The Elephant

Chapter 1

Throughout history, men have measured themselves by their reaction to seeing the elephant. The term likely originated in the 3^rd century BCE, when Alexander the Great's army encountered and defeated elephant-mounted units from King Porus’s army in the Indus Valley. The term entered American military slang during the Civil War when millions of men marched off to participate in the oldest of human endeavors — war. Americans were a literary people in the 1860s, so many young men marching off to the fight claimed they wanted to “see the elephant.” It was a lighthearted, literate way of masking that they had no idea what they were getting into.

I was all about venturing into the unknown to see the elephant. Born in Honolulu, Hawaii, with a club foot, jug ears, and a bad attitude, I came from a long line of military men. My father was an infantry officer in the Marine Corps, my grandfather a Navy Medical Officer who served in World War II, and my great-great-grandfather had fought for the Union in the Civil War. I was in the good hands of the Naval Medical Corps from the start. The club foot was corrected with a whole-leg cast that I wore for my first 18 months, which accounts for my bad attitude and a shortage of baby pictures. The jug ears were corrected at the Naval Hospital in Bethesda when I was eleven, and by the following year, I was already six feet tall and growing. Though I was thin as a rail, my lacrosse teammates called me “chicken legs.” I didn’t care about being teased because I realized early in life that I was born lucky.

I’d been a mediocre student throughout high school, but I graduated from college with honors after realizing I needed academic credentials to complement my luck if I wanted to see The Elephant in the company of professionals. I spent my adult life preparing for the elephant as an infantry officer in the United States Marine Corps, just like my dad. However, my first six years of military service were as a hospital corpsman in the Navy. I joined the Navy to be a SEAL, which I understood was more challenging than the Marine Corps. That was back in 1979, long before anyone outside the military had heard of the SEALs. But, my first dive physical revealed that I was red/green color blind, and I wasn’t smart enough back then to work my way around that minor impediment. I was sent to the year-long advanced medical laboratory technician school where the Navy needed me. The specialty came with an associate degree from George Washington University, making it almost a fair trade for two extra years of service.

After completing laboratory technician training, I was assigned to the Naval Hospital in Newport, Rhode Island, and was able to attend school at night, working towards a bachelor’s degree. I deployed once to Beirut, Lebanon, in 1983, after the Marine Barracks there were destroyed by the first contemporary Islamic suicide bomber. I completed my enlistment in the spring of 1985 and entered Marine Corps Officer Candidate School that fall. My time sitting off the coast of Beirut, watching the Marines fight on shore, made me feel like a benchwarmer who had missed his calling.

How does a man become worthy? A Marine infantry officer doesn’t spend time contemplating this existential question. He either develops the leadership and technical skills required to gain the trust of his men, or he doesn’t. The price of failure is a bad reputation with your peers and enlisted Marines, followed by an early separation from the Corps. The reward for making the grade is promotions to positions of increased responsibility. I attended the Infantry Officer Course after completing entry-level training. I was assigned to a West Coast Regiment that sourced Battalion Landing Teams (BLTs) for the Western Pacific deployments aboard amphibious ships. This meant we did six-month deployments touring the Pacific instead of rotating to Okinawa for six months, which was unpleasant for various reasons.

I was assigned to a battalion in the 1^st Marine Regiment headquartered in Camp Horno aboard Camp Pendleton. On my first day, I reported to the battalion executive officer (XO), a former Force Reconnaissance Officer, named Russ Howell, who was puffing away on a giant cigar. He ignored me as I stood at attention in front of his desk and reported for duty.

“What took you so long to get here?” He asked without looking at me.

“After IOC graduation, I had to fly to Orlando and pick up my wife and daughter, and we drove straight here, sir.”

Now he looked up at me, noting the Navy Good Conduct, sea service, and other ribbons awarded from the Beirut deployment without comment before telling me to go to the Marine Corps Exchange to buy a pair of back running shorts and a battalion tee shirt and then report back at noon ready for a run. Then he stared at me through a thick cloud of smoke until I came to attention and said, “Good morning, sir,” and exited the office. At noon, he met me outside the battalion headquarters and said, “Let’s go,” and took off at a blistering pace as we headed into the sandy washboard trails of the regimental training area. We ran for about 5 miles, and I had no problems keeping pace with him. When we returned to the battalion headquarters, he said, “Good run,” and returned to his office. Every new officer assigned to 1/9 went for a run with the XO, and if you didn’t keep pace with him, you did not get a platoon.

During the six years I spent as a Navy corpsman, I never felt I was in the military. I was a medical laboratory technician working in a hospital and attending night school. The only difference between working in the laboratory of a Naval Hospital and a civilian hospital was the low pay. The Marine Corps was the opposite; it was a 24/7, 365 commitment that promised a bright future to the competent officers and a quick exit to civilian life for those who did not measure up.

I thrived in the Marine Corps, commanding an infantry company while still a First Lieutenant and serving as a battalion operations officer as a Captain. I was hand-selected to command a recruiting station, and that was where my fairy tale ended. The Marine Corps, unlike the other services, takes recruiting very seriously. In the late 1990s, every other service failed to fulfill its recruiting mission. The Marines barely made their mission and were kept afloat by the Colonel commanding the 12^th Recruiting District in San Diego. Having the hot hand, he got the pick of the litter for incoming commanding officers. He placed me in Salt Lake City and my two best friends in Sacramento and San Francisco, telling us that just making the mission was not our mission. When requested, he expected us to overship and cover the weaker stations.