In late 1967, following a tour in the Land of Oz (Vietnam), I was transferred to Camp Lejeune, NC. While there, I learned that my best friend from high school was going through ITR (now called something else, like ITS, or maybe Warrior Training, or School of Infantry) at Camp Geiger.

One night after a binge in J-ville, I stopped by Jimmy's barracks, and convinced the troop handler that I needed to see Jim ... even though it was 0230. Without question, the corporal rousted Jimmy from his bunk and had him report to Sgt. Greene (that's me). There he stood in his skivvies, halfway at attention and rubbing his eyes, and wondering what this was all about. The corporal left the two of us alone, at which time I proceeded to give Jim some quick instructions for his weekend base liberty which was to commence later in the day. I told him to bring a ditty bag with some civilian clothes, and I'd show him the town.

Later that afternoon, I swung by Jim's barracks again and picked him up. He was wearing the required base liberty uniform, Utilities. I had already had the top down in my little triumph TR-4A, and we drove to the base gas station, where Jim was ordered into the head to change into his civilian attire. He popped back out within a few minutes, and I had already raised the trunk of my little British pride and joy. Into the trunk I stuffed him ... folding him in half, literally, and out the gate we drove.

I pulled into another gas station off base, around the back, and popped open the trunk. Jim sprung out of the little trunk, gasping for air, and hopped into the passenger seat. Off we went on a tour of Jacksonville, and to some of the seedier places in town. We had a blast! It was something that MOST Marines just out of boot camp and in ITR almost never experienced.

You know, the problem with beer is that it truly affects one's judgement.

Knowing full well that all I.D. and liberty cards were checked at the gate after dark, we prepared ourselves to re-enter Camp Geiger at the main gate. I gave Jim my I.D. and liberty card and made him memorize my service number in the case that he was questioned. I figured I was salty enough to bluff my way back into the gate, should I be questioned. You know, the problem with beer is that it truly affects one's judgement. This was no exception. And, Jimmy was too bloated with beer to fold back in half again and stuff into my little trunk.

Fortunately for the both of us, we breezed through the main gate without being stopped and checked for I.D. Had that not been the case, I would be writing this from Leavenworth instead of from my home of retirement. But, to this day, I wonder if anyone else out there ever did anything so bold ... or so stupid? You can fess up. Short of murder, the statute of limitaions has surely expired by now!

Semper Fi!