View From d'Isle
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Men Behaving Badly
by Jean d'Isle

ecently, some very graphic videos of a Marine initiation ceremony shocked evening news watchers across the country. Several Marines, having just completed their combat parachute jump training, were being welcomed into the elite group by those who had previously qualified.

For those of you who might have missed the coverage, the method of induction involved, among other things, driving and grinding the jump wings directly into the bare chest of the newly qualified jumpers. There was, of course, plenty of booze to keep things on a chaotic and incoherent level -- a sine qua non for this type of organized mayhem. I was uncomfortable watching the obvious pain inflicted on the initiates, as I'm sure everyone was; but I was not shocked. Growing up as a guy turns out to be a series of initiations, starting with school and continuing into adulthood, particularly if your life leads you into a military profession.

Of the many rituals I was put through in the name of elitism and bonding, most were more humiliating than harmful. I remember particularly well my induction into the high school Varsity Lettermen's Club, not because of any wisdom gained, but because it was a truly humiliating experience. (Ladies, you can stop reading here if you'd prefer to retain any respect for the male members in your life).

The ordeal took place on a secluded California beach, an all-day rite of passage organized and overseen by varsity lettermen who had undergone similar initiations in the past. Our first routine was called "The Fire Hydrant," a fairly simple exercise in humiliation. It required that we organize into teams of five. One team member was buried in sand up to his neck and a paper cup placed on his head. The remaining four team members were required to stand in a circle, at a distance from the "Fire Hydrant", and spit mouthfuls of seawater at the cup until it was full. Everyone got a turn at being the hydrant.

The highlight of the daylong initiation, however, was "The Great Naked Marshmallow Race." Each naked initiate was paired with an opponent of comparable size, and each was given a marshmallow. The object of the race was to run a 50-yard dash, with the marshmallow tucked snugly up your butt. If the marshmallow fell out during the race, it had to be retrieved and reinserted before continuing toward the finish line. How disgusting! -- running 50 yards with a sandy marshmallow stuck up your butt. (Ladies, if you're still with me here, this is where you want to get off).

What could be more humiliating than that?

Well?

How about this: The loser had to eat both marshmallows.

Needless to say, many personal bests for the 50-yard dash were set that day. While I was victorious over my opponent, I've always had to excuse myself from marshmallow roasts around the fire; and my opponent, a muscle-bound wrestler, never could quite look me in the eye again.

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Jean d'Isle is a retired naval officer living in Hawaii.During his military career he served in a number of overseas assignments, including Germany, England, Spain, Viet Nam and Puerto Rico. Following his retirement, he was an adjunct faculty member of Hawaii Pacific University and is currently under contract with the U.S. Navy at the submarine base in Pearl Harbor.

Jean's column, View From d'Isle, is a regular feature of VegSource On-Line Magazine.