CHAPTER 1 HARD TIME - Spring1970
CHAPTER 1 HARD TIME - Spring1970
Excerpt page 4
As we stood at attention, at the intake for INDOC, we certainly looked like a motley bunch. We were the losers—the non-hackers— as we used to say of those who couldn’t make it. We each joined the Marine Corps, survived and graduated basic training, and were assigned an MOS (Military Occupational Specialty). What went wrong after this point was each man’s story.
Some of my peers had gone to the war in South Vietnam (the “Nam”), and returned broken and confused. Others were struggling with (or surrendered to) addictions to drugs or alcohol. Then, there was the usual complement of “bad eggs.” Those guys had a knack for staying in trouble by fighting or stealing.
Then, there was me. Perhaps the only convict who wanted to be there. I was the oddball of the group. I was a black marine, who was obviously fat and out of shape. My large Afro hairstyle was cut to regulation length several weeks earlier. With my soft, mushy features and relatively placid expression, I didn’t look anything like a US Marine. I was twenty-one-years old, and one of the oldest in the group. I was more civilian than marine.
I made lots of wrong choices in my young life. Now, my maturity gave me a different life view from most others. I wanted to be there, because I had done the crime and must do the time. Even with the right attitude, it didn’t take long for me to screw up.
Excerpt page 4
As we stood at attention, at the intake for INDOC, we certainly looked like a motley bunch. We were the losers—the non-hackers— as we used to say of those who couldn’t make it. We each joined the Marine Corps, survived and graduated basic training, and were assigned an MOS (Military Occupational Specialty). What went wrong after this point was each man’s story.
Some of my peers had gone to the war in South Vietnam (the “Nam”), and returned broken and confused. Others were struggling with (or surrendered to) addictions to drugs or alcohol. Then, there was the usual complement of “bad eggs.” Those guys had a knack for staying in trouble by fighting or stealing.
Then, there was me. Perhaps the only convict who wanted to be there. I was the oddball of the group. I was a black marine, who was obviously fat and out of shape. My large Afro hairstyle was cut to regulation length several weeks earlier. With my soft, mushy features and relatively placid expression, I didn’t look anything like a US Marine. I was twenty-one-years old, and one of the oldest in the group. I was more civilian than marine.
I made lots of wrong choices in my young life. Now, my maturity gave me a different life view from most others. I wanted to be there, because I had done the crime and must do the time. Even with the right attitude, it didn’t take long for me to screw up.
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