Reserved for War : Pasadena’s Marines Mix Feisty Spirit, Dread

Folks who live near the end of the line of Pasadena’s annual Tournament of Roses pageant have grown accustomed to a smaller kind of parade that, while common in a place like Camp Pendleton, is seldom seen in Los Angeles County.

Before they see it, they often hear it.

It is Pasadena’s very own, little-noticed battalion of the United States Marines Corps, running the streets in combat boots, clomp-clomp-clomping in cadence, occasionally chanting the gung-ho rhymes of the Corps. They’ve never had much trouble with the neighbors, 47-year-old reservist Lester Byndloss says--unless you count the time 11 years ago when an elderly woman complained that the racket was scaring her poodle.

But now, after years of training for the possibility that they would be called upon to go to war, the Persian Gulf crisis has given a deeper sense of purpose to their exercises.

Instead of running in time, they might be seen hiking slowly along the grassy median of Sierra Madre Boulevard in the cumbersome suits, gloves, boots and masks of chemical warfare. Instead of chanting, they try not to pass out. If it’s 90 degrees outside, it might be 125 degrees inside the suit, Marine commanders say.

Some neighbors, at least, have taken note.

“Some people go by honking their horns and giving us a thumbs-up sign,” said Major Kim Stalnaker, the unit’s commander. “Other people just stare, like they don’t know what to make of you.”

Stalnaker’s uniform, beneath the protective gear, was soaked with sweat after a 90-minute hike on a smoggy, 93-degree day. He estimated that he lost about 10 pounds in water weight--”an excellent sauna.”

The 4th Low Altitude Air Defense Battalion--made up of 60 active duty Marines and about 300 reservists--is one of dozens of military reserve units scattered throughout California. So far, only reservists that specialize in medical service and the movement of supplies have been activated. Others, including Pasadena’s Marines, continue the routine that requires them to train at least one weekend per month plus one two-week stint during the year.

The 2 1/2-acre city-owned property on Sierra Madre Boulevard has been home to a military reserve unit since World War II--first operated by the Navy, then by the Marines since 1972. Under an old agreement, the Pentagon pays $7,000 annually to lease the property. When the lease expires in 1992, the city is expected to seek a market rate fee of more than $100,000. It is unclear whether military officials will seek a different location.

The Marines interact with the community in a variety of ways, holding field trips for schools, providing color guards for ballgames and promoting the Marines’ “Toys for Tots” Christmas giveaway. Civic groups use the meeting hall, and the Rose Parade court and officials use it as rest stop each New Year’s. The reservists’ center also serves as a resting place for the Rose Parade court and officials.

Mostly, the relationship is a quiet one. “You’d hardly even know they exist out there,” said Pasadena Police Lt. Greg Henderson, a community affairs specialist.

If the confrontation between Iraq and the United States and its allies erupts into a shooting war, however, Stalnaker figures his unit may get an early call. The unit is trained in the use of Stinger and Hawk missile systems to destroy low-flying enemy aircraft and incoming missiles. Segments of the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Marine Corps anti-aircraft battalions already have been deployed in the Mideast; the 4th is the Corps’ last such battalion.

So the mood at the battalion’s quarters next to Victory Park, one block from Pasadena High School, is an odd mix of bravado and dread. But then, reserve battalions by their nature are an odd mix of people from different generations and different walks of life. Reservists include a bank vice president, police officers and one man who advises Hollywood in the making of war movies.

In the Marines, “weekend warriors” is a term of derision to suggest the incompetence of reservists. Stalnaker said he also shared that attitude until he arrived in Pasadena two years ago.

“Now that I’m here, I see it in a different light,” Stalnaker said. While reservists are not as proficient as active-duty Marines, he said, “they come in here because it’s something they want to do, and maybe they work a little harder. We have a lot of capable Marines here.”

Younger Marines who are here daily seem eager to prove themselves in combat. “I’d love to go,” said Cpl. Richard Sharrer, a 24-year-old reservist.

Staff Sgt. Douglas Phelps, an active-duty Marine, agreed. “I’ve been in Marines nine years, and all we do is train, train, train. It kind of gets tedious,” he said.

But older Marines like Byndloss, a staff sergeant, and 46-year-old Russell Lindquist, a master gunnery sergeant, remember Vietnam and offer a more sober attitude. They were active-duty Marines then, and joined the reserves after entering civilian life. Looking back, Lindquist said he sought a kind of refuge in the reserves in the late 1960s after encountering the strong anti-war sentiments among civilians.

“I’ve seen all sides of the horrors of war, and right now a lot of these kids are seeing only the glory side, not the realistic side,” said Lindquist, who is the senior member of the battalion. In civilian life, Lindquist, of Covina, supervises technicians for a motor oil company.

Lindquist, who became a grandfather last year and has two sons who are Marines, remembered when he left Camp Lejeune for Vietnam: “You train for so many years and you think it’s time to go do something. Well, the excitement soon wore off. Reality sinks in and it’s time to think about survival.”

“There’s nothing pretty about combat, believe me,” said Byndloss, who manages the laundry operation for a Universal City hotel. “There’s a smell that you don’t get rid of. . . . It gets into your system--the burning bodies, the flesh. That’s the thing you grow to detest about combat--the ugliness of it.”

Byndloss said he was convinced by experience the extensive training would pay off: “You feel the fear, but discipline takes charge. You find yourself doing things you never knew you were capable of.”

But if war breaks out, Lindquist and Byndloss expect to go.

“I won’t even think twice about it,” Lindquist said. “I listen to the kids on CNN. They’re ready to fight. Everyone wants to fight. . . . And if (Iraq President Saddam) Hussein keeps slapping our faces, maybe it’s time for us to punch him one.”

Along with the bravado, there is no shortage of confidence. The battalion this summer spent two weeks on an Army test range in Dugway, Utah, playing war games against aircraft and missile targets. Electronic signals told them whether they were on target. The unit registered high marks in the drills. Expense prevents them from shooting live missiles--the Stingers, after all, cost about $80,000 each, and Hawks, with a range of 25 miles, are more expensive.

So back in Pasadena, they practice putting on the protective gear and hike up Sierra Madre Boulevard. Sometimes they train the dummy Stinger missile launcher on aircraft that pass over Pasadena, “lock on” the target and fire. They imagine defending against an Iraqi air strike, perhaps locking onto a missile carrying a payload of mustard and nerve gas mixture.

Everything here is just practice, though. During a recent drill, one Marine, overcome by the heat, took off his gas mask. Phelps, who trains the battalion in the use of the protective suits, suggests it’s a good way to get dead.

“Chemical warfare’s on everybody’s mind because it’s such an abstract way of fighting,” Phelps said.

The Iraqi army, he said, is “used to coming into a place where everybody’s dead. But it won’t be that way. We’ll be there.”

If not in Pasadena.