The first few days of Marine OCS were a whirlwind of activity. We had to get our green fatigue OCS uniforms fitted, as well as our boots. I kept stumbling in front of Lt. Nichols as I tried to climb the three step stand so he could get a good look at the fit of the uniform. (I was not used to wearing boots--my previous pair back in the mid-1950's caused me to trip and fall onto the corner of a coffee table in our living room on Foxley Drive in Whittier, requiring three stiches. I still bear that scar though these days it's very faint at the left base of my nose.) He asked me if I were unable to walk and chew gum at the same time? I was not capable of that in boots, apparently.
BTW, I kept one pair of those two sets of boots we were issued that day. The other pair I left out the day I departed OCS and someone that they fit in the platoon snapped them up. I think we were required to turn in our fatigues.
Once we got our three pairs of fatigue shirts and trousers, we were advised to allow the Platoon Sergeant's and Sergeant Instructor's wives to sew on our white cloth name plates on the back of the shirts and above one of the shirt pockets. It earned them extra money and it kept us in the good graces of our platoon staff for a short time anyway.
We had ridden over to the uniform issue building and back in what was generously referred to as "cattle cars"--trucks that pulled enclosed trailers that looked very much like those you would see on any highway hauling cattle to market. The metal benches were hard and uncomfortable, as well as difficult to stay atop. We kept sliding off when the trucks turned.
On the second or third day, we each also had a one-on-one meeting with Lt. Nichols in his office off of the platoon bay. I had already decided that Marine OCS was not for me even though we were required to remain there for 9 weeks and the 10th week of out processing. I would be there for most of the 12-week duration, regardless of my imagining it a waste of tax-payer dollars and my time. I sat in an overstuffed chair in his office and responded to questions as he asked them. The chair sat at an angle, pointing slightly away from where he sat. I did not know if I was supposed to look directly at him by turning my head when he or I spoke. So I just sat there and stared straight ahead the whole time, never once looking in his direction. He must have thought I was screwy.
We also had the first of our platoon runs. While I had run often in the neighborhood, and up at Mark Lombardo's house in Palos Verdes, and was pretty much ready, these were interesting in that we ran sometimes as a platoon in formation, keeping the unit's pace. Along one of the dirt paths were small rocks jutting up which a few of us confessed to hoping they would jump up, bite one of our feet and cause us to fall in a heap, letting everyone else to pass us by. It almost never happened, but we kept hoping.
We also had the first of our calisthenics exercises on the grass near the parade grounds. Everything was fine except, at one point, one of the guys screamed out in pain. Not sure if he pulled a muscle with sit ups or not but he appeared to be in some pain. A few of the guys thought he might be faking. He was also the one who joined because he wanted to be in the Marine band. However, the band was made up entirely of Marine enlisted men, so nobody was quite sure why he thought he, as an new officer, would be able to join. I believe he was one of the few who left the program at the six-week point where you were essentially kicked out early. That never happened to some of us because we were pulling our own weight and were not causing trouble, so they kept us for the full 9 weeks before we could officially resign.
Our first weekend, four of us drove into downtown DC and stayed in a high-rise hotel there. Not sure which one at this point. I believe John Robertson was one of the guys. Later, Dennis Zito, John and I would become buddies and would either stay at the barracks as a trio or go to DC and stay instead at the Crystal City Marriott that had the best military rates. Years later, Dennis told me that his first weekend with a few other guys was spent uncomfortably waiting in the hallway outside their hotel room. The other 2-3 guys he was with had hired a couple of prostitutes, and he had no desire to join them.
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