Kevin Mcdugle - Inside the Mind of a Marine Drill Instructor: Real and Raw

Inside the Mind of a Marine Drill Instructor

Kevin McDugle

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Copyright 2014, Kevin McDugle

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Paperback ISBN 978-1-937829-93-3

Hardcover ISBN 978-1-63302-013-9

eISBN 978-1-63302-019-1

Contents

I f I listed every individual who deserved to be listed in this book there would not be enough pages to contain them. I would like to first of all acknowledge and thank the first military men I ever new my father Norman McDugle who served in the US Army and my grandfather Charles Oliver McDugle who served in the US Army under General Patton.

As a drill instructor I would like to dedicate this book to every recruit I ever trained and to those Drill Instructors I served with and those who put me through hell my Senior Drill Instructor SSGT Ray, DI SSGT Borger, DI SGT Steel, DI SGT Brown all with Platoon 2054 of San Diego in 1988.

My daughter Kylie McDugle is the reason I left the Marine Corps and I want her to know I love her one more time than she loves me forever, amen. You do have Marine blood in you.

To my wife Tosha who is one of the best mothers I know and a dang good wife. To my two boys Kaje and Kael may both of you be as blessed as I have been in my life. Thank you for carrying on the McDugle name.

To Drew Stanley, Aubrey Stanley, Corey Colwell and Dylan Colwell all who have had to suffer at being my step kids.

To my mom and dad Norman and Nova McDugle, forgive me for the language in the book you told me to write it the way it was and I think most Marines will know that I cleaned it up quite a bit.

To Soldierswish.org and those who work so hard at granting wishes for those who have sacrificed so much for the greatest country in the world the United States of America.

Thank you Tony Orlando and Colonel Oliver North for continuing to serve our military and for setting a great example for the rest of us to follow.

Semper Fi to all of you especially the Marines and God Bless America!

I nside the Mind of a Marine Drill Instructor is a book that takes you through the heart, mind, body and soul of an United States Marine Drill Instructor who truly loves his country and God. I have personally witnessed just a few seconds of this drill instructor treating me like a Marine recruit, and I still shudder at the thought of having to live 90 days of boot camp as a Marine recruit. So step inside the mind of Marine Drill Instructor, Sergeant McDugle, and you will gain a new respect for all Marines. This book is a literary wish come true - Tony Orlando.

F or over 238 years of romp stompin, death dealing destruction, you would rather pack an alligators butt with dynamite than to mess with the corps. Marine Corps Drill Instructors have trained the meanest, most disciplined gutsy fighting machine the world has ever known, the US Marine. Every Marine has had nightmares about their DI. Some are loved and others are hated but all of them made Marines. Stories have been told for years about the legendary Marine Drill Instructor. They are physically fit, well disciplined, with razor creases, and eyeballs that can cut your soul when they look your way. A Marine Drill Instructor can run farther, move faster and fight longer than any other drill instructor because his mind is strong. The Germans called Marines Teufelshunden (Devil Dog) at the battle of Belleau Wood. A Marine Drill Instructor may choke you or spit in your face but everything he does is for a purpose. DIs make Marines out of some of the nastiest god forsaken excuse for humans you have ever seen. The Germans called him Devil Dog, his real name is Marine.

Y o, sir, can I tell you a joke?

I stared at the recruit, amazed he would dare to approach me with such informality. He registered no awareness of the hornets nest hed just stirred up.

It took me three hours to make a shamble of their squad bay. I dumped over footlockers and tore blankets off their racks; issued boots and clothing went flying. Choice words went flying. I had a storehouse that never ran out.

His fellow recruits paid dearly for his mistake. The whole bunch appeared to be lazy and insolent, so I figured they deserved it.

I confronted each one of them; eyes bulging with red veins, garlic and coffee laced breath scattering the beads of sweat on their faces, my spit spotting their collars, a few peed their pants. Others looked ready to. They got the whole McDugle, up close and personal. Their day had begunhowever bright it had looked earlierit was going to end in hell.

Recruit! I hollered. A dark-green was struggling with his rack; the one Id torn apart moments earlier.

SIR, YES SIR!

Get that rack in order. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

SIR, YES SIR! I FIGURED YOU WERE DIP SHIT

His panicked flailing was getting the best of him, he couldnt remember how to put two sheets and a pillowcase together.

Your mom and dad were slobs, hobos werent they recruit? You maggot. Didnt they teach you how to make a rack? Get that rack in Marine Corps order NOW. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

SIR YES SIR!

I thought he was going to faint. Back and forth I flew, hollering and badgering, from one end of the squad bay to the other, a hurricane in green with the single-minded intention to destroy the mindset and tranquility that had kept these young men soft.

Some would think everything looked nearly perfect, but a drill instructor will always find something to correct. Even perfect can be corrected.

Enjoying the moment

T heir former DIs had been removed for some reason. I didnt know why, nor did I care. I just knew they hadnt done their job. Theyd left behind a platoon of pansy boy scouts. Two weeks out from graduation, those guys should have been in tip-top platinum shape.

When my Senior Drill Instructor finally showed up, I saw the pleading looks they cast in his direction, but there would be no mercy. He was a tough ol Marine himself, a square headed unibrowed vet with piercing eyes and a couple of fillings in his teeth that looked like they were made of shell casings. Not the type to coddle.

He told me to exit, his eyes gleaming through the scowl on his swarthy face. He had seen torn-up squad bays before, and, although I might have gone overboard, he had given me a job to do and I had done it; though perhaps over-enthusiastically.

Heading up the catwalk outside, I could still hear the half-hearted yes sirs as he ordered them to put back everything Id just torn apart.

My, my, I thought. That shouldnt have been necessary in third phase, but I had to admit, I did enjoy it.

Little did I know that reports of my first day would spread across Parris Island; rattling the cages of officers whose job it was to safeguard the reputation of the bases training procedures. Even a hint of recruit abuse could bring press hounds in, sniffing at our perimeters, eager to bash our decades of old and proven training traditions. So, call it karma or manifest destiny, discipline was about to grab me by the starched collar.

Yet, for the moment, I was on cloud nine. I had entered the arena with a little trepidation, not really sure how I would come across on deck. I had surprised myself. I can do this job, I thought. With excellence!

Fresh out of training