The Ghost at Montford Point

December 1995, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina . Upon completion of Marine Combat Training (MCT) at Camp Geiger we were bussed to our next destination. Being young and ignorant I went into the Marine Corps under an "open contract" meaning I would be placed where I they felt I should be. This turned out to be as an Automotive Organizational Mechanic at Marine Corps Combat Service Support School (MCCSSS), Camp Johnson. As the buses pulled into the cul-de-sac of the old squad bays and admin buildings, I saw the look on the face of McGill, who was our platoon guide in recruit training. He was shaking his head "no", answering the question of whether or not we would be able to take some form of leave prior to the start of MOS school. "Damn." I thought to myself. We had just spent a few weeks in the bitter cold woods of North Carolina and were really looking forward to some time with our families before our next step in training. It looks as though it would not be so, or so we thought. I guess enough bitching and complaining about having already purchased tickets home, and the fact that none of the schools were picking up any new classes due to the time of the year, the word was given that anyone who had purchased a ticket home would be allowed to go home, but had to be back on the 1st (or was it 3rd?) of January. I was OUTTA THERE!
Of course I made it back in time, changing into my Alphas in a bus station bathroom with 4 or 5 other Marines. but this story is not about my time in MOS school, it's moreso about the place itself, Camp Johnson, or as it was once called, Montford Point.
From 1942 until 1949 Montford Point served as a recruit training depot for the Marine Corps first black Marines. One the other side of the camp, a short walk (in Marine terms) from the baracks we would eventually be moved to were the old squad bays used back in those days. Most had been transformed into classrooms. The one my class used housed rows of old 5-ton (M923) cargo trucks. We were aware of how old the buildings were, and towards the end of our school I remarked at how I was disappointed in not seeing any ghosts during our time there.


January 1st, 2002. I find myself en-route back to North Carolina, back to Camp Lejeune, back to Camp Johnson. Six years had passed since I had last been there. This time it was for a Motor Transport Maintenance Chief Course. It was cold, very cold. Due to lack of preparation was caught completely off guard by the cold weather and had no cold weather gear to wear. My first few days there were pure freezing hell. The barracks room that I called home back in 1996 was now the duty hut, and looking through that window took me back to a time when our eyes were wide and everything Marine Corps was good.

I ended up being housed in an old squad bay towards the back of Camp Johnson. Not too far away were the squad bays where I stayed for a month awaiting pick-up to Automotive Organizational Maintenance Course 10-96 (AOMC-10). I called the place "Grandma's House". It was set back away from the rest of the buildings reminding me of the grandmother's home from "Little Red Riding Hood", a treeline as the background. Upon entering "Grandma's House" you were in the lounge. There was a television with cable, some chairs, a table, microwave, iron and ironing board. There may or may not have been a coffee pot. There were two squad bays and I believe another area past the head. I only remember going back there once, and oddly enough it had something to do with throwing away an old pair of shoes.
The Maintenance Chief's Course was comprised of corporals, sergeants, and staff sergeants. The staff sergeants were housed separately from corporals and sergeants which pretty much left us to our own devices in the squad bay. Since there were so few of us everyone managed to secure their own top and bottom racks without having to share with anyone else.
Since Camp Johnson was an MOS school the place was crawling with Privates and Privates First Class (PFC's). A couple of us sergeants walked around there like we OWNED the place (You should have seen their faces the day we graduated and were walking around in our service bravos uniform, most of the junior Marines had never seen that many sergeants together since their drill instructors in boot camp, thus the pale faces.).
Anyway, the squad bay at night was a bit creepy. Mostly empty except for the few of us there, spread out and sleeping, someone getting up at 0' dark thirty to go make a head call, and every so often a few Marines stumbling back towards their racks after a night out in Jacksonville at the bar, strip club, or some other nocturnal adventure. Silent, except for the hum of the old heating system.
One of those day I came back to my rack and sat down exhausted, flopped down and was K.O.'d. I don't remember the day's activity that lead to such a drain on my energy, but I was done. When I awoke the squad bay was dark and silent. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but it had been long enough for the day to become night. I sat up on my bunk and wearily turned my head to the left, towards the foot of the rack. I will never forget what I saw that night. There was the face of a man, right there, floating in mid-air. I rubbed my eyes with both hands to ensure that I was really awake, looked again, and it was gone. Even though it was brief it was enough for me to make out that it was a man's face illuminated by a red light, similar to the light from the red lens of the moonbeam (flashlight) issued in boot camp. Even though it was all red, I could tell that the guy was a black, his face roundish and muscular, what looked like a bald head, and one of the meanest snarls I had ever seen. The eyes were kind of bulging, but it was that snarl one his floating face that stayed with me.
I got up and went to the head, in somewhat disbelief of what I had just seen. Not afraid, just in disbelief. Later I would tell some of the other guys in the class about what I had seen and was pretty much laughed at. Although not many people believe that I saw what I said I did, I know that I was not dreaming.
Over the years I have told and retold the brief story about that night and knowing the history of Montford Point I just assumed that what I had seen had been one of the black Marines that trained there during it's time as a training depot. It was not until I had decided to finally do this blog entry (01/21/12) that I looked online for pictures of Montford Point Marines to see if I could find anything or anyone that could add validity to the face I saw those years ago. This is what I found...

Sergeant Major Gilbert H. "Hashmark" Johnson

This is the red illuminated face I saw snarling at me that night. I've seen and heard my fair share of ghost stories, and those persons who claim they saw a ghost can usually identify who they saw when presented with pictures. It all started to come together; old squad bay, the image, me being a black Marine. If no one believes me on this it is fine with me. It was my personal experience and it allowed me the opportunity to do some research into the history of Montford Point and those Marines, that are not only a part of my Marine Corps history, but my history as a black American. Now that I look back on it I see it as a great experience, and I am honored to have been graced my the Sergeant Major's presence. Ooh Rah.