It was 247 years ago, on November 10, 1775, that the Continental Congress decreed
That two battalions of Marines be raised consisting of one Colonel, two lieutenant-colonels, two majors and other officers, as usual in other regiments; that they consist of an equal number of privates as with other battalions, that particular care be taken that no persons be appointed to offices, or enlisted into said battalions, but such as are good seamen, or so acquainted with maritime affairs as to be able to serve for and during the present war with Great Britain and the Colonies; unless dismissed by Congress; that they be distinguished by the names of the First and Second Battalions of Marines.
Happy birthday, Diablos. Through nearly two and a half centuries, the beautiful American bastards of the Corps have served their country in every clime and place.
Marines fought and won at Belleau Wood and Guadalcanal, at Tarawa and Inchon, at Hue City, Khe Sanh, and Fallujah.
Marines are warrior-scholar crayon eaters. Marines are disciplined hell raisers. They’re jarheads and leathernecks and devil dogs, every last one a rifleman.
Marines are loyal and brave and true — and straight-up libo liabilities.
They’re America’s best young men and women.
If you have a chance, watch the Commandant’s annual Birthday Message. But to get a sense of the rhythm and flow of the Marines, I present to you this birthday cadence from a few years ago.
Happy birthday, Marines. Make sure you and your battle buddy stay out of the brig after tonight’s Ball.
Semper Fidelis.