BUT FIRST...THEN MORE OF THE "ASK THE GUNNY" STORY
By Andy Weddington
Sunday, 27 February 2011
"I almost denied him the benefit of experience." Marine Dad
Interesting few days since posting last week's Commentary, "ASK THE GUNNY."
I've received queries..."Colonel," "Andy," "...are you going to write something addressing the mess in Wisconsin?...What do you think about what's going on in Wisconsin...the state senators...the mid-west...blah, blah, blah? etc.,"
Nope. It hardly matters what I think. Besides, I care but don't care--as there's little interest, for the time being, writing about politics.
But...
I will proffer an idea for Governor Scott Walker, that just may stir a reaction or two from the populace, for handling Wisconsin's fourteen rogue state senators who deserted their post--abandoning sworn duties to serve the public (not the constituency that elected them).
Process them as any malcontent Marine who declares he's leaving and not coming back, and leaves...
Run their sorry asses "UA--Deserter" (Unauthorized Absence--Deserter) on the Unit Diary (or whatever personnel accounting system the state uses or hold a senate special session to make declaration)! Immediately suspend (and hold) all pay and allowances and state-issued (if any) credit cards. Cut locks off any assigned offices, desks, wardrobes, lockers, etc., inventory all possessions, seal in cardboard boxes, and dump at state line. Issue BOLO (Be On Look Out) to local, state, and federal law enforcement, with instructions to arrest on sight. Hold special elections immediately to fill vacant senate seats. And get on with state business. No amnesty for the deserters--declare "Persona Non-Grata."
Why is this nonsense happening? Simple. Look no further than the current Administration back east operating on whims and personal sentiments vice enacted law. As the nuns taught me..."Monkey see. Monkey do. Monkey does what it wants to do." And that is exactly what is happening.
Now the question is who will have the cajones to end the nonsense?! We shall see.
Sharing my remedy with a friend yesterday, he thoughtfully asked, "I wonder if that would be legal?"
To that calm, logical, mature query...
What difference does that make? It certainly can't be legal for an elected senator to desert their office and responsibilities. The rules have changed--and the "change" started in Washington. You can't have it both ways--either play by the rules or nobody has to play by the rules.
There's nothing easy about holding elected office. The duties require "leadership." That's a given and known up front. In the Marine Corps leadership is characterized in three, near and dear to every Marine--rank notwithstanding, Core/Corps values: Honor. Courage. Commitment. What those senators did, contrary to any standard of duty, violates all three. They do not understand nor respect democracy. They are not leaders. Their actions the consummate example of cowards, of "losers," and they're unfit for public service. Period.
This is not complicated. Though it's being presented to be. Treat them as deserters, Governor, and move on! Forgiveness is easier than permission. Just do it. Lead!
Enough said.
Now, with blood pressure returning to normal...
To follow-up with last week's Commentary, with the rest of the story.
First, a note from "Hiram"--a friend and father of a Marine second lieutenant who's initial email sparked the Commentary. And then a few of the more interesting notes I received from Marines remembering their gunny. As is my practice, names of senders edited to protect the innocent but the names of gunnys deserve the spotlight.
From Hiram (and his first word indicates his jovial demeanor is back, and italics are mine)...
"Tony (he knows I detest this moniker),
Thank you for your kind words. I had no idea you were so favorably disposed toasters (towards?) me. And, with the risk of sounding like Nancy Pelosi editing her honorary award, I wanted to add a point of clarity.
Yes, (my son) did something dumb by not bringing the proper gear. But, I made the bonehead mistake of trying to intercede. He never asked for my help on the sleeping bag issue. He just told me that he had brought the wrong equipment, he was in the field and he froze his ass off the night before.
I then immediately donned my Superdad uniform and looked for a solution for him. By the time I got back to him the following day with the "go to supply" solution, he had solved the problem himself by getting a ride to main side where he bought what he needed at the PX.
Your endnotes lend insight to my thoughts and actions. As you are keenly aware, leading Marines offers enormous rewards, but those rewards do not come without risk. As proud as I am of the man my son has become, I ache with worry over the possible negative outcomes. I also want him to avoid mistakes I made, I guess I don't want him to be the "smelly kid" of the group. As a result, I over reacted and tried to stick my nose where it didn't belong. I almost denied him the benefit of experience.
It is a fine line between being proud of an accomplished young man, and being a "helicopter parent" hovering over my child. I desperately want the best for my sons, but I have to allow them to grow by learning.
And again, thank you for your very kind words. I am still trying to think back as to which of my actions might be Corps legend. All I come up with is Recruit Wrap.
Hiram"
So that follow-up email tied the second lieutenant hiccup into a nice, neat parable. Something we can all learn from.
And now a few of the notes, italics--for clarity--are mine, received regarding gunnys...
From a retired colonel who found my Commentary some time back and on occasion offers a thoughtful comment. He, too, has an interesting forum at: http://www.thecolonelscorner.blogspot.com/
"A much too rigid and very sensitive Second Lieutenant G. was given some great leadership advice early on from his first company gunny; MSgt (Master Sergeant) Gerald Lyons, USMC (Ret): "Take yourself too seriously and nobody else will." Words I've lived by ever since..."
From one of my battalion commanders at Parris Island and friend since those days--twenty-six years ago--with a "gunny story"--as of today a day shy of 42 years ago--I'd not heard.
"Andy - My first "Gunny" was our company Gunnery Sergeant in the rifle company I joined in Feb 1969 as a new 0301 2d/Lt rifle platoon commander. Gunny "K" was older than the hills - at least he looked like it to me. As soon as I joined the company, we were helo-lifted into an area called the Arizona Territory just north of An Hoa, west of Da Nang.
On 28 Feb 1969, our company found itself heavily engaged with an NVA (North Vietnamese Army) battalion on three sides of us. As the trailing platoon in a "2 up, 1 back" formation, the rear of my platoon became pinned down in a heavily vegetated village area. After what seemed like an eternity, we were able to extract that part of my platoon into an open area where the company was establishing a defensive perimeter. As I worked my way to the company CP (Command Post) to meet with the company commander, I met Gunny "K" first. We were still heavily engaged, with small arms, automatic weapons and artillery fire everywhere. Standing in front of me was this weathered, cigar-chewing "old man" we lieutenants reverently called "Gunny." More than just a little concerned about how the company was fairing in our on-going battle, I asked the "Gunny" if he thought we were going to make it. He looked at me with a knowing smile, cigar firmly locked in his teeth, and said, "We'll be just fine, lieutenant."
Turns out he was right, but the fighting continued for several more hours into the night, when Cobra gunships and an AC-130 delivered some concentrated firepower within feet of our perimeter, and "convinced" the NVA to disengage.
The "Gunny" rotated a month or so later, and I never saw him again. For the better part of 40 years I wondered what had ever happened to "Gunny K." Happily, we reconnected somehow through the Internet a few years ago. Finally, in August 2010, I traveled to Portland, OR, for a battalion reunion. For the first time in 41 years, I was reunited with "Gunny K," who lived just outside Portland. 1stSgt (Ret) Kennedy was 77 years-old (which made him around 35 when we served together in 1969), sharp as a tack, and a joy to be reunited with. We have since met in Chicago with a larger group of Marines and Corpsmen from our company, and "Gunny" was there as well. He had the opportunity to meet many of those he served with in 1968-1969, whom he'd not seen in more than 41 years, to include our company commander. We plan on getting together in Colorado Springs this June, and "Gunny" has assured us he'll be there!
Walt/Gunny/1stSgt Kennedy was my first "Gunny." And a senior Staff NCO who made a lasting impression on me. He's now my dear friend, but I'll always think of him as "my" Gunny."
And in a follow-on note he offered...
"Andy - Walt Kennedy, 1stSgt, USMC (Ret) was the classic "Company Gunny." He was at least 5-6 years older than anyone else, including the CO (Commanding Officer), and we were in awe of him as "butter bars." He had his 'trash' all in one bag, and none of us ever second guessed him when he told us something. He's going on 78 and, if I live that long, I hope I'm half as lucid as he is. Walt also served in 7th Marines as a 19 year-old in Korea, and has some incredible stories about the Chosin Reservoir."
From a longtime Marine friend who relinquished captain's bars to pursue his dream of being a Navy SEAL; he started as an ensign, became a SEAL, and retired a captain--Navy captain--but will always be a Marine.
"Well shoot...sorry to hear about your pal's passing, as well as Dunc's. I had all Dunc's books back in the day...can't find 'em now though. What a hoot they were.
I'm having fond memories of interactions between 2ndLt P. and Gunny Ray Sanchez (F/2/3--Fox Company, 2nd Battalion/3rd Marines) as I type, as well as Gunny "Mo" Morgan of B Co, 1st RTBn (B Company, 1st Recruit Training Battalion, Parris Island), who prefaced every single statement to me when I was a brand new ASC (Assistant Series Commander) with: "Now loootenant...I know ya' don't know much about recruit trainin', but...". Great days in the Corps."
And finally, from a retired Marine friend who goes by the moniker, "Big Dave," and who on occasion is so inclined to forward Commentaries to his huge Marine-friendly audience.
"ALCON,
From Andy Weddington…this week’s missive has a very simple message in it…Get in a jam…ask the Gunny.
We all have gunny’s on our team. For me, I easily had a Battalion (reinforced) of SNCOs (Staff Non-Commissioned Officers) that kept me out of jail during my Marine Corps career. Truly. There was this night in Pohang…with my L 3/5 (Lima Company, 3rd Battalion/5th Marines) sergeants drinking SoJu and I decided I liked a light fixture in one of the establishments…so I took it…kind of removed it from the wall. As Mamason was wearing me out and the Shore Patrol were en route, out from the shadows in the courtyard appeared my company gunny…now retired MSgt (Master Sergeant) Claude Hastin. He had been running counter-intel all night on our op…came up beside me and in his Midwest drawl…'ah, Skipper, we need to go'…and into the shadows we went. Liberty bus back to MCEC (P). The sergeants made good on the light fixture. Me...the SoJu and kimchee had a profound effect on me for the next two days!!!
In the preamble of Andy’s piece he talks about Marine families…One in particular comes to mind for me…My dear friend, (still on duty), and his bride have two great sons…one must be a sergeant by now grunt/recon type and the other a USMC(Reserve) MT (motor transport) type and college student. The boys would conduct night ops coming up the street to climb my orange and lemon trees out at CampPen (Camp Pendleton) in my front yard, when we were out there together. Never caught them…a terrific family of great Marines with a wonderful wife and Mom.
Have a great day all."
And in closing, many a great gunny taught me much along the way--the entire way. The first as a second lieutenant, Gunnery Sergeant Floyd Gladden--now Master Gunnery Sergeant, USMC (Retired)--a Marine through and through. And then there's one of the finest Marines with whom I ever served, Gunnery Sergeant Rich Charette--now CWO5 (bursting bomb "Gunner"), USMC (Retired)--the example any Marine should aspire to be. The distinguished list of other gunnys know who they are--Semper Fidelis, Marines.
Post Script
R. Lee Ermey, of "Full Metal Jacket" and the History Channel's "Mail Call" fame, served as an active duty Marine for eleven years including a two-year tour as a Drill Instructor (1965-67 India Company/3rd Recruit Training Battalion) at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego. In 1968 he served 14 months in Vietnam attached to Marine Wing Support Group 17 and two tours of duty in Okinawa. Injuries led to medical retirement as Staff Sergeant. But, on May 17, 2002, General James L. Jones, USMC (at the time, Commandant of the Marine Corps) promoted Ermey, honorary, to gunnery sergeant.
I was fortunate to meet and chat with Lee Ermey--"Gunny"--about six years ago. As on screen, he's larger than life and an engaging character who looks you in the eye and listens. He gave me one of his "Mail Call" coins--a treasure! Thanks, Gunny, and Semper Fi!
27 February 2011
24 February 2011
ASK THE GUNNY
ASK THE GUNNY
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 25 February 2011
"...boot lieutenants who ain't even shaving and company gunnies older than dirt and harder than woodpecker lips..." Colonel "Irish" Egan, USMC (Ret)--from remarks delivered at Marine Forces Pacific USMC Birthday Ball 2002
Well, alrighty then. Light Commentary about a current event was all polished and ready to post and then an email stirring hearty laughter about Marines came along and interrupted best laid plans. So this week's intended remarks slide to next week or maybe later.
Like most older Marines, many of my Marine friends have children that are Marines. Some served their time and moved on; Marines they will always be--forever. Some are still around and wearing NCO stripes or the "railroad tracks" sported by a captain. Some are combat arms. Some are not but rifleman nonetheless. And some are brand new. Some privates, privates first class (PFC), and lance corporals--who, generally speaking as a collective, are about the wildest and craziest people on earth and imbued with the gumption (sometimes elevated by a drink too many) to carry out their ideas; with results that always marvel and occasionally in a good way. Typically there are consequences. But these are the Marines that made going to "work"--leading them--fun; if not challenging. Every day I miss them.
And some now wear the shiny gold--butter bars--of second lieutenant.
I remember when most of these youngsters were born and held some as infants. I remember seeing them while they were growing up. I mostly remember when proud fathers and mothers shared the news their son or daughter was intent on becoming a Marine. It's a noble calling. Not for the weak. The decision to try alone takes courage--speaking volumes as to how they were raised and shedding some light on their character. And the road to earning the eagle, globe, and anchor and title, "Marine," takes raw guts.
Anyway...
Tuesday morning I opened the following email (edited in the name of anonymity and italics inserted for clarity)...
"Mon, Feb 21, 2011 at 7:44 PM
Andy,
My son (second lieutenant) arrived (reported for first operating unit duty assignment having completed Officer Candidates School, The Basic School, and combat arms Military Occupational School) over the Presidents Day weekend. ...he asked his XO (unit Executive Officer) what he needed to bring, but unfortunately, there was a miscommunication. As a result, he did not bring his bivvy sack for his sleeping bag.
Do you have any ideas how I might influence getting him the bivvy sack so that his sleep will be warmer than it is?
Any ideas you might have would be greatly appreciated.
Your friend,
Hiram
(From my iPad)"
Now a bit of perspective. The sender served six years then moved on to other interests and built an empire; still under construction. Brilliant man. Did some remarkable work while in uniform; some of it Corps lore. A wonderful personality and sense of humor. Frankly, hysterical. Sees humor in most everything. Spins a yarn with inflection and mannerisms that's captivating. Maybe one day he'll be on the comedy circuit; he should be. Generous. Great, great Marine. Marines run in his family. I could continue but you get the idea.
I must have read his email a dozen times. More. Thinking back on our tour of duty together and remembering his wit, I laughed and laughed. Then, after wiping away the tears and gaining composure, I thought about it...there wasn't anything in his words that indicated he was just yanking my chain. The biggest clue...he did not address me with his usual jab, "Tony," which he knows I hate (though it's typical and wrongly assumed by strangers as the nick for my formal first name). Knowing him as I do, surely this is a joke? Good one, Hiram! But then again maybe not.
So I considered how best to light-heartedly and succinctly respond yet offer best advice for solving his son's problem--should there be one--without coming across as a pompous, conscending ass to a Marine friend asking for help, but still be Marine-like.
Easy.
Reply...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 6:58 AM
WTF (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot)?! Tell the boot to ask the gunny. Or any infantryman (brains of the Corps for complex problem-solving; especially field-related)!"
And then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, "Hiram's" reply...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 1:30 PM
That is weird. That is exactly what I told him this morning, after I slept on it.
Isn't that what supply is for?
I have been away from the Marine Corps too long. I was thinking like a civilian, looking for a solution that caused the least amount of discomfort.
But, if you do something stupid, you have to let someone who can eventually bust your balls know about it. The best lessons we learn are the lessons from our own mistakes.
Hiram
(From my iPad)"
Funny! No kidding, the new lieutenant had a new lieutenant problem. Self-created. Big surprise! Now it was even funnier. And that dad had forgotten his Marine roots, momentarily, only added to the comedy. My advice was instinctive--ingrained early on and reinforced through decades. I thought back to boot lieutenant days with 6th Marines (and later years) and our company gunny(s)--who doubled as company magician(s); making most anything happen.
Of course that was the remedy--"ask the gunny."
To have a little fun with my usually bright friend...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 2:14 PM
Stick w/ me, grasshopper. I will keep you grounded in the ways of the Corps. Besides, butter bars are supposed (almost expected) to be eff'ed up when they get to the fleet; his Marines and especially the company gunny are not going to be surprised. Surely you've not forgotten that?! One day he will have a funny story to tell his Marine son.
Tell him to smile, challenge and test his Marines while leading from the front and he'll be fine.
And tell him when he gets settled and has time (if that ever happens) to call us.
Semper Fidelis,
Andy
Sent from my iPad"
And then a Post Script idea struck...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 2:25 PM
And I am still laughing my ass off, as I prepare to go PT, as to your initial query. Funny as sh*t. 2ndLts...geez...have to love 'em..."
So those not intimately familiar with the Corps may be asking, "What are they teaching at OCS, TBS, and MOS schools these days?"
Answer. The same thing, and much more, that's always been taught. But second lieutenants are second lieutenants. Second lieutenants do goofy things. And that, too, will always be the same.
I've not heard back from "Hiram." I hope he's laughing. And bet he is. I am still chuckling.
Any Marine officer, any Marine for that matter, that does not have a self-deprecating humorous story about reporting to their first command and first days of duty, and the company gunny not being involved in some fashion, is either suffering from a convenient memory or is a liar. And Marines don't lie. Here's your chance to post your tale, Marines.
And if the Marine won't tell on himself, track down their company gunny--they'll remember and have plenty of stories.
Oh, and yes, there's a gunny or two with the goods on me. To them, "At ease, Marines."
Hiram, I hope your son's sleep is, by now, warmer than it was. And yet I've no idea what a bivvy sack is--no idea. We had "Willy Peter" bags, and they, usually old, cracked, and torn--unserviceable but issued, were next to worthless.
Post Script
The Marine gunnery sergeant--"gunny"; a special, revered breed of the Corps. It's a rank, with unique and demanding responsibilities to match, like no other in any branch of our armed forces or any military outfit world-wide. "Gunny" wears a chevron of three stripes up with two rockers and crossed rifles centered between the stripes. "Gunny" is the Marine Marines turn to when something needs to be done. Commanders issue order(s) and stand back but supervise because, though a great, capable Marine, the gunny was once a private, PFC, and lance corporal.
Author's Endnotes
It seemed fitting to close today by remembering two fine Marines...
1. Major H. G. "Gene" Duncan, USMC (Ret) 1931-2011: Decorated combat veteran, including the Purple Heart, well-known for his books "Green Side Out/Brown Side Out" (thoughtful and humorous tales of Marine life) died on Valentine's Day. I read his books when a second lieutenant. In fact, it'd be difficult to find an older Marine who's not read them. Affectionately known as "Dunc," there's a story that during Operation Desert Shield he (retired some 12 years or so at the time) wrote the Commandant requesting recall to active duty. His words, "I want to fight in one war which has public approval before I die." Informed his poor hearing might be a problem he jabbed back, "I don't want to listen to the Iraqis, I want to shoot them." His request was still under consideration, probably conveniently "lost" on some gunny's desk, when Desert Storm abruptly ended.
2. Major Roy Centner, USMC (Ret) 1948-2011: Marine, business-owner, and respected citizen of our desert community died unexpectedly less than a week ago after collapsing following a run. Still a young man, his death, like sudden ones always do, has left family and friends dazed. Speaking with a retired Marine friend the other day who knew Roy well, "They just don't come any better...he was a great Marine...he loved Marines...at his place of business he took care of Marines...and if the Marines did not have the money he'd tend to business and tell the Marine to pay when they could...he always took care of my sons...his death difficult to get my head around...this doesn't make sense or seem right...he was too young...I am sure going to miss him..." I remember chatting with Roy at the USMC Birthday Ball last November (photo left). Roy will be missed--sorely missed--he sure will.
And...
3. There you have it, a true short story poking fun at a longtime Marine friend and his son--a Marine second lieutenant; being a second lieutenant. And saluting two great Marines and characters of our Corps who reported home--and our big green machine, better for their selfless service since the day they earned their eagle, globe, and anchor through the day they died, marches on.
4. A final thought and sobering reminder...
Second lieutenants, who face a steep learning curve and sometimes innocently hiccup a time or two in the early days before their first platoon of Marines, are exceptionally well-trained and good at what they do. Quite good at what they do. At this moment second lieutenants are leading Marines and Sailors in training, dangerous training, preparing for combat. At this moment second lieutenants are leading Marines and Sailors in combat. And it's damn near a certainty my friend's son, a second lieutenant, who is leading Marines and Sailors in dangerous training will soon lead his Marines and Sailors in combat. Challenging days await him. And his forgotten bivvy sack? Nothing more than an inconsequential silly moment--a hiccup--with a big lesson learned, memory, and laugh--between father, son, and the gunny; and me. As his dad said, "But, if you do something stupid, you have to let someone who can eventually bust your balls know about it. The best lessons we learn are the lessons from our own mistakes."
5. Semper Fidelis, Marines.
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 25 February 2011
"...boot lieutenants who ain't even shaving and company gunnies older than dirt and harder than woodpecker lips..." Colonel "Irish" Egan, USMC (Ret)--from remarks delivered at Marine Forces Pacific USMC Birthday Ball 2002
Well, alrighty then. Light Commentary about a current event was all polished and ready to post and then an email stirring hearty laughter about Marines came along and interrupted best laid plans. So this week's intended remarks slide to next week or maybe later.
Like most older Marines, many of my Marine friends have children that are Marines. Some served their time and moved on; Marines they will always be--forever. Some are still around and wearing NCO stripes or the "railroad tracks" sported by a captain. Some are combat arms. Some are not but rifleman nonetheless. And some are brand new. Some privates, privates first class (PFC), and lance corporals--who, generally speaking as a collective, are about the wildest and craziest people on earth and imbued with the gumption (sometimes elevated by a drink too many) to carry out their ideas; with results that always marvel and occasionally in a good way. Typically there are consequences. But these are the Marines that made going to "work"--leading them--fun; if not challenging. Every day I miss them.
And some now wear the shiny gold--butter bars--of second lieutenant.
I remember when most of these youngsters were born and held some as infants. I remember seeing them while they were growing up. I mostly remember when proud fathers and mothers shared the news their son or daughter was intent on becoming a Marine. It's a noble calling. Not for the weak. The decision to try alone takes courage--speaking volumes as to how they were raised and shedding some light on their character. And the road to earning the eagle, globe, and anchor and title, "Marine," takes raw guts.
Anyway...
Tuesday morning I opened the following email (edited in the name of anonymity and italics inserted for clarity)...
"Mon, Feb 21, 2011 at 7:44 PM
Andy,
My son (second lieutenant) arrived (reported for first operating unit duty assignment having completed Officer Candidates School, The Basic School, and combat arms Military Occupational School) over the Presidents Day weekend. ...he asked his XO (unit Executive Officer) what he needed to bring, but unfortunately, there was a miscommunication. As a result, he did not bring his bivvy sack for his sleeping bag.
Do you have any ideas how I might influence getting him the bivvy sack so that his sleep will be warmer than it is?
Any ideas you might have would be greatly appreciated.
Your friend,
Hiram
(From my iPad)"
Now a bit of perspective. The sender served six years then moved on to other interests and built an empire; still under construction. Brilliant man. Did some remarkable work while in uniform; some of it Corps lore. A wonderful personality and sense of humor. Frankly, hysterical. Sees humor in most everything. Spins a yarn with inflection and mannerisms that's captivating. Maybe one day he'll be on the comedy circuit; he should be. Generous. Great, great Marine. Marines run in his family. I could continue but you get the idea.
I must have read his email a dozen times. More. Thinking back on our tour of duty together and remembering his wit, I laughed and laughed. Then, after wiping away the tears and gaining composure, I thought about it...there wasn't anything in his words that indicated he was just yanking my chain. The biggest clue...he did not address me with his usual jab, "Tony," which he knows I hate (though it's typical and wrongly assumed by strangers as the nick for my formal first name). Knowing him as I do, surely this is a joke? Good one, Hiram! But then again maybe not.
So I considered how best to light-heartedly and succinctly respond yet offer best advice for solving his son's problem--should there be one--without coming across as a pompous, conscending ass to a Marine friend asking for help, but still be Marine-like.
Easy.
Reply...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 6:58 AM
WTF (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot)?! Tell the boot to ask the gunny. Or any infantryman (brains of the Corps for complex problem-solving; especially field-related)!"
And then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, "Hiram's" reply...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 1:30 PM
That is weird. That is exactly what I told him this morning, after I slept on it.
Isn't that what supply is for?
I have been away from the Marine Corps too long. I was thinking like a civilian, looking for a solution that caused the least amount of discomfort.
But, if you do something stupid, you have to let someone who can eventually bust your balls know about it. The best lessons we learn are the lessons from our own mistakes.
Hiram
(From my iPad)"
Funny! No kidding, the new lieutenant had a new lieutenant problem. Self-created. Big surprise! Now it was even funnier. And that dad had forgotten his Marine roots, momentarily, only added to the comedy. My advice was instinctive--ingrained early on and reinforced through decades. I thought back to boot lieutenant days with 6th Marines (and later years) and our company gunny(s)--who doubled as company magician(s); making most anything happen.
Of course that was the remedy--"ask the gunny."
To have a little fun with my usually bright friend...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 2:14 PM
Stick w/ me, grasshopper. I will keep you grounded in the ways of the Corps. Besides, butter bars are supposed (almost expected) to be eff'ed up when they get to the fleet; his Marines and especially the company gunny are not going to be surprised. Surely you've not forgotten that?! One day he will have a funny story to tell his Marine son.
Tell him to smile, challenge and test his Marines while leading from the front and he'll be fine.
And tell him when he gets settled and has time (if that ever happens) to call us.
Semper Fidelis,
Andy
Sent from my iPad"
And then a Post Script idea struck...
"Tue, Feb 22, 2011 at 2:25 PM
And I am still laughing my ass off, as I prepare to go PT, as to your initial query. Funny as sh*t. 2ndLts...geez...have to love 'em..."
So those not intimately familiar with the Corps may be asking, "What are they teaching at OCS, TBS, and MOS schools these days?"
Answer. The same thing, and much more, that's always been taught. But second lieutenants are second lieutenants. Second lieutenants do goofy things. And that, too, will always be the same.
I've not heard back from "Hiram." I hope he's laughing. And bet he is. I am still chuckling.
Any Marine officer, any Marine for that matter, that does not have a self-deprecating humorous story about reporting to their first command and first days of duty, and the company gunny not being involved in some fashion, is either suffering from a convenient memory or is a liar. And Marines don't lie. Here's your chance to post your tale, Marines.
And if the Marine won't tell on himself, track down their company gunny--they'll remember and have plenty of stories.
Oh, and yes, there's a gunny or two with the goods on me. To them, "At ease, Marines."
Hiram, I hope your son's sleep is, by now, warmer than it was. And yet I've no idea what a bivvy sack is--no idea. We had "Willy Peter" bags, and they, usually old, cracked, and torn--unserviceable but issued, were next to worthless.
Post Script
The Marine gunnery sergeant--"gunny"; a special, revered breed of the Corps. It's a rank, with unique and demanding responsibilities to match, like no other in any branch of our armed forces or any military outfit world-wide. "Gunny" wears a chevron of three stripes up with two rockers and crossed rifles centered between the stripes. "Gunny" is the Marine Marines turn to when something needs to be done. Commanders issue order(s) and stand back but supervise because, though a great, capable Marine, the gunny was once a private, PFC, and lance corporal.
Author's Endnotes
It seemed fitting to close today by remembering two fine Marines...
1. Major H. G. "Gene" Duncan, USMC (Ret) 1931-2011: Decorated combat veteran, including the Purple Heart, well-known for his books "Green Side Out/Brown Side Out" (thoughtful and humorous tales of Marine life) died on Valentine's Day. I read his books when a second lieutenant. In fact, it'd be difficult to find an older Marine who's not read them. Affectionately known as "Dunc," there's a story that during Operation Desert Shield he (retired some 12 years or so at the time) wrote the Commandant requesting recall to active duty. His words, "I want to fight in one war which has public approval before I die." Informed his poor hearing might be a problem he jabbed back, "I don't want to listen to the Iraqis, I want to shoot them." His request was still under consideration, probably conveniently "lost" on some gunny's desk, when Desert Storm abruptly ended.
2. Major Roy Centner, USMC (Ret) 1948-2011: Marine, business-owner, and respected citizen of our desert community died unexpectedly less than a week ago after collapsing following a run. Still a young man, his death, like sudden ones always do, has left family and friends dazed. Speaking with a retired Marine friend the other day who knew Roy well, "They just don't come any better...he was a great Marine...he loved Marines...at his place of business he took care of Marines...and if the Marines did not have the money he'd tend to business and tell the Marine to pay when they could...he always took care of my sons...his death difficult to get my head around...this doesn't make sense or seem right...he was too young...I am sure going to miss him..." I remember chatting with Roy at the USMC Birthday Ball last November (photo left). Roy will be missed--sorely missed--he sure will.
And...
3. There you have it, a true short story poking fun at a longtime Marine friend and his son--a Marine second lieutenant; being a second lieutenant. And saluting two great Marines and characters of our Corps who reported home--and our big green machine, better for their selfless service since the day they earned their eagle, globe, and anchor through the day they died, marches on.
4. A final thought and sobering reminder...
Second lieutenants, who face a steep learning curve and sometimes innocently hiccup a time or two in the early days before their first platoon of Marines, are exceptionally well-trained and good at what they do. Quite good at what they do. At this moment second lieutenants are leading Marines and Sailors in training, dangerous training, preparing for combat. At this moment second lieutenants are leading Marines and Sailors in combat. And it's damn near a certainty my friend's son, a second lieutenant, who is leading Marines and Sailors in dangerous training will soon lead his Marines and Sailors in combat. Challenging days await him. And his forgotten bivvy sack? Nothing more than an inconsequential silly moment--a hiccup--with a big lesson learned, memory, and laugh--between father, son, and the gunny; and me. As his dad said, "But, if you do something stupid, you have to let someone who can eventually bust your balls know about it. The best lessons we learn are the lessons from our own mistakes."
5. Semper Fidelis, Marines.
17 February 2011
SO SOME MAY PLAY
SO SOME MAY PLAY
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 18 February 2011
"We signed up knowing the risk. Those innocent people in New York didn't go to work thinking there was any kind of risk." Private Mike Armendariz-Clark, USMC
On occasion I receive email from military friends that, while reading, cause me to pause, think, and swallow hard before continuing. One of those emails arrived Wednesday evening, 26 January. And it's been on my mind since. How best to present it? Time, as it usually does, provided the answer.
First, perspective--as to the aid of time.
Late last Friday afternoon...
After spending hours at computers "painting" and writing I went out the front door to enjoy the late afternoon crisp desert air. About that same time the mailman was pulling up--he waved. He had a small haul for us; the usual pre-sorts, flyers, solicitations, junk and more junk, and a birth announcement. One of the pieces of "junk" caught my eye--a bold banner on the envelope read, "You're a Sweepsteaks Winner!" Cool. But wait, isn't that "Sweepstakes"? I didn't bother opening it.
And there was two small plain white boxes ever-so-slightly larger than the perimeter of a CD case and large enough to hold four or five. The boxes were post marked Iona Music Inc.,Toronto, Ontario.
A friend alerted me a couple of weeks ago some music was on the way but I'd no idea to what extent. Eight discs. The sender, Mr. John McDermott--Canada's superb tenor and internationally known recording star and philanthropist, whom I wrote about a couple of weeks back. He sent the music in appreciation for my words. If you missed the Commentary ("MAPLE LEAF RAG"), take a few moments and tune in (see Archive left)--it's a short story about Mr. McDermott, his remarkable voice, and mostly his patriotic service to his country, and ours. And as I put the final coat of polish on today's words, his powerful, soothing music is playing in the background.
Super Bowl Sunday...
I'd no interest in the pre-game circus. And only passing (nice pun) interest in the game. About an hour before kickoff I decided to turn on the TV in our casual living area--it did not cooperate. Three remotes and punching about half the possible button permutations for 20 minutes did not solve the problem. Unplugging power and cable to reboot did not work. At this point in my younger days I'd have calmly unhooked the works and thrown it out the door. These days that is too much effort. So Plan B--pulled up a chair in the bedroom and rearranged the 13" diagonal on the dresser.
While taking a seat I heard the familiar heart-warming sound of helicopter rotor blades (USMC Hueys and Cobras)--aka: the sound of freedom--and then the distant rumble, some 35 miles to the east, of heavy artillery and maybe bombs. Marines and Sailors were training Marines and Sailors. They were training to go fight.They are training to go fight in Afghanistan.
And there I sat with a cold Blue Moon remembering days and nights of yesteryear riding in helicopters and training in the desert; times that do not seem all that along ago. And now others selflessly step forward to take on those dangerous duties so others may play football...so others may watch others play football...and all do so with little concern for their safety and well-being.
I watched the game but did not watch it. But it did not go unnoticed Fox was, before and during the game, saluting our military for their sacrifice and service to country. Our national anthem--disappointing. Abysmal. Why no rehearsal to preclude such a flop? Surely someone had some explaining to do. The half-time show? Is that what it was? Though a thought occurred to me as soon as the Black Eyed Peas started in on their enegetic, thumping, hand-clapping tune, "Pump It".
A few years ago a U. S. Navy squadron, while deployed aboard a carrier, made a video to that tune...a good, wholesome, fun video that ended up making rock stars out of some of the Sailors, and as lore goes, had a ranking admiral asking another admiral as to why their recruiting homepage did not get anywhere near the hits as the YouTube video? Damn good question. And so my question, "Why was the squadron video not shown on the world's largest flat screen in that Texas stadium during the tune?" What a recruiting opportunity--the message being short...the Navy has an important job but fun it can be! Don't take my word for it, see what you think: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqaWdkdFb3Y
Now, as to the email at the heart of today's words...
Following is the short note I sent back to the retired Sailor and long-time friend, who happens to be an admiral, who sent it to me. I have slightly expounded upon that note (italics) for the purpose of this Commentary.
Immediately after my note is the eye-witness account for today's Commentary. Do not expect to get through it without a hard swallow and maybe blotting a moist eye.
These people represent the best of America. Thank god they're on our side.
First, to my friend...
"A",
Nothing Marines do surprises Marines--the spirit is seared into us at the recruit depots and hills of Quantico during entry-level training. Magic! As a variant of a popular saying goes, "Only Marines and the enemy understand Marines. All others can only wonder." And that includes the bewildering moments of remarkable courage, and equally remarkable stupidity (e.g. Marines going outside "the wire" in less than complete and properly-worn battle gear and being snookered by kids who steal their gear. Those incidents and the others reminded me of a problem while on a Mediterranean deployment thirty years ago. In short, while training ashore, a young Marine tired of carrying a heavy, expensive, and classified piece of equipment; he just quit carrying it. Not until after embark was the discovery made by the platoon's leadership. And not until after the ship pulled anchor and started to steam was the company and battalion leadership informed. In short, it was ugly. The platoon commander, lieutenant, and his platoon sergeant were ordered to return to the training areas and search for the gear, but that could not happen until we pulled into port in another country--a few days later. The mission was hopeless. But executed it was--'Take a message to Garcia.' Most likely not to recover what everyone knew was long-gone gear but to teach the young officer and his platoon sergeant a lasting lesson about leadership and supervision. The gear was not recovered. The young Marine who abandoned it was punished. And his chain of command up through the lieutenant was disciplined. Lesson learned. And not just by those Marines. We all learned a lasting lesson--and here I am writing about it; recalling the shipboard fiasco and all the names and faces as if it were yesterday.) They are Marines, but they are human, too. We sometimes forget that minor detail. Bottom line: Leadership
The colonel who was hit in the face with a rock and had his nose broken was on the brigadier general list recently released. One Marine opined he may be the only soon-to-be GO (General Officer) with a Purple Heart (if that wound qualifies--I don't see why not).
That was an interesting read. Well done. I felt like I was there amidst the madness. And had feelings of how much I miss being around Marines and the Sailors who serve with Marines. Hands down the finest America has to offer. How fortunate you and I share the title(s) and are in the brotherhood. A membership that cannot be bought and I'd not surrender for a king's ransom. Ever!
Thanks for sending. This made my evening.
Following is how the material came across to me in email...
"Sent: Wednesday, January 26, 2011 5:41 PM
Subject: 2011 Afghan Ops update
From the net...courtesy of Mike and an IA (Individual Augment) Navy Sailor...
So far, 2011 has been ridiculous. The rapid succession of unfortunate events since the New Year led to the command decision to shut down the internet/phone center – hence, my lack of communication. Understandably, the Commanding Officer is concerned that Marines are spending too much time focusing on Facebook and YouTube and have lost their focus on combat operations.
The first thing to happen, right around Christmas, was a mounted patrol (everyone in vehicles) hitting an IED. There were two Marines injured, one with eye trauma and another with shrapnel in the back of his head. From the injury pattern of these casualties, it was obvious that neither were wearing their appropriate protective gear (helmet, goggles or ballistic lenses). Venturing outside the wire without all protective gear is a huge no-no, and brings about questions of complacency, lack of discipline, etc. The command requested that I make a statement about the injury pattern as evidence that proper equipment was not worn. I decided that that it was beyond the scope of my practice to contribute to the Courts Martial of these Marines who were both severely wounded.
The internet/phone center might have survived one such incident, but unfortunately two more events occurred. At one of the other bases, a grenade was thrown over the wall. While seeking cover, a Marine left his M240G (heavy machine gun) and it was somehow picked up by the enemy. On the same day, another Marine in a security post had the IR night vision scope stolen by some kids. Apparently the kids often come up to the security post to beg for candy. On that day, they threw a puppy into the guard post. With the Marine distracted by the puppy, they swiped the IR scope. With the loss of a heavy machine gun and a night scope, the CO decided that some drastic changes needed to take place. A handful of Marines were severely disciplined, all free time was reallocated to training, and the internet/phone tent was shut down.
While 99% of the Marines continued to do their jobs with dedication and purpose, the second week of 2011 brought more chaos. Somehow a Marine was run over by a MTVR (big truck). He was the ground guide, responsible for directing the driver and making sure he didn’t run over anyone else. Apparently both the ground guide and driver were distracted, and the ground guide was killed. A few days later there was another incident on one of the security posts. A Marine and an Afghan National Army guy were both standing watch. His story is that the ANA guy seemed to be intoxicated and started waving his pistol around. The Marine told him to put the gun down but he did not comply. When the ANA guy pointed the pistol at the Marine, he received one fatal M-16 round through his right eye. The investigation is still underway.
Last week the Regimental Marine Colonel had to be Medevac’d with a broken nose and lacerated cheek. He was sitting at a meeting with some Taliban representatives when some Afghan guy rushed forward and smashed his face with a big rock. The Colonel is fine, and the Afghan guy was executed by his people, but I can’t say that we are any closer to establishing any sort of effective peace agreement.
Business has been steady on the medical side of the house. We have performed about 70 resuscitations, and all but two have survived for transport to the hospital. I am continually amazed at how tough the Marines are. A couple days ago a Sergeant came in missing both lower legs. Before we had given him any pain medication, he started joking about preserving his modesty while we were cutting his pants off. Many times two or three Marines come in at the same time. I was working on one guy who had lost a leg and his only concern was for his friend on the stretcher at the other end of the room. We have all become a little desensitized by the frequent trauma, and for the most part it is a good thing. The team stays very quiet for the 15-20 minutes that we work on the patient – quite the opposite of the frenzy of activity in an ER portrayed on TV. Most of our patients are categorized as singles, doubles, or triples depending on how many limbs they are missing. It amazes me to think about how easily we now handle a single amp compared to when we started a few months ago. The doubles and triples are always scary as they have usually lost the majority of their blood volume and we have to move much quicker. We have yet to have a quad survive transport to the STP. A few weeks ago a young Marine came in with his foot missing and his left arm dangling by the elbow. As we started working on him, he asked if we could remove his wedding ring to make sure it wouldn’t get lost. The guy obviously realized that after we put him to sleep he would be waking up without his arm and he wanted to make sure that he didn’t lose track of the wedding ring. Such a logical request, but under the circumstances I was awed by the courage of this Marine. I am trying to track down his home address because I think his wife should know what was on his mind right after he lost two limbs.
The Afghan wounded are a completely different story. They come in screaming and yelling and usually need to be sedated before we can do anything else. We had a situation a few weeks ago where 3 ANA patients came in and were prioritized incorrectly. The first was covered in blood screaming and yelling and appeared to be the most severely injured. The second one had a bloody leg, was loudly moaning and appeared to be having trouble breathing. The third was laying quietly on a stretcher looking around. We attended to the first two who appeared to be the worst off. It turned out that the first one didn’t have a penetrating skull injury, just a shrapnel wound to his scalp. The second didn’t have an airway or breathing problem, he was just anxious about the shrapnel wound to his leg. The third guy turned out to have a penetrating abdominal wound with internal abdominal bleeding – fortunately the corpsman picked up on the fact that his blood pressure was dropping and his belly was starting to expand. We stopped treatment of the first two and started pumping blood into the third guy just as he lost consciousness. He survived transport to the surgical suite but later died. I’m not sure if we could have done anything differently to affect the outcome, but we certainly triaged these guys in the wrong order. We have come to realize that the loudest ANA patients are usually the most stable. A Marine missing two legs will tell you that he’s OK and tell you to treat his buddy first, but the ANA all portray their injuries as if they are clinging to their last breath. It is clearly a cultural discrepancy and I try to remind myself that these guys are scared, can’t communicate with us, and probably feel that they need to “show” us that they are injured. I just have a hard time not being disgusted by the theatrics.
The 3/5 Battalion Surgeon, Pat, is a Physician Assistant in his mid-forties who was former Navy Chief. To describe him as “salty” would be an understatement. He has developed The 4 Rules of Sangin. #1 – Don’t get blow’d up (not blown up, but blow’d up – with a Southern accent). #2 – Don’t get shot. #3 Hydrate or die (Marines are always being told to drink more water). #4 Don’t wear white socks. (For some reason, every Sergeant Major in the Marine Corps has taken personal offense to white socks, even though they don’t show when the pants are properly bloused around the boots. Black, tan, green, and brown all seem to be OK, but white is strictly forbidden. Every once in a while some Marine lets his pants ride up too high showing a speck of white sock and gets his ass chewed). Anyhow, when a call comes in that an Afghan soldier has been shot, Pat will report that our patient failed to heed Rule #2 of the Sangin. His assessment of the ANA seems spot on. He describes them as “drunken clowns with bees in their underpants”. Last night we spent 30 minutes trying to figure out what was wrong with an ANA guy who stumbled into the BAS assisted by two other frantic Afghans. He appeared to be in such bad shape that we thought maybe he had suffered a seizure or a stroke. After finally getting an interpreter to help us out, we discovered that he had a stomach ache. Two Tums, three burps, a bottle of water, and ten minutes later he shook everyone’s hand then walked out the door as good as new. I’m still not sure how the stomach ache caused the limp, but I’m learning that the Afghans don’t abide by the typical presentations of illnesses described in our American medical textbooks.
As I was reading a book last night, I came across a line that I thought was pretty funny. I’m not sure if it was the author’s original work or if it is a saying that I just haven’t heard before. One of the characters in the book advised the other, “Never wrestle with a pig – you both get covered in shit, and the pig likes it!” I can’t help but think of how this might apply to our current situation here in Afghanistan."
And so there you have it--some sacrifice so some may play, and so others may watch them play; a game called football (and all others)--played on a field sometimes called a gridiron, and sometimes, erroneously, referred to as a "battlefield"; it's not a battlefield--not by a long shot.
Mere hours before posting this Commentary I received a note from a long-time Marine friend letting me know his Marine son--likewise an infantryman following in Dad's footsteps--would soon be deploying to Afghanistan and asked that we keep his unit, and all others, in our prayers. Done! He also commented on recently meeting two young Marines--infantrymen--recovering from battle injuries. One lost a leg below the knee about a month ago. He said, "He (the Marine) looked spectacular, and had an amazing attitude--enthused to be getting his prosthetic leg this week." The other, he first met a couple of months back and they crossed paths the other day, was standing and walking on his prosthetic leg and awaiting the model for running. His attitude the same as the other Marine's. He closed, "I offer that, only if you follow the main stream media too closely and maybe lost sight, we are still at war, and the casualties are still coming."
His closing remark--a sobering reminder from a Marine with a daily view of the war with a son marching into harm's way.
Shall we all remember, daily, our country is at war. Shall we all keep a closer eye on and take care of the "some" sacrificing--all knowing when they raised their right hand and swore an oath they'd, sooner rather than later, most likely go fight. They're a special breed. Yes, indeed!
Post Script
As a rule, I do not gamble; even petty bets. Certainly never before have I bet on a game taking the Packers. Because...in some ways I'm not over the Packers beating the Cowboys in the 1967 NFL Championship game known as "The Ice Bowl"--in the last seconds of the game, played in 13 degrees below zero weather, center Ken Bowman and guard Jerry Kramer cleared the way for quarterback, Bart Starr, to sneak in for a 21-17 win. Anyway, at the goading of an old retired Marine colonel friend, supporting the Steelers, I won a lunch. Looking forward to it, Big Mac!
Author's Endnote
Thank you, John McDermott!
Take a moment to check out his work--music, of course, and notably his selfless "McDermott House" project supporting Canada's first responders, military, and their respective families. Noble.
1. http://www.johnmcdermott.com/ "Legacy of the Patriot" CD is one especially near and dear to Americans
2. http://www.mcdermotthousecanada.org/
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 18 February 2011
"We signed up knowing the risk. Those innocent people in New York didn't go to work thinking there was any kind of risk." Private Mike Armendariz-Clark, USMC
On occasion I receive email from military friends that, while reading, cause me to pause, think, and swallow hard before continuing. One of those emails arrived Wednesday evening, 26 January. And it's been on my mind since. How best to present it? Time, as it usually does, provided the answer.
First, perspective--as to the aid of time.
Late last Friday afternoon...
After spending hours at computers "painting" and writing I went out the front door to enjoy the late afternoon crisp desert air. About that same time the mailman was pulling up--he waved. He had a small haul for us; the usual pre-sorts, flyers, solicitations, junk and more junk, and a birth announcement. One of the pieces of "junk" caught my eye--a bold banner on the envelope read, "You're a Sweepsteaks Winner!" Cool. But wait, isn't that "Sweepstakes"? I didn't bother opening it.
And there was two small plain white boxes ever-so-slightly larger than the perimeter of a CD case and large enough to hold four or five. The boxes were post marked Iona Music Inc.,Toronto, Ontario.
A friend alerted me a couple of weeks ago some music was on the way but I'd no idea to what extent. Eight discs. The sender, Mr. John McDermott--Canada's superb tenor and internationally known recording star and philanthropist, whom I wrote about a couple of weeks back. He sent the music in appreciation for my words. If you missed the Commentary ("MAPLE LEAF RAG"), take a few moments and tune in (see Archive left)--it's a short story about Mr. McDermott, his remarkable voice, and mostly his patriotic service to his country, and ours. And as I put the final coat of polish on today's words, his powerful, soothing music is playing in the background.
Super Bowl Sunday...
I'd no interest in the pre-game circus. And only passing (nice pun) interest in the game. About an hour before kickoff I decided to turn on the TV in our casual living area--it did not cooperate. Three remotes and punching about half the possible button permutations for 20 minutes did not solve the problem. Unplugging power and cable to reboot did not work. At this point in my younger days I'd have calmly unhooked the works and thrown it out the door. These days that is too much effort. So Plan B--pulled up a chair in the bedroom and rearranged the 13" diagonal on the dresser.
While taking a seat I heard the familiar heart-warming sound of helicopter rotor blades (USMC Hueys and Cobras)--aka: the sound of freedom--and then the distant rumble, some 35 miles to the east, of heavy artillery and maybe bombs. Marines and Sailors were training Marines and Sailors. They were training to go fight.They are training to go fight in Afghanistan.
And there I sat with a cold Blue Moon remembering days and nights of yesteryear riding in helicopters and training in the desert; times that do not seem all that along ago. And now others selflessly step forward to take on those dangerous duties so others may play football...so others may watch others play football...and all do so with little concern for their safety and well-being.
I watched the game but did not watch it. But it did not go unnoticed Fox was, before and during the game, saluting our military for their sacrifice and service to country. Our national anthem--disappointing. Abysmal. Why no rehearsal to preclude such a flop? Surely someone had some explaining to do. The half-time show? Is that what it was? Though a thought occurred to me as soon as the Black Eyed Peas started in on their enegetic, thumping, hand-clapping tune, "Pump It".
A few years ago a U. S. Navy squadron, while deployed aboard a carrier, made a video to that tune...a good, wholesome, fun video that ended up making rock stars out of some of the Sailors, and as lore goes, had a ranking admiral asking another admiral as to why their recruiting homepage did not get anywhere near the hits as the YouTube video? Damn good question. And so my question, "Why was the squadron video not shown on the world's largest flat screen in that Texas stadium during the tune?" What a recruiting opportunity--the message being short...the Navy has an important job but fun it can be! Don't take my word for it, see what you think: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqaWdkdFb3Y
Now, as to the email at the heart of today's words...
Following is the short note I sent back to the retired Sailor and long-time friend, who happens to be an admiral, who sent it to me. I have slightly expounded upon that note (italics) for the purpose of this Commentary.
Immediately after my note is the eye-witness account for today's Commentary. Do not expect to get through it without a hard swallow and maybe blotting a moist eye.
These people represent the best of America. Thank god they're on our side.
First, to my friend...
"A",
Nothing Marines do surprises Marines--the spirit is seared into us at the recruit depots and hills of Quantico during entry-level training. Magic! As a variant of a popular saying goes, "Only Marines and the enemy understand Marines. All others can only wonder." And that includes the bewildering moments of remarkable courage, and equally remarkable stupidity (e.g. Marines going outside "the wire" in less than complete and properly-worn battle gear and being snookered by kids who steal their gear. Those incidents and the others reminded me of a problem while on a Mediterranean deployment thirty years ago. In short, while training ashore, a young Marine tired of carrying a heavy, expensive, and classified piece of equipment; he just quit carrying it. Not until after embark was the discovery made by the platoon's leadership. And not until after the ship pulled anchor and started to steam was the company and battalion leadership informed. In short, it was ugly. The platoon commander, lieutenant, and his platoon sergeant were ordered to return to the training areas and search for the gear, but that could not happen until we pulled into port in another country--a few days later. The mission was hopeless. But executed it was--'Take a message to Garcia.' Most likely not to recover what everyone knew was long-gone gear but to teach the young officer and his platoon sergeant a lasting lesson about leadership and supervision. The gear was not recovered. The young Marine who abandoned it was punished. And his chain of command up through the lieutenant was disciplined. Lesson learned. And not just by those Marines. We all learned a lasting lesson--and here I am writing about it; recalling the shipboard fiasco and all the names and faces as if it were yesterday.) They are Marines, but they are human, too. We sometimes forget that minor detail. Bottom line: Leadership
The colonel who was hit in the face with a rock and had his nose broken was on the brigadier general list recently released. One Marine opined he may be the only soon-to-be GO (General Officer) with a Purple Heart (if that wound qualifies--I don't see why not).
That was an interesting read. Well done. I felt like I was there amidst the madness. And had feelings of how much I miss being around Marines and the Sailors who serve with Marines. Hands down the finest America has to offer. How fortunate you and I share the title(s) and are in the brotherhood. A membership that cannot be bought and I'd not surrender for a king's ransom. Ever!
Thanks for sending. This made my evening.
Following is how the material came across to me in email...
"Sent: Wednesday, January 26, 2011 5:41 PM
Subject: 2011 Afghan Ops update
From the net...courtesy of Mike and an IA (Individual Augment) Navy Sailor...
So far, 2011 has been ridiculous. The rapid succession of unfortunate events since the New Year led to the command decision to shut down the internet/phone center – hence, my lack of communication. Understandably, the Commanding Officer is concerned that Marines are spending too much time focusing on Facebook and YouTube and have lost their focus on combat operations.
The first thing to happen, right around Christmas, was a mounted patrol (everyone in vehicles) hitting an IED. There were two Marines injured, one with eye trauma and another with shrapnel in the back of his head. From the injury pattern of these casualties, it was obvious that neither were wearing their appropriate protective gear (helmet, goggles or ballistic lenses). Venturing outside the wire without all protective gear is a huge no-no, and brings about questions of complacency, lack of discipline, etc. The command requested that I make a statement about the injury pattern as evidence that proper equipment was not worn. I decided that that it was beyond the scope of my practice to contribute to the Courts Martial of these Marines who were both severely wounded.
The internet/phone center might have survived one such incident, but unfortunately two more events occurred. At one of the other bases, a grenade was thrown over the wall. While seeking cover, a Marine left his M240G (heavy machine gun) and it was somehow picked up by the enemy. On the same day, another Marine in a security post had the IR night vision scope stolen by some kids. Apparently the kids often come up to the security post to beg for candy. On that day, they threw a puppy into the guard post. With the Marine distracted by the puppy, they swiped the IR scope. With the loss of a heavy machine gun and a night scope, the CO decided that some drastic changes needed to take place. A handful of Marines were severely disciplined, all free time was reallocated to training, and the internet/phone tent was shut down.
While 99% of the Marines continued to do their jobs with dedication and purpose, the second week of 2011 brought more chaos. Somehow a Marine was run over by a MTVR (big truck). He was the ground guide, responsible for directing the driver and making sure he didn’t run over anyone else. Apparently both the ground guide and driver were distracted, and the ground guide was killed. A few days later there was another incident on one of the security posts. A Marine and an Afghan National Army guy were both standing watch. His story is that the ANA guy seemed to be intoxicated and started waving his pistol around. The Marine told him to put the gun down but he did not comply. When the ANA guy pointed the pistol at the Marine, he received one fatal M-16 round through his right eye. The investigation is still underway.
Last week the Regimental Marine Colonel had to be Medevac’d with a broken nose and lacerated cheek. He was sitting at a meeting with some Taliban representatives when some Afghan guy rushed forward and smashed his face with a big rock. The Colonel is fine, and the Afghan guy was executed by his people, but I can’t say that we are any closer to establishing any sort of effective peace agreement.
Business has been steady on the medical side of the house. We have performed about 70 resuscitations, and all but two have survived for transport to the hospital. I am continually amazed at how tough the Marines are. A couple days ago a Sergeant came in missing both lower legs. Before we had given him any pain medication, he started joking about preserving his modesty while we were cutting his pants off. Many times two or three Marines come in at the same time. I was working on one guy who had lost a leg and his only concern was for his friend on the stretcher at the other end of the room. We have all become a little desensitized by the frequent trauma, and for the most part it is a good thing. The team stays very quiet for the 15-20 minutes that we work on the patient – quite the opposite of the frenzy of activity in an ER portrayed on TV. Most of our patients are categorized as singles, doubles, or triples depending on how many limbs they are missing. It amazes me to think about how easily we now handle a single amp compared to when we started a few months ago. The doubles and triples are always scary as they have usually lost the majority of their blood volume and we have to move much quicker. We have yet to have a quad survive transport to the STP. A few weeks ago a young Marine came in with his foot missing and his left arm dangling by the elbow. As we started working on him, he asked if we could remove his wedding ring to make sure it wouldn’t get lost. The guy obviously realized that after we put him to sleep he would be waking up without his arm and he wanted to make sure that he didn’t lose track of the wedding ring. Such a logical request, but under the circumstances I was awed by the courage of this Marine. I am trying to track down his home address because I think his wife should know what was on his mind right after he lost two limbs.
The Afghan wounded are a completely different story. They come in screaming and yelling and usually need to be sedated before we can do anything else. We had a situation a few weeks ago where 3 ANA patients came in and were prioritized incorrectly. The first was covered in blood screaming and yelling and appeared to be the most severely injured. The second one had a bloody leg, was loudly moaning and appeared to be having trouble breathing. The third was laying quietly on a stretcher looking around. We attended to the first two who appeared to be the worst off. It turned out that the first one didn’t have a penetrating skull injury, just a shrapnel wound to his scalp. The second didn’t have an airway or breathing problem, he was just anxious about the shrapnel wound to his leg. The third guy turned out to have a penetrating abdominal wound with internal abdominal bleeding – fortunately the corpsman picked up on the fact that his blood pressure was dropping and his belly was starting to expand. We stopped treatment of the first two and started pumping blood into the third guy just as he lost consciousness. He survived transport to the surgical suite but later died. I’m not sure if we could have done anything differently to affect the outcome, but we certainly triaged these guys in the wrong order. We have come to realize that the loudest ANA patients are usually the most stable. A Marine missing two legs will tell you that he’s OK and tell you to treat his buddy first, but the ANA all portray their injuries as if they are clinging to their last breath. It is clearly a cultural discrepancy and I try to remind myself that these guys are scared, can’t communicate with us, and probably feel that they need to “show” us that they are injured. I just have a hard time not being disgusted by the theatrics.
The 3/5 Battalion Surgeon, Pat, is a Physician Assistant in his mid-forties who was former Navy Chief. To describe him as “salty” would be an understatement. He has developed The 4 Rules of Sangin. #1 – Don’t get blow’d up (not blown up, but blow’d up – with a Southern accent). #2 – Don’t get shot. #3 Hydrate or die (Marines are always being told to drink more water). #4 Don’t wear white socks. (For some reason, every Sergeant Major in the Marine Corps has taken personal offense to white socks, even though they don’t show when the pants are properly bloused around the boots. Black, tan, green, and brown all seem to be OK, but white is strictly forbidden. Every once in a while some Marine lets his pants ride up too high showing a speck of white sock and gets his ass chewed). Anyhow, when a call comes in that an Afghan soldier has been shot, Pat will report that our patient failed to heed Rule #2 of the Sangin. His assessment of the ANA seems spot on. He describes them as “drunken clowns with bees in their underpants”. Last night we spent 30 minutes trying to figure out what was wrong with an ANA guy who stumbled into the BAS assisted by two other frantic Afghans. He appeared to be in such bad shape that we thought maybe he had suffered a seizure or a stroke. After finally getting an interpreter to help us out, we discovered that he had a stomach ache. Two Tums, three burps, a bottle of water, and ten minutes later he shook everyone’s hand then walked out the door as good as new. I’m still not sure how the stomach ache caused the limp, but I’m learning that the Afghans don’t abide by the typical presentations of illnesses described in our American medical textbooks.
As I was reading a book last night, I came across a line that I thought was pretty funny. I’m not sure if it was the author’s original work or if it is a saying that I just haven’t heard before. One of the characters in the book advised the other, “Never wrestle with a pig – you both get covered in shit, and the pig likes it!” I can’t help but think of how this might apply to our current situation here in Afghanistan."
And so there you have it--some sacrifice so some may play, and so others may watch them play; a game called football (and all others)--played on a field sometimes called a gridiron, and sometimes, erroneously, referred to as a "battlefield"; it's not a battlefield--not by a long shot.
Mere hours before posting this Commentary I received a note from a long-time Marine friend letting me know his Marine son--likewise an infantryman following in Dad's footsteps--would soon be deploying to Afghanistan and asked that we keep his unit, and all others, in our prayers. Done! He also commented on recently meeting two young Marines--infantrymen--recovering from battle injuries. One lost a leg below the knee about a month ago. He said, "He (the Marine) looked spectacular, and had an amazing attitude--enthused to be getting his prosthetic leg this week." The other, he first met a couple of months back and they crossed paths the other day, was standing and walking on his prosthetic leg and awaiting the model for running. His attitude the same as the other Marine's. He closed, "I offer that, only if you follow the main stream media too closely and maybe lost sight, we are still at war, and the casualties are still coming."
His closing remark--a sobering reminder from a Marine with a daily view of the war with a son marching into harm's way.
Shall we all remember, daily, our country is at war. Shall we all keep a closer eye on and take care of the "some" sacrificing--all knowing when they raised their right hand and swore an oath they'd, sooner rather than later, most likely go fight. They're a special breed. Yes, indeed!
Post Script
As a rule, I do not gamble; even petty bets. Certainly never before have I bet on a game taking the Packers. Because...in some ways I'm not over the Packers beating the Cowboys in the 1967 NFL Championship game known as "The Ice Bowl"--in the last seconds of the game, played in 13 degrees below zero weather, center Ken Bowman and guard Jerry Kramer cleared the way for quarterback, Bart Starr, to sneak in for a 21-17 win. Anyway, at the goading of an old retired Marine colonel friend, supporting the Steelers, I won a lunch. Looking forward to it, Big Mac!
Author's Endnote
Thank you, John McDermott!
Take a moment to check out his work--music, of course, and notably his selfless "McDermott House" project supporting Canada's first responders, military, and their respective families. Noble.
1. http://www.johnmcdermott.com/ "Legacy of the Patriot" CD is one especially near and dear to Americans
2. http://www.mcdermotthousecanada.org/
10 February 2011
STARRY NIGHT--STARRY, STARRY NIGHT
STARRY NIGHT--STARRY, STARRY NIGHT
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 11 February 2011
"I have long thought that anyone who does not regularly--or ever--gaze up and see the wonder and glory of a dark night sky filled with countless stars loses a sense of their fundamental connectedness to the universe." Brian Greene
Vincent van Gogh made a painting that's titled, "Starry Night."
The Dutch artist, known for battling demons and severing part of his left ear, painted his famous nightscape from memory--while confined to an asylum in Saint-Remy during an especially difficult time in his troubled life. Sadly, and as is usually the case with artists, he did not live to know his painting of swirls and intense color would achieve "masterpiece" status. Nor the many others he painted likewise being so acclaimed and fetching astronomical prices at auction. This aspect of his life's work particularly ironic in that he had great difficulty selling paintings to a public not ready to understand his genius. In fact, the public snickered at and shunned his art and that mockery may have played a part in his death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound at the young age of 37 (1853-1890).
For all intents and purposes van Gogh was an unknown in the art world, despite his brother's, Theo--an art dealer, best efforts. Legend is Vincent sold only one painting while alive. How times change. Today he's a giant--an icon. In the spring of 1990 one of his portraits sold at auction for $82.5 million. Interested in reading about that painting--of the man who treated the painter? Pick up Cynthia Saltzman's "Portrait of Dr. Gachet--The Story of a van Gogh Masterpiece." It's a terrific tale--whether you find painting interesting or not.
Eighty years after the post-impressionist died, American singer-songwriter Don McLean was looking at a book about van Gogh, came across an image of the haunting painting "Starry Night," and was moved to pick up his guitar and, while studying the image, write the tune--"Vincent" also known as "Starry, Starry Night."
To this day there is a connection between van Gogh's painting and McLean's song--good authority has it the van Gogh museum in Amsterdam plays the song daily for those wandering the galleries. And according to the museum's website there's a time capsule buried beneath the museum that contains some of van Gogh's brushes and McLean's sheet music. How interesting--as general semanticists might opine, 'time-binding the arts; painting and music--"languages" that transcend all language.'
The original van Gogh "Starry Night" is owned by the Museum of Modern Art. That would be in New York City. But there are prints abound, and on just about everything you can think of; all in the name of a buck.
More about starry nights in a moment.
Not too long ago a recent acquaintance, after a bit of small talk, admitted to being a die-hard liberal. And proud of it. Not a concern of mine but okay. The remark came out-of-the-blue (think dark blue--starry night sky) as our conversation had been about nothing in particular and everything of little importance. Right. Idle chit chat.
Their next comment, "I heard you're a "Tea Party'er" and I'd like to understand..."
Thinking... What? Where did you hear that, and from whom? Nope--no way was I getting dragged into this swamp.
So for a moment I sat silent. I thought. And that a rare moment of brilliance for me when someone, especially a liberal, raises politics. For my usual inclination is to begin 'therapy' immediately. But after my awkward, for them not me, pause I commented on something completely removed from politics then hastily excused myself 'to see a man about a horse.' Stepping away for a few minutes, I returned and moved the conversation on to lighter subjects--chit chat.
For instance, did you know that coconut milk can be used as blood plasma? True. Why I know that I cannot remember. Perhaps because through the years I've painted a number of "landscapes"--zooming in on coconuts (hanging from trees) as still life--and stumbled on the tidbit when reading about the palm fruit. Strangely enough, the person I was conversing with knew it, too, having recently learned it. A third party listening to the conversation chimed in they did not know that about coconut milk and was surprised the two of us did and found it strange it came up in discussion. Me too, but my kind of conversation.
Only recently did I learn that a collective of crows is called a "murder." Did you know that? And no, I do not know if crows like coconut milk or if the milk will work as avian blood plasma. Seems they should and it should, then again, I don't really care. And, oh yes, van Gogh painted a murder of crows over a wheat field. That, too, a masterpiece--"Wheat Field with Crows"--hangs in the van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. There are prints abound of this painting, too, and on just about everything; all in the name of a buck.
Speaking of fun with words and collectives, how about a "sneak" of weasels? And as for baboons, they're referred to as a "congress." Did you know that? Makes damn good sense to me. And yet I wonder which came first--tagging the primate world or our representatives. I hope the former as the latter would be insulting to the baboons. What did they ever do to us?
Anyway, I ignored the politics question because I'm not a "Tea Party'er." If a label's necessary, call me conservative independent who bears firearms and respects common sense adhering to the Constitution of the United States of America; as written. In God We Trust. Fiddle with the core of America and what built her into a powerhouse and you have my attention. I have never attended a Tea Party. I have never attended a tea party. I've not had call to shoot anyone with my shotgun, yet, and hope that time never comes. And there you have it--my politics--in six sentences.
What the uninformed have yet to grasp is the Tea Party may be a party but it is more a "movement"--a growing conservative movement--in America. Respectable polls, Rasmussen et.al., clearly reflect the movement cuts across political party affiliation, age, gender, race, religion, socioeconomic, etc., categories. But that fact rarely comes across on most "news" programming despite the good old-fashioned waxing America delivered back in November. Ergo the "news" is not reality. Is it ever?
Some invaluable time away from home recently put much into perspective--especially regarding politics. For weeks, though Friday Comments continued, focus was on painting, thinking about painting, and teaching painting--pursuits vitally important in life; at least through these eyes. The few distractions encountered were minimal and self-imposed; they passed quickly.
A refreshing reminder, while being mostly incommunicado from all which I do not care so much about, is the swamp of politics--our Greater Capitol Region for starters--is not all that important in the great big scheme of things. Not all that important at all.
A walk along a narrow street in a tiny settlement just beyond the high tide mark and listening to the surf while gawking at the star-splattered sky on a new moon night--it's a marvel, a damn marvel--served as absolute confirmation as to what is and is not important. Politics? Huh! Not hardly.
Why van Gogh painted "Starry Night" makes perfect sense. And why McLean felt compelled to write "Starry, Starry Night" about "Starry Night" makes perfect sense.
Starry nights are. They just are.
Till recently scientists believed our sky was peppered with some 100 billion stars--that's a 1 followed by eleven zeros. But recently scientists reported there may be as many as ten times that number. Maybe more. Mind-boggling.
Even if all the words known to man equaled that number of stars there'd not be enough to justifiably describe the starry night sky.
For the word nor words are not and cannot ever be the thing. Words only represent, and poorly at that, no matter how clever the writer. Words and things, any and everything, are mutually exclusive. A reality clouded by "education" and hectic lives. Most people do not give it a second thought. Too bad.
Starry nights are. They just are.
Nevertheless, while searching for words some by Victor Hugo popped up, "There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul."
Though Hugo, and if words really could be the thing, inserting the word "night"--twice--before "sky" would be a more powerful thought still. Yes, more powerful.
Living in the desert and sometimes on a tiny cay--both starry night skies are. They just are.
Starry nights--good medicine. Step outside and take a look. A long look. And think. Forget words. And heal.
Now pardon, it's late and to quote another artist, Jimi Hendrix, "Excuse me while I kiss the sky."
Kiss the night sky, that is. And count my lucky stars.
Post Script
Don McLean still plays his guitar. Vincent van Gogh's brushes are still; forever. My brushes and ibrushes move; for now. Inevitably I will converse about politics again. But not before giving it some thought--some serious thought. And certainly not before stepping outside to gawk at the starry night sky--to think and to decide if it's worth even a moment of my time.
Artist: Don McLean
Title: Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land
{Refrain}
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue
Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
{Refrain}
For they could not love you
But still, your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could've told you, Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you
Starry, Starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow
Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will
Author's Endnotes
1. A few quotes, copied in longhand decades ago, I keep close...
"Simplify. Simplify." Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)
"I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream." Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)
"With a painter who weeps, who dies of rage in front of his canvas, there is hope." Georges Clemenceau (1841-1929)
2. And finally, van Gogh could not possibly have imagined that 121 years after his death there'd be an admiring artist who'd create a rendering of his now famous "Starry Night"--with an ipalette and ibrush on a device called an iPad (see my humble effort posted left). For the world can only wonder what van Gogh et. al., would have done with this marvelous machine.
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 11 February 2011
"I have long thought that anyone who does not regularly--or ever--gaze up and see the wonder and glory of a dark night sky filled with countless stars loses a sense of their fundamental connectedness to the universe." Brian Greene
Vincent van Gogh made a painting that's titled, "Starry Night."
The Dutch artist, known for battling demons and severing part of his left ear, painted his famous nightscape from memory--while confined to an asylum in Saint-Remy during an especially difficult time in his troubled life. Sadly, and as is usually the case with artists, he did not live to know his painting of swirls and intense color would achieve "masterpiece" status. Nor the many others he painted likewise being so acclaimed and fetching astronomical prices at auction. This aspect of his life's work particularly ironic in that he had great difficulty selling paintings to a public not ready to understand his genius. In fact, the public snickered at and shunned his art and that mockery may have played a part in his death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound at the young age of 37 (1853-1890).
For all intents and purposes van Gogh was an unknown in the art world, despite his brother's, Theo--an art dealer, best efforts. Legend is Vincent sold only one painting while alive. How times change. Today he's a giant--an icon. In the spring of 1990 one of his portraits sold at auction for $82.5 million. Interested in reading about that painting--of the man who treated the painter? Pick up Cynthia Saltzman's "Portrait of Dr. Gachet--The Story of a van Gogh Masterpiece." It's a terrific tale--whether you find painting interesting or not.
Eighty years after the post-impressionist died, American singer-songwriter Don McLean was looking at a book about van Gogh, came across an image of the haunting painting "Starry Night," and was moved to pick up his guitar and, while studying the image, write the tune--"Vincent" also known as "Starry, Starry Night."
To this day there is a connection between van Gogh's painting and McLean's song--good authority has it the van Gogh museum in Amsterdam plays the song daily for those wandering the galleries. And according to the museum's website there's a time capsule buried beneath the museum that contains some of van Gogh's brushes and McLean's sheet music. How interesting--as general semanticists might opine, 'time-binding the arts; painting and music--"languages" that transcend all language.'
The original van Gogh "Starry Night" is owned by the Museum of Modern Art. That would be in New York City. But there are prints abound, and on just about everything you can think of; all in the name of a buck.
More about starry nights in a moment.
Not too long ago a recent acquaintance, after a bit of small talk, admitted to being a die-hard liberal. And proud of it. Not a concern of mine but okay. The remark came out-of-the-blue (think dark blue--starry night sky) as our conversation had been about nothing in particular and everything of little importance. Right. Idle chit chat.
Their next comment, "I heard you're a "Tea Party'er" and I'd like to understand..."
Thinking... What? Where did you hear that, and from whom? Nope--no way was I getting dragged into this swamp.
So for a moment I sat silent. I thought. And that a rare moment of brilliance for me when someone, especially a liberal, raises politics. For my usual inclination is to begin 'therapy' immediately. But after my awkward, for them not me, pause I commented on something completely removed from politics then hastily excused myself 'to see a man about a horse.' Stepping away for a few minutes, I returned and moved the conversation on to lighter subjects--chit chat.
For instance, did you know that coconut milk can be used as blood plasma? True. Why I know that I cannot remember. Perhaps because through the years I've painted a number of "landscapes"--zooming in on coconuts (hanging from trees) as still life--and stumbled on the tidbit when reading about the palm fruit. Strangely enough, the person I was conversing with knew it, too, having recently learned it. A third party listening to the conversation chimed in they did not know that about coconut milk and was surprised the two of us did and found it strange it came up in discussion. Me too, but my kind of conversation.
Only recently did I learn that a collective of crows is called a "murder." Did you know that? And no, I do not know if crows like coconut milk or if the milk will work as avian blood plasma. Seems they should and it should, then again, I don't really care. And, oh yes, van Gogh painted a murder of crows over a wheat field. That, too, a masterpiece--"Wheat Field with Crows"--hangs in the van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. There are prints abound of this painting, too, and on just about everything; all in the name of a buck.
Speaking of fun with words and collectives, how about a "sneak" of weasels? And as for baboons, they're referred to as a "congress." Did you know that? Makes damn good sense to me. And yet I wonder which came first--tagging the primate world or our representatives. I hope the former as the latter would be insulting to the baboons. What did they ever do to us?
Anyway, I ignored the politics question because I'm not a "Tea Party'er." If a label's necessary, call me conservative independent who bears firearms and respects common sense adhering to the Constitution of the United States of America; as written. In God We Trust. Fiddle with the core of America and what built her into a powerhouse and you have my attention. I have never attended a Tea Party. I have never attended a tea party. I've not had call to shoot anyone with my shotgun, yet, and hope that time never comes. And there you have it--my politics--in six sentences.
What the uninformed have yet to grasp is the Tea Party may be a party but it is more a "movement"--a growing conservative movement--in America. Respectable polls, Rasmussen et.al., clearly reflect the movement cuts across political party affiliation, age, gender, race, religion, socioeconomic, etc., categories. But that fact rarely comes across on most "news" programming despite the good old-fashioned waxing America delivered back in November. Ergo the "news" is not reality. Is it ever?
Some invaluable time away from home recently put much into perspective--especially regarding politics. For weeks, though Friday Comments continued, focus was on painting, thinking about painting, and teaching painting--pursuits vitally important in life; at least through these eyes. The few distractions encountered were minimal and self-imposed; they passed quickly.
A refreshing reminder, while being mostly incommunicado from all which I do not care so much about, is the swamp of politics--our Greater Capitol Region for starters--is not all that important in the great big scheme of things. Not all that important at all.
A walk along a narrow street in a tiny settlement just beyond the high tide mark and listening to the surf while gawking at the star-splattered sky on a new moon night--it's a marvel, a damn marvel--served as absolute confirmation as to what is and is not important. Politics? Huh! Not hardly.
Why van Gogh painted "Starry Night" makes perfect sense. And why McLean felt compelled to write "Starry, Starry Night" about "Starry Night" makes perfect sense.
Starry nights are. They just are.
Till recently scientists believed our sky was peppered with some 100 billion stars--that's a 1 followed by eleven zeros. But recently scientists reported there may be as many as ten times that number. Maybe more. Mind-boggling.
Even if all the words known to man equaled that number of stars there'd not be enough to justifiably describe the starry night sky.
For the word nor words are not and cannot ever be the thing. Words only represent, and poorly at that, no matter how clever the writer. Words and things, any and everything, are mutually exclusive. A reality clouded by "education" and hectic lives. Most people do not give it a second thought. Too bad.
Starry nights are. They just are.
Nevertheless, while searching for words some by Victor Hugo popped up, "There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul."
Though Hugo, and if words really could be the thing, inserting the word "night"--twice--before "sky" would be a more powerful thought still. Yes, more powerful.
Living in the desert and sometimes on a tiny cay--both starry night skies are. They just are.
Starry nights--good medicine. Step outside and take a look. A long look. And think. Forget words. And heal.
Now pardon, it's late and to quote another artist, Jimi Hendrix, "Excuse me while I kiss the sky."
Kiss the night sky, that is. And count my lucky stars.
Post Script
Don McLean still plays his guitar. Vincent van Gogh's brushes are still; forever. My brushes and ibrushes move; for now. Inevitably I will converse about politics again. But not before giving it some thought--some serious thought. And certainly not before stepping outside to gawk at the starry night sky--to think and to decide if it's worth even a moment of my time.
Artist: Don McLean
Title: Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land
{Refrain}
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue
Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
{Refrain}
For they could not love you
But still, your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could've told you, Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you
Starry, Starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow
Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will
Author's Endnotes
1. A few quotes, copied in longhand decades ago, I keep close...
"Simplify. Simplify." Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)
"I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream." Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)
"With a painter who weeps, who dies of rage in front of his canvas, there is hope." Georges Clemenceau (1841-1929)
2. And finally, van Gogh could not possibly have imagined that 121 years after his death there'd be an admiring artist who'd create a rendering of his now famous "Starry Night"--with an ipalette and ibrush on a device called an iPad (see my humble effort posted left). For the world can only wonder what van Gogh et. al., would have done with this marvelous machine.
03 February 2011
AYE, AYE, SIR
AYE, AYE, SIR
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 04 February 2011
"Reasonable orders are easy enough to obey; it is capricious, bureaucratic or plain idiotic demands that form the habit of discipline." Barbara Tuchman (1912-1989), American historian & author
Today's Commentary is not going in the direction you may first assume. As today is one of those days seemingly unrelated things come together while addressing a current controversial issue. Yet that last sentence a bit confounding as how is it possible anything in life cannot be related? Somehow? And irrespective of time-space?
"Coincidences"--which many do not believe in--just might be nothing more than notable moments of a far grander scheme of perfect order of our monstrous chaotic world; which is beyond any human ability to grasp much less understand. Though we struggle, hopelessly, for sensibility and even control; both aims absurd. Coincidence, happenstance, luck, irony, whatever you want to call it, makes for entertainment, but mostly head-scratching and head-shaking wonder. Think about it.
One day we may understand. Maybe. In the interim, I continue and ask your kind indulgence.
Five days ago I closed the back cover on Doug Stanton's exceptional page-turner, "In Harm's Way." I was familiar with the story, detailed in a moment, but not like this--not anything like this. And his account includes long overdue actions taken by our government during the last decade to correct our government's deplorable behavior of yesteryear. What a shame justice required six decades. But better late than never, and though the damage, namely lives lost and destroyed, can never be undone, only assuaged, some--earthly and heavenly--now finally rest; especially Captain Charles Butler McVay, U. S. Navy.
Published in 2001, Stanton's riveting story, set during WWII, is the sinking of the USS Indianapolis and the extraordinary story of her survivors. "Extraordinary" is an understatement. A huge understatement. For there are no words to truly describe the horrific ordeal the crew of that behemoth warship faced, and some conquered. That said, Stanton did an exceptional job--within the limitations of language--putting the reader helplessly afloat in the daunting, wide-open, merciless sea and causing pause to think, "Could I'd survived?"
That there were any survivors is a miracle. But the survivors serve as proof the will to live (along with a smidgen of luck--if there is such a thing) is one of nature's forces to be reckoned with, and something that can be immeasurably strengthened by the words and deeds of others; even by the most innocent and seemingly inconsequential of words and deeds.
Aboard the Indianapolis, part of ship's company, was a U. S. Marine Corps Detachment--standard for the day. The Det of thirty-nine young Leathernecks was led by a battle-tested captain who'd distinguished himself on Saipan earning the Silver Star; his decoration for heroism presented aboard the Indianapolis by her skipper--Captain McVay. That Marine captain held the admiration and respect of his Marines--he led them.
One of the privates in the Det had fought in the battle of Peleliu and survived the Indianapolis sinking. He was among those interviewed by Stanton. In telling the story, Stanton captured something the private had said to a handful of shipmates while adrift in the sea struggling to survive that struck a chord with me; causing pause to think and for a good long while. Fighting for their lives against the ruthless elements of Mother Nature, heartless predators of the deep, and the nasty demons that emerge from an abyss within the human psyche when under extreme psychological and physiological stress, he told his shipmates not to worry that he'd take care of them. That moment of remarkable courage and leadership, from a private, was prompted by his memory of another Marine captain, who amidst the gruesome fighting on Peleliu, told the private to stick with him--he'd get him through the battle. He did. The private never forgot it. And he now found himself in another battle--one he could not possibly have predicted. And though a private, he was now "the captain."
The timing of reading "In Harm's Way" was fortuitous and coinciding (hmmm) with the recent release of a short video by our Corps commandant and sergeant major. I was well into the book but had not reached the short paragraph that caused me to pause and think until after watching General Amos and Sergeant Major Kent address Marines.
No, our two top Marines did not talk about the Indianapolis sinking and her survivors, but they did metaphorically speaking. They sounded alot like the captain on Peleliu in 1944 and the private adrift at sea eight or nine months later; July, 1945.
Their topic was "Don't ask, don't tell" repeal--a sensitive issue that has caused many a Marine's heart and soul to sink.
Our commandant fought repeal. He fought repeal on behalf of his Marines who told him straightup repeal is not a good idea. His Marines, many serving in combat, told him repeal would endanger unit cohesion and, in turn, warfighting effectiveness; which led Marines to being blunt about concerns for the safety and survival of their Marines and themselves. Our commandant listened to his Marines, he heard them; loud and clear. He fought for them, for all of us, from a fighting position of priniciple and with conviction not gratuitious defiance, in the face of great pressure. He could have acquiesced but did not. Leadership.
Those empowered to overturn "Don't ask, don't tell"--our nation's civilian leadership--listened to General Amos (and his Marines). But they did not hear.
After testimony before the Senate Armed Services Committee, General Amos lost the battle. Marines lost the battle, but only because on that "battlefield" the Marines are "out-gunned"; always.
I watched our commandant and sergeant major's video several times. After digesting their message I sent a note to the retired Marine who'd sent me the video. I wrote, "Had our commandant not taken the tough stand he did fighting repeal thereby revealing his character and moxie (to Marines--every single one of us), the video would have had far less impact and implementation of new policy more than challenging. It's still going to be challenging. But, Marines respect leadership. Marines respect character. And Marines understand and appreciate following orders; which even our commandant and sergeant major must do. Bravo. Or so is my humble perspective."
The sender came back, "I also think it is well done and obviously ahead of the bow wave. Keeping ahead of the fruitless exercise in social engineering is critical in my view. There will be impacts; but there are many mitigation techniques; one of which we have just viewed."
After reading lines 22 and 23 of the seventh paragraph on page 197 of Stanton's tale it struck me our commandant and sergeant major were saying, "Stick with us Marines, we'll get you through this."
Recalling our commandant's testimony a couple of months back--fiercely but diplomatically fighting repeal--there's no reason to doubt he, teamed with the sergeant major, will successfully lead our Corps through this transition. Besides, our culture's ethos pertains--Marines do not leave Marines on the battlefield; any battlefield. Stick with them, Marines. As if that needed to be said.
Our commandant received his marching orders. He, in turn, issued marching orders to our Corps--from private to general officer; every single Marine. In short, he said we are going to accomplish our mission; implementing repeal--without detriment to our culture, standards, and warfighting capability. Stick with me.
Happy? Not Happy? Sentiments matter not. Repeal is now a non-issue. And now it's business as usual.
Debate, fair and serious or not and with or without valid objective and empirical data, is done. Professionals execute. Marines are professionals. Therefore, Marines salute smartly and respond "Aye, Aye, Sir,"--acknowledging orders received, understood, and will be carried out. As did our commandant so must Marines.
The way ahead stems from our commandant and sergeant major. Yet the Marines who will make repeal happen are young NCOs--corporals and sergeants--squad leaders; young SNCOs--staff sergeants and gunnery sergeants--platoon sergeants; and young officers--lieutenants--platoon commanders. Period. Seniors--officer and SNCOs--must coach and mentor. That is, lead, by example, in thought, word, and deed.
For now repeal stands. Change will not be easy, though it's simple. Leadership. Discipline. And unwavering allegiance to Core/Corps Values --Honor, Courage, Commitment.
Time. Time will tell if repeal was a mistake.
So with that our Corps, affectionately known as the 'big green machine,' marches on--stepping off a full thirty inches with the left foot and leaning--to attack and conquer anyone or anything foolish enough to test our mettle. For the sake of our Corps survival and continued distinguished service to our country's security and safety it can be no other way. And it won't be.
Our commandant and sergeant major's message--barely a few minutes in length--is a direct, powerful statement of seasoned leadership. As orders must be, our commandant's concise, clear, and stated with sound gentlemanly conviction. There is no chance for misinterpretation. Time to follow--in letter and spirit. And, in turn, time to lead--in letter and spirit.
As Anthony Wayne (1745-1796), U. S. Army general and statesman, said, "Issue the orders sir, and I will storm Hell." Wayne did not add a qualifier exempting orders he disagreed with. Nor will Marines. And no slight to General Wayne, a distinguished and fine soldier indeed, nor the Army, but with such a fiery fighting temperment he'd probably have made a damn good Marine; especially these days. Higher praise does not come to mind. Might we all adopt his spirit.
"The Few. The Proud. The Marines."--our longstanding recruiting slogan. Just like an effective order--clear, concise, and impossible to misinterpret.
Marines will get this done. They always have. Always.
I don't recall our commandant's exact words closing the video but they may as well had been, "Fall in; Right, FACE; Forward, MARCH!"
Enemies--whomever, whatever, and wherever lurking--beware!
Semper Fidelis.
Post Script
General James F. Amos and Sergeant Major Carlton W. Kent leading the way. Take a few moments...
http://www.marines.mil/news/pages/marinestv.aspx?pid=d9p4g5vJWiQll4bLGacNt1d1BTDx1vus
The following paragraphs were initially in the body of the Commentary. Though germane, I believe best suited here. Considering past commentary on the issue, omitting them would have been disingenuous; not my style.
On behalf of Marines who oppose(d) repeal of "Don't ask, don't tell" I've been an outspoken, pointed but polite and unapologetic, critic in a handful of commentaries during the past year or so. In the end, it was clear the repeal effort was never intended nor designed to listen, hear, and seriously consider the opinions of those who wore (including some 1,500 retired flag officers representing all branches of the armed forces) and are currently wearing our nation's military uniform; especially the gunfighters. Gratuitous solicitation and procedural forums with the air of a rubber stamp (the only thing missing was a Staples "Easy Button") served bureaucratic purpose--for the vocal minority, advocates in the Department of Defense and Congress, and the President. If ever a "project" had a foregone conclusion, repeal of "Don't ask, don't tell" is a textbook case. And that assessment supported by the paltry data (which did not support repeal). Not to mention the root of that paltry data--the survey's 28% response rate; most probably and frankly explained by an apathetic community who concluded, and accurately so, repeal was fait accompli. Neither the process, nor the invalid race and gender integration analogies calling for change, nor outcome were particularly palatable but it is what it is. And it's moot.
Marines--past to present--are none too happy with repeal. Sentiments run deep and for many that depth is anchored by upbringing that homosexuality is wrong; regardless. And that homosexuality is disruptive to good order and discipline and incompatible with the unique demands of military service. That said, dedicated and recurring training and education will not necessarily change upbringing and morals but tempering to a point of healthy tolerance, in the best interests of our Corps and country, is a critical objective--and just one obvious objective. Certainly there are indeterminable "opportunities" that will afford Marines a stage to showcase that intangible "something" that distinguishes them (us) from all others. Overcome them Marines will--for all any Marine has to do is recall the moment they earned the right to wear our emblem and be called, "Marine." Those two special privileges are founded upon the bedrock of personal sacrifice and teamwork and they carry hard-earned and well-understood responsibilities. What responsibilities? Professionalism. Duty. And much more. Simple as that.
And finally...
"Manage yourself first and others will take your orders." David Seabury (1885-1960), American psychologist
Author's Endnote
About the USS Indianapolis: http://www.ussindianapolis.org/
"In Harm's Way" -- make a point to read it. All of life's problems--even the great big ones, in a sense, will seem trivial. And don't be surprised to find yourself fetching a drink of water--in a tall glass. Confession--I kept a quart-size bottle, water bottle that is, within arm's reach and filled it when below the half mark. True. Not the sign of a pessimist but a pragmatic optimist; always. And the book is full of eerie "coincidences."
By Andy Weddington
Friday, 04 February 2011
"Reasonable orders are easy enough to obey; it is capricious, bureaucratic or plain idiotic demands that form the habit of discipline." Barbara Tuchman (1912-1989), American historian & author
Today's Commentary is not going in the direction you may first assume. As today is one of those days seemingly unrelated things come together while addressing a current controversial issue. Yet that last sentence a bit confounding as how is it possible anything in life cannot be related? Somehow? And irrespective of time-space?
"Coincidences"--which many do not believe in--just might be nothing more than notable moments of a far grander scheme of perfect order of our monstrous chaotic world; which is beyond any human ability to grasp much less understand. Though we struggle, hopelessly, for sensibility and even control; both aims absurd. Coincidence, happenstance, luck, irony, whatever you want to call it, makes for entertainment, but mostly head-scratching and head-shaking wonder. Think about it.
One day we may understand. Maybe. In the interim, I continue and ask your kind indulgence.
Five days ago I closed the back cover on Doug Stanton's exceptional page-turner, "In Harm's Way." I was familiar with the story, detailed in a moment, but not like this--not anything like this. And his account includes long overdue actions taken by our government during the last decade to correct our government's deplorable behavior of yesteryear. What a shame justice required six decades. But better late than never, and though the damage, namely lives lost and destroyed, can never be undone, only assuaged, some--earthly and heavenly--now finally rest; especially Captain Charles Butler McVay, U. S. Navy.
Published in 2001, Stanton's riveting story, set during WWII, is the sinking of the USS Indianapolis and the extraordinary story of her survivors. "Extraordinary" is an understatement. A huge understatement. For there are no words to truly describe the horrific ordeal the crew of that behemoth warship faced, and some conquered. That said, Stanton did an exceptional job--within the limitations of language--putting the reader helplessly afloat in the daunting, wide-open, merciless sea and causing pause to think, "Could I'd survived?"
That there were any survivors is a miracle. But the survivors serve as proof the will to live (along with a smidgen of luck--if there is such a thing) is one of nature's forces to be reckoned with, and something that can be immeasurably strengthened by the words and deeds of others; even by the most innocent and seemingly inconsequential of words and deeds.
Aboard the Indianapolis, part of ship's company, was a U. S. Marine Corps Detachment--standard for the day. The Det of thirty-nine young Leathernecks was led by a battle-tested captain who'd distinguished himself on Saipan earning the Silver Star; his decoration for heroism presented aboard the Indianapolis by her skipper--Captain McVay. That Marine captain held the admiration and respect of his Marines--he led them.
One of the privates in the Det had fought in the battle of Peleliu and survived the Indianapolis sinking. He was among those interviewed by Stanton. In telling the story, Stanton captured something the private had said to a handful of shipmates while adrift in the sea struggling to survive that struck a chord with me; causing pause to think and for a good long while. Fighting for their lives against the ruthless elements of Mother Nature, heartless predators of the deep, and the nasty demons that emerge from an abyss within the human psyche when under extreme psychological and physiological stress, he told his shipmates not to worry that he'd take care of them. That moment of remarkable courage and leadership, from a private, was prompted by his memory of another Marine captain, who amidst the gruesome fighting on Peleliu, told the private to stick with him--he'd get him through the battle. He did. The private never forgot it. And he now found himself in another battle--one he could not possibly have predicted. And though a private, he was now "the captain."
The timing of reading "In Harm's Way" was fortuitous and coinciding (hmmm) with the recent release of a short video by our Corps commandant and sergeant major. I was well into the book but had not reached the short paragraph that caused me to pause and think until after watching General Amos and Sergeant Major Kent address Marines.
No, our two top Marines did not talk about the Indianapolis sinking and her survivors, but they did metaphorically speaking. They sounded alot like the captain on Peleliu in 1944 and the private adrift at sea eight or nine months later; July, 1945.
Their topic was "Don't ask, don't tell" repeal--a sensitive issue that has caused many a Marine's heart and soul to sink.
Our commandant fought repeal. He fought repeal on behalf of his Marines who told him straightup repeal is not a good idea. His Marines, many serving in combat, told him repeal would endanger unit cohesion and, in turn, warfighting effectiveness; which led Marines to being blunt about concerns for the safety and survival of their Marines and themselves. Our commandant listened to his Marines, he heard them; loud and clear. He fought for them, for all of us, from a fighting position of priniciple and with conviction not gratuitious defiance, in the face of great pressure. He could have acquiesced but did not. Leadership.
Those empowered to overturn "Don't ask, don't tell"--our nation's civilian leadership--listened to General Amos (and his Marines). But they did not hear.
After testimony before the Senate Armed Services Committee, General Amos lost the battle. Marines lost the battle, but only because on that "battlefield" the Marines are "out-gunned"; always.
I watched our commandant and sergeant major's video several times. After digesting their message I sent a note to the retired Marine who'd sent me the video. I wrote, "Had our commandant not taken the tough stand he did fighting repeal thereby revealing his character and moxie (to Marines--every single one of us), the video would have had far less impact and implementation of new policy more than challenging. It's still going to be challenging. But, Marines respect leadership. Marines respect character. And Marines understand and appreciate following orders; which even our commandant and sergeant major must do. Bravo. Or so is my humble perspective."
The sender came back, "I also think it is well done and obviously ahead of the bow wave. Keeping ahead of the fruitless exercise in social engineering is critical in my view. There will be impacts; but there are many mitigation techniques; one of which we have just viewed."
After reading lines 22 and 23 of the seventh paragraph on page 197 of Stanton's tale it struck me our commandant and sergeant major were saying, "Stick with us Marines, we'll get you through this."
Recalling our commandant's testimony a couple of months back--fiercely but diplomatically fighting repeal--there's no reason to doubt he, teamed with the sergeant major, will successfully lead our Corps through this transition. Besides, our culture's ethos pertains--Marines do not leave Marines on the battlefield; any battlefield. Stick with them, Marines. As if that needed to be said.
Our commandant received his marching orders. He, in turn, issued marching orders to our Corps--from private to general officer; every single Marine. In short, he said we are going to accomplish our mission; implementing repeal--without detriment to our culture, standards, and warfighting capability. Stick with me.
Happy? Not Happy? Sentiments matter not. Repeal is now a non-issue. And now it's business as usual.
Debate, fair and serious or not and with or without valid objective and empirical data, is done. Professionals execute. Marines are professionals. Therefore, Marines salute smartly and respond "Aye, Aye, Sir,"--acknowledging orders received, understood, and will be carried out. As did our commandant so must Marines.
The way ahead stems from our commandant and sergeant major. Yet the Marines who will make repeal happen are young NCOs--corporals and sergeants--squad leaders; young SNCOs--staff sergeants and gunnery sergeants--platoon sergeants; and young officers--lieutenants--platoon commanders. Period. Seniors--officer and SNCOs--must coach and mentor. That is, lead, by example, in thought, word, and deed.
For now repeal stands. Change will not be easy, though it's simple. Leadership. Discipline. And unwavering allegiance to Core/Corps Values --Honor, Courage, Commitment.
Time. Time will tell if repeal was a mistake.
So with that our Corps, affectionately known as the 'big green machine,' marches on--stepping off a full thirty inches with the left foot and leaning--to attack and conquer anyone or anything foolish enough to test our mettle. For the sake of our Corps survival and continued distinguished service to our country's security and safety it can be no other way. And it won't be.
Our commandant and sergeant major's message--barely a few minutes in length--is a direct, powerful statement of seasoned leadership. As orders must be, our commandant's concise, clear, and stated with sound gentlemanly conviction. There is no chance for misinterpretation. Time to follow--in letter and spirit. And, in turn, time to lead--in letter and spirit.
As Anthony Wayne (1745-1796), U. S. Army general and statesman, said, "Issue the orders sir, and I will storm Hell." Wayne did not add a qualifier exempting orders he disagreed with. Nor will Marines. And no slight to General Wayne, a distinguished and fine soldier indeed, nor the Army, but with such a fiery fighting temperment he'd probably have made a damn good Marine; especially these days. Higher praise does not come to mind. Might we all adopt his spirit.
"The Few. The Proud. The Marines."--our longstanding recruiting slogan. Just like an effective order--clear, concise, and impossible to misinterpret.
Marines will get this done. They always have. Always.
I don't recall our commandant's exact words closing the video but they may as well had been, "Fall in; Right, FACE; Forward, MARCH!"
Enemies--whomever, whatever, and wherever lurking--beware!
Semper Fidelis.
Post Script
General James F. Amos and Sergeant Major Carlton W. Kent leading the way. Take a few moments...
http://www.marines.mil/news/pages/marinestv.aspx?pid=d9p4g5vJWiQll4bLGacNt1d1BTDx1vus
The following paragraphs were initially in the body of the Commentary. Though germane, I believe best suited here. Considering past commentary on the issue, omitting them would have been disingenuous; not my style.
On behalf of Marines who oppose(d) repeal of "Don't ask, don't tell" I've been an outspoken, pointed but polite and unapologetic, critic in a handful of commentaries during the past year or so. In the end, it was clear the repeal effort was never intended nor designed to listen, hear, and seriously consider the opinions of those who wore (including some 1,500 retired flag officers representing all branches of the armed forces) and are currently wearing our nation's military uniform; especially the gunfighters. Gratuitous solicitation and procedural forums with the air of a rubber stamp (the only thing missing was a Staples "Easy Button") served bureaucratic purpose--for the vocal minority, advocates in the Department of Defense and Congress, and the President. If ever a "project" had a foregone conclusion, repeal of "Don't ask, don't tell" is a textbook case. And that assessment supported by the paltry data (which did not support repeal). Not to mention the root of that paltry data--the survey's 28% response rate; most probably and frankly explained by an apathetic community who concluded, and accurately so, repeal was fait accompli. Neither the process, nor the invalid race and gender integration analogies calling for change, nor outcome were particularly palatable but it is what it is. And it's moot.
Marines--past to present--are none too happy with repeal. Sentiments run deep and for many that depth is anchored by upbringing that homosexuality is wrong; regardless. And that homosexuality is disruptive to good order and discipline and incompatible with the unique demands of military service. That said, dedicated and recurring training and education will not necessarily change upbringing and morals but tempering to a point of healthy tolerance, in the best interests of our Corps and country, is a critical objective--and just one obvious objective. Certainly there are indeterminable "opportunities" that will afford Marines a stage to showcase that intangible "something" that distinguishes them (us) from all others. Overcome them Marines will--for all any Marine has to do is recall the moment they earned the right to wear our emblem and be called, "Marine." Those two special privileges are founded upon the bedrock of personal sacrifice and teamwork and they carry hard-earned and well-understood responsibilities. What responsibilities? Professionalism. Duty. And much more. Simple as that.
And finally...
"Manage yourself first and others will take your orders." David Seabury (1885-1960), American psychologist
Author's Endnote
About the USS Indianapolis: http://www.ussindianapolis.org/
"In Harm's Way" -- make a point to read it. All of life's problems--even the great big ones, in a sense, will seem trivial. And don't be surprised to find yourself fetching a drink of water--in a tall glass. Confession--I kept a quart-size bottle, water bottle that is, within arm's reach and filled it when below the half mark. True. Not the sign of a pessimist but a pragmatic optimist; always. And the book is full of eerie "coincidences."
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