Camp Lejeune Command: Commander's Notes 1992-1995

2015 Kenneth D. Dunn. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/14/2021

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5762-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0992-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5493-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901480

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A special thanks goes to Connie Dunn, Henry Gobar, Charles Robinson, Dennis Tate, John Brown, Kerwin Miller, Jeff Cole, Dr. Fred Allison, Dr. Marta Wilson, Vernon Reid, Perry Cameron, Will Merrell, the El Dorado Society (EDSC), MSgt Robert Moore, USMC (ret), GySgt Michael Bonafede, USMC (ret), St. Francis of Assisi Parish and my parents, Frances and Virgil Thomas. Without their help, technical expertise and encouragement, this book stood no chance of anything worthy of publication. KDD

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BACKGROUND

3 July 1992

1 January 1993

1 January 1994

1 January 1995

POSTCRIPT

DUNN’S RULES

BACKGROUND

The Marine Corps pins much of its operational and tactical war fighting success on the shoulders of its battalion and squadron commanders, who lead officers, staff non- commissioned officers, non-commissioned officers and junior enlisted Marines in the accomplishment of the many and varied missions assigned to this small Naval service. I had the privilege of commanding one of those battalions. We were not in combat during this period, but we had the responsibility to be prepared for combat, as all operational commands are required. Our Marine Corps was in the final days of the Cold War, although the Country had sustained the first World Trade Center bombing of February 1993. As a result, we were continually preparing for the next battle.

Within this context, the Marine Corps has had a continual debate for decades on how to increase the numbers of minority (black, Hispanic, Asian and now, deservedly, women) battalion and squadron commanders. This Journal is a snapshot of my years in this environment.

The military makes extensive use of acronyms as a way of expression. I have attempted to spell out these acronyms as they are presented. Thank you for your patience. Additionally, these were thoughts on paper, mostly, and sometimes I did not think in complete, grammatically correct, sentences.

This is my story and the story of our small family: the good and the ‘challenges.’ These are personal views and not those of the Department of Defense (DOD), the U. S. Marine Corps or any DOD components. It may come across as a 'black' perspective but I know of no other way to view the world. While I have lived in a ‘color blind’ world most of my life, race creeps in when things don’t add up, or simply don’t make a lot of sense. In some ways, It is different for us (LtGen W. Williams), no matter how hard we attempt to explain otherwise. This hardback version moderates my writing and I added the service of two of my relatives that I missed.

Some names have been substituted and the use of initials in this Journal to prevent unnecessary embarrassment - embarrassment, of course, is not my intent. These individuals are composites and not actual persons, living or dead - any resemblances are coincidental. I had the distinct pleasure of commanding 5th Battalion, 10th Marines for two years. Few people have the opportunity of commanding Marines - I am eternally grateful for that opportunity. The officers and enlisted men of 5/10 were magnificent Marines and Sailors, day in, day out. I am grateful I was allowed to lead them, even to this day, 20 years later.

I was born in Louisville, KY in 1952, three years before the Civil Rights Movement, as we know it today, began. When Ms. Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat in Montgomery, AL in 1955, I was riding in the back seats of buses with my Mother and younger brother, Keith, en route to a nursery school across town each day. So, I observed and remembered a lot of the civil rights activities of the late 50’s on through the 60’s. I attended an all-black Catholic elementary school, St. Augustine (by way of Beecher Terrace a public housing project 5 blocks from downtown - it is still there) it was a great school. My first racially integrated school was St. Agnes for summer school in, I believe, the wealthiest parish in the Louisville Archdiocese. Our parents had divorced and after my Mother re-married a soldier, SSgt Virgil Thomas, I attended another Catholic school in the West End of Louisville, St. Benedict, then on to Fort Knox High School. I graduated from Valley High School. (My football coach at Valley, Coach Irv Spencer, passed away recently. It is fitting that I have the opportunity to publicly thank him for giving me the chance to play for him at Valley, 1968-69. He helped to shape many of us into responsible, hard-working young men.) Life was good! By the time I attended the U. S. Naval Academy in 1970, I was extremely self-confident in my ability inside and outside of the classroom. Upon my USNA graduation in 1974, I had also played Navy Football, which meant that I welcomed the physical challenges presented by the U. S. Marine Corps at service selection. I have always considered myself extremely fortunate to have become a Marine Officer.

I want to ensure that my descendants know that there was a Marine among them, an Annapolis graduate, who commanded an artillery battalion at Camp Lejeune. This past summer (2014), I attended a Family Reunion on my Mother’s side, in Florence, Alabama. I learned that my great, great grandfather, Anthony Brannon, served in the Civil War as a member of the 111th U. S. Colored Troops (USCT) formed in Pulaski, Tennessee, 1864 - 1866. Learning of his service, although almost 150 years afterwards, dramatically changed my perspective. Although I had taught the Civil War for over 30 years in military schools, I never knew my great, great grandfather had served until now. There are thousands of veterans who served, some for many years, who are unknown to family and other histories. I am working to prevent the many military veterans being forgotten again in my family by writing and publishing this Journal.

This Journal is dedicated to the women and men in my life, as well as my wife, my parents, son, daughters and a whole host of relatives. Many thanks to the first black Marines who trained at Montford Point, NC, part of Camp Lejeune, in 1942. I commanded exactly 50 years after the first black recruits arrived. I want to thank Mr. Steve Harvey for his daily inspiration, to Mr. William Jordan in his historical barber shop at Quantico and to thank God for telling me to write these things down when they happened. I also want to mention the following Marines:

Captain Thomas J. Evans, USMC, USNA ’74

Lieutenant Colonel Willie J. Harris, USMC, USNA ’76

First Lieutenant William T. Donnelly IV, USMC, USMMA ’08

These officers died in the service of their country and left us when they were very young men.

I want to thank my fellow Marines and their Families, a few of whom are mentioned in this Journal. Here is a ‘shout out’ to my USNA Classmates from the Class of 1974. Finally, I want to thank the young men and women of the U. S. Marines who keep things interesting and exciting every day of my life.

I believe we have a responsibility to tell our own story and not rely on others to put themselves in our shoes. Since we do not have a lot of military authors out there, it is high time that we started. Please keep this in mind as you read these pages.

Semper Fidelis!

JOURNAL OF THE YEAR BEGINNING 3 JULY 1992

NEW JERSEY

This journal is to document my thoughts and accomplishments and otherwise disappointments for the next year. It is my third and final (I believe) year here at Ft Monmouth, NJ.

This afternoon we are headed for Annapolis, MD for the holiday. My wife, Connie, who you will get to know very well, is the push behind us going down for the holiday. Kennon, our 14 year old, is visiting her friend, Tiffany, in Utahville, SC. We have Kathryn, 11, and Michael, 5, with us in our Volvo station wagon. The day is overcast with rain imminent, so we will spend the rainy holiday among friends and relatives instead of heading up to New York City for the Sail 1992 celebration.

5 July, Sunday evening. My mind is flipping through this catalogue of activity and I must capture the most important thoughts and aspects of the weekend. We drove down to Annapolis around 1430 and had a very pleasant trip. The Turnpike was crowded, as expected, and the traffic going into Great Adventure amusement park on Interstate 195 was horrendous. We were fortunate NOT to be in that number! I think the traffic was backed up 5 miles or more. Coming down Highway 301, about 12 miles from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, I was caught speeding—69 in a 55 mph zone! Was I surprised?! They could have caught me for 75 but I had slowed down for a traffic light. We were listening to Jerry Butler’s What’s The Use of Breaking Up? and there they were—three cars of Maryland’s Finest. The State Policemen were all young and squared away. I thought I could escape by telling them I was a Marine, but it did not work. Their hair was shorter than mine, so I assumed they were former Marines. Maybe they were but they said nothing. I was fined $55 with a mail-in envelope. Guess to what city? Annapolis, of course. So I mailed my fine in to the address in Annapolis from my sister-in-law’s house on Sunday (today).

The visit was complex. We first stopped at Connie’s parents’ home, Jimmy and Shirley Brandford. They care for two granddaughters, Nellie and Sher-Dee, along with their son, Little Jimmy, who has a history of health issues. The house was immaculate, I mean, the outside trim and grass, were exceptional. Mr. Jimmy was flying his Old Glory out front with obvious pride. He is a Korean War veteran. Nellie is 11, Sher-Dee is 9. The girls passed to the 6th and 4th grades, respectively. However, they both will have voluntary extra academic instruction this summer.

The evening was certainly uneventful. I had wanted to go out to a pub, Peerless Renz which caters to an older crowd, and is able to keep the hardcores out. This is a term for the younger males who are now an endangered species, especially in the urban communities. Annapolis is a small, quiet town with a black population that ranges from a middle class of the government employees, to a definite underclass. So, Peerless offers the older folks a place to go. Connie was not keen on the idea and we didn’t go. I was disappointed but it worked out OK.

We stayed with Lorraine, Connie’s sister. A more loyal big sister, you won’t find. She takes real good care of us when we come to Annapolis. Five people can take up a lot of hospitality. I may not have mentioned it, but our oldest daughter, Kennon 14, is spending two weeks in Utahville, SC. I talked with her and the friend’s mother, Mrs. Ricks, who is responsible for her. Mrs. Ricks and her daughter, Tiffany, seem like very good people. Kennon and Tiffany were good friends during this past 8th grade year. Tiffany was spending a year up north from South Carolina and she and Kennon became good buddies toward the end of the year. She spent the evening with us right before Kennon popped the question about staying down there. After some checking things out and numerous questions, we acquiesced. Seems to be a good move. The girls are fine. Mrs. Ricks seemed to be very pleased with Kenya.

The council was in session at Connie’s family’s cookout on the 4th. All of Connie’s aunts and her 90 year old grandmother, Rose, were there. Grandma Rose sat by herself and neither ate nor drank anything. She was coherent and lively. Maybe she will see 100. There are about six sisters who get together often. Here is one incident I’d like to share with you:

Were sitting in the back, some eating crabs, others like me, eating barbequed chicken and the variety of salads. Anyway, Kate, my daughter, came over. Someone asked her name, and I guess Kathryn was not the right response. I noticed some disapproval and I could not understand why. But I felt it and that was enough for me! Then I looked up and noticed there were almost no males at the site. I think it was me, Connie’s Uncle Prim, among a dozen demanding women. I chuckled at that thought. Prim and I had a talk about man-woman relationships later on during the evening. Prim will end 31 years of postal service in about two years. Unfortunately, he is divorced which seems to still bother him, and I can understand that.

Coming back on Sunday was great. The weather was perfect for the return drive. I was doubly cautious on 301, where I had received my ticket 2 days prior. Once home, I cleaned out the car, we barbequed some ribs, played baseball with Kate and Mike, and gave Mike a haircut, later on. I also helped our neighbors across the street to move, in their self-move. The Crippens are nice people from Tennessee and they are going back. Supper later on was nice, Mom called to lock on reservations for our Family Reunion in Florence, AL during the second week in August. Also, she and my father are moving from the suburbs to the city back in Louisville. Mom wants to be closer to the action at age 65!

And finally, the quote of the weekend comes from Kate as she said out loud to herself during the picnic Monty-mon and Vony-mon, . . . what names! as she laughed to herself.

6 July 92. Tragedy struck as we all learned that the daughter of Mrs. Priscilla Davis, JoAnn, was killed over the weekend. Priscilla is such a fine figure of womanhood who worked hard to give her children everything that she could. They lived in Neptune, NJ; the Davis’ had just graduated a doctor in the family, Vincent. They also proposed a meeting between me and Mr. Malcolm Dunn, who I think is a relative. May God have mercy on the Davis family and the four children left behind.

7 Jul 92. The hearse was followed by three long black stretch limousines, which were driving the Davis family to the cemetery for Jo Ann’s burial. The small church in Neptune, NJ had been crowded and packed with Priscilla’s generation and Jo Ann’s friends. The mostly black folks were well-dressed with the women adorned in hats and white dresses and suits. Although there were some white people in attendance, most of these work associates had come in, viewed Jo Ann, and left before the services began at 1400. One strange incident occurred when one of our own secretaries looked at me with a feinted look of worry and whispered, Don’t you leave me! I think it was because she did not have a ride.