Inspection is dreaded by all

By Christian Lowe / Times staff writer

They call it the absolute worst part of Officer Candidates Course.

“I hate it more than anything else,” says Patrick Amalfi.

“It’s by far the worst thing we do here,” remarks Alex Wilschke.

“I’d rather go running than stand out there,” Victor Sosa says with a shake of his head.

Inspection. Dreaded by all, it’s an event seared into every candidate’s mind. Forget the 20 mile humps, the platoon runs and the rope climb. Ask any of these Marine officer hopefuls, and they’ll tell you how much they hate platoon inspections.

Unfortunately, it’s a major pillar of the training here. Instructors use inspections to evaluate a candidate’s ability to keep his uniform and equipment in order, demonstrate his knowledge of the Marine Corps and display his overall military bearing.

But more importantly, inspections are a window into a candidate’s leadership abilities.

The responsibility for presenting a squared-away and inspection-ready platoon is given to candidate leaders early on in the training cycle. If a squad of candidates is fouled up, the candidate platoon sergeants and the candidate platoon commanders get chewed out.

On a hot, sunny Saturday in mid-July, the candidates of 4th Platoon stand in four rigid squads as their platoon commander, Capt. Khari Wright, steps in front of each candidate. With a crisp “left face,” Wright turns and glares at Derek Sharp.

“Candidate Derek Sharp, Ohio University, education major, sir!” says Sharp, 22, of Painesville, Ohio.

Wright snatches Sharp’s M16 rifle from his hands.

“Did you take the bolt out of this rifle?” Wright asks in a low whisper as he looks over every nook and cranny of the smooth, black weapon.

“Yes, sir,” Sharp replies.

“You need to clean it better,” Wright snaps back.

The folks in charge of OCS view inspections as an opportunity to hone leadership and military bearing, but the candidates see them as torture. Standing at attention on the parade deck under a hot summer sun — sometimes for close to three hours — takes its toll.

This is especially frustrating because inspections often come before the candidates are cut loose for weekend liberty. Sweating through a painfully boring inspection, only to be ordered to stay on base to square away a uniform or clean a rifle gets these would-be officers pretty angry, pretty fast.

But even the most tortuous inspection isn’t without its lighter moments.

As Wright walked the line of 4th Platoon’s fourth squad, he turned to face Benjamin Swanson, a 24 year-old candidate from New Brighton, Minn.

As Swanson recited his college and major — Bethel College in St. Paul, Minn., computer science major — Wright glanced up from inspecting Swanson’s rifle and asked: “Did you play any sports there?”

“Yes, sir. Broomball, sir.”

Wright’s eyes widened as soft chuckles rolled through the platoon.

A close relative of ice hockey, broomball is played while wearing rubber-soled shoes, pads and a helmet; the players shuffle a soccer-sized ball down the rink with a stiff broom. Points are scored by slapping the ball across the opposing team’s goal line.

“Are there fights in broomball?” Wright asked, perplexed.

“Yes, sir.”

“I doubt it,” Wright replied as most of Swanson’s platoon mates broke out in muffled laughter.

Swanson wasn’t just trying to impress the captain, though. According to the University of Ohio’s intramural broomball league Web site, “broomball is a contact sport, and injuries are a possibility. The division of campus recreation and intramural sports assumes no responsibility for injuries; however, basic first aid will be available.”

The things you learn from inspection can be truly unexpected.