SSgt Cole led us around for several days, while we filled out paperwork and took tests and sanded some walls. He taught us some very basic drill movements. For instance, when we were about to step off, he would say, "Forward, " and we would respond with, "Sir, take a full 30 inch step with the left foot, aye-aye, Sir!", and then he would say, "March!" and off we would go. To do an about face, he would say, "About..." and we would place our right toes behind and to the left our left foot and then say, "One, Sir, don't bend the knees!". Then he would say, "Face!" and we would pivot around and then say, "Two, Sir. Heels on line and touching, Sir!" Funny stuff.
Anyway, the fateful day came to turn us over to a team of Drill Instructors. It was in the evening. We marched over to the barracks used for platoons in training, and into a squadbay. We were introduced to the Series Commander and the Assistant Series Commander, both First Lieutenants. They introduced the Senior Drill Instructor and the Junior Drill Instructors and then all hell broke loose. It was all the stuff you come to expect from bootcamp scenes, lots of yelling, recruits running in and out of the squadbay, doing lots of exercises, general insanity. I don't remember seeing it, but apparently one recruit said something to the Assistant Series Commander, and he was yanked out of the platoon. A few days later the DIs told us he tried to kill himself with a coat hanger. The laughed about it and threatened to kick our asses if we tried anything like that. Somehow, it seemed like a mind game. I didn't know the recruit, or see the event, and I wasn't about to try to kill myself with a coat hanger, so I was confused about the whole thing, and didn't give it much thought.
Our Senior Drill Instructor was SSgt Clancy, a tall, thin dark green Marine. He had a really great voice to drill to. SSgt Klingman was a short, light green Maine. The one thing that stands out about him was that he could make the brim of his Smokey Bear cover move with his eyebrows. Sgt Jones was a light green Marine, and had a lisp, but he was great to drill to, great rhythm. He really knew his stuff. We had another SSgt, who had been working in the Recruit Depot's mailroom, or so we were told. He looked really old, and there was some concern about him, or his health, apparently. As far as I saw, he was a good DI, but he was replaced after a few weeks with Sgt Stroebel, who I did not like at all. He had a terrible voice, harsh, and no rhythm whatsoever. And he was a jerk. Maybe that was his job, as the most junior DI, but I liked SSgts Clancy and Klingman and Sgt Jones a lot more.
What I remember most about First Phase is a lot of pain. I had run a little over the summer, but never more than a couple miles, and I'd never done that kind of exercise. I had always worked. I helped my father raise nets and pull seine hauls and threw fishboxes and dressed fish and turtles, but that was nothing quite like bootcamp. My stomach especially was very sore from all the situps. I remember writing my father the most god-awful letter around Day 14, complaining that this was a terrible idea, it was all his fault, etc. etc. He had always talked about how if I ever joined a service, it should be the Marine Corps, but I took that to mean that was what I was supposed to do. I never heard the "if" part. I couldn't do a some of the physical stuff, like climbing ropes, and I spent a lot of extra energy trying and retrying to do some things. It was amazing to get back to the Depot in Third Phase and roar through those things.
You can always tell First Phase recruits because of the way they dress. Their trousers are unbloused, their sleeves are rolled down, and the top button of their cammies blouse is buttoned. As you progress through the Phases, you get to unbutton that top button, blouse the trousers, and roll up the sleeves. Unless, of course, you do something wrong. Then all that stuff gets undone, and you get to look like First Phase idiots all over again.
At some point in First Phase we were issued our rifles. Sgt Jones was giving us some instruction on how to hold our rifles in the appropriate manner for port arms, and I wasn't doing it right; I was holding the rifle too far out or something. He took it away, yelled at me, showed me the right way, and then gave it back pretty roughly. I was just 18, and pretty niaive at the time, so later in 3rd phase, when we were individually questioned by SSgt Clancy if we had ever been hit during training, I said yes, and told him about what had happened. I feel pretty bad about that to this day. Sgt Jones was a great DI, and I hope that incident didn't hurt his career. Sgt Jones, if you ever read this, I am truly sorry. I have the utmost respect for you.
Rifle PT was my most memorable class. This incredibly huge dark green Gunnery Sergeant gave us the class. He was monsterous, with arms as thick as my leg, well over 6 foot tall, a really, really big guy. He taught us all about buttstrokes and slashes, and motivated the heck out of us. He also taught us how to run the obstacle course. It was amazing to watch him bounce over logs and throw himself around on the bars. He might have taught us hand-to-hand combat. I think he did.
One of the first things the DIs did was stop us from sounding off every time they gave a drill command. They were shocked the first time it happened. ("NO, no! Stop!! What are you doing?!")
First Phase came to a close. The pain started to go away after the first couple weeks. We learned how to drill as a unit, got a lot of exercise. We lost one recruit during First Phase. He failed the PFT, couldn't do even one pullup, so he was pulled from the platoon. When we got back to the Depot for 3rd Phase, we was still there, trying to get his one pullup. (I don't think he was trying very hard; he was laughing about it.) After the First Phase Physical Fitness Test (PFT), it was time to pack up and head to Second Phase at Camp Pendleton.
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