In and Out of the Marines
I was seventeen years young when I lost all semblance of my previous life. Just off the bus in Parris Island Marine Corps Boot camp; shaking in my boots, like an etch-a-sketch. The faith I grew up with, the Jesus-loves-the-little-children-do-not-fear lessons from Church School, and by osmosis, core of my faith from my parents... was being erased.
I grew up mimicking the faith of those around me; watching, following and loving God, loving our neighbors as we love ourselves. But, I wanted more: to serve my country, test my mettle; see if I could hold life and faith together as a US Marine. So I enlisted.
The Drill Instructors said: “Unlearn everything. There’s a new god: me.”
Forget all memories of loving relationships and your trivial little romances with “your little Suzies back home.” Replace them with thoughts of a blood thirsty enemy who wants to kill you, hand-to-hand combat drills & dreams of protecting yourself with high powered weapons.
Fear death, they said.
Kill or be killed, they said.
Take charge when it is thrust upon you, they said and did.
From the instant I stepped into South Carolinian heat that melts tarmac, the DIs were telling me what to do... Obey your chain of command, trust your platoon, who will keep you alive with their lives, and hone your own passion for killing.
For thirteen weeks, seventy-five lean, green fighting machines were corralled by five exemplary sergeants and told when to eat, sleep, wake, poop, pee, march, climb, chant, and follow orders. Trained for physical, mental, and psychological combat, I survived by mimicking those around me. I followed. I shined my boots to perfection, kept a tidy footlocker, stayed awake and aware at all times, and surpassed all the physical requirements. It was either survive Marine training or… be humiliated.
Seared into my brain are memories of how the sergeants used to gang up on people; like Private Bynum when he stopped doing push-ups. They pushed him around and called him names like worm, punk, puke, and pussy. He was crying, on his hands and knees, begging them to stop, but being chastised into doing more. We watched in horror. I remember thinking two things: (1) the ability to be pushed to the point of exhaustion and then go past it and (2) being glad it wasn’t me.
Of course, I had my own humiliations, mistakes, and attempts to fit in. One time I ran out of the restroom, flew around the corner and crashed into Sergeant Thomas, knocking him over. I snapped to attention, motionless, as he screamed obscenities an inch from my face until he turned red and thumped me in my chest.
“The private’s fault, sir!”
“It won’t happen again, sir!”
After that, I tried harder to fit in. I kept thinking, maybe if I’m a hundred percent squared away no one will notice that I am really a worm.
My mind kept trying to keep me from thinking about the humiliations, the micro-aggressions, and the pressures to conform. Emotions piled up; all the time preparing myself for a day when I would be told to play God and take another persons’ life.
I was so consumed by blind trust in “The Corps,” I didn’t realize the void in my life where my faith used to be. Fun filled it instead. I traveled all across the U.S., two tours in Asia—Okinawa, Olongapo City, Seoul, Singapore, Mambasa, and Thailand. Partied in fancy restaurants and dive nightclubs. For four years, I lived like there was no tomorrow, blowing off steam any way I could—with alcohol, drugs, sex, adrenaline, and firing weapons. Then, on the last night in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, my second overseas tour, I staggered up the gang plank a little tipsy and a few minutes late. Sergeants met me at the threshold, held me while one crusty old jarhead tagged me in the eye with his Marine Corps ring while another gave me a tongue lashing. Five Sergeants against one Marine, retaliation was not an option. I got stitched up by the Corpsman and returned to my platoon, beaten.
From then on, I just did my job, kept my head down and checked off the days ’til discharge. A few months later, I’m stateside, and the Commanding Officer came to me and told me I had been doing a great job, so good in fact, that (1) old Sgt. Crusty and I were getting medals and (2) if I re-enlisted, I’d be guaranteed a stripe, a pay raise and a bonus.
I told him, “Sir, no offense, but I’d rather be homeless.”
Thirty days later, I’m twenty-one years old with Camp Pendleton, California in my rearview mirror. I transitioned out into civilian life, without a roof, direction, or focus. I found a job, an apartment, a SoCal lifestyle, and night courses at San Diego Community College. Shortly after that, I realized I had a home, drove to my family’s house in Lorain, Ohio, and found what I had never lost—unconditional love, family, and a more expansive understanding of God’s amazing Grace that saved a wretch like me.
Just being around people who loved me fed my soul, healed my ego, and forgave my arrogant pursuits of pleasure. The God who loves all equally made sense to me. So, in pursuit of a more evolved faith, and still wanting to serve humanity, I went to college, then seminary, and found pastors, professors, peace activists, and fellow students who taught, listened, let me be myself, guided me, and loved me. I learned to curb my aggression and anger with prayer, yoga, meditation, bible study, small group discussions, and the martial art called: Aikido. I kept a few things from the Corps like early morning jogs, traveling, leave no members behind, and a verse from U2’s Miracle Dog, “there is no failure, just when you quit.” I joined peace making groups like Veterans For Peace, Cleveland Peace Action, and Illuman; realizing that the prevention of violence and aggression—teaching peace—is probably more important than opposing war, which I also did.
Now, I keep thinking to myself, I am so thankful that there is a God, and it’s not me.
Prompts for Reflection
What have been the transitions in your life?
How open have you been to change?
What is a piece of advice you would give someone who is experiencing a transition?
About the Author: Douglas Horner has lived in Cleveland, Ohio’s near west side for 20 years. He is a bi-vocational pastor in public life. He lives by the motto: What Would Jesus Do. This includes: preaching part time in Sheffield Lake UCC, and in various churches whenever called; partnering with other church leaders on issues of Poverty reduction, Housing For All, Environmental Justice, Just Peace; helping groups build outreach ministries in their own communities; continuing to stay plugged into Cleveland interfaith social justice activities with a focus on young people. He and Kathy enjoy traveling, hiking and kayaking, spending as much time as possible each week in the woods or on the water.
