The Trial of Sergeant McKeon

In the desperate heat of the crowded South Carolina school auditorium, Staff Sergeant Matthew C. McKeon, U.S.M.C., seemed as cool and unmoving as a glacier. Under the glare of publicity unknown in a U.S. court-martial since Billy Mitchell's day, he sat silent among his seven whispering, paper-rustling defense lawyers. His bony hands were clasped, his gaunt face was impassive. To the right, in a jury box, were the seven members of the court-martial, six Marine officers and a Navy doctor. On the dais in front, the court's law officer, Navy Captain Irving Klein, surveyed the room through gold-rimmed spectacles, smiled fleetingly, nodded and said gently: "Proceed."

Thus at the U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Depot on Parris Island, S.C. last week began the court-martial of Matt McKeon (rhymes with hewn). In a larger sense, it was the trial of the Marine Corps and the training methods by which it has turned generations of soft, shambling boys into hard, disciplined fighting men.

Without Apology. Last spring, as a junior drill instructor, Matt McKeon led Recruit Platoon 71 on a night disciplinary march into the tidal waters of Ribbon Creek, where six boots were drowned (TIME, April 23). McKeon was charged with drinking in the barracks beforehand, with "oppression" of the platoon, and with culpable negligence in the six deaths. Maximum penalty for conviction on all counts: six years in prison and a dishonorable discharge.

The strategies of defense and prosecution soon became clear; both were painful to the proud Marine Corps.

The defense was led by tireless, flamboyant Manhattan Trial Lawyer Emile Zola Berman,* 53, a World War II Army Air Force intelligence officer (Distinguished Flying Cross, Bronze Star), who took the case without pay, on the urging of a committee of New York lawyers and judges that rallied to help McKeon. Berman, with his three civilian and three military aides, set about trying to prove that training marches into Parris Island tidal swamps were common practice--and that the toughness and spirit of the Marine Corps are based on such disciplinary techniques. "Sergeant McKeon," rasped Berman in his nerve-pinching voice, "was a dedicated member of the Corps. He wasn't acting out of sadistic pleasure, but was trying to accomplish [the Corps'] purpose--to make Marines. These methods require no apology, either by the Marines or Sergeant McKeon."

On radio and television Berman pleaded with Marines, past and present, to come forth with testimony about their own experiences in the Parris Island boondocks. Within minutes the Parris Island switchboard was alight; ten operators went on special duty; by the next night 300 telephone calls and 300 telegrams had been received. In the courtroom, Berman demanded--and won--the right to inspect the answers to a questionnaire on training practices sent out by the Corps after the Parris Island tragedy. The overwhelming verdict of the 27,000 Marines polled: tough training should not only be continued, but in some cases intensified.

Without Authority. Against Berman was pitted Marine Major Charles Sevier, 35, the chief prosecuting officer, a veteran of Saipan, Tinian and Okinawa, who describes himself as "a plain, unspectacular guy trying to do a job." Sevier's case: Drill Instructor McKeon was not authorized to take Platoon 71 into the marshes; his action was therefore criminal, and the fact that he had been drinking made it worse. Said Sevier to newsmen: "I have the greatest sympathy for D.I.s. They have a terribly tough job. But damn it, we try to maintain excellent discipline without brutality."

Ploddingly, patiently, Sevier stitched his case together. Marine training regulations were entered in the record. A witness recited the tide tables. The court made a trip to the scene of the Ribbon Creek tragedy; Sergeant McKeon stood with his judges on the grassy bank, and stared expressionless into the dark water. Back in the steaming auditorium, survivors of Platoon 71 told of the death march. When he first joined Platoon 71, Private Earl Grabowski, 18, had been known as a crybaby; now, with manful calm, he told of the march, sparing neither McKeon, the platoon nor the Marine Corps. Said Grabowski: "We knew that McKeon was serious, that he was trying to teach us discipline." Asked Berman, on crossexamination: "Would you say that Platoon 71 had good discipline?" Replied Grabowski: "No sir."

Here or Hereafter? On the question of discipline, Staff Sergeant Edward Huff, a weathery, leathery Marine who was senior drill instructor over McKeon, agreed with Grabowski.* Huff said he had been dissatisfied with the platoon and has threatened its members: "If you don't snap out of your hockey, I'll take you down to the swamps." Huff said he had every intention of doing just that, but "I had a training schedule and I didn't have time." McKeon, said Huff, was an outstanding D.I. "He done his work, he done it well, and he never seemed to complain. By my figuring, he worked 132 hours a week. A good man."

During one of the court-martial intermissions, McKeon, in the hallway, walked up to a plain, sad-faced little woman. She was Mrs. Maggie Meeks of Savannah, mother of one of the drowned boots.

"Hello, Ma'am," said McKeon stiffly. "Your son was one of the finest boys in my platoon, and I am terribly sorry this all happened." Replied Mrs. Meek: "The Lord says don't hate nobody. If you're guilty, you will be punished." Replied McKeon: "If I'm guilty, I would rather be punished here than in the hereafter." Tears came to his eyes. Then he braced himself, disciplined his emotion, set his face sternly. He returned to the auditorium and to the scene of his trial.

By week's end the legal foundations were barely laid. Yet a curious change of attitude had already rolled over most of the 50-odd correspondents who crowded into Parris Island to report the trial. Thanks partly to the shrewd showmanship of Emile Zola Berman, but thanks mostly to the cool, silent, uncomplaining demeanor of Matthew McKeon, those who had come to see the sergeant strung up for what he had done began, instead, to sense that this man was another argument. It was an argument that went to the roots of the Marine Corps, that involved not only one Marine but the other 200,000 beside him--and the unnumbered shaven-headed boots yet to come.

*So named by his mother because she admired the French novelist's famed defense of Alfred Dreyfus.

*Another index of discipline: of Platoon 71's 68 survivors, 63 were sent from Camp Lejeune to Parris Island for possible use as witnesses in the court-martial. Of these, two promptly went over the hill. Of the five not at Parris Island, one is in the hospital, one is AWOL, one has deserted, one is being held for commanding officer's punishment, one is in the brig.

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