In Memory

Doug Hart

http://www.owensandbrumley.com/obituary/douglas-hart



 
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11/22/19 02:16 PM #1    

John Hardin

Fond Memories of my Friend, Doug Hart

Excerpts from my book, IN GARRISON, By J. H. Hardin, circa 2014

The next day was filled with out-processing, part of which involved picking up our transfer orders, airline tickets, and long-awaited pay.  Up to that point, we didn’t need cash in our pockets, but very soon that would change.  Then there was the obligatory recheck of our Class A Uniforms, and other activities I can’t even remember.  What I do remember clearly is getting the opportunity to meet the older brother of my best friend from high school.

We’re at noon chow, standing in formation, waiting our turn to enter.  I’m at the rear of the formation, as usual, and I heard my Drill Instructor holler, “Is there anyone here from Wichita Falls, Texas?”  Umm, well now, there’s a strange thing for my Drill Instructor to ask.  I quickly responded, like Pavlov’s dog, and answered, “Sir, yes sir!” in the proper Marine way.  That is, loud enough to be heard at least one football field away.   Staff Sergeant Scales, who was on duty that day, replied, “Get up here, Short-Round.”  I got to my ordered location and saw two Drill Instructors’ standing there.

One was Staff Sergeant Scales, and the other was a Staff Sergeant Hart.  I knew immediately who this builder of Marines was.   It had to be the older brother of my best friend, Doug.  I didn’t have to guess his identity because, at that time, the only Marines who wore nametags were Recruiters and Drill Instructors.  Staff Sergeant Hart looked at me and asked if I knew his younger brother, Doug.  I responded smartly in the affirmative, “Sir, yes sir!   My best friend from high school, sir!”  He then asked, “Do you know Bobby Young?”  Again, I responded in proper Marine fashion, “Sir, yes sir!   High school jock, sir!”

He then stunned me when he said, “Did you know he washed out of Navy boot camp?”  Okay, now I’m stumped.  I had no idea Bobby Young joined the Navy; much less that he’d failed at squid summer camp.  I barely knew him from school.  We’d had a few classes together but were never friends.  I replied with the answer I thought they wanted to hear, “Sir, no sir.  I’m not surprised, sir.  He’s a pussy, sir.”

That’s my first attempt at having a chat with a Drill Instructor that didn’t involve him screaming at me for some unknown reason.  I’d attempted my first improvisation and was glad when it didn’t result in me ending up in the dirt doing innumerable pushups.  The two DI’s, who were both taller than me, just grunted at my response.  I was ordered back to my position in formation, and we headed in for chow.  As I’d been taught to always find a spot and stare at it whenever in formation, I didn’t even see their faces to know if they smiled or not, but up to this point I’d yet see a DI smile.

About six weeks after graduation, I had the opportunity to have a real conversation with Staff Sergeant Hart.  A conversation that didn’t involve me standing at rigid attention, with my eyes fixed on a point 1000 yards away.  His younger brother was six weeks behind me in Recruit Training.  Doug and I had been writing each other during boot camp, which explains how his brother knew I existed, and where to find me.  Doug and I also kept in contact after my graduation, so when he told me his brother wasn’t going to be able to be there for his visitor’s day, I knew what I needed, and wanted to do.

Since I was only forty miles north by then at Camp Pendleton, I bought a bus ticket and visited Doug the Sunday before his graduation.  I only had a brief few hours to visit, so I made the round-trip in one day.  Recruits and their guests were limited to a small part of the base near the bowling alley.  When I arrived at the Recruit Visitor Center, I told the Marine on duty I was there to see my friend.  I gave them Doug’s full name and platoon number, so they sent a runner to fetch him.  Once he arrived, we immediately fell back into our old friendship, and devised a plan of action to keep ourselves occupied and out of trouble.

Bowling was one of the activities he and I enjoyed on a few occasions, so we quickly found ourselves knocking down innocent pins.  During the course of the afternoon, I told Doug I really wanted to see a graduation.  I’d been in one, but didn’t have a very good view of what was happening.  I told him I was going to come back for his graduation.  The afternoon was too short, and we didn’t get enough time to really enjoy it as much as we had hoped.  Doug was glad I’d come to see him, for the very same reason I’d been grateful to have visitors.  It was a legitimate reason to be out of the squad bay, and away from the Drill Instructors, even if it was just for a few brief hours.

The following Thursday evening I returned to MCRD, San Diego for Doug’s graduation.  I got a motel just outside the base, so I could walk in the next morning.  I’d decided to wear civilian clothing, like I did on visitor’s day, so I didn’t stand out.  I knew my rationale was flawed, but I was attempting to make it obvious to anyone that might ask—I’m not some missing recruit who’s trying to escape.  I was sure I still had that recruit smell, and was afraid someone might make me bend-and-thrust just for fun.  I’d escaped the insane asylum only a few weeks prior.

Unlike visitor’s day, when I was limited to a small area of the base, this time I’d be venturing into the realm I previously inhabited as an inmate.  I’d be heading to the base theater, the very same theater where I’d attended worship services every Sunday, and where my graduation had taken place.  I got to the theater early to find a spot out of the way, and waited to watch the ceremonies.  I saw the platoon arrive, drop their gear by the side of the theater, and execute perfect parade movements to end up in formation out front.  I got a chill when I saw 70 plus men, marching in perfect formation, and was only able to hear one loud definite foot step.  And since there were four platoons to arrive, I got to relive that memory several times.

There were some small ceremonies outside, the details of which I don’t recall, and then they marched smartly inside and took their seats in front.  After all the appropriate attendees were inside and seated, I skulked inside trying not to be noticed.  I sat on the back row in the dark.  I chose the end seat by the aisle for a quick escape.  Just about the time the ceremony started I felt something hitting my shoulder.  I looked up and it was a Marine Corps Drill Instructor’s Campaign Cover.  I finally learned what those funny looking Smokey Bear hats were called.

I looked up and saw Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Hart; he then motioned for me to move over one seat.   Think Pavlov’s dog again.  He sat down quietly and grinned as he offered his hand.  Wow, a Drill Instructor that’s human.  Cool.  He thanked me for coming to see Doug on visitor’s day since he was on duty and couldn’t take off, or switch with another Drill Instructor.  The ceremony started immediately, so neither Staff Sergeant Hart nor I said much else.  Once the ceremony was over we both slipped out of the theater.  We shook hands and he said he had to get back on duty, I told him I had to get back to the bus stop to catch my ride home.  I don’t think either of us went over to congratulate Doug, but I don’t think he cared.  He was done with recruit training, and just wanted to go home.

Doug and I would run across each other two more times during our Marine Corps Service.  In 1979 while stationed on the island of Okinawa, Japan.  And in 1980 while stationed at Camp Pendleton, California.

RIP MY FRIEND


11/22/19 03:18 PM #2    

Greg Higgins

Thank you John for the excerpt and for yours', Doug, Kelli, Waymon and all of the other classmates that served!


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