Navy Corpsman's Military Housing Journey: From Barracks Life to First PCS Move

Wild Ride: From Barracks Blunders to Hurricane Home Hunt

The story, as they say, has to start somewhere. For me, it began as a young Corpsman, a self-proclaimed high-performing dirtbag. My job performance? Top-notch, no doubt. But the finer points of Navy and Marine Corps culture? Let's just say they often sailed right over my head. I can still picture those barracks room inspections: bed made with hospital corners, floor gleaming. Then, the inevitable discovery – a couple of breakfast biscuit wrappers in the trash, more than a quarter-inch of ice on my freezer fins, or, the ultimate sin, a damp towel draped over my bed’s footboard dry. And just like that, another inspection failed.

My priorities were a bit different. Being well-rested and ready to perform my medical duties outweighed a perfectly starched uniform. Wake up early to iron?  No thanks! And shiny boots? Honestly, for what? The instruction merely said, “...boots will be blackened and buffed”. My matte-finish boots, I assure you, had zero bearing on my ability to hit (or occasionally miss) an IV on a dehydrated Marine. But the Navy and Marine Corps, bless their hearts, saw things differently. My uniform was a constant source of friction. And no, we won't discuss those “other” Corpsmen who “might” have smuggled snacks, like Snickers bars, into the field in their medical bags, believing they made a better breakfast than MREs.

I knew my words carried about as much weight as a feather in a hurricane, but that never stopped me from offering my "insights" to leadership, often and loudly. And, just as often, I found myself paying the price.

The Great Barracks Escape: My First Military Housing Decision

One day, after one "spirited discussion" too many, I found myself staring down what could only be described as creative punishment. "Captain's Mast... or you can get out of the barracks," was the ultimatum.  BAH was not offered, requested, implied, or discussed in any way. Now, I'm fairly certain that wasn't a legally sanctioned option, but in my youthful ignorance, fear, and guilt, I seized the opportunity. Anything to avoid a reduction in rank, losing a month's pay for two months, and 45 days of restriction.

I immediately called a friend, declaring my urgent need to be out of the barracks by week's end. As luck would have it, he knew a guy looking for a roommate. And just like that, my fate was sealed. I crammed my meager possessions into my trusty (ish) old Jeep and moved into a bedroom in an apartment complex on the other side of Jacksonville. It was a hasty exit, but a liberation nonetheless.

Getting Married in the Military: Our First PCS Move

A few months later, my fiancée and I tied the knot. We cleverly staged our wedding gifts at the apartment and arranged for our household goods to be picked up from there. "Household goods" is probably a misnomer for what we actually owned. I think it amounted to a used loveseat, an old couch, a table, a bed frame and mattress, a smattering of dishes and cookware, and some clothes. But here's the kicker: it was ours. And let me tell you, having actual household goods was incredibly exciting! Every move I'd made before that fit neatly into a couple of seabags in the back seat of my CJ-7. (If you're an old Jeep enthusiast, seriously, reach out!)

Camp Lejeune Beach Cabanas: Unconventional Military Housing

My wife and I had about a month in Camp Lejeune before my orders kicked in. We decided to milk it, spending that month in the old cabanas on Onslow Beach. These weren't designed for long-term residency; they were beach vacation rentals, typically reserved for one week at a time. Being the forward-thinker I was (sometimes), I made four week-long reservations MONTHS in advance. When the staff realized my grand scheme, they just had us "check out" and "check in" at the same time on a Thursday. And wouldn't you know it, we got the same cabana for four weeks in a row!

That, my friends, was the humble beginning of our military housing journey. Living in a cabana, watching the sun rise and set over nothing but sand and ocean from our little porch. It was a simple, idyllic start.