‘I REMEMBER WHEN…’
GIRLS, WHISKEY & A ‘LIL’ SWAGGER
By Ret.Capt. Paul Sullivan
THE MISSION
Approximately three weeks before graduation, my platoon Sergeant, Robert L., called me into his office and told me I would be responsible for finding young ladies to attend our graduation which would be at the Willard Hotel in downtown Washington, DC.
He didn’t care how I got them but he wanted them there. Naturally, I said yes and went about seeking help from my fellow “officer candidates”. I have no idea why he chose me for this task. However, it just so happens that I went to church the next Sunday and stopped in the local diner. Sometimes it pays to go to church (or to eat in a diner).
IF IT SEEMS TOO EASY...
There I was minding my own business, when out of the clear blue sky, in walked a Woman Marine, who, by the way, looked extremely familiar. It dawned on me she was a graduate of my old high school in Roslindale, MA. I spoke up. We remembered each other. Who could forget me? I told her about my “assignment”. She agreed to go with me. “There’s number one”, I said to myself. She was assigned to a women’s barracks in which there were approximately seventy Women Marines. She told me she would talk it over with them.
If they agreed, arrangements would be set up for all of them to go to the graduation party at the famous Willard Hotel in DC.
When I returned to my own barracks and informed Sergeant L. of my “success”, he could not have been happier. In one week I was able to arrange for seventy ladies to celebrate with his graduating platoon of fifty four future officers. To say that he was pleased would be an understatement. He marched me right to our squad bay and bellowed out that “success was ours”. There would be seventy ladies attending our graduation. I was pleased, the Sergeant was pleased, and my fellow officer candidates were pleased. I did good! I was a leader! I had what it takes to lead Marines! (Into Washington D.C.)
A week went by and she (Sheila was her name) had agreed to meet with me and make final arrangements for all seventy ladies to attend. On Friday, I waited for my long lost friend to show up. She didn’t.
So, I went to the women’s barracks area. Guess what! The only females in the barracks were those assigned to “fire watch”, assigned to keep an eye on an empty barracks! Where the hell were “my” women???!!!!
Honest to God, I tell no lies. The whole damn barracks was given “basket leave” for the weekend.
This simply means each and every one of them had from Friday afternoon to Monday morning OFF! Everybody disappeared. They went their separate ways! They had no intention of honoring their commitment to mingle with my men!
DEAD MAN WALKING...
What do I do now?!!!! I’m dead meat! Sergeant L. will kill me! I’m dead. Go face the music. Bring your entrenching tool and be prepared to dig your own grave. With entrenching tool in hand, I went to Sergeant L.. He was cool as a cucumber. He told me we would go to DC, and when we arrived, I would carry out my initial responsibility of bringing women to our party. He depended on me to do just that. How the hell am I going to do that?
Upon arrival at the Willard hotel’s conference area where we were to have our party, Sergeant L. took me aside, told me to pick two or three good men and scour the neighborhood for women. I was to invite them posthaste. Having spent several weeks in the DC area for two summers, I had a pretty good idea where we might find a few ladies. My men and I would invite them and would walk them back to the Willard. Simple, right?
THE REPREIVE
When the three of us left the hotel, we were caught in a rush hour of secretaries leaving their places of employment. A number of them were crossing the street and going to board several Marine Corps busses. Why were they going on “our” busses?
We knew they were heading south to Quantico Marine Corps Base to go to the enlisted men’s and NCO’s dances which were held every week end. These ladies were jokingly called the “Washington Queens”. There were six buses being loaded up. In a few minutes, they would be heading South on the Shirley Highway for a 25 mile ride to Quantico.
If we didn’t stop them, we would lose out on a great opportunity. I yelled out to my buddies telling them to follow me and do exactly what I do and say what I say on the first bus in line. We hustled up to that first bus. I knocked on the door and told the corporal driving who we were and that we had to speak to the ladies before they went to Quantico.
This is pretty much what I said. “Ladies, may I have your attention please. My name is Paul and my buddies’ names are John and Bill. We are Officer Candidates from Quantico’s summer basic training programs. We have successfully graduated. Prior to our returning to our colleges and becoming OFFICERS, that is, 2nd Lieutenants, we are celebrating at the Willard just across the street. There is plenty of food waiting, lots of dancing and drinks are free.
On behalf of my fellow OFFICER candidates and those waiting at the hotel, I invite you to join us for a great evening. I’m sure each of you will have a fantastic time. If you’re willing to join us, we ask that you step to the sidewalk and those from the other buses can join us also. My friends will visit the other buses before they take off and then we can all go together.
WILL THEY... OR WON'T THEY
There was some silence for a few moments as they thought about what was said and little by little one or two began to move forward. Others joined and then damn near the whole bus.
Maybe twenty five stepped to the front and moved to the sidewalk. A total of four buses were invited and close to sixty beautiful Washington DC secretaries followed us across the wide avenue to the Willard Hotel lobby.
Can’t you just see three good looking, crew cut Marines leading sixty or so beautiful ladies through that lobby? I took the first ten or so ladies to the elevators while my two buddies guided the other ladies onto another elevator.
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
It just so happened that Sergeant L. was standing directly in front of the elevator when the doors opened. I began to direct the ladies to the dance floor. Sergeant L. looked at me. He began counting, and as only he could do, bellowed at me, saying “Is this all of them?” (Like it wasn’t going to be enough).
I said, “No, Sir, the rest are walking and some are taking the other elevators.” He could not believe it. Neither could I. He then made me the proudest man there. He picked me up eyeball to eyeball and crushed me, tearing my brand new shirt at the same time. He squeezed the breath out of me as he bellowed, “Sullivan! Sullivan! You are the only man in this platoon I would follow!!” (I kid you not.)
IT'S ALL ABOUT THE SWAGGER
With that, he put his fist into my chest, gave me a small shove backwards and handed me his swagger stick. His swagger stick!
My God, nobody gives up his swagger stick! He told me it was mine - for the night. He said that I was to be in charge of it and that I was to see to it that he got to his room with or without a woman when the night was over, but definitely with his swagger stick. I know, I know. Don’t ask me.
Paul Sullivan, Ret. Captain, USMC resides in Massachusetts with his wife Beverly.
The first order of business was my introduction of all these pretty ladies to my fellow future Marine Corps Officers. It was a great feeling - simply a great feeling. I was given an order and carried it out completely. As it should be. All was well.
NOTHING TO SEE HERE FOLKS!
I then became a judge for a drinking competition between John M. and Sergeant L.. John was a Californian and a neighbor of the movie actor John Wayne. He said he could drink more Old Bushmill’s Irish Whiskey straight from the bottle than Sergeant L.. The competition took place in the cloak room. John M. won. I was able to get Sergeant L. to his room, with his swagger stick. That’s right, with his swagger stick. The last time I saw him, he was welcoming two women into his room. Not one, but two! I was not invited. Sorry, no story.