It was in June 1956. We were a group of high school students and Marine Reservists on our way to Marine Corps Recruit Depot in sunny California. The trip took three days. It was a pleasant, non-exciting trip.

It was close to midnight when our train arrived in San Diego. A sergeant who looked like he didn't want to be there greeted our group. He spoke quietly, telling us not to stray because the bus would be arriving shortly.

Bright lights shone in our eyes as we entered the base. Everyone was excited and eager to become Marines. The bus pulled to a stop and the sergeant exited without a word. We sat there wondering what was next. Another Marine stepped aboard looking like he had stepped out of a poster. His campaign hat was low on his head, shading his eyes. He stood with legs apart and hands on his hips. Then all hell broke loose.

"Why are you sitting on my bus?" he yelled. The volume of his voice shook us. What was the answer? He didn't give us a chance to answer. "Get off my bus!"

It was anger in the command. He began pulling men from their seat and hurling them toward the door.

"Get out! Get out!"

Men scrambled to comply, trying to grab bags and get off. The narrow aisle caused a pileup. This seemed to infuriate the Marine more, and he screamed louder. Men climbed over seats to get out. At the door a man stumbled and fell, causing others to fall. A large tangle of men and baggage brought the wrath of the Marines standing outside.

These Marines were copies of the Marine that came aboard. They began jerking men up and propelling them toward a series of yellow markings, all the while screaming questions we couldn't answer or weren't even given a chance to answer. They screamed at us, asking why are we scrambling around on their deck.

"Get up! Get up!" they shouted even louder. "Get on those yellow footprints and don't move."

We untangled ourselves, rushing after the men who had been hurled toward the yellow markings that soon was revealed as the infamous yellow footprints.

We stood there breathless on those prints, listening to the three Marines berate any one who dared to look at them. We were supposed to be at the position of attention and to lock those eyeballs straight ahead. The Marines roamed the ranks screaming in our ears, belittling us.

Finally, satisfied that we were the bottom of the barrel of something left over, we were faced to the right and double-timed into the Marines.

That initial welcome into the military so affected me that even when opportunities to return to the base came my way, I would not set foot there.