Salty Language
by Col James W. Hammond Jr., USMC (Ret)

In the (not so) old Corps, the first time a "boot" referred to a vertical
partition as a "wall" or said that he had spilled something on the "floor,"
he incurred the unmitigated wrath of the nearest drill instructor. To gain
the attention of the miscreant, the DI would smash his swagger stick on the
top of the boot's pith helmet accompanied by a very loud bit of enduring
advice, "That's "bulkhead' [or 'deck']. If you draw the pay, you speak the
language!"

Marines are "Soldiers of the Sea," and it is right and proper that
conversation be sprinkled with nautical expressions. In "The Leatherneck,"
his introduction to "Fix Bayonets," the late Colonel John W. Thompson Jr.,
USMC (Ret) described the many men making up the 4th Marine Brigade about to
see action at Belleau Wood in June 1918: "And there were also a number of
diverse people who ran curiously to type, with drilled shoulders and a
bone-deep sunburn, a tolerant scorn of nearly everything on earth.Their
speech was flavored with Navy words, and words culled from all the folk who
live on the seas and ports where our war-ships go." He was describing Marine
professionals who, like all professionals, have a language peculiar unto
themselves.

A language is a living and evolving thing. As we go to more strange and
distant climes, some foreign words creep in. Some are transitory and don't
survive. Marines still go to the "head" to pump bilges," although there was
a generation or two who went to the benjo for the same thing. I've always
liked the story of the world-traveler Marine sitting in a bar in Athens who
politely summoned the waiter and ordered a beer with "Garcon, iddy-wa, una
botella de cerveza bitte."

But over the years I have detected not just a lessening of the use of
nautical terms among the naval services, but almost a complete lack of them.
This is more than 25 years ago when my son came home from the United States
Naval Academy his Plebe Christmas. He had been raised on "deck," "bulkhead,"
"overhead," "ladder," "galley," etc. He called his Boy Scout equipment "782
gear," but he was no longer using those descriptive terms because they
weren't in use at the Academy.

After he graduated, I spent a dozen years in Annapolis on the staff of the
Alumni Association of my alma mater. I was appalled at the lubberly-ness of
the staff, faculty and midshipmen at the Academy. Fortunately, the Marines
on duty there kept the tradition of nautical language alive. It must be
paying off because every year the allotted "boat spaces" for Marines on
graduation are oversubscribed.

But I am not concerned with Navy per se, but rather our Corps of Marines. I
equate it to the reply an old gunnery sergeant gave to the lady who upon
hearing the legend that the quatrefoil on the cover of Marine Officers'
frame caps stems from days of sail when Marines in the "fighting tops" could
identify their officers on deck by the chalked cross on their caps and not
fire on them, asked,

"What about the Navy Officers?"

"Who cared?" snapped the gunny."

Language is both spoken and written. "The Marines' Hymn" says, "We are proud
to claim the title of United States Marines." There are Army officers and
soldiers, Navy officers and sailors, Air Force officers and airmen, but we
are all Marines. That is why Marine is always written with a capital "M."

We must be careful not to allow our own professional culture to be corrupted
by the words of other services. The Army says 1600 (sixteen hundred) hours.
We say 1600 (sixteen hundred). It is a small but subtle difference. Many
years ago at a large East Coast Marine base, an over zealous "police
sergeant" neatly painted on the "deck" in front of a regimental headquarters
building:

"NO PARKING AFTER 1600 HOURS."

The commanding general, or "CG," came by and saw the offending sign. He
dashed into headquarters, burst in the office of the commanding officer, or
"CO," and began holding "school-of-the-boat" (the most basic instruction one
can give to the landlubber) on the colonel.

He said, "In the Army, it's 1600 hours; in the Navy, it's 8 bells; in the
Air Force, I think it is 'when Mickey's big hand is on 12 and his little
hand is on 4,' but in the Corps, it is 1600. Get that abomination corrected
immediately!"

Most Marines knew the motto of our Corps before they went to boot camp, or
they probably wouldn't have gone. It is "Semper Fidelis" - always faithful.
Shortened to "Semper Fi," it is a bond of respectful recognition between and
among Marines. One Marine greets another with it. When they part company,
each says to the other, "Semper Fi." Informal memos or e-mails between
Marines usually are signed "Semper Fi" or just S/F. But there used to be a
darker side. Used by Marines to members of the other services or civilians,
"Semper Fi, Mac," said with a sneer, had a sinister connotation. It could
mean anything from "I got mine; the hell with you!" to "I did fine; how did
you do?"

An old "China Hand" once told me that on payday night in Shanghai cabarets,
it meant, "You buy the fifth; my girl is drunk already!" I much prefer the
version denoting mutual respect among a "band of brothers" than the cynical
version.

Some words and phrases have found their way into common American usage
through the Marine Corps. Some are of foreign origin. "We have fought in
every clime and place." Others were Marine-coined.

The best example of a Marine-coined word in widespread use is "gizmo."

"Gung-ho" is of Chinese origin, via Col. Evans F. Carlson of the World War
II Carlson's Raiders. Going back several campaigns, we find that "boondocks"
comes from the Tagalog "bundok" or mountain jungles of the Philippines.
"Honcho" came back from Korea and Japan.

Another word that is sacred to our Corps is "Doc" - the corpsman who wear
our uniform, joins with and cares for us in combat. Many years ago I had a
"Stateside" battalion during the time that doctors were drafted for two
years of service. My battalion surgeon (billet title since he wasn't really
a "cutter") came to me with a complaint. The young Marines were addressing
him as "Doc." Since he was a professional man, he felt he deserved the
respect of being addressed as "Doctor." I told him that evidently he was not
ready to be addressed as "Doc" inasmuch as that is the highest honor that a
Marine can bestow upon a "squid."

The language door swings both ways. We have allowed civilian language to
corrupt our pure nautical expression. While a landlubber may refer to a ship
as "it," a true "soldier of the sea" knows that a ship is a "she."

Likewise, it is a real nautical bust, both orally and in writing, to precede
the name of a ship with a definite article. A ship is a distinct
personality, and referring to the Lexington is as improper as referring to
me as the Hammond. She is Lexington. Many readers will argue that the
definite article is used in professional naval publications, and I invite
their attention to the fact that those journals have professional editors
and writers, not naval professionals. Finally, one serves in not on a ship.
If it is the latter, you are in deep trouble. To a precise reader or
listener it conjures up the vision of your sitting on the keel of a capsized
vessel.

How did this departure from salty language occur? I alluded to the traumatic
change to the nautical nature of the Naval Academy, at least in my
observation. Emphasis was more on turning out graduates who could go on for
advanced degrees. "Techies" and their bastardization of English for computer
talk followed. This was compounded by flooding the faculty with academics
holding advanced degrees from campuses of the '60s. This sizeable group of
civilians avoided being part of the naval culture. Over the past quarter
century, the leadership of half the naval service has eroded much of the
base of salty-language usage. If those at the top don't lead the way, it is
a military axiom that those below won't follow.

But how did the decline of the use of salty language creep into our Corps?
Drill instructors still drill into recruits the use of "deck," "bulkhead,"
"ladder," etc., although perhaps with a less emphatic way of getting their
attention then in the (not so) old Corps.

For one thing, more Marines are married these days, and many live ashore
among the civilian community. These Marines try to blend into the civilian
community rather than flaunt their pride of being a Marine. Their use of
salty language becomes one of the first casualties.

Even today it is a matter of pride to sport a regulation haircut,
spit-shined shoes, proper civilian attire and, of course, salty language. It
is gratifying when some stranger at a cocktail party says, "You sound like
you're a Marine."

Another reason for the decline of salty language is that many young Marines
are "cool." Nautical talk is not cool, computer talk and jive talk are.
Unlike the Navy with its many technicians, "every Marine is a rifleman" and
has the privilege of displaying pride in the language of his profession. It
is a privilege not available to others.

How can we restore this eroding tradition? Like everything else in the
Corps, it begins at the top. Senior officers should use salty language at
every opportunity and hold school-of-the-boat on their subordinates who
don't. Top staff noncommissioned officers should do likewise.

Tradition is not something that can be ordered. It must have solid roots to
survive. Marines should want to show that they are a different breed and be
wlling to demonstrate their uniqueness at every opportunity whether among
other Marines or among civilians. That's what it is about personal pride in
being a Marine.

More than 50 years ago, during the Cherry Blossom Pageant in Washington, DC,
10 junior officers from the Army, Air Force, Navy, Coast Guard and Marine
Corps were detailed as escorts for princesses from 48 states and the
territories of Alaska and Hawaii. Most of the Marines were strangers to each
other.

At the end of the ceremonies a musical tribute to the gallant escorts of the
lovely princesses was announced. The band struck up a medley of "The Caisson
Song," "The Air Force Song," "Anchors Aweigh" and "Semper Paratus." At the
first note of "The Marines' Hymn," 10 Marine lieutenantsscattered among the
audience were on their feet as 20 heels clicked as one. An officer from
another service paid them a high compliment. In a stage whisper audible to
all, he said, "Those s.o.b.s!"

That's what it is all about - exhibiting your pride in your Corps every time
you can.

About 30 years ago there was the tale of an old sergeant major who retired
and had a nice job, although he was putting in long hours. He had another
problem as well, or at least his boss and co-workers thought so. He still
said "deck," "bulkhead," "overhead," etc. The boss made him an appointment
with the company psychiatrist. The sergeant major arrived, and the doctor,
who was of the Freudian school, directed him to lie on the couch.

Doctor: "Do you lead an active sex life?"

SgtMaj: "Sure!"

Doctor: "Tel me about it."

SgtMaj: " What do you want to know?"

Doctor: "Your last affair, when was it?"

SgtMaj: "About 1950?"

Doctor: "You call that active?"

SgtMaj: looking at his watch: "It's only 2115 now!"

Draw the pay; speak the language.

Semper Fi.

[Col Hammond enlisted in the Corps in 1946, was appointed to the Naval
Academy in 1947 and was commissioned as an infantry officer in 1951. He
commanded an infantry platoon and company, an artillery battery and
battalion, an infantry battalion (2/4) in combat (RVN). He was wounded in
action during the Korean War and twice wounded in the Vietnam War. He is the
author of more than 50 professional articles in a wide variety of
professional publications, including Marine Corps Gazette, Naval Institute
Proceedings, The Hook and others. He was managing editor and then
editor-publisher for Gazette from 1964 to 1966 and in retirement was editor
of the U. S. Naval Academy Alumni Association's monthly magazine, Shipmate.

He has written two books: "Poison Gas - The Myths Versus Reality" and "The
Treaty Navy - The Story of the U. S. Naval Service Between the World Wars".

Colonel and Mrs. Hammond make their home in Reno, but can be found in
Annapolis during football season.]