I was the only female in an all-male bulk fuel unit in Hawaii. When I arrived, I almost kissed the ground because I was so excited. I couldn’t believe that I was going to be living in “paradise” for the next three years! My five year old son was equally as excited. As a small child, moving to different places was like an adventure, but moving to Hawaii was like being in a dream. Base housing wasn’t available when we arrived, so we got to stay in a nice hotel for two months with all expenses paid. It was like being on a luxury vacation. Ironically, Hawaii was my least favorite duty station of all. Why, you ask?
My original assignment when I arrived was to a bulk fuel platoon at Ford Island, located a depressing ferry ride away from Pearl Harbor in this dingy hangar with refueling equipment. I say depressing because we passed the Arizona Memorial every single day! There were 30 or so Marines besides the Gunnery Sergeant and the officer in charge, or the OIC. I have to admit that it was a bit intimidating being the only woman Marine. I won’t bore you with all of the details, but let’s just say the shenanigans started almost immediately. After about six months, all of the sergeants who were there before me received orders and left. I instantly became the platoon sergeant for 24 remaining Marines. Not only was I the only woman, but I was one of only two Black Marines in the entire unit at this location. This was my first encounter with racism and sexual harassment, and it was undeniable.
About a year after I arrived , I was transferred to the other bulk fuel platoon located at the Marine Corps Air Station in Kaneohe Bay. Once again, I was the only female. As a matter of fact, I was the only female Marine in Hawaii with this occupational specialty. I thought things would be a little different, until I discovered that the OIC at this location was best friends with the OIC at Ford Island. Talk about giving someone the blues! I guess they figured they would finish me off over here. They started with some of the same games, then things escalated. Behind the building where we were located, there were 20 or more generators. These monstrosities looked like they were from WWII. I don’t have one mechanical bone in my body. My occupation was changed after my first four years of active duty. I had been an admin clerk prior to this. Well, I was assigned one of the generators and told that I had two months to get it running. They were banking on me not being able to complete this assignment. I looked at this thing and thought, “What in the hell am I going to do?!!” It had all of these cables and wires attached to it. It was about as foreign to me as walking is to a newborn. There must have been years of paint covering the entire machine, including the cables. I took a screwdriver and started chipping away at the paint. Once I chipped off a good piece on one of the cables, I saw how new it looked so that’s where I focused. Long story short, I got all of the paint off of the cables, wires and crevices around the knobs. I unplugged the cables and cleaned them off. I made notes for where I pulled everything so that I knew where to plug them back. Once everything was clean, I plugged back into the generator and I prayed. That baby started right up! Before I knew it, I was celebrating and didn’t care who was watching. I could tell by the beet red countenance of the OIC’s face that he was perturbed. That was absolutely the most ambitious DIY project I ever had in my life. I had been set up for failure, but that plan backfired!
