How I Replaced the Marine Corps’ Mascot

By Major Paul W Chapman, USMC (Ret)

At the end of my fourth unaccompanied overseas tour of duty, I received orders to report to Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps (HQMC) in Washington, D.C.  Upon reporting for duty, Marine Corps officials assigned me to the Public Affairs Branch.  I didn’t know it then, but this particular duty assignment would provide an interesting and stressful culmination of my military career.  My previous position was Deputy Public Affairs Officer at Marine Corps Base, Okinawa, concurrently supporting the III Marine Amphibious Force (MEF).  Although my primary military occupational specialty (MOS) was Naval Flight Officer (NFO), I had earned a secondary MOS in public affairs.

When I reported to HQMC for duty, it was possible to look out my office window across the street to Arlington National Cemetery and think to yourself, “Welcome to Headquarters — where careers come to die.”  Like most Marines in aviation, I most desired to serve in a fighter squadron or at an aviation training command, but here I was in Washington.  And, like everyone else at HQMC, I’d be driving to work an hour or more before the sun came up to avoid the horrific traffic and, hopefully, find a parking space outside the Navy Annex.  My assignment at HQMC was according to “the needs of the Corps,” which we all knew was pure myth.

Within the Public Affairs Office, I was assigned to the media branch.  I was still a rookie working at that level with the news media.  Shortly after reporting in, I attended a department staff meeting.  After the usual discussions about one thing or another, the Deputy PAO began talking about the problem of replacing the Marine Corps Mascot — an English Bulldog named Chesty, who resided at Marine Barracks, Washington, D.C. (MB 8^th & I).

Chesty, it seemed, was getting old; it was time for a younger mascot.  The problem was that the lady who had previously supplied bulldog mascots to the Marine Corps had passed away, and at this point, correspondence indicated that there was no way to purchase a replacement.  There were many reasons the Marines could not buy the dog — there were so many rules and regulations, and neither could the Marines ask for a gift.

In 1978, the Marines purchased its last F-4 Fighter.  Reportedly, it cost around $4 million.  That was a lot of money back then.  The cost of a bulldog?  That was about $700.00, which was also big money back then — and, because of the cost of replacing Chesty, the Marine Barracks Commanding Officer requested guidance from HQMC.  Naturally, the problem fell into the lap of the HQMC PAO.  Who else?

So, we needed help finding a legal way of purchasing a bulldog to replace Chesty.  We first considered a non-appropriated funding source.  The fund was sufficient, but we couldn’t justify the expenditure for an animal with limited “official use.”  We then considered appropriated funds; the bulldog was an official mascot, after all, with evening parade duties and was part of our community relations program.  Maybe it would work.  Using private funds was also possible, but just a bit more complicated.

If it seemed that Marines were walking on eggshells, we were.  This was because the muck-raker Jack Anderson was always looking for ways to publicly chastise the Department of Defense (DoD) — and the Marines.  If Anderson wasn’t criticizing us for buying butter instead of margarine, or vice versa, it was for something else.  Not much further into the future, the Marines would get a lot of front-page coverage from the adventures of Sergeant Bambi Lin Finney and Playboy Magazine.  This was life in the fast lane, and for some, it was highly stressful.

In any case, there I sat as the rookie, thinking to myself, “Was finding a replacement for a mascot the Marine Corps’ biggest problem?”  Thought before action.  Well, no.  I voiced that very thought.  I could solve this problem with one phone call, I said.

“So assigned,” said the Deputy, “meeting adjourned.”

Well, it took two phone calls.  I got the wrong number the first time.

I learned that most bulldogs are birthed via cesarian section due to their enormous head and shoulders and the narrow hips of the mother — hence the increased expense of a purebred bulldog — which, as it turned out, was significantly more than $700.

I made a call to the Vice President of Marketing for Purina.  It was simply a matter of letting him know that our mascot was aging and there were certain considerations regarding replacing Chesty.

As it turned out, Mr. Vice President was an aficionado of English Bulldogs.  He would personally select a puppy and arrange to deliver it to the Washington National Airport.  A Marine would accept the animal, enlist it into the Marine Corps, prepare a service record book (SRB), and generate an accompanying press release and photographs.  The new mascot would arrive at the airfield on 10 November — the Marine Corps birthday, which was yet another public relations project.

Concurrently, Felix de Weldon gifted the plaster mold of the Marine Corps War Memorial to the Marine Military Academy, Harlingen, Texas.  It was making its way by truck to Harlingen with press and community stops.

On 3 November 1979, the entry fee to the Marine Corps Marathon was $7.50.  I supervised the event with my nephew.  The next day, Iranian “students” overran the U.S. Embassy in Tehran, an event that significantly overshadowed a bulldog mascot’s entrance to puppy boot camp.

The new Marine Corps mascot made it through his first parade season but with some difficulty.  He was an undisciplined animal.  His misbehavior resulted in nonjudicial punishment and a reduction in rank for chewing up a punching bag when left alone in the gym.

I retired in 1981, before the release of the Iranian hostages, having served as the Marine Corps spokesman during that period.  As for Chesty, he later developed epilepsy, was medically retired, and eventually died.  I don’t know where they buried him, but I hope it was a special place in Arlington, where many careers come to an end.

Personal note: Paul Chapman has been my closest friend for over 31 years. Paul, pictured above right, was the best man at my wedding in Worcester, England, in 2018.