Dear Tom:

Some of my most enjoyable days as a Marine were at the old Camp Geiger quonset huts and Staff NCO Club. I was a young, pubescent staff sergeant at the time, and was merely tolerated by most of my playful fellow Staff NCOs.

I struck up a conversation with a real character one Saturday afternoon as we sat at the bar in the club. He was a technical sergeant (remember them?) who had entered the Corps shortly after WW II. We got to discussing the Corps, our backgrounds, etc., and he told me how he happened to enlist into the Marine Corps rather than one of the other services.

He said his primary interest was in joining the Navy. He had been to the recruiting office in the Post Office building in Louisville, Kentucky, taken the tests, been examined, etc., and was ready to join when he happened to think about pay. He asked the recruiter: "How much does the Navy pay?"

The recruiter smiled and said proudly, "Fifty dollars a month."

The almost-recruit looked shocked and repeated, "Fifty dollars! Hell, nobody works for fifty dollars a month. I ain't joining this outfit. Call me when the pay goes up," and exited the office and walked down the passageway toward the ladder.

He continued his tale to me, "As I was making my way down the passageway, I passed a Marine Corps recruiting office and saw this neat, squared away sergeant in the dress blue uniform. He was leaning against the doorjam and was smiling. As I walked by him, he said, 'Semper Fi.' I thought the son of a bitch said 'seventy five,' so I joined.