OFFICER CANDIDATE SCHOOL

It is a common convention of modern literature and cinema to deride the “Ninety Day Wonder” or “shavetail” officers whose only leadership credentials seemed to be a semester or two of college and the ability to wangle their way into extra State-side training. While these perceptions have their roots in reality – some freshly-minted officers had no business leading men in combat, and paid for their inexperience with the blood of their subordinates – in truth, the United States Marine Corps ran an extremely thorough and exhaustive program designed to turn “college weisenheimers” into effective leaders of men. The most well known of these was the Officer Candidate School, located at Marine Corps Base (MCB) Quantico.

1940's era postcard showing officer candidates at Quantico.

Quantico, located in Prince William County in northern Virginia, is known as “the Crossroads of the Marine Corps.” Its name stems from an Algonquin word meaning “by the large stream,” a reference to the Potomac River.1 Quantico saw its first military use during the American Revolution, when the Commonwealth of Virginia anchored its fleet in the vicinity. The town's maritime livelihood extended into the early 20th century, with the establishment of shipyards and the expansion of tourist attractions and industrial fisheries. Despite acquiring government contracts for ship construction during the First World War, Quantico itself remained financially unstable until 1917, when the area was surveyed as a possible Marine Corps training facility. A base was established later that year.2

Prior to October, 1940, the Marines acquired most of their officers from the Naval Academy, or from the pool of Army ROTC graduates.3 Despite the Corps' active combat involvement in the Central American conflicts during the 1920s, opportunities for advancement were rare; when the onset of the Depression limited the expansion of the armed forces, the chances of breaking into the officer's caste became even slighter. The result of this enforced selectivity was an outstanding product: most of those who passed through Quantico in the inter-war years became distinguished officers during the Second World War. William Hawkins – who would later become the first Marine to set foot on Guadalcanal – was a freshman at Tufts in 1935 when he spoke to a Marine major recruiting on campus:

"Come on down next summer,” he said, “it will be sensational. Plenty of time for tennis and golf. And we'll teach you something about the Marine Corps. If you come for three summers, we'll make you a second lieutenant in our new Reserve Unit.”4

The proposition sounded “great” to Hawkins, who signed up for the next summer's program. His train from Boston made several stops, picking up others from “Yale, Princeton, Pennsylvania – all the colleges on the eastern seaboard. We were having a ball.”5

Of course, the good times were not going to last.

When we arrived at Quantico, this big sergeant gave us a Marine Corps greeting. I can still picture him today, hash marks and campaign ribbons, the whole bit. He took one look at us and let out a roar. “What the hell do you think this is, Palm Beach? You're here to become Marines, not playboys!” Then he started putting a size thirteen shoe through every tennis racquet he could grab and throwing golf clubs in every direction. The honeymoon was over before it started. From right off the top of the barrel there was no tennis, no golf, no nothing but Marine Corps.6

Despite the rough greeting, Hawkins returned for each of the three successive summers. His instructors included Thomas Holcomb – soon to become Commandant of the Corps – and Clifton Cates, who would lead the Fourth Marine Division in action and also become Commandant. Hawkins received his commission upon graduation from Tufts, and taught Latin and English until being called up in December, 1940.7

With the threat of American involvement in World War Two looming, the Corps was authorized to step up its recruitment. Irving Schechter, a graduate of New York University's law school, heard the new officer's program advertised on a radio program, and wrote in for an application - “like sending in box covers for a sample of something,” he quipped. “Doesn't sound like the Marines, but remember the Corps was real small at the time. Due to Hitler's war, they'd been authorized to expand and they were trying to do it fast.”8 Schechter was accepted and sent to the recruiting office at 90 Church Street, Manhattan, for his physical – once he gained enough weight to pass the minimum requirement, he was ordered to proceed to Quantico.

Gerald Russell, a graduate of Boston College and a champion in track and field, planned to use his degree in history and pre-law to become a lawyer; Harvard Law and Boston College Law School had accepted him for postgraduate work. His adviser convinced Russell to think about joining the armed forces:

He said, “You know, you're a college graduate, and you're single. This guy Roosevelt wants to get us into a war, and you're going to be the first to go. They're going to pass a draft law.... What you should do is try to get into one of these officer reserve programs in the Army or Navy and then go through and get the commission, and then, if they don't need you, you can just sit and go through school. They'll know they have you.”9

Russell wrote to Major General Thomas Holcomb – then the commandant of the Marine Corps – explaining “what a splendid prospect I was for an officer. I got a response back quite quickly saying 'We don't want you.'” Dismayed, Russell figured his dreams of becoming a Marine officer had been dashed before they began. However, he soon received another letter, informing him of the newly formed Quantico program. Russell applied, was immediately accepted, and became a member of the very first officer candidate class ever offered by the Marines.10

Fred Haynes, a graduate student of limnology at Southern Methodist University, happened to pick up a copy of Fix Bayonets! while researching in his school library in December, 1941. The author, John Thomason, had served as a captain in the Fifth Marines during the First World War. Inspired by Thomason's tales of bravery at Bellau Wood and Château Thierry, Haynes decided to join the Marines should he have to go to war. When recruiting officers appeared at his school, Haynes signed up and was sent to Quantico in February, 1942.11

Philip Emerson Wood, a graduate of the Quaker-influenced Swarthmore College, initially had no desire to enlist. Though he felt it was inevitable that he would be called up, he bemoaned the “delay in my education” more than the state of the nation.12 Wood, the head of his family following his father's sudden death in 1940, had recently realized his ambition of studying law at Yale and was planning to raise a family of his own. However, in April of 1942, student Wood became Private First Class Wood of the Marine Corps Reserve; he sent a telegram to his family ending with the words “Velly solly, Uncle Sam,” and reported to Quantico that July.

(Photograph at left shows Philip Wood, left, with two other candidates at Quantico in 1942. They are wearing the single stripes of Privates First Class. At right is Roy Wood, who would serve as a platoon leader in Able Company, 24th Marines.)

Other officer candidates arrived fresh from Parris Island or MCRD San Diego. William Manchester, selected for Quantico training because of his college education, proficiency on the rifle range, and easy adaptation to Marine Corps life - he reportedly “adored Parris Island” - looked forward to being treated more like a gentleman than a simple grunt.13 Lee “Prate” Stack, a Yale fraternity brother like Philip Wood, went through Parris Island with a platoon of potential officer candidates; after the hazing he received from his instructor, the idea of wearing officer's insignia was an attractive possibility – as was the thought of being stationed near Washington, DC, which featured ten times the social and entertainment possibilities of the backwaters of South Carolina.14

Officer candidates at Quantico were rated as Privates First Class; in addition to the single chevron, they were also allowed to wear a brass collar emblem with the letters “O.C.”15 Those who came straight from college received a welcome and training similar to that which their future comrades withstood in boot camp:

We’ve been on the go every minute – have had everything, but no physical and no shots as yet. Uniforms, haircuts – don’t even recognize myself! And a large issue of clothes, two rifles, Springfield and Garand, bayonette [sic], hats, etc. And I’ve never had my stuff so neatly put away before in my life – every under drawer folded just so. And these Marine Sergeants are every damn thing they’re cracked up to be. I haven’t incurred their wrath yet, but several around me have, and it sure puts the fear of God into me. His first words were “Well, you dumb sons of bitches, I’m your Jesus Christ now!”16

Gerald Russell noted that the instructors in his platoon had been brought from Parris Island, and the prevailing attitude was “These men are going to be pushing us around one of these days; let's get 'em now.”17 Orville Freeman, a magna cum laude graduate from Minnesota, was addressed as “You stupid educated son of a bitch,” or “You eight-ball asshole.”18 Philip Wood took issue with his accommodations: “Our quarters here are just like gym lockers with double deckers set in between – fourth floor of an enormous building. I’m in an upper, damn it – damn it because the fellow under me has some nervous disorder and twitched all night. This is only [a] light frame, and it felt like a rolling sea up here.”19 By contrast, men who had been through Parris Island felt their lots had improved. William Manchester felt he was being quartered “rather grandly in permanent red-brick barracks,” and that “the chow was excellent.”20

The training program was originally conceived as lasting nine months – three as a private first class, three as a second lieutenant in the classroom, and the final three of active duty in command of troops.21 As the war progressed, the training schedule was abbreviated. The first-ever class, with Gerald Russell, took the full nine months –physical training and drill was augmented by trips to the nearby Manassas battlefields, where troops would study tactical problems based on Civil War-era doctrine.22 Irving Schechter, who came to Quantico in 1941, was there for “six or seven months... I can't recall any difficulty here for myself or most of the other candidates.”23 Eventually, the program would be shortened to the extent that the term “ninety-day wonders” was not far from the mark; men who had been college students were leading platoons after only three months of training.

However, the Marine Corps did its utmost to ensure that their new officers were able and competent. Philip Wood provides an example of the life of a typical collegiate-turned-Marine:

I have never worked so hard and long as I have this last week. Really, you have no conception – I didn’t – of how much one can do. Every minute of the day, and the day is 24 hours long.

They turned the screws on this last week, and it will be worse next – then gradually easier after that, so I’m told. And worst of all I haven’t been at full functioning power so far – when the last week’s shots wore off I got a slight case of dysentery and I had a continuous stomach ache for three days – then the shots again, and now everyone in my bay has a cold and a sore throat, and I think I’m getting that too.

I got into trouble last week – while marching, I brushed off a mosquito that was biting Hell out of my ear, and the Sarge ordered me to write out the position of a soldier at attention (125 words) 100 times and hand it in the next morning. Figure out this total – and I am a slow writer anyway – I sat up all night, of course, under a dim red light in the john – just made it, so didn’t have a chance to clean my rifle; so with two thirds of the rest of the platoon I had to write out the care and cleaning of the rifle – taking two and one half hours. Then, because nobody in our platoon could roll a heavy marching order for the first time in one half hour, we rolled them and marched with them all Saturday afternoon, and turn in two diagrams of it tomorrow. We’ve got the toughest Sarge in the company, and he boasts that he’s bounced more men out of this class than any other man in the outfit. One’s gone, two more are going next week....

I haven’t had any warning yet, but he’s got his eye on me on account of the attention thing. He liked it, though, that I sat up to do it. And I have been made squad leader for the weekend, though that doesn’t mean too much; everybody gets it in time. I’m not in danger yet, but another boner and I will be. Believe me, it puts you on edge....

One fifth of it is gone now, thank God. Officer’s Class is a breeze compared to this. And the climate – Lord – I have never been so hot, and it’s always this way. March for five minutes and your shirt is sodden with sweat. Five more minutes and your pants are wringing wet. I have been perspiring so heavily that believe it or not, it runs down my legs and into my shoes so much that it squishes.

I’ve got to go now – study – we had three exams last week and six next. Tomorrow we throw hand grenades for four hours. And daddy24 was right – that bayonette [sic] practice is the worst of all – God!25

Private Philip Wood, with M1903 Springfield, on the hated bayonet course.

Lee Stack, another ex-Yalie, was also impressed with the rigors of Quantico training. “It was during this time that some of us [in the recruit platoon] did flunk out,” he remembered. “After all, it wasn't cast in stone that we had to get commissions. It was no snap course, I'll tell you that.”26 William Manchester agreed. “Parris Island had been an excursion into an exotic world, tolerable even at its worst because you were all in it together, and you knew that together you would all make it. But an officer candidate at Quantico had few friends. The system set each man against the others. If you could artfully make another man look like a fool... you were diminishing the competition.”27 The sergeants in charge did nothing to help out the future candidates. They were an intimidating bunch, even to other old-timers. Joseph Crousen, a thirteen-year veteran of the Corps who made platoon sergeant in 1940, remembered walking into the non-commissioned officer's club at Quantico and seeing “all these buck-ass sergeants with hash marks up and down their sleeves. Plenty of 'em had lots of time on me.” Although Crousen technically outranked the men in the club, he beat a hasty retreat - “I had to git the hell outta there – thought they were gonna whip the hell outta me.”28 Under the strict tutelage of the old-timers, college kids and Marine privates were molded into leaders.

Occasionally, pure luck entered into the equation. John L'Estrange was called up by the Marines only two weeks after Pearl Harbor. He was assigned to a candidate class of nearly two hundred other individuals. One afternoon, following a dull lecture on the deployment and maneuvering of a heavy machine gun, L'Estrange found himself in front of a full colonel. He was terrified; none of the men “knew our ass from a hole in the ground about machine gun sectors of fire and all that,” and this ignorance had the colonel apoplectic with rage. He zeroed in on the hapless L'Estrange:

“Look, L'Estrange, when we move the Browning over here, it means such and such, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if we do this and that, it means such and such.”

“Absolutely correct.”

Hell, I didn't know any more than anyone else, but I knew damn well I'd better keep answering in the affirmative.

“Glad to know someone realizes what the hell is going on here,” the colonel finally said. And that was that.

Shortly after dinner, he summoned me to his quarters.

“L'Estrange,” he said, “you're one of the best Marines in the class. I'm putting you down for a regular commission, if you want it, that is.”

Saying “no” to the colonel would have been suicidal, so I agreed, thanked him profusely and told him how honored I was to be picked.29

The hard work was tempered, if only partially, by the ability to go on liberty to nearby Washington. Candidates who had come from boot camp had not been allowed liberty during their initial training; for those who came from college, it was a welcome return to something resembling civilian freedom. “The departure of the Saturday noon train from Quantico was always bedlam,” wrote William Manchester, “it was said that the only people to wind up on board were those who had come to see their friends off.”30 Once in Washington, the fun could begin. “Do you have any idea how many unescorted young damsels were floating around Washington at that time?” asked Lee Stack. “Why, a one-legged man with BO and bad breath could have made out there. And I mean there were some real good-looking dolls, not dogs. It was a bachelor's dream.”31 “In the capital there were about six girls for every man,” continued Manchester. “Saturday night a dollar admitted you to the weekly singles dance on the lowest floor of the Washington Hotel. Girls ringed the walls; a bold Marine O.C. could cruise the ballroom slowly, picking the cutest girl and, if he was really insensitive, firing questions about which had cars and apartments.”32

After a time, the populace got used to the overwhelming number of uniformed men. “People in general weren’t very impressed with a Second Lieutenant in the Marine Corps,” wrote Philip Wood. “They see plenty of them around here, but we had a good time anyway.”33 Other officers took advantage of Washington's status as a travel hub to visit friends, family, or fiancées in towns along the eastern seaboard. No matter how they spent their time, everyone had to be back on base by the end of liberty, or face the instructor's ire.

Some men did not cotton to Quantico's training methods. William Manchester, though certainly not the only Marine who felt he was not destined to be an officer, wrote probably best account of candidate dissatisfaction in his memoir “Goodbye, Darkness.” He learned of a stigma against enlisted men; that a candidate would only fall to that fate if he failed as a Marine and as a man. “But I liked enlisted men,” wrote the Parris Island trained Manchester, “and I wasn't at all sure I liked these officers-to-be. I recognized their type. They were upper-middle-class snobs, nakedly ambitions conservative conformists, eager to claw their way to the top. In another ten years their uniforms would be corporate gray-flannel suits. Now they yearned to wear officers' dress greens.... The thought that they might fail in their pursuit of gold bars turned them into quivering jelly.”34 Despite his misgivings, Manchester was an exceptional candidate; within two weeks he had been appointed the commander of his recruit company and had accumulated an impressive score of good chits – the Quantico version of merits, as written up by instructors. However, Manchester was soon confronted with what he called “the school's shabbiest custom, known as 'fuck-your-buddy' night.” Candidates were issued a questionnaire that required them to rate their fellows. Manchester found this contemptible:

At first glance this sounds sensible, but a second thought exposes infamy. The men were rating themselves. They were to be judged as judgers of others. Thus those who had been publicly scorned, derided, and baited by our instructors were doomed.... Men suffered the fate of vultures; when one falls sick, the others eat him. I remembered Thoreau: “Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines... his fate.” My self-esteem could not survive this process.... So I turned in a blank form.

Manchester was called on the carpet for disobedience of orders and his good standing with the instructors evaporated. He found some comfort in the knowledge that another in his group had done the same; all the same, Manchester knew he was being watched. He reached his last straw when a corporal told Manchester his rifle was dirty and denied weekend liberty for the entire class. Manchester refused to re-clean his weapon, claiming truthfully that a more senior instructor had pronounced it clean. He was hauled before a summary court-martial and asked for an explanation; after stating his case and remarking that he had “joined the Marines to fight, not to kiss asses and wade through the very sort of chickenshit we were supposed to be warring against,” Manchester was dismissed from Quantico; he was rated a sergeant for his ability and posted to the brand-new facility of Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. He left as “an immature knight in tin armor... but I still had my pride.” William Manchester would later serve with distinction on Okinawa.35

After completing the basics of Marine drill, decorum, and discipline, the candidates who had not washed out for lack of ability or personal reasons received their reward. The ceremony accompanying the commissioning of the new officers was appropriately impressive, with addresses from generals and solemn invocations from chaplains. Philip Wood, a member of Company K, Ninth Candidates' Class, saved a program from the day of his commissioning, September 26, 1942. Captain Joseph Reynaud, his officer command staff, and his enlisted instructors formed their company into ranks, and marched them into the Post Theater of Quantico's recreation building. There, after speeches from Brigadier General Samuel Harrington (Commandant of Marine Corps Schools) and Major General Seth Williams (The Quartermaster), the candidates were led in the Oath of Office:

I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

The candidates were presented with their commissions, and allowed to don the gold bars of second lieutenants. For Wood and the other new officers, it was an occasion to celebrate:

Meet Lieutenant Wood of the U. S. Marine Corps! Gosh it sounds good – and everything is wonderful so far. All the quarters and so forth, the food – everything more comfortable, roomier, and more luxurious. And you have no idea how much better it makes one feel, being treated like a gentleman instead of a dog – being served, saluted, and respected. The uniforms are swell looking and feel wonderful.36

The uniforms, so long coveted by the new officers, also “cost like Hell.” Many Marines were surprised to learn that they would be issued dress uniforms in forest green or khaki, instead of the famous “dress blues,” which appeared on recruiting posters and on men who had enlisted before the war. While enlisted men were issued a full allotment of clothing (known as “seabag issue”) when they first arrived for training, officers were instead given a small initial allowance and guidelines for what to purchase. After that was expended, any costs for tailoring, replacement articles, or accessories were the financial responsibility of the individual.37 Philip Wood griped that “you never saw so many charges and supercharges, extra bits of equipment that you have to get, and aside from my one luxury of a Sam Browne belt, I’ve gotten the smallest amount. I don’t know yet, but I think I’m going to spend about 350 dollars before I’m through.”38

After an all-too-brief liberty, the new lieutenants were sent back to work. The next phase of their training required up to ten hours a day sitting behind desks in crowded classrooms. In the case of Philip Wood, the classes lasted from September 26 to December 2, and included instruction in demolitions, combat intelligence, interior guard duty, signal communications, estimates and decisions, field supply and evacuation, tanks, camouflage, combat orders, chemical warfare, landing operations, map and aerial photograph reading, organization and tactics of aviation, organization and tactics of the infantry battalion, artillery, naval law, administration, drill and command, terrain appreciation, and rules of land warfare. The dizzying variety of subjects, with which all officers were required to be familiar, gives some indication of the thoroughness of training. It was expected that a Marine officer would be prepared for any crisis, whether on the field or off.

Finally, the day of graduation arrived. After months of training, the new officers were about to face their first real tests as leaders of men. Gerald Russell, part of the first class of Quantico graduates, was posted to the Eleventh Marines, an artillery unit stationed at Parris Island.39 Lee Stack, who had enjoyed the social scene in Washington, reported to Camp Elliott, California, where he was surprised to find himself with a tank battalion.40 Irving Schechter, who completed his training in September, 1941, found himself at the fledgling Camp Lejeune, North Carolina.41 Philip Wood, like Schechter, was assigned to Camp Lejeune, and would eventually serve as a platoon leader in Schechter's Company A, 24th Marines. He would see many familiar faces from his Quantico days; classmates Endecott Osgood and Roy Wood Jr. also served with Company A, while Frank Shattuck, Frederic Stott, and Joseph Swoyer were appointed to other companies in the same battalion. Together, they would soon face the dangers of combat.

Of the one hundred and twelve men of Company K, Ninth Officer Candidate Class, twenty-one were wounded in action, and eight were killed. One instructor, William Ripple, later received a commission and died on Peleliu. Many were decorated for bravery, some had long and distinguished careers, and all served their country with pride.

V-12 Training Program

Though probably the best known route to a commission was through Quantico's OCS, prospective leaders could also apply for the V-12 Navy College Training Program. After the draft age was lowered from twenty-one to eighteen, the department of the Navy took steps to ensure that its officers could still receive the benefits of a higher education. Students already enrolled in Navy or Marine Corps college reserve programs received the top priority; followed by enlisted men recommended by officers and high school seniors who passed an aptitude test. Eugene Sledge, a freshman at Marion Military Institute in Alabama, signed up for the V-12 program as a means of compromising his desire to go into combat with his parents' fears of being “cannon fodder” as an enlisted man.42 He reported to Georgia Tech on July 1, 1943, and became part of a 180-man group. The training program was designed to combine seventeen curriculum hours with ten hours of physical training per week; how long an inductee remained in the program depended on his previous college experience and course of study.

Sledge estimated that he would have to spend two years at Georgia Tech to meet the guidelines required to move on to Quantico. “Most of the college courses were dull and uninspiring,” he wrote. “Many of the professors openly resented our presence. It was all but impossible to concentrate on academics. Most of us felt we had joined the Marines to fight, but here we were college boys again.”43 Sledge, along with half his detachment, purposely flunked out and joined the Marines as an enlisted man.

By the time the program was discontinued in 1946, over 125,000 men enrolled in the V-12 program – 15,000 of them on the Marine track. Of the total, 60,000 received their commissions. Many well-known public figures were graduates, including statesmen Warren Christopher and Robert F. Kennedy, television personality Johnny Carson, and actor Jack Lemmon.44 Many who passed through the program returned to finish their degrees after the war, allowing access to a level of education they would not otherwise have been able to obtain.

V-12 was also remarkable for accepting black citizens into its curriculum in a time when the armed forces were heavily segregated. Future Vice-Admiral Samuel L. Gravely, Jr, who held the dual distinctions of being the first African American to command a Navy vessel and the first to rise to the rank of admiral, would say that the program “was a turning point in my life. It gave me an opportunity to compete on an equal footing with people I had never competed with before. It gave me an opportunity to prove to myself that I could succeed if I tried."45 Frederick C. Branch, a two-year veteran of combat in the South Pacific, was recommended to V-12 by a white officer. He was the only African American in his graduating class, and became the first black commissioned officer in the Marine Corps in 1945.

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NOTES AND CITATITIONS

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