The Girl in the Gun Club by Tracy Salzgeber

Author:Tracy Salzgeber
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Koehler Books
Published: 2021-12-30T07:49:51+00:00

PART FIVE:

MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA

28.

THANK YOU FOR SMOKING

When I served, I smoked. Though no longer in vogue in civilian society, in the Marine Corps, smoking is about far more than just the habit of nicotine intake. Marines who would never otherwise talk to me like a person were more than happy to let me listen in on their gossip in the “smoke pit” that every shop in the Corps had. If I casually strolled out near the pit (you could easily find it by smell), lit a cigarette, and stood looking lost in my own head, the conversation would generally wash over me within no time. I’d get to hear about marital disputes, unrealistic alcohol consumption, dating, cars, guns, and incredibly weird political positions.

At first, I kept my mouth shut. Chiming in without being properly introduced is a quick way to get shunned. It’s a weird society sort of thing. If I had a junior Marine with me and we were having a relaxed chat about some silly-ass inspection we’d been working on for weeks, then the rest of the herd around the smoke pit got a chance to evaluate me and decide how safe it was to talk while I was around. You know you are okay if someone approaches and asks to borrow a lighter or bum a smoke. If you comply, you are generally accepted on a temporary basis.

I don’t advocate tobacco as a leadership tool, but if a leader wants to know what is really, really going on in the platoon, the smoke pit is where you need to be. The rules regarding it are unspoken and informal, but if you violate them, you are sure to know. Silence will greet you, and then the group physically pulls away, leaving you standing by yourself in an invisible circle barrier. Staff sergeant is about as high a rank as can safely integrate, and it still causes the different groups of Marines to separate by rank and affiliation.

So, when the commanding officer at DLI decided one day to stroll into the smoke pit, the Marines pulled away and looked straight at me. As a SNCO and the highest-ranking person there at that moment, I was expected to handle this intrusion into our sacred space. The major was “not our kind, dear.” Therefore, it was up to me to usher him politely but firmly off our patch and back into his office, where he was far less likely to hear anything that might disturb him. I sighed, put out my cigarette, and saluted him. He returned the salute and scanned the crowd.

Major Mansfield most definitely did not smoke. He stood, hands on hips, squinting in defiance of the California sun, looking like a commander for all he was worth. I was slightly worried he was about to berate the troops for the state of the smoke pit. That was a very common point of conflict between our leadership, who hated all smokers and their consequential filth, and the troops who despised the supervision of every level of their lives.

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