OUT OF BOOT THE SAILOR SAVIORS
ONTO CORPS SCHOOL WITH HIS PAPERS
CORPSMAN UP! THE MARINES WILL SAY
KNOWING THAT SAILOR IS ON HIS WAY
HE LEAVES HIS WHITES, HIS BLUES OVER HERE
TO WEAR HIS BDU'S OVER THERE
WITH STRENGTH AND COURAGE HE WILL DREAD
THE HURT, THE WOUNDED, AND THE DEAD
EVERY DAY WITH ONE THING IN MIND
NO MARINE WILL BE LEFT BEHIND
HOW BRAVE THESE CORPSMAN DO YOU SAY?
HOW BRAVE THESE CORPSMAN FOR WHOM I PRAY?
BULLETS FLY, CHAOS ABOUND
THE CORPSMAN THEY KNOW CAN ALWAYS BE FOUND
WITH ALL THE KNOWLEDGE AND THE CARE
THOSE BRAVE MARINES MUST NEVER DESPAIR
CORPSMAN UP! THE MARINES WILL SAY
KNOWING THAT SAILOR IS ON HIS WAY
GARY G CARNEVALE, SR
PROUD FATHER OF A
U S NAVY CORPSMAN
Just A Father Of A Son
How I long to see my son,
When I know, boot camp is done.
I am just a father of a son,
Who soon a sailor he will become.
A boy he left, a man he’ll be,
Sent off to protect, our spacious sea.
I pray each, and every day,
That soon my heartache will fade away.
How proud I am, how proud I’ll be,
When soon my son, a sailor be.
How proud could this father be?
When soon his son he’ll get to see?
Dress uniforms with flags waive high,
I’ll be so proud, I’ll touch the sky.
His days are hard, his hours long,
But soon I’ll hear my favorite song.
Anchors aweigh! they say, anchors aweigh!
Just a father of a son,
Who soon a sailor he will become.
Gary G Carnevale, Sr
Copyright ©2004 Gary G Carnevale, Sr
The Honor of Our Corps
When the beer, it flows like water,
And the talk, it turns to war,
Then we speak of absent comrades
And the Honor of our Corps.
Of the fights in distant places
And the friends who are no more,
Dying faithful to the nation
And the Honor of our Corps.
Though our bones are growing brittle
And our eyes are growing poor,
Still our hearts are young and valiant
For the Honor of our Corps.
Should the Eagle, Globe and Anchor
Call us to the field once more,
We would muster at the summons
For the Honor of our Corps.
When the years have told our story
And we close the final door,
We will pass to you for keeping
Bright the Honor of our Corps.
Will you take the awesome burden?
Will you face the fire of war?
Will you proudly bear the title
For the Honor of our Corps?
The Title
It Can Not be Inherited
Nor Can it Ever be Purchased
You or No One Alive can Buy It for Any Price
and It Can Not be Lent
You Alone have Earned It
with Your Sweat, Blood and Lives.
You Own It Forever
The Title"United States Marine"
Just A Faded Memory
Living, for me, is like death – everlasting…
We were on patrol, again. Dam, it was another hot day! Enemy territory was wherever you looked. The rice patties were alive with a blood-sucking death. Leeches! God Damned, blood-sucking leeches! A hand full of the bastards could drain a healthy man dry in five or six hours; we were just puny kids. The ground was infested with death of another kind. Mines! Booby-traps! Any step you took could be your last. Son-of-a-bitchin’ Gooks could make a booby-trap out of any damned thing. “Stay low for snipers; Stay high for sanity!” “Step only on a footprint,” the instructor had said. “Who the hell had time to watch for foot prints anyhow?” is what I had soon found out. Screw him, he wasn’t here now, I was. “Only footprint worth seeing was one with a damned Gook in it, then blow him clear the hell out of it!”
It seemed like we had walked for miles, certainly for hours. Fifteen yards behind me I heard the earth-shattering explosion. I could hear commanders yelling for everyone to get down and stay put. Screw them too! Somebody was hurt in a God-damned world where we didn’t belong. I wheeled around automatically and sped back around the bend in the trail to help the friend who might help me tomorrow. If I had stepped where he had just stepped he’d be helping me today. I knew that it was my fault. I was the Point Man. It was my job to see things!
Heavy smoke lingered near a body I knew well. “Medic Up!” I yelled, the unnatural loudness of my voice causing me to run out of breath.” Hang on, Dale, Doc’s on the way. You hear me, man? Hang on!” The stench of burned flesh was weakening me. “Somebody call a Med-Evac Chopper!” I screamed. Then I looked closer at Dale. His right leg was gone clear up to the knee. His left one was broken and bleeding in at least a dozen places. What was left of his right arm was bone – no flesh – just bone. I felt sick. This was not the beautiful war on television. “Doc” had made his way carefully up to where I was bent over Dale, talking to him as if I knew what the hell I was saying. My eyes were burning from holding back a dam of tears as “Doc” applied tourniquets and started an I.V. “John,” he said, “Hold that poncho over here to keep the sun out of his face.”
Minutes passed like hours as Doc worked. He sweated a river from his labors. This god-damned heat was unbearable! “He’ll make it.” Doc said at last, and I heard the radio man telling the helicopter pilot that it was safe to land. “Its just too risky,” the pilot said. Rotten, flaky, scaredy-cat, son-of-a-bitch! My head was spinning; my brain was almost numb. I grabbed the microphone from the man holding it. “Get that God-damned chopper down here, “ I shouted, “or I’ll blow you clear the hell out of the sky!” Picking up my rifle from the ground, I pointed it skyward and squeezed the trigger three times. The chopper landed and Dale was put on board. Doc’s reassuring voice kept exploding in my ears. “He’s gonna be alright,” he said, “He’s gonna make it John.” Then the Med-Evac Chopper was gone.
Suddenly, I felt a warm hand moping my brow as the dam behind my eyes broke, and the tears ran free. My wife kept saying “Its Okay, John. Its Okay, Its over.” My skin felt clammy. Cold sweat poured off me and soaked the bed. As the noise from the helicopter faded from my ears, I was fully awake, and then I knew it was over…at least for another night! John Rcole Cole
In 1906, Lieut. Zimmerman was approached by Midshipman First Class Alfred Hart Miles with a request for a new march. As a member of the Class of 1907, Miles and his classmates "were eager to have a piece of music that would be inspiring, one with a swing to it so it could be used as a football marching song, and one that would live forever."
Supposedly, with the two men seated at the Naval Academy Chapel organ, Zimmermann composed the tune and Miles set the title and wrote to two first stanzas in November 1906. This march was played by the band and sung by the brigade at the 1906 Army-Navy football game later that month, and for the first time in several seasons, Navy won. This march, Anchors Aweigh, was subsequently dedicated to the Academy Class of 1907 and adopted as the official song of the U.S. Navy. The concluding stanza was written by Midshipman Royal Lovell, Class of 1926.
Original Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Stand Navy down the field, sails set to the sky.
We'll never change our course, so Army you steer shy-y-y-y.
Roll up the score, Navy, Anchors Aweigh.
Sail Navy down the field and sink the Army, sink the Army Grey.
[Verse 2]
Get underway, Navy, Decks cleared for the fray,
We'll hoist true Navy Blue So Army down your Grey-y-y-y.
Full speed ahead, Navy; Army heave to,
Furl Black and Grey and Gold and hoist the Navy, hoist the Navy Blue
[Verse 3]
Blue of the Seven Seas; Gold of God's great sun
Let these our colors be Till all of time be done-n-n-ne,
By Severn shore we learn Navy's stern call:
Faith, courage, service true With honor over, honor over all.
Revised Lyrics
by George D. Lottman
It is Verse 2 that is most widely sung.
[Verse 1]
Stand, Navy, out to sea, Fight our battle cry;
We'll never change our course, So vicious foe steer shy-y-y-y.
Roll out the TNT, Anchors Aweigh. Sail on to victory
And sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray!
[Verse 2]
Anchors Aweigh, my boys, Anchors Aweigh.
Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay.
Through our last night on shore, drink to the foam,
Until we meet once more. Here's wishing you a happy voyage home
Up at the front and filled with fear, he pleads with God, don't leave me here.
Wounded and bleeding and hunched with pain, thrown on his back in the mud and the rain
Others went down, some hit, all scared; no one moved, no one dared.
We'd moved swiftly through the paddy mire, and then it happened; enemy fire
It's Corpsman Up," when things get hot, the nearest thing to God, we've got
"Corpsman Up," to save a breath. "Corpsman Up," in the face of death.
Stop the bleeding, treat for shock; no time for hesitation "Doc"
Patch him up and get him back; back to the rear; call a medevac
Operating room well lit and clean; Doctors waiting, dressed in green.
Operate with speed and skill, experts with a determined will.
Save lives or limbs to save dreams, no matter how impossible it seems.
Work on in a sweat in mud and grime; to save a life . . . there's not much time.
You joined the navy to learn your trade, went to school, and made the grade.
It's "Corpsman Up," when the rounds are flying; "Corpsman Up," when men are dying.
You're one of us, a grunt of grit; like it or not you just can't quit.
"Corpsman Up," step from the ranks. "Corpsman Up," and accept our thanks.
Gysgt Tom Bartlett
The Corpsman's Christmas Poem
"'Twas the night before Christmas as I flew o'er the Marine Base,
When I spied a young man who seemed out of place.
His eyes showed compassion, his hair a bit long, But his head was held
high and his body was strong.
His air was confident, his uniform smart, But what impressed me most
was the size of his heart.
For he embodied honor, one of this country's best, And the words U.S.
NAVY showed large on his chest.
As I stood there in wonder and gazed into his eyes, The words that he
spoke took me quite by surprise.
"What's wrong Santa, haven't you ever seen a sailor before?"
I sensed something special and longed to know more.
"To be honest, this field thing wasn't part of my plan, But God didn't
give me a boat or tin can."
The words he spoke next surprised me all the more, "But I'm as proud of
my Navy as I am of the Corps!"
"Don't worry Santa, that I'm a sailor you see, For when a Marine goes
down they will still call on me.
They'll forget I'm a sailor, they'll call in my stock. At the top of
their lungs they'll yell ,"Get me the doc!"
"And I'll answer that call, anytime, anywhere. Though I know I'm a
target I really don't care.
I'll face incoming fire as I race cross the land, And use my very own
body to shield a downed man."
"Working long hours and into the night, My unit's battle is over, but
I'm just starting to fight.
For the life of every Marine is sacred to me. I refuse to surrender
them to death, and in that I'll find victory."
"And yet I'll take the time to comfort a dying man, To sit down by his
side, to reach out and hold his hand.
For it takes as much courage to care as to fight. For just as the poem
says, many don't "go gently into that night."
"Santa, it's not any one uniform that makes you a man, But rather it's
those ideals for which you choose to stand.
I draw my line here, it's long and it's plain. For pain, hurt and
suffering are the things I disdain."
I know very well that I may lose my life, So that a Marine may see an
unmet child and young wife.
So Santa, it really doesn't matter if they don't like my hair.
I'm a Navy Corpsman, their Doc, and I'll always be there."
"I follow the brave docs who have come long before, From Belleau Wood,
Iwo, and Lebanon's shore.
As history proudly shows, they all gave their best, And for those who
have died, surely they're blessed."
"At Inchon, the gulf and times during Tet, Our brothers have fallen,
but we carry on yet.
For we carry their honor and legacy still." As I held back my tears it
took all of my will.
I had to leave him there for I had other plans, But I knew in my heart
that the Corps is in good hands.
As I flew away I heard his laughter, it rang so loud and clear.
"Hey Santa, how 'bout a nice pair of boots for the 26 miler next year?"
DEAR FIELD MED INSTRUCTOR
Teach me, Instructor, I need to know more.
Is being a "Doc" different since I'll be in the "Corps"?
Marine boot camp is over - now comes your class.
Viet Nam will come quickly...please teach me fast.
Triage and cut-downs, chest wounds and such...
You say battle dressings will be my "best friend"!
Tourniquets, hemostats...and it all starts again.
Traches, amputations, and of course CPR,
White phosphorous and A.K. wounds...I'm with you so far.
Give us your wisdom...help us prepare,
For when the wounded start falling, you won't be there.
My tour is long over. Do you mind if I share
Some thoughts so the next "Doc" will be more prepared?
There may be a Marine bleeding and as you fight for his life
He'll whisper, "If I die, Doc, will you please write my wife?"
Teach me, Instructor, when the firefight is done
To ignore that the Corporal had a wife and 2 sons.
Or when the boobytrap smoke clears and the med-evac's in,
The man in the poncho is my very best friend.
You helped me save lives, But it's not over yet...
Teach me, Instructor, How to forget.
Doc Hutch
Jan. 17, 2000
The Warrior of Many Names
The spirit of the warrior, No time can ever claim;
I ride the winds from age to age, And I'm known by many names.
Born not to life, but duty, My purpose to be slain,
To lie at rest in hallowed fields, Until called to rise again.
Tho from life to life I wander, Twas not for life I came,
But to march amidst the smoke, And help you learn again my name.
I seeks not praise or fortune, No honors due I proclaim;
My worth for all posterity, Is bound up in my name.
My hope but that you know me, As peace is my only gain,
And I ask my endles name?
I hastened then to every strife, Where freedom does proclaim,
At Bunker Hill and Iwo Jima, Where "Liberty" was my aim.
On a thousand fields in a thousand times, I was there, and there I still remain,
My name is whispered in the grasses, From Tripoli to Manassas.
Is not my name forever scribed, On that black memorial wall?
And on the stones of countless fields, Where the sons of right did fall.
Do you know yet who I am? Do you know yet why I came?
Do you know why I, again must leave To earn once more my name.
I stood in the ancient ranks, From now to when time began,
Of endless legions of the brave, When "Honor" was my name.
I was at Thermopylae With the 300 on that plain,
With life I, immortality bought, Where "Honor" was my name.
I came again in another time, To those fateful fields of fame,
Guadalcanal, Chosen and Hue City, Where "Courage" was my name
I've know the field, the trench, the wall I've perrished in the flame,
Suffered spear, sword and rifle ball, When "Duty" was my name.
Do you remember me at Belleau Wood? Weren't we bothers in "THE NAM"
Where we shared our water and blood And "Valor" became my name.
Are we bonded yet with eternal links, Our tears and blood the same?
Didn't we together fall, on distant field, Where"Glory" was our name.
Do you know then who I am? Do you know my secret name?
Am I husband, brother, father , son? Does you heart now feel the same
I am the spirit of the warrror, And have lived time and time again
And Have known no death of consequence, Unless "Dishonor" was my name.
When next we meet on distant shores Where joy and hope shall reign
You'll know me not as you know me now, For "MARINE" will be my name.
M.L McKinney
A CORPSMAN’S LAMENT
I remember fair-haired Dreamers,
Full of themselves, going to war.
We went-willing with visions of heroism in our head.
We felt-prepared for what-was to come.
Then they opened the door to let-reality in;
Fear, blood, and the smell of death.
All around us were cries for “Doc”!
Who should we help?
I tend to the first, second, and the third:
Bandages, morphine, plasma, and more.
No time for me to feel or think.
Keep moving, keep helping; Don’t-sleep.
Then they bring him all battered, near death.
I can’t-save him.
I look into his eyes and want-to cry.
Doc, it’s okay, let-me go.
I ignore his words; I try.
This man who looks like me…he dies.
Tears flow down my cheeks.
No time to grieve, five others lay at-my feet.
That-day stays with me still.
I shall never forget-his words.
It’s okay, Doc.
Let-me go.
With his last breath, He comforted me.
HM3 Mike Hall
5th Marine Division Iwo Jima