Actually, that's Marine Devil Dogs. A term of endearment for all marines since WWI in the Battle of Belleau Wood in 1918, when the U.S. Marines fought with such ferocity against the German forces they were labeled by the frightened Germans as 'Dogs From Hell.'
And, Hooah? Well, that was first used by British forces in the late 1800's while fighting in Afghanistan, and more recently by U.S. forces to mean anything from, ''Heard, Understood, Acknowledged," to "Outstanding," to "You've got to be kidding."
"You've got to be kidding," as in "We're going to do what?!" "Uh, huh, we're going to Boot Camp, for a week. All day, every day....right...where did I leave my bus pass?"
But there was no way out of it. Suddenly, bus passes were being tossed around like they were manhole covers. We were stuck. We had been conscripted. We were going to get the whole treatment. Physical training, new uniforms, hair cuts, forced close order drill. The works.
And we were going to come out of Boot Camp as disciplined, well trained Marine devil puppies and sent to the front lines of the biggest war we got going on right now, the war against unemployment.
Now, this whole thing was thought up by a major officer person at a wonderful place where street puppies stay to try to get their lives back in shape after being street puppies for awhile.
And finding employment is one of the things to do to get the life back into shape. That, and learning how to sleep lying down instead of standing up against a lamp post.
And we were going to do this whole Boot Camp thing to challenge the prevailing wisdom: "Can't get a job, the unemployment rate here is close to 13 percent, may as well go back to sleeping standing up against a lamp post."
Yup, we were going to defy the prevailing wisdom and reality. We were going to take the war to them. Them being the folks who keep saying the unemployment rate is 13 percent and ya can't get a job unless you dance good enough to do the dance with the star show thing, or recently graduated with a degree in how to be a real good second story man.
And, it had been determined, Boot Camp was the way in to the rumored wonderland of trees dripping with jobs, and streets paved with hundred dollar bills and certificates of deposit.
Now, Boot camp in military life is a kind of resocialization whereby the mental, physical and emotional condition is completely torn down by a cranky DI (drill instructor for all of you people born after the draft was thrown out when it was determined it was cruelty to 18-year olds) who basically rips you apart from one end to the other for a couple of months and then puts you back together his way and dresses you in a new olive green get up (or, oh, Lord, I'm going to faint, those beautiful Marine dress Blues) and then sends you home on leave to Mom.
Mom, who doesn't recognize you, and spends a couple of weeks while you are there on leave, wondering who that charming, well mannered young man or woman is who keeps insisting on saying, "Sir," "Maam" and, opening doors, making the bed, and cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.
But the major officer person in charge of the Marine devil street puppie Boot Camp had taken one small mercy on us. We would not be sent back on leave to mom after boot camp.
The first morning of Boot Camp dawned in a misty shroud of doubt and fear. What were we facing? We huddled together under an awning near the jumping off spot, whispering amongst ourselves. What did the officers have in store for us? We had the schedule, but no real description. But one thing on the schedule had snared our attention. "Targeted job search."
That could mean anything from entering an employment office with a bow and arrow, to robbing a bank. We were worried.
We shuffled around, smoked a bit, no...we smoked a lot. Waiting for the day's events to begin. And then we saw it. A little red tricycle being pushed across the asphalt and through the opening of the tent where our first class would be held.
A little red tricycle. Creaking it's way across the asphalt, being steered by a tall person bent over the tricycle, and leering at us, grinning the kind of grin you usually see on that horrific clown who greets you at the entrance to the house of mirrors at the carnival.
Yeah. we had to ride that little red tricycle. One by one, we completed the obstacle course. I won't go into detail about the obstacle course here, but it involved what would happen if you needed to get to a job real fast, and there were, well...obstacles. There was an incentive, a generous gift certificate from a fine store for the winner, meaning, you finished the course with the best time and your sense of humor intact. At the end of the morning's festivities, I discovered that, in fact, I owed the store a gift certificate.
And I had the nagging thought for two days that maybe I had broken my right arm in three places, and sprained my left ankle while riding that little red tricycle. But no time for these trivial concerns. No Marine devil puppy wimps out of Boot Camp unless a stretcher is involved.
In the days to come, we Marine devil puppies made good our commitment to excellence in the face of great odds and nay saying. We networked; we cooked up resumes; we organized and conducted job searches; we rode around in vans dressed in brand new suits and ties and scarves and stuff and probably scared people who interviewed us with our persistence and our tenacity and our survival and battle tactics.
We listened to fine motivational speakers, and other generous people who cheered us on with revelations taken from their deep fonts of wisdom regarding the paucity of jobs versus the absolute need and desire to get one of those jobs, and how we could gain an edge over our competition. We listened, and we learned. We even had make overs. The U.S Marines have their green/brown camouflage face paint...we had Mary Kay.
And every Marine devil puppy made the week. No ringing the bell here.When we gathered for our graduation ceremony, it was a cause for celebration. But no hats were thrown into the air, no weekend passes. we were way too tuckered out to party.
We accepted our graduation certificates and very cool t-shirts proclaiming that we had survived Boot Camp. We ate ice cream and a nifty cake decorated in military camouflage frosting. We were surrounded by our equally tuckered out commanding officer DI , and the other major officer persons of the wonderful establishment that sponsored the whole week. I think they were in awe of we Marine devil puppy recruits. They certainly looked proud.
For we had not only survived Boot Camp. We had prevailed. We are smarter, stronger...and wiser. And ready to take on the biggest challenge facing us. And I'm not talking about that red tricycle thing.
We are now, and truly and always, Marine Devil Puppies. Hooah! Semper Fi!
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