A former Marine and good friend of mine, George Fuska, recently told me how he came to join the Marine Corps.
"I was driving home from church on Sunday, December 7, 1941, when I heard on the radio that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. I became so incensed that I drove straight to the nearest Marine Corps Recruiting Office, crashed through the door, and was greeted by two recruiters, built like Sherman tanks, sitting across from each other in dress blues. They stared at me with a mystified look, like What the hell is this? as though I were some forlorn, misguided, displaced soul. In a condescending tone, they said in unison, `Lad can we help you?'
"They were so intimidating as I stood there trying to look tough with my bean-stalk, farmhand frame, that I could hardly speak, but I managed to eke out the words, 'I want to join the Marine Corps.' Like an explosion, they fell out of their chairs with laughter. By the time they got finished working me over, I felt like a worthless excuse for humanity. I thought they were going to have me locked up for trespassing. In those few minutes I felt as though I had already been through the first phase of my initiation into the Corps. With the grace of God, I braved through it, and I became a very good Marine, survived the war, and I never stopped talking about all the good things the Marine Corps did for me."
I said, "George, isn't that the truth. I have lived by the code and commitment of the Corps throughout my life. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the Marine Corps in one capacity or another."