The Jarhead and the Cowboy

It has occurred to me that there are similarities between the typical Marine and the cowboys of the old west.  The stoicism in the face of adversity; the ability to work long hours through exhaustion; the willingness to stand against all others when they know they are right; and the inability to tolerate rude behavior or people who question their independence, talents, or fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds.

Let me show you what I mean.

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As a group, Marines are known for fighting to the last man as well as a certain innate arrogance earned the hard way, by proving their own abilities.

Although I have since improved my ability to “play well with others,” at one time I was no exception.  I was a little on the arrogant side.  Well, I AM a little on the arrogant side; I WAS way over on the arrogant side.

I picked up corporal 1 ½ years into my enlistment.  Most Marines pick it up around their third year or later.  I always scored first class in the physical fitness test (PFT), and was always in the top 1% of all Marines physically.  At one time (and maybe still) I held the battalion records for Marine Corps pushups in five minutes (175), chin-ups (29), and sit-ups in two minutes (135).  I was able to run three miles in just over 18 minutes on any given day, and I could walk mile after mile after mile with a full pack on my back.

Before I decided definitely on the Corps, I earned the highest score my testers had ever seen on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) and qualified for every job in every branch of the military.  Later, I was the first person the tester had ever seen who passed the computer programming aptitude test (I don’t remember its official name.) the first time and without studying.  Of course, I would have studied but couldn’t because we were on field maneuvers the whole week before I took the test.

I was confident in my abilities, self-assured, and, yes, arrogant.

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When I joined the Marines, I received a hiring bonus for agreeing to be a field artillery batteryman.  Because of that bonus, I was forbidden to change jobs during my first enlistment and couldn’t even change if I reenlisted except with special permission from a high-ranking officer.

However, that restriction did not keep the officers in charge of other platoons from seeing my scores and trying to get me out of artillery and into their area.  Thus, I got training, and temporary assignment as, a cold weather survival instructor; as a Files, Directives, and Publications Clerk; and as a licensed driver of jeeps, 2 ½ ton trucks, and 5 ton trucks.

Clerks were commonly called by the semi-derogatory term, “office pogues (pronounced poges or pogeys),” and were generally reputed to be among the least physically impressive specimens in the Corps.  Pogues worked indoors all day, every day.

Although I didn’t dislike the work itself and was good friends with the other office pogues, I wanted to be outside, rain or shine.  It bugged me to sit inside, some days more than others.  On those days my arrogance coupled with the surliness of a caged animal to give me a little less-than-friendly, compliant, and cooperative attitude.

It was on one of those days that the following incident occurred, and nearly cost me a stripe.

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I was at my desk filing some directives and other publications and wishing I could be out in the open air with all the other cannon cockers when a boot butter-bars strode up to the clear glass office door and reached for the handle.  He was clean, neat, and had a commanding attitude.

I disliked him immediately.

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Butter-bars is a derogatory term for the lowest ranking of all the officers.  A second lieutenant’s insignia is a gold colored bar, vaguely resembling a bar of butter.  Thus, a boot butter-bars is a second lieutenant who if fresh out of OCS (Officer Commissioning School) and often rather full of himself, without having proven himself worthy of the rank-and-file Marine’s respect.  Boot butter-bars are notorious for giving orders like they know exactly what should be done, often with only the slightest idea and no experience to back it up.

There is a saying in the Corps, “The most dangerous thing in the Marines is a boot lieutenant with a compass and a .45 (pistol).  He’ll either get you lost or killed.”

I didn’t have a great deal of confidence that I could carry on an intelligent, civil conversation with him.

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There is an archaic, yet sometimes still used, term for someone who outranks you.  It’s not commonly used nowadays because…well, you’ll see.

He opened the door and immediately barked, “Ten-hut!”

We enlisted men snapped to full attention despite the fact that the young boot loo-ie had broken protocol.  One of US, should have called US to attention as a show of respect for him AFTER he entered the room.  But he was too eager and insistent on us showing him the proper respect…right..NOW!

There was a smirk on his face as he strode stiffly to me, the only one who was facing the door when he barked his command.  I swear he clicked his heels when he stopped in front of me and said, “Corporal!  Where are your superiors?”

Yep, there’s that archaic term… “superiors.”  Jarheads don’t like it much.

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Now, every one of us, from the private first class to the corporals, had more time in the actual a—-in-the-grass Marine Corps than the young lieutenant who had just so clearly told us that we were inferiors.

With no hesitation, I responded, “Sir, I HAVE no superiors…and d— few equals.”

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My friends in the office managed to hold their laughter until the young officer left the room, and I’m pretty sure our commanding officer struggled to hold his laughter too.  The boot butter-bars was smirking at me as he left the office and the C.O. called out for me to come in.

“Corporal Matthews, did you REALLY just tell that young second lieutenant that you have no superiors?” he asked.

“Yes, sir!  And D— few equals, sir,” I answered.

A slight smile gave away his true feelings, “You’ll be lucky if you don’t lose a stripe before you pick up sergeant.  Now, don’t do that again, and get the h— out of my office.”

As I closed the door behind me, I could hear one of the other officers say, “…and d— few equals!”  They all burst out laughing.  They had all been boot butter-bars at one time, and had dealt with more than a few of them since.

We all felt the same way.

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As much as I’d like to take full credit for coming up with the idea, it was inspired by a story I read once about a wild west cowboy who was the foreman for a large cattle ranch owned by an English expatriate.

The foreman had been invited into the boss’s house one day to discuss the running of the ranch when there was a knock at the door.  The cowboy was closest to the door so he answered.

One of the boss’s relatives had just arrived from England for an extended visit.  He spoke authoritatively, “Where is your MASTER?”

The surprised cowboy answered, “The son of a b—- ain’t been BORN yet.”

See what I mean?

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Monday, May 25, 2020 is Memorial Day, a day set aside for Americans to honor those who gave their lives in service to our country.  So, when you drive by a graveyard and see those little flags on former servicemen’s graves, say a silent thank you.  Although most you see did not die in war, millions of men and women did, and many put their lives on the line every day so that we may continue to enjoy the freedoms and blessings our great country affords us.

Also, to any past or present servicemen and women, “Thank you for your service.”

And, to my own favorite soldier, “Thanks for your service, Sergeant Robert P. Matthews.  I’m proud of you, son.”

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