As a new 18-year-old private of riflemen with the 6th Marine Infantry Regiment at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina in the spring of 1966 I was snagged to be one of the four Marines to be honor guard and hoist the colors one day in front of regimental headquarters. "Field Music" (the bugler) was 50 yards off to blow "Colors" when the National Ensign went up the pole at at 0800 hours.

I was one of two riflemen to present arms with a rifle salute to the colors as two other Marines ran the colors up the pole. Our flag went halfway up when I noticed it was upside down. Field music let out a long note that sounded like a bad fart in a room that had great acoustics. He was a corporal and was laughing. The colors came back down and then went back up correctly.

Our regimental CO, a full bird colonel with almost 30 years service (I won't post his name), was a young 2nd lieutenant with 5th Marines on Guadalcanal in 1942. He wanted to see his "flag raisers". I was terrified as a young Marine just days out of being a "boot recruit".

We were told by the colonel that it was OK to screw up with good intentions, that a mistake on duty while trying to do well was OK in the Marine Corps, that showing up sober to do a job while under arms as a Marine was a good thing (the two flag pups had .45s on their hips). He explained to us that simple mistakes could get you killed in action but that he admired our youth and would serve next to any of us shoulder to shoulder as a rifleman in any hole in Vietnam.

That was the first time I began to realize that Marines superior to me in rank (everybody then) were human beings.

True story.