How 3 Parris Island Leathernecks continue the tradition of protecting our country

It’s called “Grass Week.”

Week No. 6 of training at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, near the start of the second phase of boot camp, when trainees work with the depot’s “PMIs” — primary marksmanship instructors — to learn how to shoot like a Marine.

For some recruits, it’s their first time handling a weapon. Others who grew up hunting or shooting will have to break bad habits. All of them know “Firing Week” looms, when they’ll have to qualify on the rifle range.

Recruits will struggle.

Sgt. Luis G. “Brian” Alvarado, a marksmanship instructor, will come in on his off-duty days to help them.

And he will tell them a story about Afghanistan that will drive home an important point.

Marines like Alvarado work behind the scenes to support the depot’s platoon-level drill instructors, who are tasked with “making Marines” and teaching them the Corps’ core values: honor, courage and commitment.

Recruits learn those values in the classroom, through discussions and by watching people like Alvarado do their jobs. And they learn about the Corps’ history, which predates the first Independence Day, and which saw the first Marine landing during the American Revolutionary War.

That history, the Corps’ pedigree, is a motivator, Alvarado says. Here’s how he and two of his comrades help make Marines — even though they don’t get much time with recruits.

The most intense (desk) job ever

Staff Sgt. Kimberly Weiss, 31, of Russellville, Mo., wears her blond-and-dark-streaked hair in a tight bun.

Flowers sit on the corner of her desk. An air conditioner chills her office. A nearby bookcase holds dozens of thick binders with words like “Legal” and “Medical” on their spines.

She does not train recruits.

She and her staff, however, do receive and sort their mail — letters, packages and weird stuff sent to 700 recruits.

The administrative chief for Parris Island’s 4th Recruit Training Battalion has seen it all: envelopes smelling of cologne and perfume, pears sent to a recruit, a “singing” cell phone that gave her and her staff a chuckle.

The cell phone — contraband — was confiscated by a drill instructor, whom Weiss and her staff support.

Supporting the instructors is the most important part of her role: “Our job is to take care of the DIs,” she said Wednesday.

That means making sure they receive the extra $225 each pay period that comes with the DI job. And making sure their paperwork is in order if they’re injured on the job and have to go on “light duty.” And having a couch in the office where a tired DI can take a load off — cool off — for a few minutes before returning to her platoon.

She makes sure new personnel have places to live. She handles promotion paperwork. Retiring? She processes separation documents, too.

Weiss, who joined the Corps after high school in 2004, isn’t retiring anytime soon.

“I’m over the hill,” she said, white teeth flashing under squinting blue eyes. “I’ll definitely push past 20 (years of service). ... Retire, relax and live the good life.”

The mother of three said she’ll be a career Marine.

And she’ll definitely appreciate the commitment of the person who processes her retirement paperwork.

Lessons with snipers and Cobras

Staff Sgt. Michael Manzke, 28, of Blaine, Minn., is a towering man with a gentle smile and a crushing handshake.

He wears the famous flat-brimmed campaign cover of a drill instructor — he is a drill instructor.

But he doesn’t directly train recruits.

He used too, though.

And he misses it.

Manzke, the 3rd Recruit Training Battalion’s chief drill instructor (CDI), has worked as an instructor for two years, twice serving as a senior drill instructor (SDI) — the role that’s often most associated with coaching and mentoring recruits.

When he taught recruits the core values, his favorite lesson dealt with Marine Corps sniper Carlos Hathcock, who served during Vietnam and who would — for days at a time, without eating or sleeping, often surrounded by the enemy — stalk his targets, crawling inch by inch into position to execute his missions.

But he also talked about a personal experience, one that many helicopter mechanics — that’s Manzke’s military occupation — have had. Sometimes when you’re working on a Huey or Cobra, you drop a tool or break off a piece of material inside the flight controls. You struggle to find it, and oftentimes you do. But sometimes you don’t. And you have to tell someone — knowing you’ll get chewed out for it.

It’s the honorable thing to do, Manzke said, “because it’s someone’s life if that tool gets caught in the flight controls.”

Manzke, who’s served eight years in the Corps, has both personally worked on and supervised others working on helicopters. When he was promoted to the supervisory role, he missed the mechanic work. But he knew that new role required him to mentor and motivate Marines, and make sure they were doing their jobs right.

Which is what he does now with 3rd Battalion’s drill instructors.

“I educate my DIs and my SDIs how to conduct business,” he said Wednesday. “I know what works and what doesn’t.”

Sometimes he has to fight the urge to step in and take over from a platoon-level DI.

He tries not to.

Because giving them the confidence to do their job is the most important part of his.

The moral of an Afghanistan canal

Alvarado, 26, of Grand Prairie, Texas, once fell into a canal in Afghanistan on a nighttime mission.

His rifle saved him.

Because he was carrying it properly.

That was in 2010, when he was operating in the Helmand Province with the 1st Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion. He and his fellow Marines were walking “ranger file,” one behind the other, following the footsteps of the man in front. They got to a narrow, but deep, canal, and had to jump it. When Alvarado — the last man in line — began his jump, the ground gave way under his feet.

His rifle wedged between the canal walls, stopping his fall. If it’d been slung lazily around his neck, it would have choked him.

Sometimes when he’s on the range, he’ll see a recruit who’s not practicing the proper technique, called “cross-body, muzzle down,” where the rifle’s sling is secured tightly, bandolier-style, under a right-handed Marine’s left armpit.

He’ll correct them and tell them the story of the canal.

Alvarado, a father of two and the 10th Marine in his family, says the recruits he teaches how to shoot are a reflection of him. So he puts in extra time. During Grass Week. After Grass Week. Before Grass Week — he contacts drill instructors ahead of time and visit platoons to begin building a relationship.

Not all PMIs do that.

“On my way out of the Corps, this is kind of the final thing I’m doing to put my stamp on it,” he said, explaining he would retire after his stint at Parris Island.

He guesses he’s taught 1,000 recruits how to shoot.

The highest compliments he gets are from parents, he says, when recruits — who might be right-handed but left-eye dominant, and have to learn to shoot lefty — credit him with helping them to qualify as an “expert” on the range.

Alvarado said he might climb power lines when he exits the Corps.

Or he might go back to school to become a history teacher.

Regardless, he said, with a smile, he’s looking forward to teaching his sons how to shoot.