This is a collection of stories about the Morris family, our loved ones, friends and neighbors. It covers six decades of our efforts to survive, from growing up dirt poor to going out into the world seeking fame and fortune, then returning to our roots. We didn’t find what we sought but we had adventures, misadventures and excitement galore.

Lessons learned in childhood taught us to face each challenge with determination, perseverance, daring, a sense of humor and a will not only to survive but to succeed relying on ingenuity, skill, a strong work ethic, faith and luck.

from various chapters

Day by Day

I worked at my first job (outside the family) when I was 6 years old. I followed an old farmer who was plowing with a team of mules. Whenever he turned up a large root or a rock, I carried it to the edge of the field and threw it into the border or into a creek. Some of those roots and rocks were about as big as I was. The work day ran from daylight until dark and the pay was a quarter a day.

Entertainment

Our family generally walked everywhere we went but there were a couple of periods of time when we were affluent enough to own a wagon and a couple of mules. Or maybe we just worked for a farmer who allowed us to use his equipment. Anyway, we loved riding that wagon. I recall sitting at the back of the wagon, dragging the end of a stick on the ground, making designs on the dirt road. Jumping off and climbing back on while the wagon was moving was a lot of fun, too.

Special Treats

For supper, there might be pinto beans, mashed ’taters and biscuits. About every three weeks, each child would get his or her own personal soda pop. We would each pour the soda pop into a glass over some precious chipped ice. That made the soda pop last longer.

Extremely Stupid

After watching a horror movie, my brother, Steve Junior, and I were going home late at night in a 1956 station wagon with our friends, Lavon and Larry Johnston. Lavon was driving and we had the back hatch open. I crawled sneakily out of the back seat into the rear of the station wagon, out the back hatch, onto the roof and started making my way to the front of the vehicle. Mind you, now, we were going about 40 mph.

I got to the front of the car, reached in through the driver’s window and grabbed Lavon by the shoulder. There was a bloodcurdling scream and suddenly, the car no longer had a driver because Lavon was trying to crawl across Larry to get out through the passenger door. Larry figured Lavon had done gone berserk and was running amok.

Monday, Monday

I was bush hogging without my sunglasses, which was a bad thing, but at least the brim of my cap helped a little by keeping the glare from shining directly into my eyes. So, naturally, a tree limb knocked the cap off of my head, it fell off the back of the tractor and I ran over it with the bush hog. Yep, I bush hogged my own cap. It was no longer recognizable as an actual cap and was therefore useless as a shield for my eyes. Oh, well.

Bullies

My final confrontation with a bully occurred in the high school hallway. One of the bullies came up behind me and poked me in the butt. When I turned around, he held up his fist with his middle finger extended and said, with a smirk, “Looks like you’re a quart low”. With one hand, I grabbed him by the neck, picked him up and held him against the wall with his feet dangling a foot off the floor. He grabbed my wrist with both hands but couldn’t get free. By the time he stopped struggling, some of the other students realized he was in serious trouble. It took three burly football players to drag him away from the wall and pry my hand away from his neck. It was his good fortune that I had grabbed him with my right arm, my weak arm.

Promises

If I win the lottery, I may eventually get around to helping people in other countries. After all, I’ve been to several foreign countries and I enjoyed seeing the sights, learning about their culture and getting to know the people. With my lottery winnings, I will provide aid and assistance to an ever-widening circle of family, loved ones, friends and neighbors but, first and foremost, I will help those near the center of that circle before I help those at the outer fringes of that circle. That personal policy should be our national policy.

Owe me a living

When I became an officer in the United States Marine Corps many decades ago, I took an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. By their own actions, politicians have proven themselves to be the most significant threat to our country and our way of life. They are the domestic enemies I should have been defending my country against. We ‘common people’ need to have another “tea party” but not in Boston. I suggest we have it on the Potomac. And instead of throwing tea into the water, maybe we could throw politicians, instead.

Humanitarian Aid

On 20 Feb 2013, a tv news item indicated that we had given 385 million dollars in humanitarian aid to Syria…..while in the United States, there are 16 million children going hungry every day. Here in the land of milk and honey, where a cornucopia of excess spills over constantly, but it seems to spill over outside of our national community. Excuse me for sounding like an isolationist but I would like to know if ANY of our idiot politicians might just happen to think that 16 million hungry American kids may be a few too many.

Who’s Accountable?

On 6 March 2013, the Inspector General determined that eight billion dollars was wasted or had not been accounted for during the process of rebuilding Iraq. That’s the amount that’s MISSING…..Is our government really that irresponsible with taxpayers’ money? Oh, sorry, that is a dumb question. Yes, they are!

Better Off Dead

I have to face only one judge-God. And God already knows everything about me, both the good and the bad. He doesn’t have to listen to the people who will be praying for my salvation. He doesn’t have to listen to the people who will be praying for my condemn-ation, either. He is already aware of everything any of them could possibly have to say. It will be the first time I will be judged by somebody who knows ALL of the facts.

This is a collection of true stories about the characters and personalities of the folks I met, worked with and fought with while in the Marine Corps from the mid-1960’s to the early-1980’s. There were good guys and villains, heroes and heels. The Best of the Best served right alongside the Worst of the Worst.

Read about the challenges of boot camp, advanced infantry training and general military subjects school; the loneliness, heartache and horror of service in Viet-Nam and the subsequent nightmares that haunt the sleep of veterans for decades after returning to the real world; surviving the administrative sabotage practiced in the junior enlisted ranks; the politics and intricacies of getting along in the senior enlisted ranks; the frustrations and satisfactions of leadership at the platoon level; the willing praise from senior officers who gladly gave credit where credit was due; and the character assassination attempts and backstabbing methods of senior officers who were almost psychotically jealous of junior officers who possessed superior talents and abilities.

This was real life in the Marine Corps, raw, open and unadorned, back in the good old days when survival meant simply that, sometimes, the good guys didn’t win, didn’t get the girl and didn’t ride off into the sunset. And, despite all the excitement, adventure and romance, not all stories had a happy ending.

There were some aspects of Marine Corps boot camp that were very pleasant, even enjoyable.  For example, successfully navigating the obstacle course was viewed by every other recruit as a rather daunting challenge and they all dreaded it.  However, I considered it to be a really wonderful gigantic playground.  At that point in my life, I had never been to Disneyland but I couldn’t imagine that to be any more fun than being allowed to play on the obstacle course.

Another great thing about boot camp was fighting with pugil sticks.  That exercise was intended to simulate personal combat against an enemy soldier using a rifle with a bayonet attached.  That was very cool stuff.  I entered into those sessions with enthusiasm and with a ferocity that surprised and intimidated my opponents.  I was undefeatable.  I was having a great time in boot camp.

The communists treated the South Vietnamese like animals.  If a village did not collaborate with them, the headman and his entire family would be tortured and killed.  Communists would occupy a village and shoot at an approaching American patrol from inside the village.  Then they would sneak away while the Americans called in air strikes against the village because we thought it was an enemy stronghold.  But the only ones who got hurt were the villagers, innocent pawns of a war they did not start, did not want and did not understand.The communists would force the local villagers to fight as Viet Cong.  Even the children.  Especially the children.  My heart cried for them, then.  Whenever I spend time thinking about the children of South Viet-Nam, my heart cries again.  49 years later.  Still.

When I came home from South Viet-Nam the first time, naively traveling in uniform, American citizens were spitting on me at the airport in Los Angeles.  They called me ‘baby killer’ and ‘warmonger’.  Returning veterans of other conflicts get ticker tape parades with marching bands and crowds of cheering citizens.  They routinely get handshakes and smiles.   All I got were epithets.  And spit.When I got promoted from Gunnery Sergeant to Warrant Officer, I wanted to be the kind of Marine Officer that any enlisted Marine would be proud to serve with.  I was determined that no junior Marine would ever have to say, “I got cheated by the system because my Platoon Commander didn’t do what he was supposed to do”.

The regular, everyday, average Marines provided me with a firm foundation from which I could determine the basic standards of performance and conduct for my evaluations of all my subordinates.  I didn’t grade on a curve.  Each Marine either measured up to the expected level or he did not.EVERY MARINE IS A RIFLEMAN, FIRST.  At any given time, with no prior notice, any Marine can pick up a rifle and go fight, anytime, anywhere.  No matter what a Marine’s regular daily job is, he has to be able to function, first and foremost, as an infantryman.

A Marine Officer has two main responsibilities:  (1)  Accomplish the mission;  (2)  Ensure the welfare of the troops.