Men of the Skull Chapter 51: Bill

"Bill" was a character.  I'd met many Marines before and since meeting him, but he remains the most Gung Ho person I've ever met.

Bill also taught me a lesson, even if it didn't sink in right away.

You see, I didn't realize why Bill drank and fought so much.  I just thought "that's just Bill."  Years later, I realized that he was dealing with a deep Pain.  He was a combat Marine- he'd been deployed to Beirut and other places before I met him.  He was in Beirut in 1983, when the car bomb detonated.  Dave told me that- Bill never mentioned it.

I came to this realization when after a particularly rough night of drinking, etc, I looked in the mirror- into my dead eyes.  And I realized what was happening.  I wasn't drinking and fighting for fun or to prove my manhood.  I was drinking hoping to dull the Pain.

Just like Bill.

And of course it didn't work.

In any case, here's Bill.  I have NO idea what happened to him after I graduated PSU.  I would guess he deployed to Panama.  And Desert Storm.

I hope he was able to quell his Pain.

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Chapter 51: Bill

Wednesday, March 11, 1987 Test-tube births are condemned

            Bill was a Marine.  He was five foot six, and every inch was Gung Ho, Semper Fi and Squared Away.  Bill was a little fireplug.  He was all muscle and had a very broad, round-ish head with a high, backward sloping forehead.  His hair was dark and always in a high and tight crew cut.  His eyes were small, brown, and wide apart.  He had a small mouth which was locked in a creepy smile.  It became wider when he was angry.  Sometimes he had a wispy attempt a moustache, sometimes not.

Every Marine was proud of carrying that title, and rightfully so- anyone who had the balls to finish that training program should be proud.  However, there was something that Bill different.  It wasn’t just that he lived and breathed the Corps.  No, there was more.

            Bill was crazy.

            You could see it in his eyes. 

Other Marines (who aren’t afraid of anybody) were afraid of Bill.  I was glad he was on our side.

I met Bill at one of Dave’s dorm gatherings.  He taught me how to play Ace Face and drank me under the table with extreme prejudice. 

Ok, another thing that set Bill apart was that he was married.  Married in college?  What the fuck?  That’s like taking sand to a beach!  Well, he was married to a girl named Paula.  She was really fat.  I mean, she seemed to get fatter every time I saw her.  I referred to her a Paula the Hutt when Bill wasn’t around.  And she was as ugly inside as out.  We hated each other.

March 11, 1987 Collegian

So this one night I’m at the apartment working on homework when I heard a knock on the door.  It was Bill and Dave- both bloody, roughed up, and drunk.  As always Bill was smiling.

“What the hell happened?”  I asked.

“Got any beer?”  Bill asked back.

“Some Strohs”

“Bill decided to take on all of Sig Tau,” Dave said.  Sig Tau was right across the street from Beaver Hill.  It was the ROTC fraternity.  It was also the house that most closely resembles Delta House from “Animal House.”

I gave Bill a beer. 

“One of those squids insulted the Corps and one of my brothers,” Bill said.  “”I couldn’t let that go.”

“Bill was thrown down the stairs,” Dave said.

“Asshole frat boys won’t fight one on one like men,” Bill said.  I didn’t reply to the insult.  I figured it’d be best to let him vent. 

“Meanwhile, some guy says ‘hey ain’t you with him?’ and punches me,” Dave said.

“It was fuckin’ awesome!”  Bill said, smiling even wider, kinda like the Joker.

“Are you guys ok?”  I asked.

“My arm hurts but its nuttin,” Bill said, reaching into the fridge for another few beers.

“Are those beers yours?”  Dave asked.

“No, they’re Mark’s.

Bill handed us each a beer and opened his own. 

“What?  Whose are these?”  Bill asked.

“My roommate’s,” I said.

Bill smiled wider, if that was possible.  “Fuck him.  I buy him more.  I just won’t be buying it tonight.”

I was a little worried that I’d be stuck replacing the beer, oh well- what could I do?  Fight a drunken Bill?

“So how did they throw you down the stairs?”  I asked Bill.

“Well the fuckin’ squid was upstairs in the head and he started talking bad about the Corps.  I told him to stop and he wouldn’t!”

“Squid?”  I said.

“Navy,” Dave said.

            “So I had to correct his worldview,” Bill said.  “But those faggoty ass frat boys never fight ya man to man.  Noooo, they always gang up.  So there was like four of them and they threw me down the fuckin’ stairs.”  (This number of Sig Tau’s would increase as time went on.  By the time I graduated, Bill had been tossed by no less than ten guys.)

            I looked at Dave.

            “All I saw was him landing on his ass at the bottom of the stairs,” he said, shrugging.  “I picked him up and we beat a hasty retreat here.”

            “Where there’s beer!  Here where there’s beer!” Bill said reaching into the fridge for Mark’s last beer.  He finished three while Dave and I barely started ours.  He wiped a trickle of blood off his forehead with his right sleeve.

            “Are you sure you’re ok?”  I asked Bill.  “You seem to be favoring your left arm. 

            “Yeah.  Ain’t nothing a fucking beer can’t fix.  Semper Fi!”

            Bill chugged his beer.

            After a hefty burp, Bill asked Dave “You ready to hit some bars?”

            Dave chugged his beer, much more slowly.  He handed me the empty.  “Thanks” he said.  And off they went, leaving me holding a half drunken beer, five empties, and homework to finish.

            True to his word, Bill showed up the next day, sprained arm in a sling, and a six pack of Strohs to replace the one drunk the night before.

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