Disobedience, Poison, and Redemption: My Journey as a Marine Corps Vet.

After three tumultuous years, I got kicked out of the Marines. For most of my life I tried to forget my time in the service, but now I am learning to embrace it, even though it nearly cost me my life.

Most people remember their time in the service by the wars they fought. Vietnam. Iraq. Afghanistan. I joined in the mid-eighties, and there was no war. Sufficient time had passed since Vietnam that it seemed like the mistake of a different generation. The horrors of the desert wars were still ahead of us. I loved practicing martial arts and playing Rambo in the woods. I was young and drinking too much. But mostly I didn’t know myself well enough to realize I wasn’t cut out for the military.

My father was a Navy veteran, and also enjoyed peace time service. He got to climb Mt Fuji in Japan and to be one of the first humans to set foot on the South Pole while he was in the Navy. He thought the military would be good for me, too. Even though rebelling against authority was my primary impulse as a teenager, I still loved him and took his advice to heart.

I was led to believe that the Marines were the most bad-ass, and that I could get in and become part of the Marine Corps Recon, which are the Marine equivalent of the Navy Seals.

As soon as I arrived at Paris Island for boot camp and had my head shaved I realized I had made a big mistake. I was made well aware that I was now government property. I was not going to be Rambo, I was going to be a nameless and faceless soldier that was completely disposable.

After boot camp was Infantry Training. It was there that I got the first ding on my record, getting caught with beer in my locker. It was the beginning of the “pattern of misconduct” that would eventually get me discharged early.

After boot camp and Infantry Training, I got stationed in Camp Lejuene, North Carolina. I was assigned to the Headquarter Company of the 6th Marine Regiment, 2nd Battalion as a TOW gunner. The TOW (Tube-launched, Optically tracked, Wire-guided missile system) is an anti-armor system that is mounted to the top of a Humvee. Even in the 80’s is seemed like an antiquated system, a missile that was guided by two wires that stayed connected to the cannon that it shot out of. But it was better than being a “grunt,” the ground soldier of the Marines. I got to drive instead of march.

I spent the next two and a half years trying to drink and party as much as I could while keeping the appearance of being a soldier. I got along with most of my platoon, except the super hard-core Marines who didn’t have much respect for me. I joined hoping that I would get to see the world, but we didn’t really go anywhere. Except a couple notable exceptions.

One night while out partying with friends I woke up at a stop light with a policeman knocking on the window of my pickup truck. I had my foot on the clutch and the engine still running. It was my first DUI, and another ding on my permanent record. It earned me a trip to alcohol rehab at a Naval base in Jacksonville, Florida. That turned out to be one of the most memorable times in the Marines. I snuck out to see Iron Maiden, and got to hook up with two female soldiers, one in the Navy and one in the Marines. I also got to check out lots of AA meetings and experience sobriety for a little while. It didn’t last.

Some time later I got to go to 29 Palms California for desert warfare training. I was only there a day or two when I got into a drunken wrestling match with a corporal friend of mine. He body slammed me and broke my collarbone. I spent the next two weeks on guard duty at our barracks instead of out blowing shit up with my platoon. It sucked.

The next ding on my record happened there. I was wearing a cast on my right arm when I walked by a Colonel. Not knowing what to do, I panicked and saluted him with my left hand. Oops! Ding!

Most of my time in the service I was also smoking weed. I had some contacts in headquarters who gave us a heads up when a piss test was coming. I used to keep a warm bottle of Mountain Dew next to my belly and pour it into the cup at the urinal. Finally I got caught. The punishment was to be a month of “Correctional Custody Platoon,” a repeat of boot camp with the added joy of smashing rocks with a sledgehammer. No thanks.

I loaded up my pickup truck and drove to Syracuse, my home town. I hid out with friends for about three weeks, though no one was looking for me. I turned myself in after 28 days, because at 30 days I would become a deserter. I went back expecting a court martial and discharge.

Most people who did anything close to what I did ended up doing time in the brig (military prison) and getting a bad conduct discharge. Somehow I pleaded my case well enough that I got a light sentence. Two months of restriction (couldn’t leave the base, had to check in every hour) and a $600 fine. Better than Corrective Custody Platoon! I was both relieved, and sad that I still had two years left to serve.

Everything went pretty well after that, I didn’t get in any more trouble for about a year. Then one day while on guard duty at our armory, I decided to read a book. It was a book by Jonathan Winters that my mom had sent me. Another Colonel caught me, and that was the final ding. Ding, dang, done!

The Marines decided to give me a less-than-honorable discharge, but I appealed it and got out with a general discharge under honorable conditions. It was a victory, I was out and free!

Since then, I have kept my military past in the closet. I wasn’t proud of being kicked out. It took me a long time to realize I had a problem with alcohol, too. Many years and many drunken nights went by.

In 2019 I moved to Colorado. I didn’t have a job or health insurance, and so I decided to look into whether I had any military benefits. I was pretty sure I didn’t. But there was a question on the VA website form about being stationed in Camp Lejuene between 1953 and 1987 (I was there from 1986-1988). As I went down the rabbit hole of why that question existed, I found out that I was being poisoned throughout most of the time I was enlisted!

During that time, United States Marine Corps (USMC) personnel and families at the base — bathed in and ingested tap water contaminated with harmful chemicals at all concentrations from 240 to 3,400 times current safe levels. An undetermined number of former residents later developed cancer or other ailments including ALS, fatty liver disease, infertility, and Parkinson's Disease, which could be due to the contaminated drinking water. Victims claim that USMC leaders concealed knowledge of the problem and did not act properly to resolve it or notify former residents. ~Wikipedia

Thanks to a bill passed by President Obama, people stationed at Camp Lejuene (both civilian and military) during that time no have VA care for life. During the Biden administration the PACT Act was passed which gives us the right to sue the government should we become sick with one of the related diseases. It also cares for military vets affected by burn pits in Iraq and Afghanistan. Fortunately I have not become sick with one of the recognized diseases, although I have some health issues that began back then.

Looking back, I realize that it was my disobedience and bad behavior that may have saved my life. I got out 14 months early, which saved me 14 months of poisoning (allegedly the poisoning ended before I got out, but I don’t really trust that the water became safe overnight). At any rate, I feel like I served my country and sacrificed my own well-being to be there. I am now proud to call myself a veteran.

On Valentines Day of 2020 I gave myself the sweetest gift of all, and gave up alcohol. Looking back on my life, it has been the single most destructive habit. All of my low points have booze tied to them. I never hit rock bottom, by the grace of god, but I wasted so much time, money, and opportunity and I live with regret. I have seen it destroy countless lives, and hope that in my life I can help others find sobriety to pass the gift on.

In May of 2024 I did a Mindful Resilience for Trauma Recovery yoga teacher training with the Veterans Yoga Project, while living in Massachusetts. In August I moved back to North Carolina, this time in Asheville. I hope to begin giving back to the local veterans (and other trauma survivors) by offering yoga classes and spiritual guidance.

To mark Veterans Day today, I am setting a goal of posting one piece of content per day to help others. I will be offering yoga and breathing exercises, along with music, mantra, and musings. I am not 100% sure where it will take us, but it’s my next step. I hope you will join and support me as I go forward.

Semper Fidelis, always faithful.

After a Humvee accident, the person driving hit a tree and my head hit the metal dashboard. I still have the scar.

Dressed for success.