I didn’t think all that much about wearing a uniform. It was just part of the deal. We ate at a chow hall, slept in a barracks, and wore the uniform of the day. The Marine Corps was nice enough to provide us with uniforms, up to and including skivvies and socks. Generally speaking, the uniform of the day was utilities, which in the Army would have been called fatigues. Certain occasions might call for a dress uniforms, but that was seldom the case. 
My recruiter told me of the salutary effects the sight of fit young Marines wearing dress blues would have on women. He also told me one true thing: I would earn enough GI Bill eligibility to pay for my final three years needed at Grand Valley State College.

Regarding the dress blue Marine uniform, we learned that unless assigned to a posting requiring dress blues (embassy duty, or at Arlington National Cemetery, for example), we would not be issued that iconic Marine uniform. Depictions of Marines usually showed the white hat, dark blue jacket with stiff collar, and dark blue trousers with the red stripes on the out-seams of the trousers.

We were given the option of purchasing the dress blue uniform, for the cost equivalent to half a month’s pay. No thanks. The Marine Corps did herd us through some sort of photography set, where we were handed a white Marine hat, draped with the front half of a dress blue jacket, and photographed so we’d have something to send home to our families.

In boot camp, we started with red sweatshirts, emblazoned with a Marine Corps emblem, red gym shorts and white canvas sneakers. Not much later we were issued boots and utilities. The boots were black leather. Heels of the boots were nailed on, so the heels could be replaced after we’d marched enough to warrant it. We did a great deal of marching, on roads and parade decks. Utilities were green; camo came at a later time in Marine Corps history.

We recruit trainees were not to “blouse” our trouser hems, nor given blousing bands to fix the trouser length to the top of the boots. We were instructed to button every button on the shirt, including the top one at the neck.  Someone with his neck button buttoned, and trouser hems hanging loose was immediately identifiable as a new recruit. A couple of guys in Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego Class 1083 had been issued old style utilities, which featured herringbone patterned fabric, with flaps to cover he shirt buttons and pockets, and brown rough-out boots.

It was 1966; the old gear was left over from World War II. The shirt was to be worn untucked, a difference from the new standard utilities. The change in supply was a cost savings measure, so the government could purchase the same for both Marine Corps, Army, and Air Force.

Utility shirts were stamped with USMC and the eagle, globe and anchor logo. Individual names were stamped on too. My name is (Basura), and every utility shirt was stamped with “** *  Basura” above the left pocket. It led to the nickname “Mad Dog.” As nicknames go, that was OK, at least compared to some. I still remember the first two initials of guys I was in with: LG, RC, ML, and JP. I see one guy now and then, and I still call him JP.

We were issued ID tags, with information stamped into aluminum.  Name, serial number, blood type, religious preferences. They were to be worn on a neck chain at all times. I don’t like things around my neck; my dog tags and the neck chain were in my pocket. Once I got out of boot camp.

Officers were issued swords, part of their dress uniforms. I wanted a sword, too. That didn’t happen.  They weren’t serious weapons, but ceremonial accessories. Too cute, huh? I think they came out for parades and the annual United States Marine Corps birthday celebration. On Nov. 10.

A few officers would carry what was called a “swagger stick”, a thin wood rod about 24-30” long, enameled black, with pretty brass ends. Early on, we had a captain who had one, and he would tap his hand, or leg with it. I always took it as an implied threat, kind of like walking around with a riding crop. I never heard of anyone being struck with a swagger stick. I suppose now, as I think about it, hitting a recruit with a stick would be a good way for a captain to become a lieutenant – but that didn’t occur to me at the time.

I was once struck with an M-14. I was holding it at a 44-degree angle rather that the proper 45-degree angle for the port arms position.  It drew blood, and it dripped down my face, I thought maybe I might have gotten an apology. I was new to military life, and still quite naïve.

We spent an inordinate amount of time spit shining our boots to an insanely high gloss, and shining our belt buckles and belt ends with Brasso. I never knew why this was so important. Things weren’t explained much, and questions were not welcome. Certain duty assignments required constant attention to issues of spit & polish. Spit was literally used in the boot shining process.

The guys who wore dress blues every day spent much of their “free time” tending to their uniforms, shining footwear, and cleaning rifles that were never fired, except with blanks for funeral salutes. Perhaps the whole spit and polish thing appealed to some, but I didn’t want to be that kind of Marine. For me, military service was a path toward getting back to Grand Valley State College with the G.I. Bill. 

The dress uniforms for enlisted men had summer and winter versions. The summer uniform featured tan trousers and a tan shirt made of lightweight wool and a tan necktie. The dress shoes were black, and expected to be highly polished. The winter uniform consisted of a green jacket over green trousers, from heavier wool, with that same tan shirt and tie. There were two forms of headgear, the flat cap, and a big hat, called garrison caps and barracks hats. All were called covers, never hats. Helmets came later. The big hat had a visor, which was fixed with black leather. It was another item to keep shined.

I have two recollections of wearing my dress greens. One was at my mother’s request, to go to church with the family at St. Paul Lutheran Church in Trenton, Michigan, in uniform. OK, I did that, and it made my mother happy, and the rest of my family proud. 

The other occasion was another request from Mom. She wanted me to go to Hudson’s Department Store in downtown Detroit, where there was a photography studio. She wanted a nice photo of me in uniform. I agreed, with the condition that she too would sit for a photo. She did, and years later my wife, whom I met later during my second go at Grand Valley, had it reproduced in oil paint. Mrs. Basura loved my mom too.

Even the red sweatshirt, issued on day one in boot camp, was printed with a huge eagle globe and anchor, and “USMC.”  Stripes were sewn onto the sleeves as they were earned. No stripe at first, as a private. Private First Class got a single stripe on each arm; as more rank was attained, more stripes were added.

Though stationed in California, Hawai’i, and Vietnam, I was issued what was called a great coat, as part of my winter dress uniform. It was very heavy green wool and could be worn over the dress green jacket.  It had sleeves of course; yet more places for stripes to be sewn on. I’m sure I never wore that coat. On shirts, jackets, great coats, there were also hash marks, put on the forearm part of sleeves. Each hash mark would represent four years in the Corps. One would have to re-enlist to start having those.
Officers didn’t get stripes; they had metal pins affixed to the collars of their shirts to indicate rank. Certain high ranking officers had gold braid looking adornments on the visors of the big hats. Those adornments were referred to, colloquially, as “scrambled eggs.”

The Marine Corps was very serious about rifle skills, and weeks were spent at the Edson Range at Camp Pendleton. We shot for the record, in a process called qualifications. We were sorted by proficiency into the categories of expert, sharpshooter, marksman, or non-qual. All but the non-quals earned a metal badge depicting the level attained, to be worn near the breast pocket on the dress uniform. There were similar medallions for pistol qualification. Not everyone would be issued a pistol, or need to qualify with the old 1911 Colt .45 automatic, dependent on job category. Flame thrower operators had bulky and heavy equipment, and didn’t carry rifles. They’d get the .45s.

Upon graduation from boot camp, we got orders for our first duty stations.  Most went right to Vietnam. A few of us were ordered to go a Marine base at Kaneohe Bay, on Oahu, in Hawai’i.  That was perfectly fine with me.  There we had more training, field exercises, and weapons skills development.

We didn’t always wear uniforms.  On liberty (weekends) or leave (longer time off) we’d have the option of wearing civilian attire.  Except for hitchhiking or flying military standby on commercial aircraft, uniforms were seldom chosen. In Hawai’i, I adopted a style that seemed to suit me. I would wear tennies without socks, jams, and a tee shirt. Jams were kind of a hybrid of shorts and swimwear. Baggy and loud, jams could be every bit as bright as an Aloha shirt.

I had one ensemble I favored that featured blue and orange floral pattern print jams, paired with a shirt, also floral patterned, with clashing yellow and green.  Has my sense of style evolved, with 51 years (and counting) of marriage?  Some might argue that my lovely and talented wife has made a few very modest gains in influencing me in that regard. 

No one ever mistook us for surfers, of course. Military glasses, Marine haircuts, un-uniform tan patterns were some of the obvious giveaways. For more formal occasions, I would substitute a brightly colored Hawai’ian shirt, with coconut buttons, a collar, and pocket. Aloha shirts are not tucked.

I once visited a Hawai’i state legislature with a new friend, a local girl I knew briefly.  She was not surprised, but I was, to see the top governmental officials wearing bright Hawai’ian shirts, untucked, over dress trousers and shined shoes. No ties, of course, and open at the neck. Their shirts were silk, she told me, and were quite expensive. 

As noted, my standard civilian attire was decidedly more to the funky side. On a warmer afternoon, my buddies and I would think nothing of taking off our shoes and shirts, swimming the ocean for a bit  We’d use the tee shirt for a towel when we came out, and then put on the damp tee shirt, to let it air dry as we’d wear it.   

Our unit in Hawai’i was disbanded, and we were all ordered to Vietnam as replacement troops. We were flown to California, given leave to visit our families, and ordered to report back to Camp Pendleton, the huge Marine Base between Los Angeles and San Diego. We had a couple weeks in Staging Battalion, where we ran, shot, and dyed all our white skivvies green. Then we flew to Asia.

We stopped in Okinawa as our last stop before going into Vietnam. At Camp Smedley D. Butler in Okinawa, there was an area for surplus uniforms, referred to as the Dead Man’s Box. It was a huge dumpster with serviceable items available for claiming. Serviceable, yes. Used stuff, certainly; not necessarily gently used.  I managed to scrounge a pair of jungle boots that fit me perfectly. Called jungle boots, these had integrated soles and heels, lugged for superior traction on the ground. They weren’t made for parade decks.  They were also a combination of black leather and green nylon webbing, which dried more readily than the standard combat boots.

Obviously jungle boots should have been issued to us before we left Pendleton. I’d been issued perfect uniforms and equipment stateside, but the supply chain in Vietnam was not nearly so good.  The boots were blood stained, I presumed by the previous wearer.  But I’ve never been superstitious.

In Vietnam some of the usual insistence on rigorous uniform regulations was more relaxed.  Other concerns matters more pressing. Part of it may have been all those teenagers running around with loaded weapons and hand grenades, but much of the minor details were overlooked. Marines might wear flak jackets (body armor, upper) without shirts for better ventilation. Those jackets were sleeveless, and weighed 14 pounds. 
The helmet weighed five pounds. It came with a cotton helmet cover that fit over the outside of the steel pot, and tucked in between the helmet and helmet liner.

In Vietnam, helmet covers were often decorated, a relaxation of regulations not to be seen at Camp Pendleton or Marine Base Hawai’i. Markers were used to customize helmet covers. Some were slogans, such as “Ask no Quarter, and Grant None.”. One sergeant, from Nebraska, prominently celebrated the U of N football team with “Cornhuskers” in large, bold font on his helmet cover. Guys would sometimes draw an ace of spades on their covers, or use an actual ace of spades liberated from a deck, fitted into the band worn on the outside of the helmet to secure bug spray. That card was said to be a symbol of bad luck for Vietnamese people.

Surprisingly commonplace was the the peace symbol. There were some religiously themed references on helmet covers, mostly, but not entirely Christian. There were Bible verses and crosses, an occasional Star of David, maybe the Yin Yang symbol. In Vietnam, men knew when they would rotate back to the U.S. A full tour of ‘Nam for soldiers was 12 months, for Marines, 13 months.  Having one’s personal rotation date, “back to the world”, displayed on the helmet cover was very common.

Cute sayings were frequent, such as “when I die I know I’ll go to heaven, cuz I spent my time in hell.” Another was popular:  “Yea, though I walk through the Valley of Death, but I fear no evil, for I am the baddest mother f*er in the valley.”

My penultimate apparel was U.S. Navy pajamas.  Rather suddenly, I’d gone from Marine Rifleman, Golf Company, 2^nd Battalion, 9^th Marine Regiment, 3^rd Marine Division, to hospital patient.  My new role began on the USS Sanctuary, a hospital ship somewhere off the coast of Vietnam, and wound up at Great Lakes Naval Hospital. For several months I wore blue pajamas every day. They were generic pjs. There was no name stamped on, no indication of rank, no specification of branch of service. I was merely a hospital patient, and like everyone there, I wore light blue pajamas.

Navy Corpsmen took care of us. They were all men, all low ranking, and probably trainees. Many or most were destined for Vietnam, to provide medical care in the field for Marine fighting units. The nurses were officers, rather intimidating as I recall. Toward the end of my stay at Great Lakes, as I became more able, I was upgraded from hospital inpatient to assignment to Casual Company, and I was back in utilities. I was on “light duty”, which meant I was available for small amounts of easy work. I’d moved from a hospital bed to a barracks designated for Casual Company.

Evenings were free, as were weekends.  Great Lakes was a very large facility, and contained far more than the hospital.  There was an E Club, The Rathsceller, on the base. It had cheap beer, a great juke box, and the occasional presence of WAVES. Great Lakes Naval Facility is located close to Chicago, and near all the charms of that great city.