Merry Christmas, 1968

I reported to Camp Pendleton in California three weeks after I arrived home from Vietnam in 1968. I had expected good news when I arrived. My friends from Vietnam who had arrived state side before me had received good duty stations and early release from the United States Marine Corps. The war in Vietnam was winding down. We were being replaced by the U. S. Army. The Marine Corps no longer had any use for such a large force that the Vietnam war had originally demanded.

I was much surprised to find that I was assigned to work at the Camp Pendleton Brig after my arrival. My surprise soon turned to disappointment.

When I arrived at the Brig, I was assigned to stand guard in one of the watchtowers on the graveyard shift. The California air had turned cool by that time, the towers were not enclosed, and there were no chairs in which to sit. The nights were long.

The Brig was surrounded by tall chain link fences topped by concertina wire. I was instructed to shoot any prisoner who was persistent enough to scramble over or through the wire. Of course, I was supposed to alert other guards first, then shoot warning shots, and only if that did not work, was I supposed to fire my shotgun at a prisoner.

The irony did not escape me at the time. I went from someone who was supposed to kill somebody trying to break into my base while in Vietnam to someone who was supposed to kill somebody who was trying to escape from my base. I was fortunate that there were far easier ways to escape from Camp Pendleton if anyone had a mind to do it. My chances of shooting somebody was a very low probability event.

I served my time for a few weeks through the holidays and beyond in the watchtower until I was reassigned to the check-in hut.

The check-in hut had two purposes: one, to fill out the necessary paperwork on a prisoner, and two, to begin to instill good old fashioned Marine Corps discipline on newly arrived prisoners who felt they had nothing left to lose.

I lacked the ferocity for check-in duty. I’ll leave it there, except to say that my lack was not lost on my peers. I am sure that multiple complaints by them about my passive attitude led to my reassignment to the Brig supply shed.

Shortly after that I was promoted to the exalted rank of Sergeant. My promotion came shortly before my twenty first birthday, and less than three years in the Marine Corps. I felt vindicated about my worth when it happened and it meant more money and bennies.

Then I started the long wait to get out and begin the rest of my life. But that’s another story for another time.