I got the opportunity to go to San Diego to attend the Western Recruiting Region Conference. Of course, I'll take any opportunity to go to San Diego so this was a no-brainer. Here is the blog entry.

	This is my original squadbay. There are many like it, but this one is mine. I took this picture for our guide whose rack it is. When I sent the picture to him, he told me that it was the first bed that he ever had to himself. He grew up poor and shared beds all his life with his brothers.
	Treading where I was never allowed. This was the Senior Drill Instructor's desk. I was shaking a little while taking this pic.
	I find it all together proper that this picture of the Senior's desk is blurred. Of course back in 1987, there were no computers in the duty hut.
	Here is a shot on the quarterdeck looking toward inside the duty hut. To the right is the squadbay. To the left is the entrance, the Whiskey Locker, and the opening to the head.
	The quarterdeck is in the foreground and that is the entrance to the head. The quarterdeck is where the Drill Instructors would hand out mail, teach classes to the entire platoon, or thrash recruits incessantly for even the most minor of indiscretions.
	A part of a platoon awaits out in front. The platoon is eating in the chowhall and the ones that are finished have stated to line up by the rifles. The Marine at parade rest is the gear guard since they can't take the rifles into the chowhall nor can they leave them unguarded. The rifles are in what's called "stack rifles."
	A great shot of the left side of the squadbay. The back hatch can be seen. Obviously this squadbay is not being used at the moment.
	Turning around after the last shot, here is the corner of the squadbay with the one-way mirror into the DI hut. When I was a recruit, there was no refrigerator and the window had shades on the inside rather that a one-way mirrored surface. The DI would tape a small watch from the inside and it was the only way we knew what time it was. Except when I cheated.
	Looking out the window, you can see where we hand-washed our laundry every Sunday with scrub brushes. The building on the right is new and houses washers and dryers. Back in the Old Corps...
	This is the right side of the squadbay. My rack was about three-quarters of the way down.
	Looking out the window, you can see the airport runway. The only thing that separates the depot and the runway is a chain-link fence right on the other side of the farthest clump of trees... and eternity. Every night when you had firewatch, you would stare out this window and watch the planes take off, yearning to be on the "Freedom Bird."
	This was my rack for three months. I had many conflicting memories just looking at it.
	This was the view of the quarterdeck I had from standing on line next to my rack. It's the peripheral vision perspective (you NEVER turned your head while on line) that I became quite adept at taking in the situation during most of my time in the squadbay. This picture is like a still frame from my memory, as though I was still there.
	I had the bottom bunk so this is where I spent many a night wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into. It's also where I hid a lot of stuff. And where I yelled at my DI unknowingly.
	Behind the bunks were the only place we were allowed to go. You can see the rifle racks where we double locked the rifles every night. You can see the front exit with an identical squadbay on the other side.
	The Whiskey Locker is between the exit (left) and the entrance to the head (right). The WL is where we kept all of the cleaning supplies and various storage items. It's also infamous for being the only place out of sight from prying eyes when the DIs needed to do some extra "counseling." (This was more reputation that reality. No one I know in the platoon was ever even touched by a DI.)
	I just had to get pictures of the head. This was all the pissers we had for 75 recruits. We had about 10 seconds in the morning to use them, if we were lucky. Actually, the lucky ones were the recruits assigned to clean them each morning since they were usually the only ones able to fully empty their bladders before time was up and we had to march to chow.
	12 sinks for 75 men. I cut my tender face every day in here at night trying to shave, even though I barely needed to.
	It's nice to see they at least put partitions up by now. Before, it was completely open. 6 shitters for 75 men. You do the math.
	Shower trees. We got about 3 minutes a night in here.
	Get wet, step out so others can get wet, rub soap, wait until you can get back in, rinse, you're out of there.
	The sounding board. I would slap this three times loudly and yell "Sir, Recruit Grose requests permission to speak to Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Wertjes, Sir!!!"
	Here is where the DIs slept, although I didn't think they needed it, being inhuman and all. At least one DI would be present every night so we had 24 hour supervision.
	A platoon came marching by and I took a picture through the window. They must have just got there because they are all wearing reflective straps and all of them have their go-fasters on. The rules state that the recruits can only be in the boots for so long each day until they are broken in (the boots, not the recruits). I think that lasts for less than a week.
	Looking toward the airport again, you can see we had a "pit" nearby with ropes and pull-up bars. The Pit was the place the DIs would take us if we were in more trouble than normal. They would make us do insane calisthenics until we were drenched in sweat and covered in sand. It sucked. Bad.
	Another look at my rack. It's hard to explain what memories these pictures evoke.
	This was "DI's Land." No recruit was ever allowed to go down the middle of the squadbay. My God have mercy on your soul if you did and were caught.
	Looking out the window and to the left, you can see the platoon that was marching by earlier. The stand-alone buildings are storage areas where a recruit's belongings are kept for the duration of bootcamp. They take everything away from you, box it up, and store it until you leave. The big building with the red roof on the left is the Receiving Barracks were all the fun starts when you arrive. Notice the control tower in the background.
	Here I am back at the scene of the crime. This would be quite a photo for me to see in 1987. Who knew that 18 years later I would be standing in the same spot as a Captain of Marines?
	I set the timer to get these pics. Here I am, once again, standing at attention on line next to my rack. Exact same spot, 18 years after I had done it as a recruit. But with many of the same feelings that came floating back.
	How many people EVER get to experience something like this? It's just so unlikely that I would have this opportunity and I was extremely thankful for it.
	Here is the pose of knocking on the DI hatch. I was so much skinnier back then.
	Me looking out the window. Again, this is like an exact representation of what's in my memory. This time I'm not longing more than anything to be on the "Bird."
	Under the racks, I found many very real sentiments I can identify with. These were written by real recruits.
	19 days. And if you don't think he wasn't counting every one religiously, think again.
	11 days to go. I love the other sentiment: "Happiness is growing nearer." Happiness was hard to come by in boot camp.
	Somebody misses Janet. Just putting your girl's name was enough of a reminder. You find any spark of motivation whenever and wherever you can.
	"Keep going!" The realization that these were written from the heart is incredible. Not for show, not for drama. Just for the recruit who wrote them, talking to himself in the only private area a recruit has in bootcamp.
	Self-portrait in the one-way mirror. I wanted to photograph the fact that I was a Captain in the same place I was a Recruit so long ago. The emotion was in my eyes.
	It was hit and miss but I think the eyes tell the whole story.
	I don't know why I was starting to look angry but I started to bury those ghosts that were haunting me about this place all these years.
	The anger dissipated and was replaced with confidence after 18 years.
	And I think I found peace.

Email -- jason@grose.us
Web -- http://www.grose.us/