lessonslearned Mistaken Identity I

While doing sweaty work under hot and humid conditions, a young offi cer rolls up his sleeves alongside the Marines he is leading — to the confusion of a visiting NCO.

In 1977, I was assigned to a Marine Corps 105 mm artillery battery at- tached to an infantry battalion. We were members of a Marine Expeditionary Unit and found ourselves in the Philip- pines. One of the Navy ships, our tempo- rary home, was sidelined with maintenance repairs in Subic Bay, thereby causing us to disembark and seek accommodations in a community of Quonset huts. Our new lodgings required extensive

housekeeping to become shipshape. The battery commander entrusted me as a member of an advance party with a handful of young Marines to roll up our sleeves and get an early start on staking our claim to prime real estate in the new neighborhood. I was a second lieutenant and a for-

ward observer who found he traded binoculars and compass for a broom and dust- pan. Among our fi rst challenges was persuading troops of monkeys to vacate the area. From then on, it was less exciting. Due to the intense heat and humidity,

staff NCO in an immaculate set of pressed utilities catapulted himself from the vehi- cle. He had the bearing of a drill sergeant from one of the recruit training depots. The music stopped. “Who the hell is in charge here?” he

thundered. One of my Marine corporals channeled his previous existence as a re- cruit and immediately indicated me, say- ing, “Gunny, he’s Lieutenant Bergmeister!” I stepped forward in my soiled green

shirt and camoufl age trousers. The gunnery sergeant measured me up and down as he delivered a crisp hand salute. He addressed the corporal, never taking his eyes off me. “And how was I supposed to know that, corporal?” “Well, gunny, it’s pretty obvious. He is the only one of us without a tattoo.”

blending in I learned that day that when leading

we soon removed our camoufl age utility shirts and became green T-shirted Marines. Our next task was to relocate piles of old rusted metal bed racks and wall lockers into furniture arrangements befi tting a series of squad bays for our battery members’ arrival. Suddenly, a military jeep transmission’s roar interrupted the din of a boom box. A

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young Marines, you might, in the eyes of an older outsider, blend in with them when all the uniforms are a testimony to the work at hand. That might be initially confusing, but it is always appreciated by staff NCOs who have made the Marines you are blending in with.

MO

— F.X. Bergmeister, D.A., is a retired Ma- rine Corps colonel. He lives in Staff ord, Va. For submission information, see page 6.

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