your personal baggage is strictly prohibited. You will insert a copy of these orders on the top inside of each accompanying piece of baggage.

     

      After packing my seabag and making all the necessary travel arrangements to Clark Air Force Base I arrived at the terminal in plenty enough time to catch my flight. I was told it would take approximately eight hours to fly the distance of about 900 miles between the Clark Air Base and Kadena Air Base in Okinawa. I could use this time to get some rest before I started the rigorous schedule at NCO Leadership School.

      When I arrived at Kadena, I went through customs and caught a bus going to Camp Hansen. The scenery was the same as I had remembered it when I traveled the same road as a private first class and lance corporal going to and coming back from Vietnam. I remembered Camp Hansen as well from my earlier days on the island. I finally reached my destination and checked in at the school. I was given a rack, footlocker, and wall locker next to the rear hatch of the squad bay. Other NCOs started arriving and filling up the barracks. They were from different commands and different countries. I knew none of them.

      The following day we went to morning chow at the mess hall and then returned for our first classroom instruction. An instructor explained the PT uniform requirements while at the school and the various exercises we would be doing. He also addressed the length of our formation runs and how often we would PT. There would be a Physical Readiness Test during the course as well. If a Marine failed the test, he failed the school. They wasted no time in getting on with the PT program. We were given course materials and we would have classes throughout every work day. We would be allowed liberty on the weekends, but we had to earn it. If a Marine NCO didn’t excel during the week his weekend liberty could be secured.

      My first PT session at the school was grueling. We conducted a lot of physical training at Detached Guard, but the instructors at the NCO Leadership School seemed to want to prove a point. They would make sure that we were in top physical shape prior to returning us to our parent commands. We had a lot of classroom time and the main focus was on leading Marines. Our course of instruction included physical fitness, drill, sword manual, military justice, inspection preparation, history/customs/courtesies, proficiency and conduct marks, leadership traits and principles, leadership roles, land navigation, and a host of other subjects.

      For those earning off base liberty on the weekends the instructors treated us as mature adults. We were responsible for our own actions. I managed to go into Kin Ville on occasion for a few drinks and some fried rice. The small Okinawan town was just outside the main gate of Camp Hansen. I mainly stayed on base. I got to where I would go to the movie theater on the weekend just to break up the monotony and have something to do on liberty. I wouldn’t stay out much because we also had to study for tests. While I was there I managed to borrow a Marine’s cassette tape recorder. After purchasing a blank cassette tape at the PX I made a voice recording for my parents back in Kentucky. I tried telling them all about the Philippines and what I was doing there. It was good to record my voice instead of always writing letters. I knew they would listen to it several times.

      I really enjoyed NCO Leadership School and felt that I had learned a lot about being a leader of Marines. It was all about taking care of Marines and doing the right thing. I particularly liked the close order drill. It was gratifying to have Marines under my charge while marching them around in a standard orderly fashion. I enjoyed calling cadence and giving sharp and distinct drill commands to the platoon of NCOs. It gave me a real sense of pride and accomplishment and I was able to fine-tune my command voice and thought that maybe one day I could possibly become a drill instructor. The possibility intrigued me. I figured that being a Marine Corps drill instructor had to be the ultimate job assignment.

      Upon conclusion of the course we had to fill out a critique sheet to turn in to the instructors. I remember the statement that I wrote: “I wish I had taken the NCO Leadership School earlier on in my career.” I dreaded the long flight back to the Philippines, but once again I was heading back to where I belonged. I liked the Philippines much better than Okinawa. From Kadena I caught a flight back to Clark Air Force Base. Then I hopped on a chopper going to Subic Bay. I spent the night at headquarters and then took the bus back to NCSP. My Marine buddies were glad to see me, especially Mike. Although I was a corporal and he was a lance corporal, we kept our friendship on a professional level, even though it was frowned upon for a NCO to fraternize with the lance corporals.

      One day I joined a group of about six off duty Marines to make a trip to a place called White Rock Beach. Mike would be going along with us and I was excited to spend a day with the Marines at this beach resort. Again some of the Marines were daring enough to bring their girlfriends along. We rode to The Crossroads in a jeepney and then caught a Victory Liner bus to White Rock. The Victory Liner was the name given to the local buses. They were okay to ride in but it got pretty crowded with local Filipinos. Also since there was no air conditioning, it also could get very hot.

      Heading south along National Highway the resort was located just off the road about 20 miles in between NCSP and Subic Bay. I had passed by it several times while riding the government bus from NCSP to Subic Bay. Going in the opposite direction heading north from Subic Bay the resort was only about 10 miles up the road. It was known for its beautiful beaches, parks, and tourist attractions. One of the reasons we wanted to check it out was to see if there were any American girls.

      When we made it to White Rock we found a nice pool to sit by for the rest of the afternoon. We changed into swimming trunks and we all went for a swim. The pool water was really nice. After our fill of frolicking in the water we all joined chairs in the shade and ordered a round of Heineken beer. The girls that had accompanied the group somehow managed to get some green mangos and were cutting and slicing them to eat. They would dip the cut slices in salt and then eat them. I tried one and I thought it was very sour to the taste.

      A Marine said that he was going to jump off the 100 foot dive and asked if anyone else wanted to join him. We all shook our heads and declined his offer.

      “Well, I’m going to go for it,” he said as he got up and headed for the ladder on the other side of a large pool.

      “You are crazier than hell,” I told him. “You may break your fool neck if you are not careful.”

      “You only live once,” was his reply.

      Then the other Marines began to cheer him on. As he reached the ladder I looked at it from a distance. It had some platforms at different positions going up the metal ladder. The first appeared to be about 25 feet, then another at 75 feet, and the last platform 100 feet in the air. It was a long way up. We saw the Marine as he climbed to the top and he took a rest on the 75 foot level. A couple of Marines dared him to go on up to the top. When he reached the top he stepped at the edge of the platform and yelled, “Geronimo!” Then he cupped his family jewels with both hands and jumped feet first. He hit the water with both feet and after a few seconds he surfaced and then slowly swam to the edge of the pool and rested a few minutes. Finally, he joined us at the table.

      “Man,” he said out loud, “that high dive is way the hell up there. I started once not to jump. When I hit the water it stung like hell. It’s like landing on the hard ground instead of water. It almost knocked the breath out of me.”

      The Marines gathered around the table laughed at the way he had said it. Then there were dares amongst us on who would be next off the high dive. A few Marines started daring me.

      “Nope, not me,” I replied. “That’s just too damned high for me. We have a silo back on the farm and it is 40 feet high. I used to climb up the ladder and look out over the farm. If this dive is 100 feet, that is 60 feet more than the silo. Ain’t no way I’m gonna jump off that.”

      “Chicken!” someone said. Are you a Marine or whut? Show us what you are made of Fenwick. Go ahead; it ain’t nothing but a measly 100 feet.”

      The other Marines chimed in. “Go ahead, Fenwick. Show us you are a bad ass Marine. Go ahead, no balls.”

      “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I laughed.

      Finally their taunts got the best of me. I decided that if the other Marine could jump off the 100 foot dive that I could do the same. I went to the ladder and started to climb. At the 25 foot mark I looked down and I had a pretty good view of the resort area. Then I climbed further up the ladder. I didn’t stop until I got to the 100 foot platform. I stepped out on the platform and looked down. It was almost frightening. I thought about turning around and heading back down the ladder. Then I heard the Marines at a distance yelling for me to jump. I couldn’t turn back now. I would be the laughing stock of the group for the rest of the day.

      I stepped to the edge of the platform. The wind seemed to have picked up while I was standing there. I wanted to get down off this ladder so I cupped my gonads with both hands and jumped. As I plummeted downward I felt as if my upper body was leaning forward a bit so I attempted to compensate by leaning backward. It wasn’t working, so without realizing it, I released my hands to help me to balance myself. Almost immediately I hit the water at an angle where my upper body was still leaning forward. I felt the hard impact on my feet, gonads, upper body, and face slam into the water.

      I drifted down through the depths of the pool until I finally came to a stop. Opening my eyes I saw the bubbles rising to the surface, so I knew which way was up. I instinctively attempted to swim, but couldn’t move. I was completely dazed and stunned. My gonads felt like they were in my throat and my upper body and face burned with pain. I had to force myself to exert all my effort to reach the surface. I gasped for air and rolled over to float and swim on my back to the side of the pool. I felt like I had just hit a slab of cement. When I finally reached the side of the pool I clung onto the side trying to catch my breath. After several minutes I made my way back to the group. They were all laughing and carrying on until they saw my red face and upper body.

      “Looks like you did a belly flop,” one of the Marines said jokingly.

      “I didn’t hit the pool straight on,” I replied. “It felt like jumping onto concrete.”

      “Oh, you’ll be okay,” another Marine said. “Here, have a drink.” He handed me a Heineken.

      “Mike asked me, “Fred, are you all right.”

      “Mike, I said, “Don’t ever let me pull that crazy ass stunt again, do you hear me.”

      Mike laughed. “I wouldn’t jump off that damned thing if you paid me a million dollars.”

      Mike,” I replied, “I think I am going to throw up.”

      The other Marines laughed. Fortunately I didn’t throw up but I had a splitting headache that lasted the rest of the afternoon. It seemed that trouble would always find me when I was hanging out with my Marine buddies. The rest of the day was uneventful which was fine by me.

       Word was passed at a Detached Guard Company formation one day that an Inspecting General’s Inspection was planned. It would consist of a wall locker inspection, rack display (Marines called it Junk on the Bunk), personnel inspection, close order drill, physical readiness test, and a host of other specific areas of interest to be inspected. One of the sergeants inspected my uniforms and determined that I needed some black socks, green work socks, white T-shirts, skivvy drawers and a few other uniform items. Either I did not have the required amount as required by uniforms regulations or they were considered unserviceable. Sometimes even a faded out pair of trousers or shirt could be classified as unserviceable simply because it was worn but not defective. Everything had to be perfect for one of these inspections.

      I made arrangements to catch the bus from NCSP to Subic Bay. Since there was no uniform store (Cash Sales to the Marines) we had to travel to Subic Bay to purchase or even order some types of uniforms and accessories. The bus ride was interesting for me. Even though there were other Marines on the bus and some Navy personnel, I kept pretty much to myself. I had a seat all by myself. I enjoyed watching the scenery as the bus moved slowly down the road. The kids playing in the small towns amused me. They were running around barefooted and most without shirts. The sights and sounds of the Orient came back to me. I loved to see the banana trees swaying in the breeze and I thought the view of the open rice fields was mesmerizing. Some of the places looked so much like Vietnam.

      When I arrived at Subic Bay the Detached Guard Marines made our way to Cash Sales. Most of the uniform items were in stock but some were not. In that case we had to fill out forms to order them through the supply system. That meant I would have to make another bus ride from San Miguel to Subic Bay in order to pick up the requisitioned uniform items. That suited me just fine as it would give me yet another opportunity to get away from the barracks and see the countryside. We were allowed to spend one night at Subic Bay and we could stay at the Marine Barracks. So after visiting Cash Sales we checked in the barracks and got a rack for the night. That evening we all went to the Sampaguita Enlisted Club on base for a cold beer and listen to a live Filipino band. The night life at San Miguel was not as exciting nor was it as crazy as Subic Bay and Olongapo City, but I liked San Miguel. I was glad that I had been assigned to NCSP. In my mind I knew that there would never be another duty station quite like it, not in my lifetime.

      We headed back to Detached Guard the following morning. When we arrived at our barracks someone had posted a roster of what everyone was to be doing for the upcoming inspection. Some Marines would be standing several different events such as a personnel inspection along with a junk on the bunk inspection. I was to stand the junk on the bunk and also close order drill. Many hours of preparation was put into our uniforms to make sure they were perfect for the inspection. A group of about thirty Marines were designated to stand the close order drill inspection. One day we fell outside in utilities to practice. Some of the corporals and sergeants were having a hard time and fumbling around when it came to marching a unit from one place to the other in a standard orderly fashion. The other NCOs had been running the formation up onto the sidewalk, up on the grass, into cars, and all over the place. The company gunnery sergeant was getting frustrated with them, because as he stated, they did not know their left foot from their right.

      Finally, he picked me to come to the front of the formation and drill the platoon. He handed me a card with all the drill movements that I was expected to conduct within the small confines of the barracks parking lot. I had drilled Marines before, because in the infantry, that was the way we moved from one place to the other while in garrison. I had also conducted close order drill while at NCO Leadership School. I studied the card for a few moments and then looked around at the small parking lot that I was to drill the platoon. We would not be armed with weapons. Once I mentally mapped out my route I came to attention facing the formation.

      In my best command voice I commanded, “Platoon, Ah-Ten-Hut.”

      Most of the Marines in the formation snapped to the position of attention. The company gunny smartly corrected those who executed the movement haphazardly.

      Then I commanded, “Riiight, Face! Forward, Harch! I began calling cadence as I had heard my drill instructors in boot camp.

      “HWAN, HUP, THREEP, FO, YO LEF.”

      I gave them a column right and another immediate column right to head down the long axis of the parking lot. Quickly I gave them some drill movements back to back.

      I sounded off, “By the left flank, March! By the right flank, March! Mark Time, March! Forward, March! Column Right, March! Column Right, March! Change Step, March! Left Oblique, March! Forward, March!” I continued down the card giving the proper commands and calling cadence in a musical rhythm. I then personalized my calling cadence the way I used to call cadence in the grunts. “Left Righta Left Rithta Lo Right Le’O.”

      The Marines in the formation seemed to be motivated and started digging their hills into the parking lot asphalt and making one distinct pop as their heels made contact with the ground all at the same time.

      After I had finished the card I commanded, “Platoon, Halt! Left, Face! At Ease!” Then I executed an about face and looked at the company gunnery sergeant to signify that I was finished.

      He walked over to the platoon and stated out loud, “Finally, I have a Marine who can drill a platoon. Outstanding command voice,” he said to me. “You are now selected to be one of the three Marines who the inspector will call out to drill the platoon for the Inspecting General’s Inspection. From now on it will be the three of you drilling this platoon.”

      I was a little anxious about the possibility of drilling the platoon for the inspection. I hoped that I would not make any mistakes. I surely did not want to fail the drill portion of the inspection because it would have made Detached Guard Company look bad. We continued to practice and I got pretty good at the various cards that were handed to me with different drill movements. When the day arrived to conduct the inspection, I was chosen to drill the platoon. I was a little nervous at first, but when I called them to attention with authority in my voice, I knew that I was in my element. As I marched the Marines around in formation it was as though it was just another practice session. At the conclusion the inspector stated that we had passed the drill portion with flying colors. When we were dismissed, some of the Marines patted me on the shoulders and congratulated me. It was a good feeling. All the other inspections went smooth as well. Detached Guard would get an atta-boy for a job well done.

      It was normally hot and humid in the open squad bays. There were large stand up fans placed in strategic locations to keep the air circulating within the barracks. At times we would be sweating through our uniforms even prior to assuming post. I was in the NCO quarters one day laying back and trying to get as much of the air from the fan as possible. Without warning some Filipino men came into the living area and started measuring the windows and jabbering away in Tagalog. I raised up and asked what they were doing. Two of them answered at the same time and told me that they were going to install air conditioning units in the NCO quarters. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I asked if they were also going to install them in the open squad bay where the lance corporals and below stayed. Their response was that the window air conditioners were only for the NCOs. I felt privileged, but I also felt a little guilty that the NCOs would be enjoying cool air for a change, but not the non-rates. I figured that rank did have its benefits after all.

      I made a round trip from NCSP to Manila on a Victory Liner. Manila was about 75 miles southeast of NCSP. It was the worst trip I ever had. It was hot and crowded on the bus. Every so often the bus would stop along the roadside and the Filipino men would step off the bus to take a pee. They would only walk a few feet from the bus and didn’t even try to hide their private parts from the women on the bus. Some of the women got off the bus and conducted their business as well. During the entire trip, going to and from Manila, the Filipinos would constantly stare at me. I was the only American on the bus and felt totally out of place. While in Manila I thought that the people were rude, but I reckoned it was because they were from the big city unlike the smaller towns I was accustomed to near San Miguel. I swore that I would never ride in another hot and stuffy Victory Liner.

      When the rainy season arrived, the skies opened up and it rained for days on end. Once in awhile it would stop raining and the sun would shine through. It was a real morale booster when it did. Then as always it would cloud up again and pour down rain. It rained so hard and so often at times that our off base liberty was secured. They didn’t want Marines wading through foot high standing and running water and risking an accident. However, that did not interfere with standing guard duty. We had to perform our sentry duties come hell or high water.

      Our only military issue gear that was designed to keep the rain off was a poncho and a green nylon raincoat. Because the poncho was considered as 782 gear, it could not be worn with our Service “C” uniform and could only be worn with our sateen utilities. It did a fairly decent job of keeping the upper body from being soaked, but from the knees down you were soaking wet. That was because the poncho only came to about knee high.

      The green nylon raincoat was part of our basic uniform requirements and was issued to all recruits during boot camp. The proper name for it was Raincoat, Man’s, Nylon Rubber Coated, Green M-2. It had a waist belt with buckle in the front, six buttons (three rows of two) for size adjustment, and ventilated armpits. Both left and right pockets had a slit at the top so a .45 caliber pistol could be pulled through to the outside while a Marine’s white gear was on the inside of the raincoat. This was only done in heavy rain. If it was just sprinkling, the white gear was to be worn on the outside of the raincoat. When I first arrived at Detached Guard it was during the rainy season. Mike and I used to stand guard at Post 1 in the pouring rain. Although we had a sentry booth that kept our log books and communications equipment dry, we would have to step out in the rain to check vehicles, passes, and to raise and lower the stop bar. By the time we got off post after four hours we were soaked to the bone. The green nylon coat would suffice in a light drizzle, but it was no match for the Philippine monsoons. Sometimes we would just stand post in the rain without wearing the raincoat because it was virtually useless during downpours.

      During one prolonged period of heavy monsoon rains the company gunny finally sounded liberty for all the off duty Marines. We were told that we had on base liberty only. He authorized us to wear our black leather boots with our civilian attire. Mike and I got dressed and were going to go to the enlisted club if it hadn’t floated away. When we got downstairs to leave through the barracks front door, the standing water was beginning to come into the first floor. It was nothing we could do so we dashed across the street to the club. We had a good time sloshing through a foot of water on the way to the club. The club was operational and serving customers. Somehow a Filipino band had made their way on base and also the Filipina entertainers. I thought it was comical dancing on the dance floor with soaking wet boots.

          During the months of July and August 1972 Marines from the Barracks provided voluntary assistance to “Operation Sakolo”, giving help to victims of heavy flooding on the Bataan Peninsula. The Barracks provided Disaster Relief Contact Teams who stayed in the field for the duration of the operation to provide assistance and to request and distribute food, clothing, and medical supplies. Working parties and relief teams also reacted to distribute supplies during the flooding and to help in the post flood relief program. As a result of it’s participation in “Operation Saklolo”, the Marine Barracks was awarded the Philippine Presidential Unit Citation.

          My time in the Philippines was coming to and end. After I was promoted to corporal and moved out of the open squad bay and into the NCO quarters I started dating. Mike and I didn’t see each other as much as we wanted to. It just so happened that I obtained company approval to get married in the Philippines just prior to my upcoming departure. I had Release from active duty (RELAD) Orders and was to fly to Treasure Island near San Francisco to begin processing for discharge. I had thought about reenlisting but I figured that three years in the Marine Corps was enough adventure for me. I would go back home to Kentucky, look for a public job, and possibly one day buy a farm of my own. I was still undecided about staying in the Marine Corps but I thought that I would figure it all out eventually.

          Just as I was preparing to leave the Philippines for the United States, we heard that a ceremony had been held in which Lieutenant General Wilson, CG Fleet Marine Force, Pacific presented the Meritorious Unit Citation to the Marine Barracks for meritorious service during the period July 1, 1970-September 1, 1971. Since I was stationed at the barracks during that time frame, I was entitled to the award. I was happy that I had picked up two ribbons while I had been stationed in the Philippines.

          I departed Detached Guard Company on September 10, 1972. It had been raining hard for several weeks. With seabag, ditty bag, and wife in tow we boarded a government bus headed for Subic Bay. I would make other travel connections from there to Clark Air Force Base and then back to the States. As we traveled south on the highway there were places where the water had cut paths across the road. It was rough riding. I noticed the small villages along the sides of the road that I had seen many times before. Some were completely covered in water. I wondered how they would manage to survive the floods and typhoons that were sure to come.

          About half way to Subic Bay the bus came to a stop. A Navy Seabee officer boarded the bus and told everyone that we had to disembark the bus with all our luggage. We would have to cross a foot bridge that the Seabees had built across a river. The floods had washed away the bridge. I struggled with my seabag and ditty bag on this swinging rope bridge. Others were struggling also and I tried to offer a hand when I could. When we reached the center of the bridge I had to catch my breath. I stopped and looked at the raging muddy water below. If anyone were to fall off this bridge they would be long gone. I heard one of the Seabees yell out to keep moving. When I reached the other side there was a different government bus that would take us the rest of the way to Subic Bay.

      I completely checked out with a few offices at the headquarters building. I had to check out with the admin office, the mail room and a few other places. After my check out we would be riding in another government bus heading to Clark Air Force Base. Once we arrived at Clark I was given the flight number and departure time for a Military Airlift command (MAC) flight. We would stop off in Hawaii to catch another MAC flight and then on to Treasure Island. A group of people loaded aboard the MAC flight. Some servicemen were in uniform and others were not. There were civilian dependents aboard the plane as well. We sat in the cargo netting seats which got a little uncomfortable after awhile. About an hour into the flight one of the crew chiefs handed out bag lunches and a drink. It was the typical mess hall bag lunch. Our lunch bag contained a ham and cheese sandwich on white bread, two hard boiled eggs, a small bag of chips, salt and pepper, celery sticks, and an apple. The drink was a small carton of milk. Everyone on the plane chowed down like they hadn’t eaten in days. It was a nice touch to a very long flight.

          We lost a few passengers and gained a few additions in Hawaii. I thought we would never get out of Hawaii as the flight kept being delayed. Finally we were on our way to Treasure Island, San Francisco. After we landed I sent my wife ahead of me by plane to Kentucky. She could stay with my parents until I got discharged at Treasure Island. Then I took a taxi to the base and managed to find the Marine Barracks Separation Section. I had arrived on September 13, three days after I departed Detached Guard Company. I thought about Mike and my other Marine buddies that I had left behind. Mike would be leaving the Philippines also before long and I hoped that I would run in to him again sometime.

          At Treasure Island I was put in an “awaiting release from active duty” status. For five days I waited for the paperwork to be processed. I couldn’t figure out what was taking so long to discharge someone from the service. On about the fourth day I was called to the separations office. A corporal sat down with me and went over some paperwork and asked me if I wanted to change my mind about reenlisting and staying in the Marine Corps. I thought about it but then made the decision that I would be separated. I signed the paperwork and went back to the barracks where other Marines were waiting to be discharged as well.

          I got really anxious and began pacing around and thinking about my decision. Still I wasn’t positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that I wanted to leave the Corps. I had seen and done so much within the three years of my enlistment. I had traveled to places that most people can only dream about and was used to the disciplines within the military service. There was a sense of pride and accomplishment instilled within me. To throw that all away was really weighing heavily on my mind.

      I had a very restless night and decided to call home the next morning to talk to my mother and wife. I explained to them that I was thinking about staying in the Marine Corps. Neither one seemed too keen on the idea but said that they would support my decision. After I hung up the phone I dashed over to the separations office to try and stop the paperwork so I could reenlist. I managed to see the same corporal who had me sign my discharge papers and informed him that I wanted to reenlist. He told me that it was now too late to change my mind because the discharge process was in motion and the paperwork was already on its way to Kansas City, Missouri. I was very disappointed but decided to just let it run its course. On September 9, 1972, I was placed on the “inactive” list. I could have kicked myself for not reenlisting.