June 7, 2018
Volume 48 - No. 23
The Marine Corps in Peace and War
“Where ya goin’?” this concrete slab asked.
On a warm June evening in 1957, along with 83-other young men I boarded a Military Air Transport Service, Cargomaster, bound for Marine Recruit Depot, San Diego, CA. I was seventeen, a week out of high school. In the seat next to me, was Gerald R. Hermann. Soon to be twenty-two, Herm, has hardly left my side since we met two days earlier at the Greyhound Bus Station in St. Louis.
“I’ve got a free hotel room somewheres.” His Adam’s apple bobs. He shoves paper at me. “I’m off to be a Marine. Could ya help me? We ain’t got big cities in South Dakota. Name’s Herm.” His grip hurts my hand.
By Pete Peterson
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“My hotel.”
Comparing chits, we’re headed for the same place. Herm heehaws. “Yer gonna be a Marine, too?” After we get our room keys, to
The next morning, Herm waits for me outside the hotel restaurant. “Hoped I’d find ya here.”
explains how to complete crucial enlistment papers. When I stand to turn in my completed forms, Herm asks, “Could ya help me? Hard to see in this light. Recruiter said they’ll give me glasses in San Diego. I’ll tell you what to write, okay?”
At the Center, Herm’s in the chair next to me while a staff sergeant
Herm looks so lost and alone, so innocent, I help him. The rest of the day, whether eating box lunches on a bench outside the Center, sweep-
escape his goofball laugh and country-boy questions, I slip into a phone booth. “Gotta call home,” I lie.
After a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and coffee – Herm helps himself to my toast - we walk to the Induction Center, along with probably twenty other young men, all “Off to be Marines.”
The staff sergeant claps his hands. “Turn in yer papers. Ya ain’t writin’ a book.”
The Marine Corps - In Peace and War - See Page 2