“Son, when the Marine Corps wants you to have a wife, you will be issued one.”
LtGen Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller when asked by a young Marine for permission to marry.
In honor of 33 years of marriage, here's Chapter Twenty-Eight.
Upon returning to campus for the Fall Semester, I resumed my routine of attending classes and training. Our weekly unit drill required us to wear our Midshipman uniforms for the entire day, but I often found myself wearing it on multiple days due to other NROTC events. By this point, wearing the uniform had become second nature to me and I was often greeted with smiles, particularly from the young women on campus.
Despite Chapel Hill's liberal reputation, I never encountered any negative comments about my military affiliation during my four years there. My favorite uniform for classes was the short-sleeved white summer service uniform. After morning PT, I would head straight to classes and by lunchtime, I was usually starving. The Lenoir Dining Hall was conveniently located and offered reasonably priced meals. I would often stop in for a quick lunch before heading to my afternoon military science class at the armory.
On one particular day, I went through the lunch line and eagerly loaded up my tray with food. I sat down at an open table and began to devour my meal, free from the strict eating regulations of Officer Candidate School. I was so focused on my food that I didn't even lift my eyes from my tray. However, I soon noticed that three girls at a nearby table were laughing and looking in my direction. One of them even made a mocking gesture by puffing out her cheeks. It dawned on me that I was the source of their amusement. I had been eating like a pig and had earned their ridicule. Feeling embarrassed, I forced a smile, picked up my tray, and quickly made my way to the exit.
Each February, the NROTC unit would take a road trip to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The unit's Drill Team and Color Guard would march in several parades, and the University Band was always invited. For the past few years, the UNC Dance Team had also joined in on the trip. The excursion was open to the entire unit, as well as select friends of unit members, resulting in several buses making the annual pilgrimage. We would typically stay for most of the week at the YMCA, located between the Garden District and the French Quarter. At the time, the YMCA offered nightly room rentals, making it a cheap and convenient place to stay while we enjoyed our time in the city.
Mardi Gras is a week-long celebration of parades and parties, and since we only marched in a few parades, we had plenty of time to explore and take in the sights. The bars and clubs of the French Quarter were popular destinations. I had invited my longtime friend and roommate, Chris, as he knew many of my fellow Midshipmen and got along well with them. On the twenty-something-hour bus ride to New Orleans, many of the Midshipmen would sneak alcohol onto the bus. Not being a big drinker myself, I spent most of the ride watching the scenery of the deep South pass by. However, when I finally got up to stretch my legs and look around, I noticed a few of the Midshipmen and some friends crowding around a group of the dance team girls.
They were talking loudly, vying for the girls' attention, and encouraging them to have a drink or two. I thought they were being disrespectful, and having been around this crowd for years, I had a good idea of what was going on. One of the girls receiving unwanted attention stood out to me. While all of the girls were attractive, she was particularly stunning, with gorgeous red hair that caught my eye. She was being polite and patient with the guys, but for some reason the scene bothered me.
Walking down the middle of the bus, I broke up the huddle of guys as they parted to let me pass. I stopped next to her and suggested that she politely, but flatly decline whatever they said or suggested. I would be watching, and if they continued to be jerks I looked forward to inserting myself into the situation. She did just as I advised, and the guys moved on to other targets with no trouble at all. She was radiant. I managed to get a seat in a row in front of her and introduced myself. Her name was Elizabeth, and I immediately knew that she was someone special.
We arrived at the YMCA and began preparing for the upcoming parades the next day. This was my third time attending Mardi Gras with the unit, and I was eagerly anticipating the festivities. Our parade lineup was always the same: the Color Guard led the way, proudly carrying the United States, Marine Corps, and Navy Flags. Following them was the Drill Team, expertly twirling our rifles in perfect synchronization. The UNC Dance Team came next, enthusiastically shaking their pompoms, interacting with the crowd, and performing dance routines during the frequent stops along the parade route.
During these stops, we would often showcase our drill routine while the dance team put on their show. We had learned that drunk or overenthusiastic members of the crowd had to be watched closely, as they would sometimes run out into the street and try to hug, kiss, or grab the girls. In especially narrow and chaotic areas, we would strategically place ourselves between the girls and the crowd, holding our heavy M1 rifles at a high “port arms” that made for effective crowd control.
I knew several of the girls on the dance team well from previous years, and one I held in especially high regard. Monét had a magnetic personality and was a trusted friend. She also took on the role of a matchmaker, gently but firmly insisting that I talk to Elizabeth. During breaks, I made an effort to get closer to Elizabeth so that we could continue our conversation and I could also be nearby in case anyone in the crowd had any wild ideas. Despite feeling intimidated by her good looks at first, I quickly felt at ease with her. Her genuine and down-to-earth nature, along with her quick smile, captivated me. While she was undeniably beautiful, it was something deeper that drew me to her - a light in her heart that radiated a constant warmth.
After our parade ended, we were all exhausted and our feet and arms were sore from performing. One of our favorite spots to go was Pat O’Brien's bar in the French Quarter, but it was quite a distance from the YMCA, about half a mile. I had invited Elizabeth and her friends to join us, but they declined, saying they were too tired. I jokingly offered to carry Elizabeth all the way there, and to my surprise, she called my bluff and agreed. I carried her on my back the entire way, and we finally arrived at the bar.
The line to get in was long, as it was a popular destination in the Bourbon Street area. Once inside, we got separated in the crowded bar and patio area. I searched for her but couldn't find her. The next day, we had more parades, but I was hesitant to try again because I thought she might not be interested. Plus, having a girlfriend didn't seem practical with my upcoming plans. I was in my final semester of senior year and would soon be heading to Northern Virginia for training before joining the Fleet Marine Force (FMF). However, with some encouragement from Monét, we reconnected at Pat O’Brien's and had a great time exploring the French Quarter together. As I got to know her more, I was even more impressed.
As Mardi Gras came to an end, we boarded the buses to return to Chapel Hill. By the time we arrived on campus, Elizabeth and I had made plans to have dinner together in the near future.