100 Years of Parris Island

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NogJL2C0PSs]

How many of you, the readers, are alumni of Parris Island? Share a story or memory in the comments.

7 thoughts on “100 Years of Parris Island”

  1. My only story of Parris Island is that I had a Captain Parris attached to me from II MEF in Iraq (CH46 pilot) that claimed to have descended from the original Parris, though I don’t recall the details.

  2. My grandfather spent 40 years in the Marine Corps, 1905-45 (he was retired as too old in 1939–he’d been a captain since 1917) and then was recalled a couple years later–he spent the war at PI as post exchange officer, retiring as a lieutenant colonel at the end of the war. Not bad for an 8th grade dropout who’d become a CPA through a Marine Corps Institute course in 1912. My mother graduated from Beaufort HS in 1945–she spent half her life before that at Quantico, the other half at PI.

  3. My recently deceased father did basic training at Parris Island in the summer. The only description he gave to me was “hot”, with a shake of the head.

    It was at the time of the Korean War and young men were being drafted, so he said that if you volunteered you could choose which branch you could go in to. He chose the Marine Corps. When I asked him why, he said in his way, “Just stupid, I guess.”. Oh but he was so proud.

  4. I wasn’t a Marine, but I had plenty of fun at Parris Island.

    One lovely Saturday afternoon back in the dark days of circa 1996, NROTCU The Citadel headed down to Parris Island. The intent was that the midshipmen would get a look at the training center for Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children and decide whether it was the life for them or not. We had two instructors that year – one of them was an A6 B/N from the Navy, the other was a Harrier pilot, a Marine.

    The classes had pretty well self-selected already. Anyone that wanted to go Navy had signed up for LT YYY’s class, and anyone that wanted to be a stupid goddamn jarhead had signed up for CAPT XXX’s class.

    So, by the time we got to visit the gas chamber, the Marines had gone one direction, and the Navy guys had gone the other. Everyone that was in the gas chamber with me had the intention to be anything other than a Marine.

    Do you have any idea how goddamned difficult it is to sing all three verses of the Marine Corps Hymn, in unison, when you’ve got wrist-thick ropes of snot hanging off your face? Do you have any concept how much WORSE it becomes when you’re in there with a bunch of guys that want to be not-Marines?

    I think the DI’s took pity on us. I’d probably have died in there otherwise.

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