This summer we have seen our usual hot sunshiny days of over 100F with the sun’s angles being sharp and anxious to inflict skin cancers. Just another proven fact we chose to ignore each summer. But even sunscreens can only provide limited help and I am one who can testify that skin cancers are not only a rude interruption to your life, they can be painful and deadly. That’s one reason my grandpa, J. T. Bullard, farming down on Goat Ridge, worked in a long sleeve shirt and wore a broadbrim hat. He was a farmer and knew how to cover up. I think they might call that wisdom.

A very long time ago (1954) I found myself in San Diego, California. I was in a 90-day Navy boot camp and it was summertime. Let me just say, the Navy had little concern about skin cancers that summer. Our caps had no brims and in the hottest part of the days we were out there marching on the black asphalt. Talk about hot! And we in my Company 152 were soon fried good and brown.

Our drill instructor was an ex-WWII Marine. Just my luck. Then there was this. These guys were a little older and knew the ropes. Our drill instructor (company commander) had reenlisted but chose the Navy as they offered him a jump in rank. He was a Chief. I’ll not name our Marine trainer, but I will submit a guess that he was a little “touched” from his battle days. Shell shocked a bit. He let us know in several ways that he despised “boots.” Especially his Navy boots.

Our Marine was determined to make his mark, I think by turning us all into Marines. From his multiple daily speeches, he made sure we understood his ambition. But it was mainly for naught. My fellow Navy recruit from Stonewall, by the name of Jack Eden, soon developed a pathological hate for our leader and swore that if he lived through the “hell” our leader was subjecting us through he would quiet simply murder the man. To make things worse our Company 152 was just ordinary. We never won any of the weekly marching contests each Saturday morning. This caused our leader untold misery which he passed on to us.

One Saturday he gave us an ultimatum. Company 152 would win the pennant or else. I wasn’t at all sure of what else he could do to bring us more misery but come Saturday, we did not win it. The following Monday he was brooding and quiet and I hoped he had calmed down—but he hadn’t. Right after noon chow he marched us out on the blacktop and made his speech. He reminded me of Hitler in Berlin during his speech. I think that day may have been the hottest day ever in San Diego. It was the middle of August. He faced us to the west and put us at attention. And just made us stand there. Like forever.

After a few minutes the company “fat boy” keeled over. Our leader went to a call box and summoned help from medical. He went on a tirade about what a bunch of weaklings we all were. After another few minutes some others crumbled in the heat and lay prone on the hot asphalt. Our Chief doubted if they were really passing out but finally called it in. A pair of ambulance vans soon carted them off, I suppose to the hospital. I don’t know how much longer this torture went on but I promised myself that I would not pass out and I didn’t. Finally, we were all rescued by a phalanx of officers who relieved our guy from duty. We never saw our Marine leader again.

We were allowed to “walk” over to the medical center where we were treated for our burns. We were then informed we were all severely sunburned and would be confined in the hospital or our barracks. Most of us (including me) were sent to the barracks. Our replacement drill instructor kept us in the rest of the week. As I recall, there were about 30 out of a company of 82 that I never saw again. But I know happened to me. Most of my left ear is now cut off and I have another operation pending this month to treat a deep cancer on my cheek. I guess Company 152 should have learned to march better. Or something. So, be sure and take care of yourselves during these hot sunny days. Those cancers can and do come back in your old age.

Be sure and go to church Sunday.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@gmail.com