Every Jarhead can recite without thinking (don't laugh) the birth of the USMC. It was 10 November 1775 at Tun's Tavern in Philadelphia, where Admiral John Paul Jones organized a new part of the Navy. The bright idea was to put Marine sharpshooters in the rigging during a battle at sea. Things always get chaotic in close quarters, so the Marine officers on deck marked a cross on top of their headgear to avoid friendly fire from above. Their hats still have those crosses.
Tun's Tavern doesn't exist any more. Funds are being raised to rebuild it as a museum. The name was actually Tun Tavern. We always thought some guy named Tun had built the joint. A tun is a cask. That's right, for beer. Tun beer can be purchased.
When the Marines weren't displaying their best skills: shooting and obeying orders without thinking, they protected the ship's Captain from mutiny. Seagoing Marines are the most squared-away of any military group. Watch them march if you get the opportunity. It's also interesting that the taxpayers did not pay for the Marines' Iwo Jima Memorial. We paid for it, at five bucks a payday. That's a lot of beer, fella.
Close-order drill (marching) is an amazing thing. It takes a few weeks to get a platoon of civilians to the level of absolute precision. When they get to that level, they are Marines, and will instantly obey any, yes any, order from their Drill Instructor or any Marine Officer. Interestingly, the Marine reaches a higher level of being when marching in step with his platoon. Okay, maybe it's a lower level. It's a Zen thing, an enthrallment, except there's none of that sitting stuff. So now you know the key to instant obedience.
I don't know what the stats are today, but it used to be that during wartime 95 percent of Marines saw actual combat, and only 5 percent of the Army soldiers got some. Marines who volunteer expect to die in combat. The draftees were pitiful, and who could blame them. The Corps should never be given a quota of draftees. They just don't fit. The Draft must never happen again, period. Let us march against it.
A friend, (sure, I used to have three or four) once told me that I was proud of having been a Marine. I responded that I was not proud, but glad. I've seen the varmint and I can stand up to any man who tries to spread that phony patriotic war b.s. on me. I know what has happened and what is going on now. We are in deep tish, folks. We need all those Jarheads. Here.
Ten or so years ago, a psychologist posed a question to a group of Jarheads. About one fourth of them replied that they would forcefully disarm American civilians if ordered to do so. Hopefully, he will do another survey. If it is now fifty-one percent, watch out.
About 25 years ago it was reported that 75 percent of the Cops in America were former Jarheads. Funny, that's the job someone typed on my DD-214 (Discharge Paper), as my highest qualification in civilian life. Little did they know. Even farther back, in the late sixties, one of those Presidential Blue Ribbon Commissions on the Causes of Violence in America reported (to Nixon, who sealed it away) that the primary cause of violence in America was, you guessed it, Cops.
Here's a question for you: What is the first requirement for a Police State?
The answer: Lots of Cops.
I'm with Steven Greenhut on the Cops matter. He is in the L.A area, and things haven't changed much there since about 1943, when the Cops were murdering prisoners to such an embarrassing extent that it actually hit the newspapers. A friend in the insurance business once told me that about 75 percent of police work is for the insurance companies. No wonder Cops are so fractious.
Let's take a long jump back in time. Thomas Jefferson, shame on him, sent the Navy and Marines on a Mercantilist mission to the Shores of Tripoli to bail out American crooked businessmen who were too cheap and clever to fight their own battles against the pirates.
Later, the Marines were sent to the Halls of Montezuma to help those Mexicans understand just how much our Mercantilistas wanted to steal their land.
And those are just two musical examples of where the Marine Expeditionary Forces have gone. The Marine Hymn sounds good, and it sure makes me want to march. But how many Jarheads would still march with this Sergeant, with proud, uplifting precision?
The Marines, bless them individually, as a group are the First Strike Force for the un-American Empire.
Today, many of them are experiencing men's greatest adventure: personal combat. May they live through it and be brought home immediately and discharged.
You owe your life to your mother, not any government. You'll quickly realize that fact if a piece of hot metal tears through your body and you can't draw a breath of air. She suffered great pain at your birth but that will be as nothing if you die. Give her a break.
Semper Fi, Mutha.
November 11, 2004
