"OooRah!!"
One of the best and most challenging sergeants I ever worked for had been a Marine in Vietnam. He had that certain way of carrying himself. His uniform was always perfect. He even had them tailored so they were just right. Hat leveled over his brow, parade posture, white walls. He still wore his issue BCGs (Birth control glasses- so ugly you could never get a girl). He was all spit and polish. With a bronze star.
You could tell he was a Marine just by looking at him. But when he opened his pie hole and spoke the deal was sealed. He sounded like a drill sergeant using the buzz words and the Marine jargon we all recognize , like “people” and “ladies” the way only a military person applies them.
As a rookie (unwanted on any squad) and a female (unwanted anywhere –EVER..) I got bounced from squad to squad. Any time a sergeant had me assigned they waited eagerly for the soonest opportunity to pawn me off onto another squad.
For many years I got passed over for training assignments because I had the lowest seniority on the squad. I was all of 5’2” and 125 lbs at that time and not a single officer on the department wanted me anywhere around them. Consequently I got assigned to the loneliest most isolated assignments. Can’t ever remember being backed up by anyone unless the dispatcher ordered them to do it.
So it was much to his dread and my chagrin when I got bounced to his squad. He would line us up for inspection and nit-pick me. The other officers being inspected would smirk like sadistic brothers watching their little sister getting chewed out.
But I was used to being the shit magnet and I didn’t flinch. One inspection he read me the riot act for my badge having some tarnish on it. I had inherited a pre-owned badge and was not responsible for the tarnish but I knew that defense would not fly. I had worked on that badge with Brasso and Never Dull wadding for hours but nothing worked.
He leaned into me to get eye level and nose to nose as 'Gny. Sgt. Hartman' would do 10 years later in Full Metal Jacket and booms “Hey, shit bird-get that badge squared away!”
The rest of my squad squelched their giggles.
“I’ve tried, Sir” I said meekly, “nothing works”.
“Try some elbow grease!”
“YES, SIR!” though I had no clue how to make it better. {I later discovered that the badge had a clear lacquer coating and that the discoloration had occurred under the lacquer and I would never have been able to get it to shine properly.}
“Never mind, give it to me, I’ll show you how it’s done -- Now go get a loaner, get squared away and out of my sight!” He turned about face with a snappy spin and muttered something about split-tails as he walked away shaking his head.
The whole squad bolted for the door, none of the others wanting to catch any blow back flack.
A week went by, my badge was never mentioned. A month went by, my badge was never mentioned. Two months went by, still mum on the badge. About 12 weeks later the shift meeting was drawing to a close and he asked me to stay after the meeting. When we were alone in the room he handed me a manila envelope with my badge. I opened it and it looked like new.
“Geez, it’s beautiful, Sarge. How’d you do it?” I really wanted to know as I thought he’d worked a miracle.
He muttered under his breath, “I had to send it out to be refurbished, now hit the road.”
Interesting that he’d snatched my badge and dressed me down in front of the whole squad but only admitted he was wrong in privacy. Such is the lot of a female officer in circa 1978.
I could barely suppress my silent glee realizing he couldn’t do it either! I was not a shit bird but I couldn’t deny being a split tail”.
OooRah!!!!!!
