Tag Archives: Retirement

Final (?) Physical Exam. Or is it? Part 2.

Posted by Mike Grice on

A little while ago I wrote about the importance of lists.  Rather naively I thought that I was pretty much done with them as I approached the completion of my checkout sheet.  As usual, I was wrong.

The mighty checkout sheet, about which I wrote several posts, is the administrative key to the other side of transition.  To my dismay, however, I found that the checkout sheet alone wasn’t mighty enough to set me free.  That required that I complete my final physical examination, and just like everything else involved with transition there was so much more to it than meets the eye.

My last post about the final physical left us at the Regimental Surgeon’s office, where I learned about the complexities of the mother of all physical exams: the vaunted Final Physical.  It is the mother of all examinations because it is no simple or cursory survey, but instead an inexorably thorough inquisition of one’s bodily health and mental condition that left nothing uninspected.

It is for good reason, as I learned from the good surgeon.  My final physical serves as the last chance for me, the soon to be departed from the Marine Corps, to avail myself of military medicine and fix those things that had heretofore been unfixed or ignored in typical macho tough-guy fashion.  While the thought of military medicine may make the reader shudder, it really isn’t bad- in fact it is very good, because military health care providers are well resourced and have had a lot of real world practice over the last decade of war.  The perceived problem with it stems from poor management and care several decades ago- problems that have long been corrected.  The point to the physical was to get me into the best shape possible  before showing me the door, whereupon the Veteran’s Administration would take up the responsibility for my health and wellbeing.  I will write more about the VA later, but suffice it to say that the surgeon’s description of the process made me a believer in the process.

“It’s up to you, sir,” he said, “but you’d be foolish not to take advantage of everything you can.  It’s free, and you have the time to take care of anything that may crop up.”

A wise man, that surgeon.

“You would be smart to contact every [health care] provider that you have seen in the last few years.  They will re-evaluate your condition and record it in your health records.  That will help you in the long run, especially with your disability claim,” he continued.

Disability claim?

Visions of walking canes, wheelchairs, and blue parking spaces rocketed through my head.

He saw my look of horror and chuckled.

“You’ve been in for a long time,” he said as he flipped through my medical record, “your knees are bad, your ankle is bad, your feet are a mess….”  He trailed off as he continued to review my case.  “You are going to be rated with some disabilities, and it is important that the ratings are done correctly.  Don’t worry about it.  It’s a rough life being a Marine, and you are going to be evaluated to make sure that you are taken care of.  Here’s my number.  If you have any problems, have them give me a call.”

As Indiana Jones said to Marion in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”:  It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.

With a firm handshake, I left his office with my records in one hand and a newly printed checklist in the other.

The checklist was very thorough.  It ranged from lab work (shots anyone?  A vial or two or seven of blood for testing?) to audiograms for my artillery-assaulted ears (What? What did you say?) to an EKG to make sure my ticker still ticked and a chest x-ray to look at my ribs or something else that is equally important.  How was I going to get any of this stuff taken care of?

In true Navy fashion, I had not walked ten feet before a motivated and professional Petty Officer took pity on me and beckoned me to the counter.  “Hi, sir!  Lemme see that,” he said as he pointed to my checklist, “we’ll get you squared away.”

And he did.  With the dexterity of the queen of the typing pool and the suavity of a Tiffany Jewelry salesman he typed, called, cajoled, and printed appointment after appointment for me.  Within ten minutes he had teed up meetings with specialists and medical providers across the base.  Not only did he hit the basic requirements, but also those specialty clinics and providers that I had seen over the last few years- orthopedics for my feet, physical therapy for my knees, optical for my eyes, audiology for my ears….and so on.  With a smile and a cheery “here you go, sir!” he handed me a sheaf of appointment reminders and turned back to his duties.

That’s why Navy medicine is great- they really bent over backwards to make sure I was taken care of.  I have never seen anything like that at a civilian HMO, that’s for sure!  I looked over the appointment reminders and was surprised at just how long it was going to take to knock this final physical out- all told it was going to take over three months to hit all of my appointments.  Three months!  Yikes.  Navy medicine may be helpful, but it isn’t particularly speedy I guess- especially for those of us getting our outprocessing physicals.  Oh well.  Fortunately I had the time.

So, with a feeling of great relief (and a little trepidation, to be sure!) I walked out of the Regimental Aid Station and set out on the journey that would be my final physical.

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Start EARLY.  I began my outprocessing physical about four months before I went on terminal leave with the naive expectation that it would be a quick and easy thing to do.  Not so much!

2.  Plan ahead.  Take the time to write a list of all the things that are bothering you or that you have been treated for over the past few years.  Most Marines just “suck it up” and refuse to show weakness by getting medical care, which is good when the Taliban are chucking hand grenades at you but not so good when you are about to get out.  If you do not have your problems recorded in your record then they do not exist.  Simple as that.  And if they do not exist, they cannot be evaluated for disability purposes or for future care in case they get worse.  And they always get worse….

3.  Go into your initial final physical appointment with your notes and with your complete medical record.  You will get out of it what you put into it.  If you blow it off then you will get a rubber stamp with nothing behind it, and possibly lose out on medical benefits or monetary compensation in the future.  The time to be the big tough Marine ends at the hatch to the aid station!

4.  Take notes as you go.  This is important, because you will ultimately have a second set of physicals with the Veteran’s Administration to determine your disability rating.  If you forget what the doctors tell you during their examination you can’t pass that information to the VA, which will weaken your claim for benefits.

Running, sanity, and a worthy cause

Posted by Mike Grice on

Everybody has their Achilles heel, that thing in their life that they dislike, dread, or fear. Some people fear the towering podium of public speaking and for others it is the terror of tall buildings.  We all have them, those real or imagined bumps that show up on the road that is life.  Even the man of steel fears Kryptonite and for me, that thing has been running.

I have never really been a good runner.  As a youngster I was not particularly athletic, and my exposure to running long distances, clapping my hands, and counting to four as a Marine recruit was positively terrifying.  I dreaded falling into formations for physical training because I knew that I just wasn’t good at it.  I would be huffing and puffing, my burning lungs gasping for air as the spectre of falling out and incurring the wrath of the Drill Instructors loomed large over me.  It was even worse when I went to Officer Candidate School because physical fitness was next to (and seemingly slightly more important than) Godliness in the grand scheme of things.  It was particularly petrifying because I was a bit older than the rest of my class due to my time as an enlisted Marine, and it showed.  Where some of my classmates pushed the sound barrier, including one collegiate runner who routinely ran three miles in about fourteen minutes, I was usually threatening the terminal velocity of flowing molasses as I crossed the line almost ten minutes behind him.  My instructors somberly informed me that I was too slow to lead Marines, and unless I get better I would be kicked out of OCS.  I strained and trained and strained some more, and on the big day of our final physical fitness test fate smiled upon me and I made it- but literally by the skin of my teeth.  Every candidate who was followed me across the finish line was dropped from the program and didn’t graduate.  I was the anchor on the chain, but I made it.

My fear and dread of running followed me throughout my career.  I chose to meet my nemesis head on and ran at every chance I could find.  Over years of being running, jogging, and walking long distances I fell into a routine and found myself actually beginning to enjoy it.  With running comes fitness, and with fitness comes the ability to fit in a well fitting uniform while still eating pizza and drinking beer.  Not a bad tradeoff, really.

I also found that running was my personal escape from all the petty and little annoyances in life.  Nobody could call me because I don’t carry my cellphone, and unless they had on their running shoes it was unlikely that they could catch me and bring me down.  I did, and still do, my best thinking as I pound the pavement and trails on my morning run.  In running I have found a balance in life, even though I continue to not be particularly good at it.

I think about life, family, transition, the universe, stock prices, Christmas shopping, you name it.  When I return home I have solved many of the world’s problems, well, at least some of my own.  I am in a good mood, and it starts the day off right.  Over a couple of decades I have mastered my nemesis and embraced it.  That said, I am still pretty slow, but I get out there almost every day to keep from solidifying into a couch potato.

So running has become my road to maintaining my sanity.  I ran whenever I could in combat zones and whenever I could when I was home.  It has become a consistent part of my life, and continues to be so even though I am leaving the Marine Corps and its requirement for top levels of physical fitness.  Retirement is indeed a stark transition from one life to another, and running has provided me with a serene path over the bridge that takes me into what’s next.

So if you are transitioning, make sure to embrace something that will provide consistency through the process.  I have found that running is that thing for me; you needn’t necessarily take up skydiving if you are afraid of heights, but do something.  Read War and Peace.  Write the Great American Novel.  Lift weights.  Tie flies and go fishing.  Do something!  Change is overwhelming at times, and you can be crushed by the forces of uncertainty or carve a piece of yourself out of the rat race and use it to maintain your balance.  It will keep you sane when it seems that everything has gone completely and utterly crazy.

I have learned to enjoy running to the point that have run in several marathons and even more half-marathons.  Despite the pain associated with a career that has been hard on my feet, knees, and back, I find it cathartic to get out and run with thousands of people like me.  To that end, I have decided to couple my running with raising money for charity.

Here is the worthy cause bit; feel free to stop reading if you would like – I promise not to hold it against you!  I have volunteered to raise money for a very good cause: the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society.  I have joined their Team In Training, which essentially is a bunch of runners/joggers/walkers like myself who pledge to raise money and awareness for the society and the impact of those devastating diseases.  I have kids, and am grateful beyond measure because they are healthy.  Not all families are so fortunate, and Leukemia and Lymphoma are devastating diseases that are truly heartwrending in their effects on kids and adults alike.  I am doing my own little part to help them out as I go out and do something that I enjoy- running.  Anyhow, I will be running the Carlsbad Half Marathon in January, and if you would like to support the Lymphoma and Leukemia society with a donation, please follow this link to my donation site:  http://sdhi.lls.llsevent.org/gricemcarlsbadhalf.  The Team in Training and I would be very appreciative!!!

Closure

Posted by Mike Grice on

Closure can mean a lot of things depending on your circumstance, but it mostly means the end of a relationship.  For me, I had a date with closure at about one o’clock in the morning this past Saturday.  That was when over a hundred of my closest friends came home from Afghanistan, and I was able to be standing in the parking lot as they got off the buses and reunited with their families and friends.  It is one of the rarest things in existence: a timeless moment of pure and unadulterated joy.

It was tremendously emotional as these post-deployment reunions always are.  Fathers met their infant children for the first time.  Lovers embraced after hundreds of days apart and children jumped up and down in exuberant delight as the first sight of their father.  Parents and grandparents hugged their sons and grandsons, thinking of the little boys within who grew up to be the Marines and Sailors who traded their boyhood clothes for the cloth of the nation.  Mothers wiped eyes grown damp with joy.  Hundreds of faces lit up in the darkness of that cold morning with delight in that moment; the blissful radiance of pure happiness erased the months of separation, the sleepless nights, and the loneliness that only those separated by wartime can understand.

The jocundity engulfed everyone there, and for me it held an even more special meaning.  As I wrote a few paragraphs back, the chilly morning held for me the last bit of closure that I needed before truly closing the door on my military career.

It was closure because not long ago the busloads of Marines and Sailors who returned from combat had all been under my charge and their training and preparation for their trip to fight the Taliban was my responsibility.  I had been their Commanding Officer for the two years or so leading up to their deployment, and had led them in Afghanistan the year before.  Although the leaders of the unit worked together to make sure that every Marine and Sailor was ready to fight, it was my duty as the CO to ensure that they were ready.  It was also my burden each and every day that they were in harm’s way: even though I was no longer a member of the command, their ability to fight and their readiness to survive the rigors of combat was my final duty.

We had trained together, and we trained hard.  From the bleak and blistering Mojave desert to the the windy plains of Oklahoma to the frigid tip of northern Scotland we had run through the gamut of challenges that prepare a man to fight.  We ran countless miles and hiked under staggering loads.  We practiced airstrikes, artillery fire missions, and hand to hand combat.  We planned and executed missions aboard attack helicopters and prepared to put tourniquets on shattered limbs.  Month after month of aggressive training made the unit keenly ready to fight, and three weeks before they left I handed the mantle of command to my successor.

It wasn’t because of anything more than my time in command was up.  My successor, appointed as I was by the Commandant of the Marine Corps, eagerly took hold of the reins of command with a level of enthusiasm that countered my reticence to hand them over.  All good things come to an end, and in my case it was the demise of the best job that I had ever been fortunate to have.

The change of command and my subsequent transition did not bring my emotional tie to the unit to an end, however.  The seven months that they were in combat were seven long months for me as I checked the news every day to see what was going on in Afghanistan, read casualty lists hoping not to see a familiar name, and listened in on conversations to hear how thing were going “in Theater”.

This past Saturday morning untied the knot that had been lying in the pit of my gut since they left in the summertime.  Although not everyone made it to the reunion in the parking lot, they all came home alive- and with their return my duty was complete.  For each Marine and Sailor and for every father, mother, wife, child, and friend their home brought closure to their absence.  As for me, it brought an immense feeling of satisfaction, relief, and closure too- closure for the time I was honored to stand with them as their leader and closure for my career as well.

Saturday, December 10th marked the end of 1st Air Naval Gunfire Liaison Company’s deployment.  December 10th is particularly significant for me personally as well because 27 years before on that very day I enlisted in the Marine Corps.  I had no inkling on 10 December 1984 that I would be standing on a cold parking lot watching such a joyous reunion exactly 27 years later, but I am glad that I was there.  It brought me something priceless: a satisfying sense of closure to my life as a Marine.

Final (?) Physical Exam. Or is it?

Posted by Mike Grice on

My most recent string of posts delved into the adventure that is checking out of the Marine Corps.  It was a search for pirate treasure and Easter Egg hunt all rolled into one, although not quite as thrilling.   After all, there were no Captain Jack Sparrows or Blackbeards, and the lack of candy filled plastic eggs was sadly evident.  Getting the final signature, however, made every line I queued in and every frustrating hunt for the holder of the magic checkout stamp well worth it.

One of the enchanted stamps I picked up along the way was held by the Medical Officer, whose duty it was to ensure that I was poked, prodded, specimined, and examined from the tips of my toes to the hairs on my head.  To that end my quest led me to the Regimental Surgeon’s office to endure the last physical examination I would be subjected to as a Marine.

I had heard many stories about the mysteries that surround the “final physical”- ranging from friends who said that it was no big deal to others who opined that it was far worse than they could possibly have foreseen.  Personally, I was hoping for an experience more on the “no big deal” side of the scale.  Just like everything else, however, it turned out to be not quite what I expected. I have been subject to myriad physicals throughout my career, ranging from halfhearted glances from bored medical technicians to the exams in which modesty plays no role whatsoever.  A big part of being a Marine (or a Soldier, Sailor, or Airman for that matter) is being physically fit and ready to fight, and our medical folks do a great job of ensuring that we are ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Before you are ready to fight, though, you have to be examined to ensure you are fit enough to serve.  Your relationship with physical exams begins with a battery of tests that begin before you ship to recruit or officer training (to make sure you are healthy and strong enough to make it through the rigors of bootcamp or Officer Candidate School) and continues once you get there.  Wanna be a pilot?  Special exam for you!  Paratrooper?  Exam for that, too.  Been a year since your last exam?  Time for another one!  Been deployed?  Step up to the counter and say “ahhhh…”  It seemingly never ends.

Until your final physical, that is.  My next few posts are going to bring you, my faithful reader, along for the ride to the aid station, hospital, and various clinics I had to visit to get that single stamp from the Medical Officer.  It was good, it was bad, it was funny, and it was sad, but most of all it was thorough.  Just how thorough you will see in my upcoming posts!

Checking out (4), or doing my best Captain Jack Sparrow impression

Posted by Mike Grice on

So what do Captain Jack Sparrow and a Marine checking out of his unit have in common?  They both want the same thing: to follow the map all the way to the end and uncover the treasure that lies waiting there.  The treasure is different, but the goal is the same.  Jack Sparrow wants what his heart most desires (usually accompanied by rum) and a Marine wants something equally as important; the final signature on his checkout sheet.

Just as the “X” that marks the spot where pirate treasure always seems to be buried the final signature on the checkout sheet marks the spot where a Marine can officially take the form to his administrative section and turn it in.  Once turned in, the Marine receives that most special and treasured document- his official set of orders that will take him into retirement.

But before you can go ashore for the last time you must first obtain that last and most important signature.  Before the holder of the sacred pen will scribe his or her mark on your sheet you must get all of the other signatures first….and therein lies the rub.  Just as Jack Sparrow must endure adventure after adventure to find the buried chest-o-gold, so must a Marine follow the twists and turns of the map that is the checkout sheet.

My case turned out to be a little unusual.  Most Marines check out of the unit they have served in for a few years on their way out the door, which makes sense.  For me, though, things were different.  I had turned over command at the start of the summer, and had several months between leaving the best job I ever had and departing active duty.  While in charge there was no time to start my transition, so I put off all of the things that I needed to do until I had passed the mantle of command to my successor.  Immediately after turning things over I left the building (much like Elvis, I suppose) and headed out to the higher headquarters unit where I would perform my outprocessing.

The difference between the two is pretty astounding.  Being the commanding officer of a Marine Corps unit is undoubtably the greatest honor an officer can be entrusted with, and it comes with some pretty nice perks.  One perk in particular makes the whole business of checking in and checking out pretty simple- the Marines in the unit bend over backwards to make sure that everything the CO could possibly need is done as quickly and efficiently as possible.  In a previous post I lamented about the drudgery of turning in my equipment- that drudgery was a function of no longer being in command.  As a commander I had only to mention something and it would magically happen.  Take my unit issued equipment for example.  One of the mounds of gear I used overseas was specific to the unit that I commanded- we were fire supporters, so we had special binoculars, laser range finders, infrared target designators, and a host of other neat widgets that we got to lug around the battlefield and use on the Taliban.  Anyhow, as the CO I had only to mention that I needed to turn the stuff back in and within an hour a couple of Marines showed up at my office and took it all away.  No lines to stand it, no annoying paperwork to get signed, no arduous accounting for each item- it just happened.  Kind of the opposite of Christmas, with the jolly Marines of the Supply and Armory sections taking away my mountains of gear and leaving me with a lot less to worry about.

Contrast that with being warehoused in the headquarters unit.  Nobody knew who I was, and nobody really cared.  I was just another Marine with a checkout sheet, and the fact that I was a senior officer was interesting but largely irrelevant.  There were rules to follow, places to go, and specific hours to go there.  No jolly elves here.

I did, however, have the tool to get me through the checkout process- my checkout sheet.  So, just as intently as Captain Jack Sparrow followed his chart I turned to and started working my way down the list.

There are some low hanging fruit on the list as well as some annoyingly difficult places to go as well.  Being a creature of habit (and in no particularly huge rush) I started with the fruit that was hanging lowest and closest; that fruit being the various offices and buildings around the in and around the headquarters.  A quick gander at the checkout sheet revealed about a half dozen offices just down the hall and up the stairs from where I was standing, so off I went.  The operations section ensured that all of my required training was complete (not that I need anything special on the way out the door) and to my great relief the legal section confirmed that I wan’t pending a court martial.  The Substance Abuse Control Officer (SACO) confirmed that my most recent urinalysis was clear of drugs (good thing they don’t check for gin and tonic) and the Family Readiness Officer happily stamped my sheet after a nice chat.  Things were progressing nicely!

So much for low hanging fruit.  Time to work my way up the tree.

I tracked down the Uniform Victim Advocate.  I don’t know what that person does, really, but without obtaining the red squiggle from the official pen of the UVA office I would be stuck.  So, after a quick “Hello- can I get your autograph?” followed by the scratch of a pen on my sheet and a  “Sure, have a nice day!” I left none the wiser as to the purpose of that particular office.  I wandered across the camp to the armory and supply sections, where I waited until the time listed on the signs for checking out (at lunch until 1300!), and upon their return from the chowhall (or Subway) I queued up and after a few minutes racked up a few more stamps and squiggles on my sheet from the largely bored Marines who were the keepers of the sacred stamps and pens.

Higher up the tree I climbed.  Jack Sparrow had nothing on me!  I chased security specialists down to turn in my “secret” access badge and get them to ink my paper.  I snuck into the Commanding General’s wing to garner the mark of the Chief of Staff.  I drove across base to turn in the gas mask that I had (thankfully!!!!) never used outside of annual training.  I sat in the dentist’s chair for my final checkup and was poked and prodded next door at the Group Aid Station for my final physical.  I met with the system administrator and turned off my email accounts.  I met the mail clerk and completed a forwarding address card even though I had never received any mail there  and I knew that I never would, but a checklist must be followed and the mail clerk to his credit was adamant.

On and on it went.  Days turned into weeks, but before the weeks could turn into a month I finally obtained each and every stamp, mark, and squiggle needed to complete my quest.  Were I Captain Jack Sparrow I would be chortling over a chest of gold with a bottle of rum in each fist- but I was more gleeful than he could possibly be at that moment because I had done it!  My checkout sheet was complete!  With a happy heart and a smile on my face I drove down to the Installation Personnel Administrative Center (IPAC for you acronym connoiseurs) and met with the holder of the pen that would scribe the final signature on my checkout sheet: my retirement counselor.  More on that soon.

__________

Lessons learned:

1.  Checking out takes time.  A lot of time, and the time is not yours but instead belongs to the people on the other side of the checkout counter.  Unless you are a General or a CO you must get in line with everyone else.  That isn’t bad, though, because you meet a lot of great people along the way.

2.  Make sure that all of the prep work is done.  Bring everything you need to turn in and make sure that any required documentation is done ahead of time so that you don’t have to go back several times to get the stamp.

3.  Be nice!  The Marines and Sailors that are on the others side of the counter are doing their jobs.  They will be much more friendly and forthcoming if you are friendly to them first.  The golden rule surely applies!

4.  Follow the rules.  Show up during the times listed for checking out because the Marines and Sailors who man the checkout counter only do so during those times, and if you show up and throw your rank around then you are taking them away from their other duties.  And you will look like an arrogant jerk.

Trading tradition for a tuxedo

Posted by Mike Grice on

Gentlemen’s Quarterly, the unequalled guide to fashion, suavity, and panache unabashedly states that every man must own a tuxedo.  I have had the great fortune to be able to ignore that bit of fashion guidance for decades because of the most dashing collection of uniforms that fill my closet.  I am haberdashed to the fullest when it comes to uniforms for every occasion; I can emerge from my dressing room ready equipped for firefight or prepared for a black tie formal. Unfortunately, the spectrum of uniforms don’t transition to the civilian world, and the flexibility of a closet filled with every conceivable martial fashion choice exists only as long as you continue on active service.

I had not really thought much about it, other than to rummage through at my uniforms in search of the civilian clothes that hung amongst them as I get dressed each morning.  That is, until November rolled around.

November is a big month for servicemen and servicewomen because it is the month of Veterans Day.  The crisp height of autumn finds proud old soldiers marching side by side with their younger counterparts in parades that mark the service of those who have worn the cloth of the nation, and it is the time for all of us to promise to never forget the sacrifice that they have made to ensure our country remains the best on Earth.

For Marines, however, November holds an even greater meaning.  November is the month of the birth of our Corps, and each and every Marine who has ever served can tell you what our birthday is.  November 10th, 1775 is the date of the founding of the United States Marine Corps, and every year since Marines have celebrated that momentous and distinguished day.

It is a day replete with elegant ceremony, pomp, and circumstance.  Marines everywhere, regardless of clime, place, or situation will stop what they are doing and throw a birthday party.  They range from white tie formals that rival the cotillions of nineteenth century France to a couple of tired Marines sharing an MRE dessert in a muddy fighting hole between firefights.  Whatever the situation, Marines will gather together and perform a simple ceremony to mark the day that we all grow a year older.  In this case, the Marine Corps turns a youthfully venerable 236.

Formal events are quite elaborate.  They usually start with “preflighting”, which is when Marines and their guests gather before cocktail hour to get a head start on the evening.  Preflighting usually goes in someone’s hotel suite, and there you will find a few coolers filled with beer and counters laden with cocktail fixings.  After having a cold one or two, it is time to head for the cocktail hour that preceeds the event- time for another drink (for all of the teetotalers out there who are aghast at the thought of drinking before the cocktail hour starts, well, get over it.  Marines are known for doing many things well, and drinking is one of them!)  There is nothing quite as wonderful as sharing an evening with the ones that you love and the ones you will lay your life down for.  It is a truly transcendent experience.

Cocktail hour ends with a bugle call that invites everyone to their tables.  Moments later the ceremony begins, and every Marine’s heart quickens to the tap of a drum and the brassy keening of the band.  Two at a time an escort of Marines marches onto the scene armed with swords and and a steely gaze, smartly coming to a stop in two facing rows that frame the setting for the ceremony.  They are followed by the Guest of Honor and Commanding Officer of the unit hosting the celebration who march to their places at the head of the evening’s parade ground.  The nation’s colors, reverently carried by by a guard of Marines, are solemly presented with every pair of eyes in the house is riveted on Old Glory as the national anthem is played.

Following the posting of the colors (which is when the flag is placed in its ceremonial position) a cake is brought forth, escorted by Marines dressed in their distinctive (and unmatched!) dress uniforms.  The ceremonial Adjutant draws forth a scroll on which is scribed a directive from General John. A. Lejeune, a legendary commandant of our Corps whose service predates ours by a century or so.  Without aid of something as tawdry as a microphone, the Adjutant booms the venerated message out for all to hear:

     “On November 10, 1775, a Corps of Marines was created by  a resolution of Continental Congress. Since that date many thousand men have borne the name “Marine”. In memory of them it is fitting that we who are Marines should commemorate the birthday of our corps by calling to mind the glories of its long and illustrious history.

      The record of our corps is one which will bear comparison with that of the most famous military organizations in the world’s history. During 90 of the 146 years of its existence the Marine Corps has been in action against the Nation’s foes. From the Battle of Trenton to the Argonne, Marines have won foremost honors in war, and in the long eras of tranquility at home, generation after generation of Marines have grown gray in war in both hemispheres and in every corner of the seven seas, that our country and its citizens might enjoy peace and security.

      In every battle and skirmish since the birth of our corps, Marines have acquitted themselves with the greatest distinction, winning new honors on each occasion until the term “Marine” has come to signify all that is highest in military efficiency and soldierly virtue.

      This high name of distinction and soldierly repute we who are Marines today have received from those who preceded us in the corps. With it we have also received from them the eternal spirit which has animated our corps from generation to generation and has been the distinguishing mark of the Marines in every age. So long as that spirit continues to flourish Marines will be found equal to every emergency in the future as they have been in the past, and the men of our Nation will regard us as worthy successors to the long line of illustrious men who have served as “Soldiers of the Sea” since the founding of the Corps.

 JOHN A. LEJEUNE,

Major General Commandant”

The honoring of tradition does not end there.  With a flourish borne of tradition and practice, the Adjutant proffers his or her sword to cut the cake.  Two slices are produced, and are presented by the Commanding Officer to the Guest of Honor for the evening, and then the second piece is respectfully conferred to the oldest Marine present.  In a tasty Marine Crops tradition the oldest Marine then passes the piece of cake to the youngest Marine (having left at least one bite, and with a new fork), who then takes a bite- symbolizing the passing of tradition from the old guard to the new.  The birthdates of the oldest are read out as they sample their piece of cake, with the oldest receiving the muted respect that such long service commands and the youngest receiving the howling laughter and applause that accompanies the honor of being younger than the children of many Marines present.  The sage meets the prelate, and they share a piece of most excellent cake.  Not at all a bad tradition!

With the returning of the plates and cutlery the sequence is reversed.  The cake is marched away to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, followed by the color guard after paying respects again to our nation’s flag.  The guest of honor and commanding officer follow the flag off of the ceremonial floor, closely accompanied by pairs of escorts.  With a rousing rendition of Anchor’s Aweigh (to honor our naval tradition) and the Marine’s Hymn (to honor all Marines and the birth of our Corps) the ceremony draws to a close.  All that remains are remarks from the current Commandant of the Marine Corps, the hosting commanding officer, and the guest of honor which are traditionally presented just before dinner is served.

The best remarks are those that are meaningful, thoughtful, endearing, and brief.  Having been to countless balls during my 27 years in uniform I have felt the thrill of excitement that a great and motivating speaker brings to the ceremony as well as the mind numbing drudgery inflicted by those who even with the best of intentions drone ceaselessly on.  And on.  And on.  (The longest in my experience approached the hour and a half mark before departing the podium and allowing us dive into our wilted salads.)

Once the remarks are completed and the guest of honor is presented with a token of appreciation for his or her words of motivation and wisdom the formal ceremony is complete.  Marines and guests cheerfully turn to those who share their table and break bread together in a respectful and joyful atmosphere more reminiscent of a wedding than a military event.  After dessert (which of course includes the birthday cake!) the bars reopen and the ceremonial parade ground becomes a dance floor, on which the metaphorical rug is cut to shreds in the hours that follow.  It is a birthday party, wedding, prom, and Sadie Hawkins dance all rolled into one, Marine Corps Style- and it is the best party you will likely every attend!  Just ask Justin Timberlake.

So that brings us back to my personal predicament.  November arrived after Halloween just as it always does, and with the approaching 236th birthday of the Marine Corps I was placed on the horns of a dilemma.  What ever would I wear?  It was a conundrum that I had not faced since high school!  Fashion choices…suits or tuxedo?  Haircut and uniform (which I could still do)?

The decision was further confounded by circumstance as I was honored to find myself invited to attend the 11th Marine Regiment’s Headquarters Battery Ball as the guest of honor.  Yikes!  I thought back to all of the balls that I had attended what they meant.  I had squired lovely ladies and escorted my bride in my Dress Blue and Evening Dress uniforms, and had broken chunks of ration cake with my fellow Marines in the field and on the decks of amphibious ships.  Those birthdays all shared one central theme in my life- that the day of celebration was a mile marker on the autobahn of my career.  This ball, however, fell as I left the highway and steered to the offramp, and somehow it didn’t seem right to wear my uniform.

So I followed the advice of Gentlemen’s Quarterly and purchased the evening clothes that I would wear that night, and indeed for every November 10th until they box me up and bury me somewhere at the end of my days.  So on this, my 27th consecutive celebration of the birth of the Marine Corps, I trade in the tradition of wearing the cloth of the nation for a new set of clothes.  As I depart the ranks serving Marines I join the citizenry of the nation I have defended for so long, and it seems somehow fitting to wear a Tuxedo to mark the occasion.

After all, you can’t wear your uniform forever and everybody likes a sharply dressed man!

Checking out (3): There and back again, or slaying the Supply monster

Posted by Mike Grice on

In a recent post I introduced you to that most excellent and important document: the checkout sheet.  It is a roadmap that leads to life after the service, but you can’t follow it out the gate until every signature is inked in the appropriate spot.  The ease with which you get those spots filled varies widely, however.  Some are easy, and some are hard, and some are downright painful. Let’s start there first.

In theory completing your checkout sheet should be pretty simple.  As I have said before the checkout process goes on pretty much every day at every base and in every service, so you would think that it would be a smooth and streamlined process.  For some signatures it is, but for others, well, not so much.  Today we’ll take a look at the most difficult stamp to obtain: the one you receive from the supply warehouse after turning in all of your field gear.

For those who don’t know the way that Marines are equipped to train and fight is with a comprehensive set of personal equipment that ranges from a “lightweight” (ha!) kevlar helmet to protect your noggin to steel reinforced combat boots to protect your feet.  You have body armor reminiscent of a turtle’s shell that is festooned with pouches to hold everything from a notebook and a pen to hand grenades and ammunition magazines for your rifle.  You get a sleeping bag to keep you toasty when it is cold outside and a poncho to keep you dry when it rains.  Need a jacket?  You get one.  Gloves?  Here you go.  Cup for your coffee?  You even get one of those.  All told you receive several thousand dollars worth of personal equipment that you will to use when you train and fight, and for the record it is hands down the best equipment that Marines have ever been issued.  It is a lot of gear.  So much gear, in fact, that by the time you make it through the line you are staggering beneath such a mountain of green, brown, and black accouterments of war that even the mighty titan Atlas would shudder at the heap that you shoulder on the way out of the warehouse.

And when you are done with it the Marine Corps wants it back.

Therein lies the rub.  In the typically complex way of the Marine Corps you aren’t actually issued all of the stuff you need at one time or from one place.  You receive your basic equipment from a centralize warehouse that issues and recovers the personal stuff that I just wrote about- the items that every Marine needs.  That equipment is enough for training and is a good baseline for the fight, but when you deploy it isn’t sufficient.  Iraq, for example, tends to be about a billion degrees in the summer and parts of Afghanistan approach arctic temperatures in the winter.  In order to equip Marines for the conditions they will live in while deployed to fight they are issued supplemental equipment, but they don’t get it from the central supply warehouse.

That would be too easy.

Instead, each deploying unit is issued a set of specialized combat equipment tailored to where they are going.  For my most recent vacation getaway to Afghanistan we were issued cold weather gear too keep us warm in that distant and frigid land.  Lots and lots of it.  Three full jacket and pants ensembles of varying types (one for rain, one for warmth, one in a fetching white and grey camouflage pattern to make us look like a lumpy snowbank should we need to hide ourselves in the tundra), lined and waterproof boots (comfy AND toasty!), cold weather socks, long underwear, fleece undershirts, gloves, mittens, and my personal favorite- booties to keep our toes snug when we weren’t mucking about the countryside in our boots.  By the time we got all of the cold weather gear we were ready for an arctic expedition- all we needed were a few dogsleds, a case or two of Spam, and some snow under our feet.  And just like our fighting equipment it is all top notch stuff; not leftovers from the Korean war, which is nice (I say that because many years ago when I was conducting cold weather training we were issued musty old Korean war vintage canvas “cold weather” protective clothing that was anything but.)  At any rate, this pile of gear added to your other pile of previously issued gear becomes a mountain of equipment that even our friend Atlas could not independently shoulder.

But we’re not done yet!

You now have your fighting equipment and your environmental clothing, but you need to be issued the tools of the trade- your rifle, pistol (if you rate one), and all of the other bits and pieces that make you into a warfighting machine.  Your weapons shoot bullets, and those bullets are loaded into magazines.  Ten magazines for your rifle.  Three for your pistol.  You need Night Vision Goggles to peer into the darkness, and a bracket to mount those goggles to your helmet.  Along with a dozen other items, you pick these things up at your unit armory and add them to the growing Everest like mountain of gear that you need to fight.

Enough, you think?  Well, not yet!

You still have to draw your unit specific equipment.  Every unit has a different mission to accomplish, and as a result each unit has some unique equipment required to do so.  My last unit was a fire support and liaison outfit, so we needed special radio headsets, helmets, night vision equipment, thermal targeting sights, ruggedized computers, and other nifty items to ply our trade in combat.

Now you’re finally done!  All you need is a flag to plant on top of your equipment mountain and your Edmund Hillary impression will be complete.

So off you go….training, deploying, fighting, coming home, and doing it over and over again.  Time passes, and soon enough it is time to start turning all of that stuff back in.  The problem is that it all looks the same- some of it is brown, some green, some black- and all of it needs to go back where it came from.  Were I more organized that would be no big deal, because I would have been smart enough to take the itemized receipts that the various supply clerks handed and file them away for the day that I would be turning the stuff back in.  Well, I’m neither that smart nor that organized.  Without a thought of the ramifications down the road I took the receipts from the supply clerks and jammed them into my pockets, where they were either laundered into oblivion or thrown out with the gum wrappers and lint that always seems to aggregate there.

So there I stood, eager to divest myself of the mounds of gear that clogs my garage, but unable to really remember where it all came from.  I give it my best shot, and soon enough I have a backpack and a couple of seabags stuffed with all of the equipment I seem to remember receiving at the main supply warehouse.  After grunting and straining to get into the car, I zorch over to the Centralized Issue Facility (CIF- another acronym!) where I unload my car and again grunt and strain to get it all over to the checkout counter.

Standing at the entrance to the warehouse is reminiscent of Frodo’s trip into Mount Doom, complete with the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you are stepping into the great unknown with uncertain outcome.  Entering the dark maw of the musty hangar-like building, I saw that it was going to be no quick and easy adventure.  Lamentably, between the counter and myself stretches a long line that serpentines back and forth.  And back.  And forth.  Apparently,  I am not the only one interested in returning my gear today!  I search the faces of those in front of me and see the blank and resigned expression that every Marine knows- the “it’s gonna be a while” look.

Capitulating to the timeless fate of Marines immemorial, I lug my stuff up and join the line.  Slowly, inexorably, like a caterpillar the line moves through the twisting lane.  A Marine is called to the counter, so he or she reaches down, seizes the straps, loops, and handles and drags the agglomeration up to the counter.  The Marine’s departure from the front of the line starts a sine wave of stooping Marines, each grabbing their gear and lunging forward, with the fleeting feeling of progress supplanted by return to resignation as they wait.  Painful minutes stretch into infinity, and moments before my last hair turns grey it is my turn.  Finally!

Up to the counter I struggle with my jumble of earthtoned equipment.  The clerk, a civilian contractor, asks for my ID card and we get down to business.  As I have said before, this is not my first rodeo, so I made many of the basic preparations that get Marines into trouble at the supply counter.  I had cleaned my equipment (nothing dirty is accepted- it is issued to you clean and you are expected to return it that way) and disassembled it by removing the camoflage cover from my helmet, taking all of the pouches off of my protective vest, and separating the components of my sleeping bag.  I tried to keep it organized, with all of the pouches in one pile and clothing in another.  So off we went.  “Helmet, Medium,” said she, and after she inspected the one I handed her to ensure that it was indeed a medium helmet she moved on to “Cover, Helmet, Medium….”

Dozens of items later my pile had shrunk, but oddly had not completely disappeared.  It was smaller to be sure, but still there.  Reduced from mountain to foothill, my equipment load had lessened.  Fortunately, we weren’t done.  “Flashlight, Tactical.”  Unfortunately, my tactical flashlight was absent!  I rooted through what was left to no avail.  “Um, I don’t have it,” said I, hoping for a pass.  No such luck!  “You can come back when you find it.  Jacket, Combat, Desert?”  After much fishing through the pile I came up empty handed.  My forlorn look was met by her steely gaze and flat reminder that I could bring my errant jacket in with my missing flashlight.  I asked about the other stuff, and her steely stare softened.  “You didn’t get it here,” said she, “and we don’t want it.”  D’oh!

Off I went with a bag of stuff I thought I needed to turn in and a homework assignment to find the stuff I forgot.  All things considered, though, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.  I seemed to remember putting the flashlight in the pocket of my jacket, but where the jacket was currently hiding was anybody’s guess.  As for the other stuff, well, I had a few other stops to make and I am pretty sure that one of the many clerks who had issued it to me would recognize and reclaim it.  All I had to do was make the circuit from the CIF to the armory to my unit supply a few more times and before too long my pile would be gone and the magical stamps would appear on my checkout sheet.

Two trips and a found jacket and flashlight later, my checkout sheet was emblazoned with the stamps of success from the CIF, the armory, and my unit supply.  I had bested the supply monster and scribed its mark onto my checkout sheet.  Things were looking up!

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Keep the receipts!  You would think I would have learned that ages ago, but I didn’t.  I even tried to keep a folder each time I showed up at a new unit to organize all of the pertinent paperwork including receipts for equipment.  Needless to say,  I failed in the attempt.  So, if you are checking in somewhere soon, save your receipts.

2.  Do a little research before getting in line.  Had I made a few phone calls or emails I could have found the list of gear that I was expected to turn into the CIF.  The same goes for the armory and your unit supply.  It will also save your back from the strain of lugging extra gear all the way through the line and then back to your car because you brought it to the wrong place.

3.  Make sure your equipment is clean and complete.  There are a lot of little straps and widgets that can get lost, and you will be buying replacements and cursing up a storm unless you have everything squared away.  A few minutes with a scrub brush will save hours of waiting in line.

4.  Allocate a lot of time for the process.  You will forget or lose something and will be making more than one trip to the turn in counter. In addition, there will be a lot of people like you in line ahead of you.  It is not a speedy process.  Be forewarned…

Checking Out (2): Hello, Checkout sheet!

Posted by Mike Grice on

Back to work.  Well, back to leaving work for the last time, or at least back to trying to leave work for the last time- and the emphasis is on trying.

Leaving a job in the civilian world is a significantly different experience than leaving military service.  Generally on the outside you can leave your job in one of two manners: happily or unhappily.  The happy way of leaving is with an office party with a nicely decorated cake, some kind words, and a thoughtful (but not too expensive) gift from your cubemates to speed you on your way.  The unhappy way is finding yourself wedged between two security guards as they hustle you and the dented cardboard box that contains your precious office belongings out the door.  In either circumstance you generally get to leave the company with a minimum of fuss and hassle- and it all happens in one day.

Not so fast or easy in the military world.  Following the vaunted tradition of making simple things very difficult every departing Marine must run a perplexing gauntlet of clerks, administrators, and senior leaders on his or her way out of the unit.  He or she must obtain the mark of consent from a dozen or two different entities before the byzantine process of checking out is complete- marks that range from elaborate signatures that would make a calligrapher swoon to stark and brazen ink from a much-coveted rubber stamp; coveted because without the mark of the stamper you will remain forever in the purgatorial no man’s land inhabited by the lost souls who could not obtain the vital mark on the most important of all documents to the so0n-to-be departing: the checkout sheet.

I have alluded to this most glorious and momentous document in a recent post.  It is indeed a glorious bit of vellum because, much like Pirate Captain Jack Sparrow’s map, it holds the key to that which you most strongly desire: your departure.  Like a treasure map it divulges the often hidden location of important places that otherwise would remain forever hidden, or at least forever ignored because the only time you really need to go there is when you are checking in or checking out.  The vaunted checkout sheet is so crucially important because it is the one and only key to receiving your final orders to the outside- without completing it you can be stuck on hold and denied the ability to leave despite your desire to grow your hair and rediscover the joys of sleeping in during the week.

The checkout sheet is usually provided by the administrative section of the unit you are checking out of.  The purpose that it serves is to make sure that you hit all of the wickets on the way out the door- important wickets like turning in thousands of dollars worth of military equipment as well as completing critical paperwork that ensures that you receive the benefits and entitlements that you have earned during your service.  So, in and of itself, the checkout sheet is actually a good thing because it ensures that you do everything you are supposed to do before you hit the road.  Unfortunately, just because the checkout sheet is important to you that doesn’t mean it is particularly important to anybody else, which is a painful lesson to come to grips with.  Your eagerness and urgency to get it completed has little to do with the desire of others to assist you in getting it done, so a word of warning the soon to be departing- make sure you allot ample time to knock it out.  A smart guy once told my that a crisis on my part did not correlate to a crisis on his, and that must because I was in a hurry didn’t mean that he was.  Important and accurate advice, as we shall see…

What does a checkout sheet look like?  It is invariably similar across the spectrum of units and services.  It is a sheet of paper that lists all of the agencies, offices, and people that you need to visit in order to depart your unit.  More importantly, it has a place for each of them to make their mark- eminently important, because without the proper notation by the functionary behind the counter your visit will be in vain.  For those with nimble fingers and an eager pen beware!  Don’t think that just forging a random set of initials will let you slide by- that has been tried by many who have gone before you and as a result most places have acquired nifty and unique little rubber stamps (and variously colored ink pads) that must be used on your checkout sheet for it to be deemed authentic.  Forge at your own peril, because to be caught will get you in big trouble and result in a trip to purgatory as your transgression is sorted out.

Here is a link to what my own checkout sheet looks like: Checkoutsheet

As you can see it is a colorful document- at least it is now that it is completed.  I obtained my checkout sheet from the administrative section of my unit, in this case 1 Marine Expeditionary Force Headquarters Group (try saying that three times fast!) located aboard Camp Pendleton, California.  To get your mitts on a checkout sheet you have to be able to show the nineteen year old administrative clerk that you are indeed departing soon, which is actually pretty easy.  The major muscle movements of personnel administration are done over a centralized computer system, and since my retirement request had been approved the young Marine only had to check the system to confirm my not-so-imminent departure.  He reached behind the counter and pulled out a single piece of paper, and with the efficiency borne of experience he whipped a yellow highlighter over numerous lines of text.  “These are the places you need to hit, sir,” he explained, “take it to IPAC (the Installation Personnel Administrative Center- where my friend the retirement counselor works) and they will cut you your final set of orders.”  With a cheerful “thanks, and see you around!” to the clerk I left the admin shop with a virginal sheet, ready to be filled with the scribblings and stamps of those who stood between me and my final day on base.

The sheet itself is an innocuous looking bit of poorly Xeroxed paper.  It is a copy of a copy that was a copy of a copy, and as a result is a bit faded and tough to read.  I filled out my administrative information at the top, stuff like my name, rank, and section (HQ for headquarters, in case anyone didn’t know that) and headed out to get as many signatures and stamps as I could in the shortest time possible.

As usual, it wasn’t that simple.  It never is.  More on that soon…

Terminal Leave Adventures (4): Shipboard life and returning home from a Disney Cruise and an Amphibious deployment

Posted by Mike Grice on

Life aboard the Disney Wonder continues to not be at all bad, but unfortunately it is coming to an end.  In my ongoing comparison and contrast between her and the U. S. Navy’s Wasp class of amphibious assault ships we will look a little deeper at the ships themselves and the things that you can do whilst on board as well as the disheartening return to reality as our ship pulls back into Los Angeles.

For those keeping score, here is where we stand up to this point:   Disney:       7         U. S. Navy:      5

The aesthetics of each ship are predictably very different.  The Wonder, being a kid-oriented and Walt Disney themed vessel is all about the experience of the passengers.  The Navy’s amphibs, on the other hand, are purpose built to take Marines into harm’s way on hostile shores.  Needless to say, the feel of being aboard each ship is like chalk and cheese- worlds apart.

The Wonder’s art deco styling hearkens back to Disney’s beginnings, when Mickey Mouse and friends were bursting on the world scene and the Disney brothers found themselves at the head of an exploding entertainment empire.  The interior of the ship gleams with sweeping arcs and intricate patterns of brushed aluminum and steel which are accented by honey hued lacquered wood paneling that warmly lines the main parts of the ship.  The deeper hues of mahogany accent the railings, fixtures, counters, and bars.  Colorful carpet meets gleaming tile across the decks, and the furniture is reminiscent of a 1930s film noir.

The exterior of the ship (including the promenade, pool decks, and other areas where the interior meets the salt air) is painted a gleaming white in the manner of Teddy Roosevelt’s Great White Fleet, with a nicely patriotic red and blue accent meeting at the waterline on the hull.  There is an incredible level of attention to detail that mirrors the theme parks of Disneyland and Disneyworld. Every part of the ship is always spotless thanks to a tireless crew that is perpetually sweeping and swabbing.  Also like the theme parks there are things to do everywhere.

The Wonder sports two theaters aboard- one for movies and the other for live shows.  We saw a couple of both, and the entertainment venues are tremendous!  My sons were ecstatic to be able to watch the movie Real Steel and my wife really liked The Help, both first run movies that are currently in theaters ashore.  The live shows, like Toy Story, the Musical, were as high quality as any we have seen in a landbound theater.  Of course, it wouldn’t be a Disney experience without the famous characters walking about!  We are constantly running into Pluto, Goofy, and the rest of the cast of characters.  Everyone dresses to the nines for the formal dinners, and I must say that Mickey is a lucky mouse indeed because Minnie looks positively ravishing in her white gown and tiara!  Goofy looks pretty dapper in a tux, too.

Deck 9 is where the party rolls on, and on, and on.  There are three pools (one for adults, one for everyone, and a shallow one with a waterslide just for kids), Jacuzzis everywhere and places to get everything from pizza to hamburgers to coffee to cocktails.  No matter what activities we did on the ship or ashore we always ended up on deck 9, and were happy to be there.  Disney is really magical through the eyes of children, and watching little ones light up when Chip and Dale wander by in their Hawaiian shirts makes your heart melt.

There are clubs for kids of all ages, too.  Infants, toddlers, grade schoolers, tweens, and teens all have dedicated places to go and hang out with their fellow cruisers.  It is great for them because they are never bored- when they get tired of their parents or their siblings they can go off and have a great time.  After a few days we found our kids ditching us earlier and earlier to go to the Oceaneer’s Lab (for our eight year old) and the Edge (for our eleven year old tween).  That made it nice for us parents- the kids were off in a safe and fun environment and we could actually have some time to ourselves for a change!

In the Navy, however, things are a little different.  The ship is a monochromatic palette of black, grey and white occasionally interrupted by the yellow that marks steps on ladderwells so that you don’t trip on them.  Blue decks mark Officer’s Country (which is where officers both live and work), but all in all the ship has a very utilitarian and industrial feel and look.  It is a warship, after all, and being a warship it is just as attentively cared for as the Disney Wonder.  It is clean- not in a sparkly Magic Kingdom kind of way but in a shipshape Navy kind of way.  Sailors (and a few Marines who are assigned to shipboard duties) are endlessly sweeping, painting, and wiping down the ship, and the pride they have in their vessel is evident by the way they painstakingly ensure that everything is orderly and tidy- very important because you never know when something may happen and they may have to drop their brooms and swabs and take up their battle stations.

There are things to do aboard ship as well.  Lots of things.  99% of those things involve making sure that the ship is shipshape (for the crew) and we Marines are making sure that our combat equipment is ready for any contingency.  Seawater is remarkably corrosive, so each and every day Marines are conducting maintenance on their gear- endlessly wiping protective grease and oil off of trucks and guns and tanks, inspecting for rust, and reapplying another waterproof layer….only to be repeated again and again in the days ahead.  Leaders attend meetings and briefings to stay current on world events, planning to respond to the situations within steaming range ship and her sisters.  Warships seldom sail alone, and our Big Deck the command and control ship for a little fleet (called an Amphibious Ready Group, or ARG in acronymical fashion) of amphibs that consists of the Big Deck and two Small Decks, all loaded with several thousand Marines and enough combat gear to assault a beach, help evacuate those in need, or respond to natural disasters like tsunamis and hurricanes.

In addition to taking care of equipment Marines work out.  They hit the gym (which is an impressive collection of free weights, cardio machines, and the like) and they can run around the flight deck when it is not being used as an airport.  They can go to the library to read or check out books, watch TV in their berthing spaces (if they brought a small TV with them, of course!), or sleep when they don’t have to be on duty.  They can even go swimming onboard ship- on special occasions.  There is no leisure pool aboard, but in cases where the well deck (the part of the ship where the amphibious vehicles and landing boats are kept) is free of vehicles the ship can actually fill it with water- creating an enormous swimming pool.  The ship is designed to flood the well deck so that boats can float in and out during landing operations, and when no boats are aboard it becomes the largest shipboard swimming pool on earth.  No diving board, though…and it isn’t heated.  And it doesn’t happen often.  But, when it does, it is a unique experience!

So, back to our competition.  Our current score rests at seven to four in favor of Disney.  We will assign two points in this round; one for the ambiance of the ship and the second for things to do aboard.  The first point has to go to Disney for the sheer elegance of the Wonder- if ever there could be a replication of the Magic Kingdom at sea then the Disney cruising fleet has made it possible.  The second point for things to do aboard ship is a close call, but it has to go to the Navy and Marine team.  After all, you can swim on both ships but only with the Navy and Marines can you do really manly things like perform maintenance on tanks after breakfast and assault a beach after lunch.  Point, Department of the Navy.

Running score:                                  Disney:                 8              U. S. Navy:          5

That brings us to the end of our deployment with Disney and the Navy.  My first post explained the differences between the boarding experience, so now let’s take a look at disembarkation.

Leaving the Wonder was a pretty simple process, really.  We watched a video that described the things we had to do to depart the ship – things like “don’t leave anything behind!” and “review your bill before departing…”.  We tagged our luggage with the colorful tags that our cabin steward thoughtfully provided and packed very carefully (and it was a pleasant surprise to learn that our luggage would be taken ashore for us if we left outside our stateroom the evening before reaching port), but receiving a bill for all of the cocktails and souvenirs and sundry items that we purchased was a jarring experience.  You definitely pay for the fun you have on a cruise!

The colored tags were part of the debarking process.  We were “Purple Minnies” (because we had purple tags with a fetching picture of Minnie Mouse), meaning our bagtags were purple which suited my oldest son because that is his favorite color.  We were called to disembark based on our tag color, so after our last breakfast aboard ship we queued up and waited for the call.  Soon enough we heard the call for “Purple Minnies!” and we walked back out the ornate door that we passed through as we boarded just a short week before.  We followed the crowd to U. S. Customs, where a bored customs agent scrutinized our passports and perfunctorily waved us back to U. S. soil.  We wandered over to baggage claim, got our bags, and drove home.  Very anticlimactic.

Contrast the deflation of departing the Wonder with the sheer exuberance of returning from a military deployment.  First of all, there are a lot of ways to get off the ship- you can ride in a helicopter, splash across the beach in a landing craft, or swim ashore aboard an amphibious assault vehicle.  Or walk down the gangplank when the ship docks pierside, of course.  The best part is that there is a tremendously heartfelt reunion waiting for you- complete with banners, flags, and your family jumping up and down because they haven’t seen you in six months or more.  Talk about an emotional event!  Many Marines and Sailors will first meet children they have never seen because they were born while they were underway, and young lovers will embrace with the passion only possible in the wonderful world of true love.  It is one of the most heartwarming and and emotional things you will ever witness, and to be a participant is unforgettable.  This one goes to the U. S. Navy and Marine Corps!

So, after much consideration and internal debate, I must tally the final score as follows:

Final score:                        Disney:                 8              U. S. Navy:          6

So, even though the U. S. Navy (with their Marines embarked) are the absolutely baddest thing ever to sail the seven seas they can’t best the Disney cruise ship Wonder  in the underway experience department.  You can join the Navy and see the world, but you can’t do it with Mickey and Minnie mouse (or with your kids!) unless you book a pleasure cruise with the Disney Armada.

With this my terminal leave adventure comes to a close, and it is time to get back to work.  I left you, my constant reader, sitting at the edge of your seat in anticipation of joining me in the checking out process.  My next post will introduce you to that most excellent document, the checkout sheet, and bring you along the rocks and shoals of my final departure from active service.  Keep reading!

Terminal Leave Adventures (3): Disney Wonder vs. U.S.S. Essex: a ship on ship cage match

Posted by Mike Grice on

Well, my terminal leave continues and it is time to revisit my unbiased comparison of the Disney and U. S. Navy Gator fleets.  Today marks day six of my Disney Deployment, er, family friendly pleasure cruise and thus far I have had a great time.  More importantly, my family has had the time of their lives- especially the kids.  Possibly the only greater vacation would be to spend a week in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory where my youngest son could join the Oompa Loompas and go swimming in the chocolate river.  My oldest son is living la vida loca as by being the coolest eleven year old in the Edge tween club- I just peeked in and saw him eating ice cream while sandwiched between two young hotties who found his purple sunglasses and black fedora irresistible.

But yet again I digress.  Today we will compare the Disney Wonder to the USS Essex, which is the amphib on which I spent the most time while underway.  The Essex is currently homeported in Sasebo, Japan, and serves as the command and control ship for the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU).  The Essex has spent about a decade in the far east, before which she sailed with MEUs from San Diego, and she is due to be replaced by the Bonhomme Richard (aboard which I have also had the privilege to sail) in the next year or two, after which she will return to the west coast of the United States for duty.

The Disney Wonder, on the other hand, is temporarily homeported in Los Angeles.  She originally hailed from Florida, and like the Essex is temporarily assigned away from her home station.  Wonder is here on the west coast for two years or so and after that she will probably find another home from which to take families on holiday.  Both ships, then, share the distinction of serving ports far from their original stations.  That, however, is one of the few things that they share.

For those intent on keeping score, here is where we stand up to this point:

Running score:                  Disney:                 6              U. S. Navy:          2

Today we are going to compare the ships on the things that really matter to those who sail aboard them: safety, dining, and working out.  These three areas represent some of the most important things to visitors aboard any ship; the crew is charged with making sure you get to where you are headed and keeping the ship afloat while the embarked passengers and Marines are more concerned with where you can eat and what you can do between meals.  In that vein we will take a look at both ships, starting with the Essex.

Now, before my friends aboard the Essex go completely berserk, I must point out that I sailed aboard her as the commanding officer of an artillery battery about a decade ago and returned as an expeditionary fire support evaluator eight years later.  I have not stepped food on her most excellent steel decks since 2009, so my point of comparison is dated by a couple of years.  That said, my experience aboard her sister ships is similar, so I am using the Essex as an amalgam (or composite) of my experiences sailing aboard big deck amphibs.

Kapishe?  No hard feelings?  I hope not….

Let’s start with safety.  It is mandatory on any Navy ship that visitors (including Marines, despite their Naval heritage and significant amount of experience at sea) must undergo a mandatory harassment package in order to be allowed to sail on the big grey boat.  It consists of three painful evolutions: first, the “passengers” must be introduced to the “Man Overboard” drill, second, we must be schooled in the ways of abandoning ship, and finally, we are forced to endure evacuation drills.

The Man Overboard drill is a particularly painful one for anyone in charge.  To be fair, however, it is an incredibly important exercise because it truly is the difference between life and death for any hapless soul who happens to find himself swimming in the wake of the ship as it steams on without him.  The drill is simple in concept and excruciating in execution.  It is simple because all you need to do is account for every member of your unit and report their status to the ship’s Commanding Officer.  It is excruciating because you never know when you will have to do so- may be 0300, maybe at noon chow, maybe when you are in the shower or in the gym.  It doesn’t matter.  The CO, at whatever whim strikes him, is authorized (and duty bound) to sound the man overboard drill and demand accountability of each and every Sailor and Marine aboard his ship.  Imagine if you will the consternation that follows when the klaxon sounds and you, the Commanding Officer of your unit, has ten minutes to report the whereabouts of each and every individual in your charge.  They may be in the head, they may be in the on the vehicle storage deck chipping rust off of your equipment, or they may be off the ship doing God-knows-what.  Once the whistle blows you have ten minutes to figure it out.  Without going into the painful details of how it is done, my battery was successful in reporting the status of all members when we conducted these drills.  That is a good thing, because the COs of units that couldn’t were “invited” to explain to the Captain why they failed.  He made it especially challenging, too.  As the omnipotent and omniscient commander of all that he oversaw, he would dispatch one of his henchmen (known as the “MAA”, or Master At Arms) to find an unsuspecting soul who was invited to enjoy the largesse of the captain as he conducted the drill.  This Marine or Sailor was brought to the Captain’s Mess (the CO’s private dining room) where he or she happily sat with his or her feet up on the Captain’s ottoman and ate ice cream while the rest of the ship freaked out when the bell rang.  The key to success was knowing where all of your people were, and more importantly reporting when you couldn’t find them all.  In my case, none of my Marines were snagged by the MAA, so I could report that all hands were accounted for.  Some of my fellows were not as fortunate- in once case a CO whose Sailor was basking in the temporary glory of the Captain’s ice cream reported him present.  I think he is handing out basketballs in the Aleutian Islands now, but I could be wrong.

The second drill is the abandon ship drill.  This is particularly important because we were aboard an American Man of War and sometimes wars break out.  The drill wasn’t too painful, really.  When the call went out (over the ship’s 1 MC, which is a sound system that goes only one way- from the bridge of the ship to a speaker in every space aboard the vessel) to abandon ship all of us headed for the flight deck across from the island.  The flight deck is the big flat space where aircraft take off and land from and the island is the big steel structure that sticks out of the starboard side of the flight deck.  Only a true idiot could miss it….so most of us didn’t.  We practiced running to our abandon ship location and lining up to board the life rafts that would keep us out of the water until we could be rescued by somebody- preferably American, because the thought of being captured by an enemy navy is not particularly pleasant.  Anyhow, this drill was pretty easy, because all we did was run up to the flight deck and stand around until the people in charge got their fill of watching Marines pass out from heat exhaustion.

The evacuation drill is one that is self inflicted- that is it is one that is imposed on Marines by Marines.  The ship’s company was only required to train us how to find each other in the case of missing personnel and how to get off the ship should it end up sinking.  We were on our own for the evacuatioh drill.  Warships run the real danger of being attacked by the enemies of our nation, and when that happens the only thing that matters to the Navy is saving their ship.  For Marines, who have nothing to do with damage control and firefighting, the main effort is to get above decks where we can shoot back.  In order to do so, we need to be ready to get out of wherever we are below decks and find our way topside.  That means that we must be ready to find our way through pitch dark passageways that are filled with noxious smoke, feeling our way from the bowels of the ship to the relative safety of the decks above.  Blindfolded, we practiced grabbing our EBA (Emergency Breathing Apparatus- a hood that contains an oxygen generator capable of providing enough breathable air to escape the most inaccessible space of the ship) and feeling our way up to the flight deck.  We memorized every turn in the corridor, every hatch that could stand in our way, and every ladderwell that led to safety.  We were blindfolded because the ship’s lighting was unreliable in an emergency, and we felt our way because the smoke created by the burning ship would obscure any light anyway.  We practiced this until we were certain that we could escape the dangers below deck, which was important because what we really needed to be ready to do was to man our guns and shoot the hell out of whoever put us in this predicament to begin with.

Contrast these drills with the one conducted aboard the Wonder.  On the afternoon of our first day aboard we were directed to watch a video on our in-room televisions (!) that depicted our expected actions when the emergency siren was sounded.  Pretty simple, really.  A series of seven short blasts on the ships horn would be followed by a continual wailing tone, and when we heard that my family and I were directed to go to our stateroom, and once we were all there to go up to the 4th deck and find a seat in the movie theater.  Once there, roll would be taken and we would be directed to our lifeboat should Disney’s finest suddenly decide to impersonate a submarine.  It was very genteel and very polite, and my kids loved it.  That said, I felt safer aboard the Essex– after all, I could find my way off of the burning ship in the complete dark with people shooting at me.  In this case, I must give the point to the U. S. Navy and the USS Essex- although the lifeboats may be nicer on the Wonder the surety of reaching one and surviving a catastrophe was mercilessly drilled into us by the captain of the ship.  Point- U.S. Navy.

Running score:                  Disney:                 6              U. S. Navy:          3

Now that we have the survival drills under our belt, it is time to find something to eat.  Dining aboard any vessel is an adventure, and in some cases more of an adventure than others.

The Navy has a long tradition associated with eating aboard ship.  There is a time honored saying for life underway- “eat until you’re tired, and then sleep ’til you’re hungry”.  That applies to cruise ships, too!  But keeping with our Naval impetus let’s look at eating from the military perspective.  Each class of sailor- be he a deck hand, a chief petty officer, an ensign, or the Captain- has his or her own mess in which to break bread.  Suffice it to say the higher in rank you are the nicer the dinner table.  The enlisted sailors and Marines eat in the main Mess Deck- a huge cafeteria of sorts that makes most college dining facilities pale by comparison.  You go through the line and get what you get- a choice of vegetables or meats perhaps, but the deal is you get what you eat and you eat what you get.  It will keep you moving until the next meal, but it is generally not something you look forward to.  Moving up the chain, the Chief Petty Officers run a pretty impressive mess.  Chiefs, as they are ubiquitously known, run the Navy.  Since they are in charge, their mess makes all others (including, arguably, the Admiral’s) pale in comparison.  As an example, I have sailed on a half dozen or more Navy ships and have never had the good fortune to dine with the Chiefs.  My status as a junior Marine was below their recognition, and as an officer I was far too reviled to be welcomed into their exalted dining room.  It is a long tradition, but one that yields a lot more Steak and Lobster than we got up in Officer’s Country.  Speaking of the Officer’s digs, we ate in a smaller cafeteria (officially called a Wardroom) but with arguably better food.  Although it was probably the same as they served on the enlisted mess deck, we told ourselves it was better- because we had to pay for it.  I won’t bore you with the byzantine rules of accounting that pertain to military dining, but suffice it to say enlisted Marines and Sailors eat for free.  Officers pay at the door.  For the same food.  Go figure.

The Captain’s (and, by proxy, the Admiral’s) mess is a five star private dining adventure.  While the officer’s mess has stewards to clean up and generally avoid working too hard, the Captain has a dedicated staff of Sailors and Marines who set the table, take your order, and deliver you dinner in a manner reminiscent of the Che Paul.  The life of the captain at sea is a good one indeed!

Aboard the Wonder it is much more egalatiarian.  Everyone eats well!  There are no less than three fine sid-down eateries (four if you include the four star adults-only restaurant) and several fast food bistros on the entertainment deck (think three pools separated by cocktail bars, pizza establishments, and grills).  Want a hot dog?  Have three!  Pizza?  They’ll make you one from scratch!  Beer with that bratwurst?  Have one!  It is not even in the same league, and not even the same sport- the food on a pleasure cruise is so completely different from that served aboard a big grey Navy ship that the point goes to Disney without a second thought- particularly since I am typing this after eating a most excellent pepperoni, mushroom, and tomato pizza washed down by three Gin and Tonics.  Tough to find that on a Navy ship!  Point- Disney.

Running score:                  Disney:                 7              U. S. Navy:          3

Now that we have eaten our body weight in pizza and French fries it is probably a good idea to do a little exercise.  The Essex, like all big decks, has a pretty impressive gym that all hands can use to burn off those wardroom calories.  Navy ships have embraced the common military obsession with fitness- and it shows.  Located in the forward area of the ship just above the foc’s’le (where the machinery to raise and lower the anchor sits) and below the flight deck (where Harriers scream off the ship to bomb the enemy), the gym is an aggregation of steel plates, Nautilus machines, and aerobic training equipment.  Most importantly, it has several pull up bars welded to the overhead beams, which are of utmost importance to all Marines, because our annual physical fitness test includes running three miles, performing crunches within a time limit, and hauling your carcass over a pullup bar.  Twenty times for the maximum score, which I have personally been able to meet for ten years now.  I may not jack any steel or bend any Nautilus machines, but I religiously pay homage to the pullup bar and find enough square footage on the deck to work on my abs.  The Essex had everything I needed, and more importantly, enough raw testosterone laden gym equipment to make even the most ardent muscle-beach adherent proud.  Add to that the ¼ mile long steel track that circled the flight deck and we could stay in shape with little problem while underway with the Navy.

The Wonder, on the other hand, is a little less manly in regards to physical fitness.  They do have an impressive cardio gym that overlooks the bow of the ship- replete with treamills, climbing machines, and recumbent bikes- but lacking in the most important tool of all; a pull up bar.  The ship does have a very impressive track, however.  The 4th deck is the Promenade- a teak decked oval that circles the entire ship.  During my cruise I logged no less than 90 laps (yielding over 25 miles at 1/3 mile per lap) as I ran every morning before the family got up.  Unfortunately, the lack of a pullup bar required me to use a sharp ladder cage to do my daily 100 pullup/chinup routine, which resulted in blisters and torn callouses on my palms in the pursuit of upper body fitness.  The Wonder has a great new-age air about it with the treadmill and recumbent bikes that look out on the beautiful ocean view, but in my quest for visceral and manly fitness I must bow to the U. S. Navy and her commitment to grinding it out – the lack of a pullup bar completely overrides the pleasantries of working out on the Wonder.  Fitness point goes to the U. S. Navy and the USS Essex.

Running score:                  Disney:                 7              U. S. Navy:          4

That brings this post to a close, and the Navy is closing the gap- now narrowed to only only three points.  Who will prevail?  Only those readers who continue to follow the travails of Disney vs. Navy deployments will find out!   Next time we will look at the things to do while under way…