Boot camp

I’m sitting on the concourse at Lindbergh Field in San Diego. Right across the field, clearly visible from where I sit is the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. Driving here from the hotel, we went right past the site of the old Naval Recruit Training Center, where I took Navy boot camp. It was adjacent to MCRD, and while it’s mostly gone now, there are reminders still to be had.

TDE-1, the U.S.S. Recruit, still sails the concrete sea where we trained for shipboard emergencies. And we drove right past the bridge where it’s alleged that a certain recruit company threw the bridge guard over the rail into the estuary the day we crossed over from “Worm Island.”

Speaking of Worm Island, the barracks I lived in for the first three weeks was right there, no more than a hundred yards from the road we were driving on. The windows are all knocked out. I’m told it’s used now as a training facility for local firefighters. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s still standing at all.

Through the open (missing, actually) window, I could see right where my bunk stood. And the concrete tables where we scrubbed our grundies was in plain sight.

Memory is indeed selective. I couldn’t tell you with any certainty the layout of half of the places I lived while I was a bachelor. I have to really concentrate to bring forth my mental floor plan of the first house Mary and I owned.

Boot camp was different. If not for the damage wrought by practicing firefighters, I could walk blind-folded through that barracks and give you a guided tour. Part of it is the “first home away” effect I suppose. But more than that, it seems that the boot camp experience has a particular hold on my memories. I have to say, the memories are not entirely negative.

I wasn’t fond of the incessant marching and I could have lived without the obstacle course, where I dropped my lunch one afternoon in front of my seventy-man company. But I did enjoy the experience overall.

A large group of guys from all regions and walks of life came together and worked in close concert. For nine weeks, our fortunes rose and fell as a group. Even as a family of sorts. After those nine weeks, I remained friends with a few but even with them, I gradually lost contact over time. Still, I’ll never forget them.

I wouldn’t go back through boot camp for a million dollars. But neither, for the same amount, would I be willing to give up the memory.