Generation Gaps

“O.K., we have set up an open MRI for you and you will get the details in the mail. I didn’t think you would panic but you are a big guy and that is a very small space” said the tech as he attempted to make me feel humiliated about not going through the small MRI machine.

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks that unit was not made for a man or woman but for kids or emaciated people.” A coffin had more room than that awful tube. I then walked out of the MRI section, through the mazes of hallways and eventually out the revolving doors of the VA.

I found my way home long enough to pick up my messages and plan for the following day. I then called Ruby and let her know about a new post by Yaega. She wanted me to come on by, I had to see Mom anyway so I headed in that direction. I eventually got to the ‘Lounge’ which is in various stages of renovation. I walked in and the place was empty as Ruby was finishing up scrubbing the place down.

Ruby gave me some unit patches from a combat unit in Korea, which I plan to blog about in the near future. We caught up on recent history, Rhoda being sick and a unique system of covering her absence was discussed at length. Mr. E. has found an imaginative way to fill the vacancy with the day bartender and anyone who would answer the phone. Given that Jamie was fired with little or no fanfare, the temp solutions have panned out nicely.

I told Ruby that I saw Rhoda last week and she’s looking at taking Monday Nights. Ruby told me about new improvements in the works and the visits by Nassau County P.D. (No Jamie, no problems) Slowly, the dive filled with customers, the produce guy from the supermarket down the block, Old Man Charlie and a local from down the block. I thought it would be another slow afternoon as I ordered some food. Then a face I hadn’t seen in months showed up.

Ellie appeared out of nowhere and talked about a new job she’s starting. Eventually Hector showed up soon after. Ruby then got a phone call from Pimp who is still in possession of a leg that is black with gangrene (we know how that will eventually end). Apparently Ruby needed some business advice and Pimp had the answers. Apparently the 72 hours it took for him to give those answers was well beyond Ruby’s limit. Apparently she let him know.

Cary then walked in and he got into a deep conversation with Ellie, I was glad to see Hector who is still at it, working like a dog. Ellie showed off pictures of her kids while she complained of bug bites from sand fleas, then the conversation got to who has endured the worst kind of exposure to pestilence. Palmetto bugs, roaches, mosquitoes and spiders were brought up but no one had tolerated an exposure more than half a heartbeat to any of those creatures, even sand flea’s.

I quietly laughed to myself hearing this bullshit, remembering my experience from Marine Corps boot camp. Ruby asked, “OK, what are you smiling about? Come on, tell me!” I looked at Ruby and briefly told her about being on Paris Island during Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and nearly Valentines Day and my experience with sand fleas. Ruby insisted on hearing the experience so I told her, between drinks and phone calls.

Here is the short version: Platoon 2200 “F” Company, 2nd Battalion on Paris Island was like any other Marine Recruit Platoon. We could march, but not good enough for either the Senior Drill Instructor or his supporting drill instructors. The platoon had two Staff Sergeants and one buck Sergeant, Senior was Japanese, he acted as if Japan won WWII and treated us accordingly. Both of the supporting DI’s were Black and from the South. It was a unique kind of hell.

Senior, in his impeccable English, with a heavy Japanese accent and steady but hard clear voice expressed his lament at our execution of close order drill. “Some of you are the sons and most of you are the daughters of the generation that liberated nations, yet you do not know your right from your left. We are not prepping bitches, we are training Marines” (all of us being male wondered who the bitches were and wanted them out of the platoon) the Senior DI was angry.

After she got free from serving Timmy as he walked in Ruby asked me to continue. I told her Senior marched the Platoon to a muddy area and took the Platoon Guide Iron (a red flag on a pole with ‘2200’ on it in bright yellow letters) rolled it up, turned it upside down and planted it in the mud. Where the flag goes we go, so all dicks were planted in the soggy muddy slime.

Then the Senior talked about how our parents failed at teaching discipline, the apparent femininity of some platoon members, how ugly mothers have stupid sons who have ugly girlfriends and the lack of coordination in most Northerners. Then he marched the platoon (58 of us) into a sand flea nest. He put us at the position of attention while sand fleas ate at us. Senior talked about Baron Von Steuben and how discipline has been part of the Marine Corps.

Meanwhile sand fleas munched on our ears, face, hands and arms inducing mad itching. On that warm January day in South Carolina sweat rolled off of each of us like the New York Kills (small rivers) to the Hudson. I also found out that sand fleas can think, they found ways into ears, into shirts, behind our slimy necks and apparently some recruits had sand fleas crawling up their legs and down their ass, all the while maintaining the position of attention without moving.

Ruby looked at me like I was crazy and said “that’s torture.” I told her “there are several definitions of torture but this really isn’t one of them when the reason for the experience is explained to you in vivid detail by your Senior Drill instructor.” I concluded my sand flea story with the description of the ceremonial internment of a sand flea who was killed after the platoon was given the order to at ease. (Amazingly we marched magnificently from then on)

I explained to Ruby that the real purpose of discipline is to exercise restraint in the face of hardship or a negative environment that taxes your nerves, makes you anxious or just makes you crazy. Ellie then played Rappers Delight by Grand Master Flash, she and Cary were singing the words to Timmy who smiled politely as he kept from spitting up his beer (rap drives Timmy crazy). Ruby looked at Timmy and cringed with a grin wondering what Timmy would do.

Timmy smiled, explained he didn’t know the words to “that stuff” and didn’t care to but appreciated Nellie dancing jiggling and wiggling to the beat with Cary. I then told Ruby what she saw from Timmy was restraint born from a hard discipline, this is what you get in the infantry and in the grunts. Ruby then asked, “why did you have to go to the VA for an MRI?” I said, “to deal with and see the effects of a hard and arduous discipline in my youth.”

Cary invited me to Kareoke at Backstage that night which I did show up for but did not sing. Cary could not find my music, so I went back to the ‘Lounge’ after leaving ‘Backstage’ and found Timmy still there from early afternoon, it was nearing midnight. Timmy was talking to Mr. E. and Sweet Suzie, a hot new young bartender about the service and war. Sweet Suzie freaked over some of the vivid reality and hardship that Timmy described.

Sweet Suzie asked, “how is it you can be so casual about things like pain, hate, destruction and death?” Timmy declared, “we’re not! We just don’t want another generation of American’s screwed up by bad leadership. We want you to know what your kids may have to do to keep their freedom if America is to survive.” Timmy shook his head and retreated to his beer.

“We can’t talk to anyone about the service RJ, they just can’t relate to us, they just don’t understand” said Timmy as he took a long drink of his cold beer. I told Timmy this day we spent too much time describing our experience to teeny boppers and Momma’s boys. The whole day can best be summed up in a quote by an unknown Marine, who said, “For those who fight for it, life has a special flavor the protected will never know.”


RJ