Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [98]
As I walked down the road, it was full of trucks, jeeps, tanks, and personnel carriers. It had been extremely cold and my feet were in bad shape. A corpsman had been watching me and asked me why I was hobbling. I told him that my feet hurt and that I also had dysentery. He put a tag on my parka and told me to report to the aid station.
The tag was to let others know you were hurt. It was hard to catch a ride on any of the trucks, because I was always running to the edge of the road with a five gallon coffee can—my portable potty. Finally, I was able to catch a ride in a jeep; when nightfall came, the driver fell asleep waking up in time to yank the steering wheel to the left—saving us from going off the edge.
We came to a river where the bridge had been blown-up. Lt. Denning helped reconstruct a bridge made from parts that had been airdropped. This bridge was vital in saving our tanks and vehicles, along with getting out our dead and wounded Marines. The bridge was located near a power plant.
* * * * * *
It was getting close for me to rotate home, when my new boss kicked me telling me to get up and go to work. While I was still in my sleeping bag, I explained to him that my relief was doing the job, and that I was packed and ready to leave for the stateside in two days. However, he was surprised when I got out of my sleeping bag and punched him in the nose. Needless to say, I was put on report and did not get my promotion to sergeant for another six months.
* * * * * *
I was in Korea until I shipped home on November 30, 1951. After arriving stateside, I went home for Christmas, and then I was transferred to Barstow, California on the 8th of January, 1952.
I retired from the Marine Corps in 1970.
~~Twenty-Nine~~
Raymond Cesaretti
7th Marine Regiment
1st Marine Division
U.S. Marine Corps
After graduating from high school, and being unable to convince my girlfriend that I was a worthwhile and upstanding citizen, I decided to join the service of my country. During the “big war,” most of my friends had served in the Navy, so I drove to Eureka, California, and joined the Navy—the year was 1948.
For whatever reason, the recruiter said I would be called and sworn in later. So, I left and went to Scotia to visit my friend Garth. His mother informed me that he had left a week earlier to join the Marines. She went on to explain that the Marines had a new program where you could serve active duty for one year, then spend ten years in the Reserves.
Still in Scotia, I decided to visit Dale—another friend. His mother told me that he had joined the Marines two weeks earlier. So I went home, packed my bag, and caught the next bus for San Francisco, because there was no recruiting office for the Marines in Eureka.
I was already in boot camp when I received a letter from the Navy with the command, “Report for Induction.” After much thought, and regardless of consequences, I decided to talk to the DI. I knocked on his door, and he grumbled, “Yeah?”
I said, “Sir, Private Cesaretti requesting permission to speak to Drill Instructor, Sir!”
He replied, “Get back to where you belong or you will be scrubbing the Parade Ground with a toothbrush.”
I said, “Sir, yes sir.” Then I left.
Still in a dilemma, I tried again. This time I told him I had a letter I thought he needed to read.
He responded, “This better be good, or you are going to need a parcel of toothbrushes.” After reading the letter, and laughing, all he could say was “Get the hell outa here.”
The next day he had a ball showing the letter to all the other DI’s who had a good laugh, because the Marines had pulled one over on the Navy. I was relieved that I didn’t have to get on my knees and scrub the Parade Ground.
On one occasion we were marched into a canyon and told to sit on bleachers that had been provided. After everyone became quiet, our sergeant told us to carefully look around and tell him what we saw. We saw nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. He told us we were looking to far out, try again. We still couldn’t see anything. Then the sergeant