| General Fiction posted February 18, 2017 | Chapters: |
Prologue -1- 2... 
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a memoir, around 540 words
A chapter in the book Memoir
Humbly Into the Green
by Bill Schott
Long ago I almost didn't graduate from high school. I had been labeled persona non grata for having been in the parking lot doing what someone had said was something akin to smoking pot. I was innocent of the charge, of course, yet was, in a season of knee-jerk purging, expelled. I was a 'twelfth-year-complete' so I managed, with the completion of some adult education classes, to get the high school to issue me a diploma.
With this piece of paper in hand I went to the Marine recruiting office and began screening for enlistment. My recruiter asked for proof of graduation. I gave him the diploma. He asked me to take a test. I apparently aced it. He then asked me if I had ever been involved with marijuana. Seeing that I had been booted out of school with the implication that I had been involved with it, I replied with an emphatic no.
Soon after, I was tested, 'physicalled', and scheduled to leave for Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, California. The recruiter contracted me to be a communications specialist (radio operator), and scheduled my departure to boot camp for a month later on July 1st. Sometime, at the end of September, my girlfriend called me up where I'd been staying with my cousin and informed me that the Marine Corps had a warrant for my arrest for missing my ship date.
Reporting immediately to the recruiting office, I received a tongue lashing and was told that I could either leave for boot camp the next morning, with no contract, or go to jail. I took the shipping option, having not known at the time that I could have simply walked away, as being on delayed entry was not the same as being enlisted in the military.
Marine Corps basic training was, as a few and proud will attest, the greatest physical, mental, and spiritual challenge of my life. Three months after beginning the training, I had survived initial phase training (though the platoon had lost thirty-five of our ninety-five beginning recruits). After the Mess & Maintenance phase we lost three more who had either dropped a target hauling mechanism on a clavicle, jumped a fence and attempted escaping paradise, or threatened the drill instructor with a loaded weapon (though he was made painfully aware that all the firing pins had been blunted to prevent anyone from 'accidentally' shooting his drill instructor).
Graduation was a thrill for me as I was to be married four days later. In retrospect, I must say that the thrill was more the end of boot camp. The ceremony took a bit to get through, however, since I had never really mastered spit shining, had my eagle, globe, and anchor lapel insignias on the wrong sides, and told the inspecting battalion commander that a major general had three stars. He was quick to remind me that I was one star off, had shitty looking shoes, and "Shiver me timbers!" the anchors on my lapel devices were pointing outboard. After a last minute visit to Happy Valley, a sand pit used to build motivation, nestled covertly between quonset huts and away from public view, I was allowed to pick up my orders and graduate. So far, graduations had been hard for me.
Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry
Long ago I almost didn't graduate from high school. I had been labeled persona non grata for having been in the parking lot doing what someone had said was something akin to smoking pot. I was innocent of the charge, of course, yet was, in a season of knee-jerk purging, expelled. I was a 'twelfth-year-complete' so I managed, with the completion of some adult education classes, to get the high school to issue me a diploma.
With this piece of paper in hand I went to the Marine recruiting office and began screening for enlistment. My recruiter asked for proof of graduation. I gave him the diploma. He asked me to take a test. I apparently aced it. He then asked me if I had ever been involved with marijuana. Seeing that I had been booted out of school with the implication that I had been involved with it, I replied with an emphatic no.
Soon after, I was tested, 'physicalled', and scheduled to leave for Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, California. The recruiter contracted me to be a communications specialist (radio operator), and scheduled my departure to boot camp for a month later on July 1st. Sometime, at the end of September, my girlfriend called me up where I'd been staying with my cousin and informed me that the Marine Corps had a warrant for my arrest for missing my ship date.
Reporting immediately to the recruiting office, I received a tongue lashing and was told that I could either leave for boot camp the next morning, with no contract, or go to jail. I took the shipping option, having not known at the time that I could have simply walked away, as being on delayed entry was not the same as being enlisted in the military.
Marine Corps basic training was, as a few and proud will attest, the greatest physical, mental, and spiritual challenge of my life. Three months after beginning the training, I had survived initial phase training (though the platoon had lost thirty-five of our ninety-five beginning recruits). After the Mess & Maintenance phase we lost three more who had either dropped a target hauling mechanism on a clavicle, jumped a fence and attempted escaping paradise, or threatened the drill instructor with a loaded weapon (though he was made painfully aware that all the firing pins had been blunted to prevent anyone from 'accidentally' shooting his drill instructor).
Graduation was a thrill for me as I was to be married four days later. In retrospect, I must say that the thrill was more the end of boot camp. The ceremony took a bit to get through, however, since I had never really mastered spit shining, had my eagle, globe, and anchor lapel insignias on the wrong sides, and told the inspecting battalion commander that a major general had three stars. He was quick to remind me that I was one star off, had shitty looking shoes, and "Shiver me timbers!" the anchors on my lapel devices were pointing outboard. After a last minute visit to Happy Valley, a sand pit used to build motivation, nestled covertly between quonset huts and away from public view, I was allowed to pick up my orders and graduate. So far, graduations had been hard for me.
With this piece of paper in hand I went to the Marine recruiting office and began screening for enlistment. My recruiter asked for proof of graduation. I gave him the diploma. He asked me to take a test. I apparently aced it. He then asked me if I had ever been involved with marijuana. Seeing that I had been booted out of school with the implication that I had been involved with it, I replied with an emphatic no.
Soon after, I was tested, 'physicalled', and scheduled to leave for Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, California. The recruiter contracted me to be a communications specialist (radio operator), and scheduled my departure to boot camp for a month later on July 1st. Sometime, at the end of September, my girlfriend called me up where I'd been staying with my cousin and informed me that the Marine Corps had a warrant for my arrest for missing my ship date.
Reporting immediately to the recruiting office, I received a tongue lashing and was told that I could either leave for boot camp the next morning, with no contract, or go to jail. I took the shipping option, having not known at the time that I could have simply walked away, as being on delayed entry was not the same as being enlisted in the military.
Marine Corps basic training was, as a few and proud will attest, the greatest physical, mental, and spiritual challenge of my life. Three months after beginning the training, I had survived initial phase training (though the platoon had lost thirty-five of our ninety-five beginning recruits). After the Mess & Maintenance phase we lost three more who had either dropped a target hauling mechanism on a clavicle, jumped a fence and attempted escaping paradise, or threatened the drill instructor with a loaded weapon (though he was made painfully aware that all the firing pins had been blunted to prevent anyone from 'accidentally' shooting his drill instructor).
Graduation was a thrill for me as I was to be married four days later. In retrospect, I must say that the thrill was more the end of boot camp. The ceremony took a bit to get through, however, since I had never really mastered spit shining, had my eagle, globe, and anchor lapel insignias on the wrong sides, and told the inspecting battalion commander that a major general had three stars. He was quick to remind me that I was one star off, had shitty looking shoes, and "Shiver me timbers!" the anchors on my lapel devices were pointing outboard. After a last minute visit to Happy Valley, a sand pit used to build motivation, nestled covertly between quonset huts and away from public view, I was allowed to pick up my orders and graduate. So far, graduations had been hard for me.
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