Sir! Yes, sir! – Washington Examiner

In 1981, after a judge recommended Ritter consider the Marines, he enlisted at age 17. He rose through the ranks quickly, reaching sergeant by the end of his four-year enlistment. But he was considering getting out, discouraged by a lot of the senior enlisted leadership who’d fought in Vietnam and had trouble with alcohol and poor fitness.

“Go be a DI,” his first sergeant said. A $16,000 re-up bonus also helped convince Ritter to stay.

He began DI school at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego. Having enlisted and been promoted early, Ritter was among the youngest in the school. He had been one of the top Marines in his unit but was now in a school packed with 66 top Marines. Twelve weeks later, only 33 graduated.

“I took more ass chewings in that school than in the rest of my time in the Marine Corps,” Ritter told me. 

They were watched at all times. They had to memorize the drill manual and shout it, from memory, to instructors across a field. They followed a punishing schedule. Wrong crease in the uniform? Pushups! Nose hair showing? Pushups! Dust on shoes after crossing a parade ground? Pushups!

They had it three times worse than the recruits because they had to be ready to do all that recruits would do, but better, while ensuring recruit safety and learning.

“When you graduate DI school, you think you’re best of the best,” Ritter said. But rookie DIs entering their training company were called “Bob New Hat” and discovered they had much to learn, plus they were given all the worst duties, such as supervising recruits during weapons cleaning when other DIs could have a break.

Ritter emphasized the difficulty and professional nature of DI life. They had to be in uniform and on the job before the lights went on for recruits at 0530. After lights out at 2130, they waited in the dark for 15 minutes, making sure recruits were in their racks. Then, the DIs had meetings and filled out log books until they could crash at 2300. His feet would bleed by the end of the day.

But Ritter loved it. He described teaching marching: “When you’re hitting it right, and every heel hits at the same time, it sounds perfect. … There’s no better feeling.”

“We had a recruit, named Jones, from the Arkansas woods,” Ritter told me. “He’d never worn shoes. We had to teach him how to shower and everything. … He talked really slowly. But he was the most physically fit person I’d ever seen.” 

Jones couldn’t answer questions fast enough, so he was often dropped for pushups. “We couldn’t wear this kid out.”

Jones was honored at graduation for top physical condition recruit. He had to cross a stage, stand before the captain, hold out his hand for a certificate, say, “Sir, thank you, sir,” and march off. In practice, he’d walk to the wrong spot or forget his line. The DIs feared an embarrassment, but on graduation day, Jones was perfect. “Had heart. Just dumb.”

I’d hoped for a funny, Full Metal Jacket-style recruit-tormenting story, but Dan Ritter offered a better truth. His pride and professionalism were crystal clear. “DIs are not bad guys. They just have a lot to do in a short period of time,” he told me. Yelling at recruits wasn’t sadistic fun but carefully calculated professional direct motivation. He’d remind junior DIs, “Never forget why you’re here. You’re not here for you. You’re here for the future of the Marine Corps. That’s a huge responsibility. Don’t f*** it up.”

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Trent Reedy, the author of several books, including Enduring Freedom, served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.

*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.