Every lieutenant is convinced that his gunnery sergeant is the best in the Marine Corps, but in my case I think it may be true. Or at least I have a major contender.
After serving an initial officer tour with 3d Tanks, 3d MarDiv, on Okinawa I was transferred in the mid-1970's to Marine Barracks, Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines, as a Guard Officer.
I was assigned to Separate Guard Company, Cubi Point Naval Air Station, which had its barracks next to the Seabees up on the hill above the Air Station, just across the road from the Cubi Point Officers' Club.
Separate Guard Co. was a task-organized unit, primarily responsible for providing security for the U.S. Naval Magazine, which at 20+ square miles was the largest American ammunition processing and storage area in the Pacific, and which contained the "go to war" reserve ammo for the Pacific Fleet and the 3d MarDiv as well as munitions for Clark AFB. It also contained a Nuclear Exclusion Area containing special weapons. Separate Guard was the size of a small battalion, commanded by a major with a captain X.O., and consisted of three company-sized platoons commanded by first lieutenants. I commanded 2d Platoon, and Gunnery Sergeant Earl Bartlett was my platoon sergeant.
Gunny Bartlett was a superlative Staff NCO. He had played football for the Marine Corps back in the States, and went into the Reserves and played professional ball as a lineman for the Pittsburgh Steelers for a couple of years prior to returning to active duty as a career Marine. He was over six feet tall, Black, weighed about 245 pounds--- none of which was anything but muscle---and had the only perfectly round head I have ever seen. He had a head like a shaved bowling ball; when he wore his utility cover the bill was perfectly straight, not curved down on the corners as usual. He didn't have a neck. His ears kind of sloped down into his axe-handle-wide shoulders and his huge arms, bulging with muscle (He had a very hard time rolling up the sleeves of his utilities, and had to surreptitiously slit the lower seams to make it work.) terminated in hands the size of small hams which hung below his knees. He had a deep bass voice that could be heard, as a result of a tour as a drill instructor, upwind at about a half a mile. And to put the icing on the cake, belying his outward Neanderthal appearance, he was a very bright guy, and had a wicked sense of humor.
Gunny was the most squared-away Marine I ever served with. The Philippines is a very hot and humid place, and he liked to set the example for the troops, so at lunch he would march over to his hooch and "break starch" on a clean set of utilities and don a freshly spit- shined pair of boots for the afternoon. A bachelor, he lived in a room in the Staff NCO Quarters just across the road from our headquarters barracks. He once invited me over to his room. He had put up a long piece of steel water pipe the length of one end of his room and on the pipe hung a dozen starched and pressed utility uniforms. Above them was a shelf containing 12 starched and pressed utility covers. Under them were six pairs of spit-shined combat boots.
I was a married officer on an accompanied tour, but as many of you may know, a permanent assignment to the Philippines was paradise for single Marines. I was always impressed by their stamina. We worked "24 on/24 off" at Separate Guard. The U.S. dollar was worth so much in the P.I in the '70's that two or three enlisted Marines could afford to rent and furnish a house in Oolongapo City outside the gate, hire both a maid/cook and the appropriate number of live-in hookers, and still have money left over to bar-hop practically every night until the midnight curfew chased them home. They would party until midnight, head home and "refresh" their girls until 0200-0300, and then head back in to the base at 0500 to make our 0600 P.T. formation. After calisthenics we would generally run anywhere from 3 to 5 miles... and given that our barracks was at the top of the highest hill in the vicinity, that meant running the back end of the run uphill. Running next to my Marines was like running past the San Miguel Brewery as they sweated out the last evening's consumption, and periodically one of the troops would run to the side of the road and barf up beer into the jungle prior to rejoining the formation.
Morning formation in uniform of the day was at 0745 in the parking lot in front of the Barracks. The company would form up in three platoon blocks fronted by their platoon commanders, and the C.O. would march out and call the formation to attention for Colors and to pass the day's activities, assignments and training schedule. Prior to the C.O.'s arrival the Company Gunny would poll the platoon sergeants for "present for duty" status.
One well-remembered morning, when Gunny Bartlett was checking personnel status with our squad leaders, the third squad leader, Sgt. Etsheidt, reported "one man missing". Gunny asked, "Who?" The squad leader told him that one of his Marines had come in early that morning from town, still drunk out of his mind, had hit the rack, missed P.T. because he couldn't be woken, and when he was woken again just prior to formation said, "F---k it... Tell Gunny I ain't comin'". Gunny Bartlett never missed a beat. He called the platoon to attention, turned over control to the 1st squad leader, did an about face, saluted smartly, and asked, "Sir, permission to be excused for zero 5 mikes?" "Granted, Gunny", I replied.
Now our barracks were non-air-conditioned tropical barracks, which meant they were sturdy steel-reinforced concrete structures that had screened sides with floor-to-ceiling aluminum louvers that could be cranked out to let the breeze through the entire structure or shut to keep out the monsoon rains. My platoon was billeted in four man rooms on the "second deck", which had a set of outside metal fire stairs leading up to the steel door on the end of the barracks. It was these steps that Gunny Bartlett ascended in his quest for the missing Marine. The rest of the platoon had been given "at ease" out on the parking lot, and necks craned back towards the barracks as my Marines followed Gunny's echoing progress up the stairs, through the door, and down the hall towards the miscreant's room. He arrived in the room of the hung-over young Marine---a private who had been assigned to the Marine Barracks right out of Boot Camp and who had only been with the Barracks for about three months---and the second deck of the building reverberated with a series of bellows, clangs and crashes. The Marines in platoon formation cringed as whispered exclamations of "Oh, Sh- t!" were heard. (Gunny was famous for his up- close and personal "counseling sessions" with uncooperative young Marines.) There were further sounds of scuffling heard echoing down the second deck as Gunny and his charge approached the steel fire door at the end of the barracks.
As luck would have it, the major opened the first deck door at the end of the barracks on the way to take the morning formation just as Gunny and his burden reached the door above. There was a resounding "CLANG!" as the steel door was kicked open into the steel railing of the fire stairs, and then a kind of horrible warbling "AAAAAHHHHH!" as the young Marine, who was about 5 feet 9 and 150 pounds, sailed out of the open door gaining altitude as he cleared the railing and fell to the grass at the end of the barracks, clad in one rubber flip- flop and a pair of issue white boxer shorts. He landed right in front of the C.O., on his back, and after a minute of trying to regain his breath, got to his knees and elbows just as Gunny Bartlett marched out of the door and down the stairs, squaring away his military alignment as he came. Gunny made the corner and saw the Skipper standing there with his hands on his hips, looking at the kid on the grass. Gunny snapped of a crisp salute and a "Good morning, Sir!"
The major returned the salute, looked bemusedly at the kid on the grass, looked back at Gunny Bartlett, and said, "Gunny, did I see what I just saw?" Gunny replied, "No sir, the Major didn't". The C.O., nodded and replied, "Very well then, Gunnery Sergeant, carry on.", turned, and walked down the sidewalk out to the formation.
Gunny Bartlett walked over to the Marine, picked him up by the back of the neck and the elastic waist of his skivvy shorts, frog-marched him over to the end of the third squad, planted him next to the last Marine at the end of the file, and with formal facing movements marched to the front of the platoon, called them to attention, did a crisp about face, saluted, and reported, "All present or accounted for, Sir."
I loved the guy. With him as my platoon sergeant I had the easiest job in the Marine Corps.
Don Kaag
LTC, Armor, AUS(Ret.)
...and former Sgt. & Cpt. of Marines
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I got this from a Bulletin posted by:
Proud Military Dad
