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Habits May Fade, the Marine Remains
Problems with recruiting and retention within the military have been a prominent issue in recent years. When dealing with an all-volunteer force, retention will always be a challenge, especially when civilian society is competing for the same talent. Of the friends I made while serving, only one reenlisted. The rest of us were gone, or as the once derogatory acronym labeled us: GMFs.
Like my growing prostate, yellowing teeth, and shrinking frame — it is a part of my DNA.
On a recent online news feed, the question was posted to 10 active-duty Marines if they had planned to reenlist. The Leathernecks were all asked individually, and what was remarkable but quite convincing was that six of the 10 all replied with the same two-word answer: “F*** no.” (RELATED: The Military Recruiting Crisis Starts With the Leadership)
The irony was comical and not out of disrespect.
Seven of those Leathernecks were set to exit, one was on the fence, and two were likely to ship over. During my own tenure, the pattern was similar: three out of four walked away when their initial EAS — End of Active Service — arrived. (RELATED: Happy Birthday, Marines)
Career planners have wrangled with retention since the invention of boot polish. Most of those departing from active duty had a good idea what they were going to do once they made their anticipated return to civilian life. For the majority, the list was relatively short and concise: get a job or go to school and find some part-time gig to keep the wallet balanced, while enjoying plenty of free time pursuits. (RELATED: Real Military Reform Begins)
It is said there is no such thing as a sure thing, but whoever said that didn’t know many Marines. What was a guaranteed “sure thing” for those leaving the Corps was a varied list of “never and nots” that was as detailed as it was long.
Not getting a weekly haircut.
Not shaving every day.
Not making one’s rack (bed) — hospital creases be damned. And the only junk (782 gear) on my bunk would be mine.
Not making sure your uniform was void of Irish pennants while starched and creased.
Not shining another piece of brass, ever.
Never calling a hat a cover.
Not having to measure to make sure all my underwear is properly folded and marked.
Never spit-shine another shoe, boot, pistol holster, whatever, again.
Not swabbing a deck or wiping down a bulkhead.
Never doing calisthenics or going on a three-mile run before breakfast.
Never participating in another Thursday night all-hands barracks field day that always ran much longer than necessary.
Never having to clean a rifle again and again to the satisfaction of some armorer with an attitude.
Never again going to the field (camping for civilians), eating out of a cold can, or sleeping in a bag.
Never again standing for the Friday pre-dawn CO’s battalion barracks inspection or his mandatory five-mile run in combat boots once the inspection finally concluded.
In fact, the only running I would be doing from here until eternity was from the refrigerator to the bathroom, and only when absolutely necessary.
This list may certainly vary depending on the veteran and their service branch. However, I bet everyone who served can find some commonality.
Looking back over the decades, I freely admit that some of these things have slowly crept back into my life. Granted, it took time, with nostalgia and even practical needs playing an integral part.
I have come to prefer working out before breakfast. I still eliminate the run but have replaced it with cycling. I still shine my black leather shoes when needed, and provided the mood strikes me, I will put some spit to the shine. I do make the bed on occasion to surprise the boss (wife) and to the satisfaction of the big dog. There are also many times I will shave daily, and while I do not get a weekly haircut, I remain open to the idea, provided a traditional barbershop is available. I still refuse to have anything to do with camping, preferring a hotel with room service.
The one thing that has been a constant through the ensuing decades has been my identity as a Marine. It is the one unbroken link that remains. Like my growing prostate, yellowing teeth, and shrinking frame — it is a part of my DNA.
Semper Fidelis.
READ MORE from Greg Maresca:
Fourth and Funded: College Football’s Fiscal Fumble
Off the Radar: Christian Genocide in Africa
Truth & Treason: A Tale of Moral Courage
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