Prepared: A Birthday Card to the Corps

This missive is not to denigrate any individual or organization. In fact, it’s a birthday card. The third oldest branch of the United States armed forces, the United States Marine Corps, is an exemplary standard in the American songbook of fighting.

Recruiters will try to lure prospects; they might be community college dropouts, former stoners, or those who require binders worth of waivers in order to join the ranks. The guts and the glory of it all is dependent solely upon proximity. If you’re in combat, it’s all smoke and dust and blood and bone. If you’re in the rear with the gear and the beer, it’s all computers and control+alt+deleting your way through another week of inspections and hitting on the cute corporal with the light eyes. She’s focused on her job while the mind travels to imagining what uniform best represents her figure.

Some say it’s all about the Marines and less so “The Corps.” Veterans who live by the code know that it’s all about every Marine being a janitor. That’s a fact. No commercial is going to show a Marine in a pit clearing up dung and burning it, but art can.

Films like Full Metal Jacket (1987) and Jarhead (2005) especially show the brutal, beautiful, and wrenching aspects of being a Leatherneck. That’s just one of the names tossed about. Others are not as specific, like warfighters and killers. That’s the truth, though. It’s like when the families go into the barracks and see where their well-shaven and well-primped Marine spent multiple training days getting smoked on the quarterdeck or in pursuit of a speck of dust on his or her rifle.

But there are no rifles when the families come through. It’s understood. It’d be a bit awkward to actually witness the killing machines that a father’s pride and joy will use in the sand or mountaintops or urban settings. A mother might weep at the fact that her daughter will one day grow up to lose her voice training to be a Drill Instructor.

The Green Gun Club is another undercurrent name for Marines. It fits well. As the only branch that forbids wearing cammies out on town, that is a distinction that every Devil carries with them in their mind. Other marks of distinction are the fact that there is no training day reserved for falling on a grenade. It is the most selfish, moral, and highly recognized act that a Marine could do.

While the politicians, family members, faculties of schools and other outlets in the media would declare such an act to be selfless, unselfish, and sacrificial, the contrary reigns. It is in fact the top way of showing one’s love and dedication to brothers and sisters in arms. What would be unselfish would be to pick up the grenade and throw it in the direction of one’s compatriots. That would be an ugly and vicious display of selflessness, that is if you care about your fellow Marines.

In two hundred and fifty years, the United States Marine Corps has given losers, boozers, and users a chance to become distinguished drunkards, punks, and overachievers. The reality of being a Marine lies in the context of a simple maxim: “Experiences may vary.” With each individual, the ideal of the Corps being catered to them is squashed with another maxim: “Needs of the Marine Corps.” That’s why when you first pick out a job with a recruiter, it is switched sometimes on multiple occasions. This is justice. Given your physical fitness test (PFT) score, your Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB), and performance on the rifle range, there’s a great chance that a Marine can get their dream job.

In other cases, Devils settle into roles they may have never envisioned and still remember that it’s not about a job but a “lifestyle.” Marines are sometimes asked what it was that they did in their time of service that most makes them proud. Some stammer that pride is a vice and then remember the unofficial slogan of the Marine Corps alluding to the “Few and the Proud.” Then they clear their mental caché and say probably just sharing a beer with a corporal. Maybe it was saluting a Medal of Honor recipient. Whatever the case, the main draw of such an institution steeped in blood and remembrance is the fact that the soul of battle never changes. New challenges and technologies will always be on the horizon.

As each day dawns, the Marines in snowy lands and tropical areas will always be ready. They will always be faithful but to what? To God? To Corps? No, to each other. The officer ranks will always be the main leaders of the Marine Corps, but the lowliest private will be in a leadership role one day. There’s no greater love than for a young private to let off shots from a .50 Cal to safeguard his friends during a firefight.

So, for this birthday after a quarter of a century, the Marine Corps is still strong, still prepared to engage with and eliminate the enemy. Blood and guts are like the stocks and bonds to the financial system of the Corps. In keeping with tradition it is supposed to feel uncomfortable. It is supposed to feel a bit awkward. That’s life and death in the Marines. Held to the highest standards, the Devils know that they’re called Devil Dogs for a reason. Because the warriors of World War One fought like hell, the Germans observed this and designated the Marines this moniker who served during the Battle of Belleau Wood in 1918.

Before and after this time period, Marines have proved themselves capable, firm, and the best lovers and mothers and bad stalkers in the night, safeguarding a nation while sectors of it sleep. From the Marines of Montford Point who endured racial hatred from fellow Marines and the enemy alike, the Devils always adapt to create new opportunities for all.

In closing, this birthday card is dedicated to the men and women who put on service and dress uniforms that represent the finest fighting force of all time.