SENTIDO NUMÉRICO Y PENSAMIENTO ALGEBRAICO

Articles · Bevilacqua, Allen C., Maj, USMC. “What ‘Taking Care’ Can Do.” Marine Corps Gazette, Sep 1995: 31. In this article Maj Bevilacqua talks about taking care of your Marines. There are several traits and principals applied. What are they, and do you believe they are important?

· Krulak, Charles C, Gen, USMC. “Marine on Marine.” Marine Corps Gazette, Oct 1994: 23. Colonel Alexander seems to stress the training conducted prior to the assault of Iwo in detail. Do you believe that this kind of training could still pay dividends in future wars?

Note: All articles reproduced courtesy of the Marine Corps Gazette.

MCI Course 8105 C-2 Chapter 3, Appendix C

It was a long time ago that I taught leadership at Drill Instructor School, MCRD San Diego. Nevertheless, the interest remains, and it was only natural that upon opening my February issue of the

Gazette, I turned first to, Taking Care of Our Own: A Leadership Imperative,

coauthored by Cols John P. Glasgow and David W. Haughey. I would like to congratulate them both for a finely crafted, highly germane article, and a trip back in memory over nearly 40 years.

It was early February 1955 after an interminable trip across the Pacific, my most enduring memory of which is being constantly hungry. The USS Montrose stood at dockside at Yokohama. As I filed down the after brow, seabag on one shoulder, M-1 rifle on the other, I carried in the breast pocket of my utility jacket an IBM card informing me I was assigned to the 3d Marines at a camp called Fuji.

There was an hour or so of milling about on a railroad platform first, while a thin, cold rain was sent slanting along by a gusty wind in the deepening darkness of early evening. We got cold; we got wet; and we worked ourselves up into a fine

enjoyed aboard the Super Chief on my cross-country trip to the west coast, but at least the interior of the car was dry. Some thoughtful soul had even provided box lunches. The bread was not too stale, and the bologna and cheese not too desiccated.

Eventually, after miles of darkened fields and the misty lights of infrequent small villages, the train ground to a halt at the railroad station at Gotemba, a town a good bit larger than anything we had passed since leaving Yokohama, hours earlier. It was getting late by then, close to 2200, and it was even later by the time the sorting out process had been completed and my name had been called along with a hundred odd others as being further assigned to 3d Battalion, 3d Marines. I clambered into the back end of a canvas-covered 6x6 and settled down to watch the ribbon of wet gravel roadway unwind into the darkness behind us. I must have dozed off, because in what seemed like a very short while the small convoy turned into the gate of Middle Camp Fuji, an old Japanese Army barracks nestled up against the crossroads hamlet of Itazuma. Shortly after that, things began looking up.

The first stop was the mess hall, where a hot meal awaited us. These were not warmed over remnants from that day's evening chow, but a freshly prepared, piping hot dinner, with no quibbling over seconds. It was, by my reckoning, the first real meal I had eaten since departing Camp Pendleton to go aboard ship. If first impressions mean anything, 3d Battalion, 3d Marines was

necessary activity on hand to facilitate the process. From having my orders endorsed and turning in my pay records to finding myself assigned to Weapons Company was accomplished with all the ease of one of those old push-pull, click-click razorblade ads. The entire business of checking in, which can send a newly arrived Marine trudging all over the landscape searching for places he has no idea of where to find, took little more than a half- hour.

It was just about then that another sergeant stepped up and introduced himself. He was, he explained, my sponsor, a machinegunner like myself, and if I would follow along he would see to getting me settled in. A short walk brought us to the Weapons Company barracks, where my guide lead me to the sergeant’s quarters. The bunk that awaited me had been freshly made up. There was a locker box beneath it and a double wall locker beside it. Regular chow was at 0600, my sponsor informed me, but it was already pretty late, so he and I would go to late chow at 0730. My last thought before falling asleep was that this might turn out to be a pretty good tour of duty.

After chow the next morning, I was introduced to the first sergeant, who took me in to see the company commander, Capt Ralph M. Head. The welcome I received from both of them was hearty, warm, and sincere. I was greeted in no lesser fashion by my new platoon leader, Lt Robert MacKenzie, and my platoon sergeant, GySgt D. I. Hicks. I was, they told me, to be the second section leader, and in a quick hour of snapping-in, each laid out for me all