14 Jan 2021 Garand Picture of the Day - 1948

[ssgross]

Pulgas was named for fleas

Aha!...I was sort of right...flea market...
I am much experienced with the Parris Island sand flea. I never heard of the Pendleton flea, and will read now. I never visited Pendleton.

[Bill Hollinger]

Pulgas? Margaritaville?

Those tarpaper shacks look about right, what I'd expect. He told me about a guy coming off guard and firing a shot down the line of bunks and out the end across the parade ground. That shack would fit his description.

Don't forget the asbestos shingle siding! At SLO they were in horrible shape.

[fjruple]

Pulgas? Margaritaville?

Those tarpaper shacks look about right, what I'd expect. He told me about a guy coming off guard and firing a shot down the line of bunks and out the end across the parade ground. That shack would fit his description.

I slept in worse.

[browningautorifle]

I slept in worse.

Yes, and less.

[Bob Seijas]

One of the most memorable people of my whole military career was Master Sergeant Rodriguez, the First Sergeant of my Basic Training Company. He was short but hard as nails, and he wore the Combat Infantryman Badge from three wars. Despite being here for decades, he still had a pronounced Hispanic accent. One morning the uniform of the day including something he called “de meetanous glufs.” Nobody knew what that was until one of the Platoon Guides foolishly asked him to repeat it. We still didn’t get it and the dopey kid said, “I don’t understand, Sergeant.” Rodriquez bellowed, “DE MEETANOUS GLUFS, YOU FOOL!” and pantomimed gloves. We finally figured it out: mittens.

The company had four platoons, I was the recruit Platoon Guide for the fourth, last names from R to Z. Every Saturday morning a barracks inspection was held and the winner was awarded “the bone,” the skull of some small animal, probably a possum. The winner was also entitled to eat first all week. Fourth Platoon was pretty squared away and we won the bone the first week. We won it again in week two and yet again in week three. It looked like we would win it forever, and the other platoons were very discouraged. The company commander evidently decided we should not keep winning, so on week four Sgt. Rodriquez himself yanked open the front door of the barracks.

I was waiting, snapped my best salute, and bellowed, “Fourth Platoon ready for inspection, Sergeant!” And we were ready… the place was immaculate, the floors were buffed to gleaming (we never wore our boots in the barracks), our rifles looked like they were just delivered from Springfield Armory, the troops were perfect as they stood at attention at the foot of their bunks. Winning again was a sure thing.

Rodriquez ignored all of this, barked to me, “Follow me, bring your squad leaders,” and stormed down the length of the barracks to the latrine at the far end. Not to worry, it was sparkling. However, he walked up to the first toilet and rolled up his sleeve… then plunged his hand into the bowl and felt down behind the trap in the toilet! He pulled out his hand with brown goo covering his fingers, we could only gape as he held it up to us.

“What is DIS?” he bellowed. “Dis is CHIT!” he screamed. “You said de barrack was ready for inspection, but it is CHITTY!” He wiped his hand on the shirt of the closest squad leader and hollered, “You fail, you do not win de bone!” and stormed out. The company was happy, mighty fourth platoon had been laid low and sent to the back of the chow line.

[Torpedo]

Reminds me of a similar "misunderstanding".
In the early 80's I was on loan to the jet engine shop on USS America when the chief in charge told me to get him the "nicey skunkpound".
He was Phillipino and had a heavy accent, by the third time I asked what it was he wanted he was red faced and angry, stormed across the shop and grabbed the "anti-sieze compound".

[ssgross]

Back as early as June, 1999 at Parris Island, it was standard practice to add a bottle of aqua velva to the mop water every morning to mitigate the stench of hot, filthy, sweaty, and swampy young men. I don't know how far back the practice goes. If we were returning after a few days in the field after eating MRE's, it got 2 bottles. The barracks ended up smelling exactly as you would think...salty arm pits and hot farts with a slight hint of after shave. That scent gets burned into your brain like a fox to a hound.

I returned in the summer of...~2010?...as a civilian for my little brother's graduation having totally forgot about this finer detail. We toured the barracks and I immediately detected a slight familiar sting in my nostrils as soon as I entered the room. Having just returned from crucible week a couple days earlier, the underlying stench of Marine and gear was still heavy, but lightly sweetened with the aqua velva. I had to ask the DI...and indeed confirmed that this was so.

[BEAR]

[/COLOR]

Pulgas was named for fleas... Las Pulgas: Eighteenth century soldiers accompanying a survey party for the San Luis Rey Mission were constantly bothered by fleas, or Las Pulgas, while camping here. The area was then named after the tiny pests that made a stronger impression than the physical beauty of the area.

"Was it a male or female sand flea?"

[BEAR]

I slept in worse.

At Ft. Lewis in the 70s I was leading my squad on a reconnaissance patrol with my Platoon Sgt. in tow. It was a wonderful night with high winds and driving rains. When we finished our patrol we were supposed to bed down (with just ponchos) until morning then move to a rendezvous site. One of my privates had discovered an old field latrine built in the 40s, covered in moss and unused for years (and it still stank) BUT it was dry. Crammed my whole squad in there plus the Platoon Sgt, even loaned him my poncho liner. We slept like dead men for several hours but made it to our rendezvous site. The Platoon Sgt., who was a former Marine, said that was a better night in that latrine than in the barracks at Pendelton.

[browningautorifle]

"Was it a male or female

You jumpers are all the same...