"My first day in the Marines, this sergeant was yelling at us: 'Serub out those toilet bowls!' I said to myself. 'I want his job.'" Chuck Hamlin '81

By most any standard, he is an anomaly among college students, and something of an anachronism. Married twice, 27 years old, a four-year Marine with four military ribbons to his name, caught between the We and Me generations. Chuck Hamlin will clutch his diploma today and cherish it as the culmination of a nine-year personal odyssey. He has come a long way. How many Harvard students finished 485th out of 522 in their high school class (and admit it without blinking)? And how many Harvard students participated in the evacuation of Saigon in April 1975?

Chuck Hamlin is a can-do type of guy. He is frank in an age of guardedness, blunt in an age of equivocation. "My life is an open book," he says, and his chapters on Harvard range from silly to profound. But you must understand one thing about Chuck Hamlin: he is proud, proud to "have turned myself around," proud to have served his country, proud of his grades, and above all proud to have made it.

His forward manner betrays a touch of bluster, but Hamlin's combination of complete honesty and friendliness precludes any arrogance. You get a pleasant glow after talking with him, regardless of whether you agree with him on politics (as the conservative club's vice president, he burned a Soviet flag on the steps of Memorial Church to protest the massing of troops near Poland), the military (he loves it, though he hates war, favors nuclear disarmament, and thinks part of the defense budget "should be allocated to building tables around which we can talk reasonably with the Russians") or general outlook ("I'm very Machiavellian and ruthless, and I can be ugly--but I don't want to hurt anybody"). Hamlin is the quintessential American dreamer who woke up in the middle of the night to find himself realizing his fantasy. And the challenges of Harvard are a far cry from the trials of boot camp.

He is no stranger to overcoming adversity, something he did daily, and spectacularly, in the Marines. "I committed myself to them. I made people sick, I was so meticulous. I played their game, and kept getting meritorious promotions." After only two years--on a virtually unprecedented ascent in the Marines--he became a sergeant.

Although he does not deny the importance of the Marines in his development, Hamlin reflects on his stint with mixed feelings. "People don't realize that there are citizens serving everyday. They don't ask 'Who's protecting the country?' I did."

He grows nostalgic when he discusses the Marines, although he drives home his points in characteristically animated fashion. "They beat Ma, apple pie and Chevrolets into our heads. 'Honor to the flag'--that was the big thing. They made me love America, force-fed me on the Red, White and Blue. At that time, I thought radicals and hippies were from another planet, afraid to go fight for their country. I resented their long hair. After all, how much respect can you have for people who don't respect themselves enough to clean up? I had short hair and was meticulous."

He draws a deep breath and continues. "People were going to Nam to die against their will. The Marines, we were all so gung-ho at the time. Now I ask, 'Why were we there? What were we fighting for?' I hated deserters then. The Marines lied to us. They told us it was a war of outside aggression. Now, I know it was a civil war, and there would have been a lot less death if we hadn't been there."

A pause, and then he adds with a tinge of regret, "I know now that you don't have to necessarily have short hair and be clear to have the right point of view."

But the Marines, he concedes, did their job well. "They get you crazy, get you psyched The discipline was incredible--we would act immediately, and deal with the questions later. Problem was, we should've asked questions earlier. But they can get you to do anything." Even kill? His voice sinks. "Definitely."

He relates his experience in a motivation platoon--"moto," as it was called. "We had to go through this long trench with mucky water, under and over barrels. And you'd better be screaming like a banshee when you come up for air. I had one more barrel to go under and as I dove down I could see an officer pissing into the ditch, just to spite me. I was so psyched I didn't blink an eye, and I broke water yelling as loud as I could.

"I gave myself, body, soul, and mind to the Marines, and I think I gained more than I lost."

His tour took him to Taiwan, where he met his first wife, Tina. She learned English and he learned Chinese, and they communicated by using a book. "I loved her a lot. She is a super person, and she pushed me. The Marines used to yell at me, make me get up that last hill. She nudged me in a gentle way."

The couple split because, in Hamlin's words, "we grew apart." He had left the Marines in 1976 and attended Riverside Junior College in California. He performed well, applying his military-bred sense of detail to his courses. Hamlin wanted to go further, so he decided to transfer. "I asked my guidance counselor, 'What's the best school?' I had joined the Marines because it was the best outfit. He said, almost jokingly, 'Well, the real best is Harvard.' It was the only place I applied."

Two days after he'd heard of his admission and a week before he was slated to give Riverside's valedictory address, Hamlin shattered his leg in a severe highway accident. The break, however, did not prevent him from giving the address in a wheelchair and a full-leg cast. "I would've crawled up onstage if I'd had to," he recalls.