BC

Several might assume that I am writing about a period before Christ. I’m old, but I’m not that old. No, in this case, it refers to before computers — when the Marine Corps employed a device called the Addressograph. It consisted of an embossing machine, and a printer that relied exclusively on a manual, as opposed to automated, data creation and retrieval system.

The way it worked was that a clerk embossed certain data on a metal plate, inserted the plate into a metal carrier, and then by manipulating the depth of an impression, it was possible to create personnel rosters and address lists. Plates imprinted with addresses provided a utility for franking envelopes. It was always “stone age” technology — but as I said, it was BC.

Personnel plates contained a limited field of information to help unit commanders sort individuals according to data. For example, personnel plates enabled clerical personnel to report personnel changes to higher headquarters and pay centers: promotions, reductions, fines, entitlements to dependents’ allowances, and such other requirements as embarkation rosters. Preprinted hard-card forms, white versus pink, differentiated between aircraft and shipping manifests.

The plates were loaded into a sleeve at the rear of the printer and then advanced into the machine by the use of a heavy arm, pushing down to make an impression or advance the plates, releasing the arm to advance the next plate. A ribbon made an impression on the sheet of paper or form by striking the arm down hard on the embossed plate. If the ribbon was too new, it left an ink smear on the document (which was always unacceptable), and if the ribbon was too old, the imprint was too light (which was always unacceptable).

In most cases, the addressograph system was more trouble than it was worth, only because unless a Marine was being recorded on the unit diary (for personnel or pay changes), the plate was left in its own unique file drawer, and unless the entire unit was getting ready to go on deployment, only seldom used. In spite of that, every “personnel or pay” event necessitated a new embossing plate. For example, if PFC Binotts was reduced to Private and went to the brig for 30 days, four new data fields had to be recorded on a new embossing plate: New rank, new date of rank, new expiration of active service date, and new expiration of obligated service date. If Sergeant Crumb and his wife decided to separate and the Sergeant moved back into the barracks, then he was no longer entitled to commuted rations allowance, requiring a change in his entitlement code from C to zero. In the later case, the change needed on the embossing plate was a wasted effort UNLESS the company commander wanted a roster of brown baggers (married Marines who lived “ashore”). With 230 Marines in an infantry company, maintaining the Addressograph system was manpower intensive.

Then in 1966, after passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965, new regulations attempted to remove institutional discrimination from military records by directing the removal of all photographs contained within the Service Record Book (SRB). Of course, this only made life more difficult for company commanders because when Headquarters Marine Corps decided to keep track of racial and ethnic information, it was easy to determine who belonged to what group by simply looking at their picture on Page 1 of the SRB. Plus, when Marines went AWOL for more than 30 days, they were reported to the FBI as Deserters Wanted by the Armed Forces, and a picture provided to law enforcement agencies from the SRB. Of course, it was also true that some commanders discriminated against Marines in matters of promotions and awards simply because (1) they were minorities, and (2) their always-unflattering pictures made them look like one of J. Edgar Hoover’s most wanted fugitives. If a Marine’s picture made him look dumb (and they all did), he might not be promoted. If promotions were limited to only two or three per quarter, it was possible for commanders to pass over a black, or Hispanic Marine.

But without a picture to tell what race or ethnic group a Marine belonged to, how could company commanders complete an ever-increasing list of statistics? That’s an easy question to answer: every single record book would have to be audited monthly in order to determine who was promoted, who received an award, and who was punished, the severity of punishment, and so forth. Yes, it was very difficult to make those worthless reports, until . . .

Corporal Burns, a proud native of Savannah, Georgia who served as the company Chief Clerk, discovered that along the top edge of the Addressograph plate was a series of very small notches — 31 in all, I think — and there were small metal pegs that could be placed into these notches to help identify personnel by any number of categories. For example, by placing a metal peg in the number 31 notch for every Marine who was due to be discharged in the current year, it was possible to produce an EAS roster simply by programming the Addressograph machine to print only those metal plates notched in place number 31. Similarly, it was possible to identify every Marine NCO “at a glance,” along with every Marine who was entitled to dependents allowances, or pull out every rifleman, as opposed to a machine gunner, or a supply clerk. And then it dawned on Burns, why not just peg minority Marines? He reasoned that it would save a lot of time, and wasn’t that the reason for having small metal pegs to begin with?

A full year passed and it was time for a visit by the Inspector General of the Marine Corps (IGMC). The IG’s task is to validate unit compliance with Marine Corps orders and directives relating to everything. A visit by the IG is a pain in the ass, and no one is in total compliance — except for a very competent Corporal Burns (the Chief Clerk). The problem with being in compliance, however, is that no IG worth his salt will accept a “zero defects” inspection. There is ALWAYS some non-compliant area, and if the inspectors can’t find one, then they have to keep looking until they do. Sadly, Corporal Burns had not yet learned this lesson and so the IG inspectors did their audit, found nothing, conferred, and then started auditing deeper. This went on for two days, for an inspection that should have lasted no more than 3 or 4 hours. Corporal Burns was loving it, of course. He had a “zero defects” company office, was proud of it, and it could only have been his immaturity that led him to start taunting the inspecting team (a first lieutenant, a gunnery sergeant, and a staff sergeant). Did I mention that the lieutenant was a mustang (former enlisted man) who was a specialist in the administrative field?

The company commander, who was not happy with all the attention his administrative section was getting, began putting some pressure on the lieutenant, and finally gave them an ultimatum that either they conclude the inspection, or he was going to complain to the battalion commander. Another conference among the three inspectors followed the lieutenant’s promise that they were almost done. When the inspectors once again returned to the company office, the gunny was brandishing that portion of the Marine Corps Personnel Manual that related to the implementation of changes to Civil Rights laws.

“Show me how you prepare the monthly racial and ethnic statistics report, corporal,” said the gunny.

“No problem,” answered Corporal Burns. “I just go over the addressograph machine and pull out every plate that’s tagged with a minority.”

“What? How do you mean ‘tagged,’” asked the lieutenant.

“Let me show you sir,” said Corporal Burns proudly. “See here? All darkies are identified with a black tag, Mexicans are tagged with brown, and gooks get a yellow tag.”

The lieutenant looked at the gunny, the gunny looked at the staff sergeant, and the staff sergeant asked, “Well, then what are these red tags for?”

“Those are effing Indians, staff sergeant,” he answered.

The inspection report indicated, SUBSTANTIALLY NOT IN COMPLIANCE WITH THE MARINE CORPS PERSONNEL MANUAL PROHIBITING RACIAL DISCRIMINATION. The company commander received a new assignment, but not before Lance Corporal Burns had to make a few changes to his own personnel plate reflecting his new rank and date of rank.

T'is the Season

Gunnery Sergeant Kaminski, well in the zone for promotion to Master Sergeant, made an impulsive decision to purchase a brand new, top of the line Harley-Davidson motorcycle. When his name failed to appear on the promotion list, it was only a matter of time before he realized the need for part-time employment so he could make the payments on the motorized behemoth. This revelation came at about this time of the year when the malls were all hiring temporary employees, and so that is where the Gunny went to find a source for additional income.

Gunny Kaminski was a very athletic individual who took a great deal of pride in his physique with huge arms, shoulders, and of course the stereotypical thick neck. He wasn’t entirely pleased with the position offered to him, but the pay was good, the uniform provided — including a pillow to change his shape, and this was how Gunnery Sergeant Kaminski became Santa Claus in the mall near Jacksonville, North Carolina.

The job might have been ideal, since there was nothing for the Gunny to do besides listen to kids tell him what they wanted for Christmas, perform a few “Ho-Ho-Ho’s,” and pose for pictures taken by very attractive helpers dressed in Robin Hood costumes. In moments of diminished activity, the Gunny would consider various ways in which his helpers might become even more helpful, but of course, he kept those thoughts to himself.

Everything was proceeding nicely until one little tyke asked Santa Claus, “Are you the REAL Santa Claus?” And the gravely voiced Gunny Kaminski answered, “Fucking A kid.” His next job involved internal security at a local bar.

Entrepreneur

Corporal Jenkins, in his capacity as corporal of the guard, was getting ready to make an inspection tour of sentries on post when the guard shack telephone rang. “Marine Detachment, Corporal Jenkins speaking sir,” he answered.

“Yes, Corporal . . . I just thought you might want to know that there’s something very strange going on in the parking lot outside your barracks,” said the caller.

“Thank you, sir. May I have your name please?”

The caller disconnected the call.

Corporal Jenkins called for the guard supernumerary to watch the desk for a few minutes and went outside to investigate the “strange goings on.” When he arrived in the parking lot, he found a 1961 Mercury Monterey parked at a spot furthest away from the building with both back doors open. The observant corporal also noted there was a line of sailors on the starboard side of the vehicle, and every few minutes, a sailor would egress the vehicle on the port side followed a moment later by the entry of a sailor from the starboard.

Corporal Jenkins went back inside the building and summoned the Sergeant of the Guard, who after accompanying Jenkins back out to the parking lot, decided that someone was engaging in the oldest (albeit illegal) form of capitalism, to wit: prostitution. Sergeant Barnes and Corporal Jenkins went back inside the barracks. After consulting with the guard chief by telephone at home, Sergeant Barnes directed Jenkins to contact the Norfolk Police Department and to request they send a squad car to the main gate. Sergeant Barnes mustered four Marines from the off-duty guard section, and along with the supernumerary, returned to the parking lot.

Sergeant Barnes apprehended the entrepreneur, identified the woman as the dependent of an active duty sailor, and turned her over to the local police department. He impounded her large-sized vehicle, and completed an incident report with copies forwarded to the Naval Investigative Service and the commanders of the few sailors apprehended after exiting the vehicle on the port side. It gave the Marines something to talk about for weeks, and in the retelling, the subject of the story was always “Sergeant Barnes’ Skank.”