Recollections Of A Marine

This being Veterans Day and the 250^th Marine Corps birthday, I thought I’d bring back some old memories.

As the son of a Marine who served on Guadalcanal in 1942, I had an unusual childhood. The memories all came flooding back to me as the HBO program, The Pacific.

Every scene in the ten-hour series I had already heard about around campfires, at veterans’ reunions, or in officers’ clubs around the world. At five, I learned from my dad how to open a coconut by tapping around the three eyes with a bayonet. At ten, I could shinny up a palm tree with a belt wrapped around my ankles.

I learned that you could shoot down a Japanese Zero fighter by leading with four hand widths and aiming high. A tank can be disabled by ramming a log into its tracks. There was all the survival training, practicing how to find water in the desert, setting a snare trap to catch small animals to eat, and starting a fire with only flint and steel. All the sniper training was fun, but it was fortunately never put to use.

I can still thrill the kids by hitting a quarter taped to a tree 50 feet away with a Winchester lever-action 30-30. We outfitted ourselves with surplus WWII equipment from the “Supply Sergeant” for camping trips, which you could buy for a couple of dollars. Now, you only find these things in museums. We ate leftover C-rations.

Perhaps it was dad’s explanation of how to make highly alcoholic hooch out of canned peaches that led to my degree in biochemistry. In the end, I had my own Marine career as a combat pilot in Desert Storm and many tasks that followed. There, you learn the true meaning of “gung ho.”

At 74, I stay in boot camp shape. In my free time, I hike 100 miles in the High Sierras over 8,000 feet in eight days. I am carrying a 40-pound pack and living on only 500 calories a day, entirely composed of fruit and nuts. I love every minute of it.

Watching the Pacific series, I was reminded how feeble and meaningless my profession is, toiling away all year just to create a spreadsheet full of numbers, and how the men of eight decades ago were made of sterner stuff. Buying a dip on a bad day just doesn’t equate to “take out that machine gun.”

How times have changed. Fall down on your knees and give thanks for your simple and quiet life.

You can buy the Hugh Ambrose book that the series was based on by clicking here. You can purchase the DVD by clicking here.

Good Luck and Good Trading,

John Thomas
CEO & Publisher
The Diary of a Mad Hedge Fund Trader