Time to Pay the Piper

An unfitting end to Vietnam and my time in the Corps

On this date in 1968, after four years in the Marine Corps, I promptly went to see the Major in charge of our Marine Reserve Center to receive my discharge. I was part of a five-member Marine staff at the Reserve Center in Fort Wayne, Indiana. When I left Vietnam four months earlier, I had filled out my ‘dream sheet’ of my preferred transfer destination.

I chose the Reserve Centers in Akron, Cleveland, Columbus, and Pittsburgh. Fort Wayne worked as it was just four hours from home. When I reported for duty, the Major in charge put me through the reenlistment ringer. When I wouldn’t give in, he was pissed and made no bones about it. He’d been short of staff and had finally found a replacement, who would only be here for four months.

Despite his displeasure, I was there and settled in. I found an apartment nearby in the upstairs of an older house across the street from a pool hall. My duty was to lead the firing squad for military funerals that the Reserve Center was responsible for conducting. The Major was responsible for making the death notifications to the next of kin. It was a duty he would not relinquish to anyone on staff.

In my four months there, we conducted four funerals a week. We had a 100-mile radius of Fort Wayne. We’d receive a telegram and had 24 hours to make contact with the family. During my time there, we buried two brothers a month or so apart. When we were there for the second brother, we learned that the father had taken the ten grand for the first son and left town. His wife was undoubtedly devastated.

The protocol was that we were to do whatever the family requested. If a family wanted a guard on the body 24 hours a day, we provided it. If they didn’t want a military funeral, we stayed away. Most folks were gracious, especially under the circumstances. The Major showed up for a death notification one time in a Green and Yellow Marine Recruiting car because he wouldn’t drive a grey Navy car, and he was in the shop. The family ran him off.

It was hard on all of us, but the Major had it worse. He drank a lot and was a prick most of the time. By the time I left, I understood. I hated funerals and rarely attended one today. Leading the firing squad, I had a clear vantage point to observe the progression of the formalities. It was a tough end to two years of putting people in body bags, and now seeing where they ended up.

The first few rows of the family, seated in the front, are genuinely grief-stricken. The rows standing are sorrowful, but are there out of duty. Those on the periphery are grab- assing in the back and barely know the dead kid. They pissed me off—those in the front cry most of the time. When I did my thing with the 21-gun salute, it tore people up, and taps did all but the grab-assers in. By the last week I was there, I wanted to shoot them.

On the morning of my discharge, I turned in the key to my apartment, loaded my car, and headed to the Reserve Center. I walked into the Major’s office in civilian clothes, and he looked up angrily, saying, “What are you doing here looking like that?” Taken aback, I said, “Sir, I’m here for my discharge from the Corps.” He stood, looked at me, and said, “Kugler, do you remember those three days you went AWOL at Camp LeJeune a couple of years ago?” I nodded in the affirmative. As he walked past me, he said, “Well, you owe them to my Marine Corps. Your discharge is in three days.”

After Santo Domingo and before I sailed off for Vietnam, I was stationed at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina. When I was home recuperating after being wounded, I met a new girl who was making weekends home in Ohio. Our Battalion was scheduled to load up for a NATO cruise to Norway, Denmark, and Sweden.

As the date approached, our Lieutenant promised us a long weekend before we’d board the ship and head to Europe. With our planned 72-hour pass, I made plans with my new girlfriend for the weekend. We were boarding the ship on Monday, and the previous weekend was our pass. Except the Lieutenant got bent out of shape over a failed inspection and canceled our weekend pass.

Not only did that piss me off, it wasn’t going to ruin my weekend. I told guys in my platoon I’d be back for the ship, but I was heading to Ohio. I hitchhiked home as we’d always done. It took the better part of 24 hours, and I was bushed. I had a great weekend and Sunday morning. Mom dropped me off at the Turnpike in Cleveland, and I began the journey back to North Carolina.

My trip began with a ride with some Navy guys heading to Norfolk, Virginia. They dropped me off on I-95 in the early morning on Monday. I only had a few hours to get back. I lucked out when a woman stopped and asked if I was a Marine. I said yes, and she was a colonel’s wife, heading to Camp LeJeune. She was nice and wanted me to drive, and I was sleepy. Somehow, we managed to arrive on time. She dropped me off at our barracks, where everyone was lining up for our trucks to the ship.

The Lieutenant was too busy to deal with me at the time. I grabbed my Seabag and boarded as planned. Once we were out at sea, I was called in for Office Hours, as the Naval Service refers to it. In simple terms, Office Hours is like a misdemeanor, while a Court Martial is more of a felony. I knew it wouldn’t be too bad. Our Company Captain sentenced me to ten days confined to quarters and busted me from E-3 Lance Corporal to E-2 Private First Class. I thought it was worth it since we were chugging across the Atlantic Ocean, and it was a ten-day journey to Dublin, Ireland, our first stop.

Life went on, and the cruise was great. I returned to LeJeune, volunteered for Nam, and came home an E-5 Sergeant, and here I was, ready for discharge. Unfortunately, my Major was heart-attack serious. I no longer had an apartment, so I slept on a cot for three days in the Reserve Center. We had a basketball court, so I shot a lot of hoops, mowed the yard, and cleaned things up a bit.

On June 21, I was front and center for my discharge, and the Major delegated that process to a Staff Sergeant on our team. He was a good Marine; we all laughed, and I headed home after the Piper was paid.