Nevertheless...
Since they first came here, they realized that it is sometimes necessary to take up arms to protect the freedoms that are ours through design. I have great-uncles that fought in Cuba and the Phillipines. Others that were with Black Jack Persing chasing Pancho Villa, then, with two of his brothers (my Grampa being one of them), went to France as part of the Rainbow Division.
They all came home with different scars -- some that you could see, others that were well hidden. Grampa had mustard burns on his lungs and fought for years with the VA to get disability benefits, but there was some glitch in the paperwork that allowed the VA to continously deny him. It wasn't until five years before his death, 1966, that he finally received the benefits, along with backpay, allowing him and Gram to do well the last few years. Gram even lived off those and the survivor benefits for a number of years, but that's really not what this post is about.
Recently, I found out that two of Dad's cousins were on their way to Spain via France to join the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, but because of a busted fuel pump, missed their ship out of Duluth, and before they could get on another, the International Troops were withdrawn from the battles against Franco. Instead, they joined the Army. One, Michael Johan, fought under Patton through North Africa into Sicily, then into France. The other, Ronald, went to the South Pacific and was killed in the Phillipines, fighting over some of the same battlefields his uncle had 40 some odd years before.
My uncles, Marvin and Art Junior, Dad's older brothers, went to the Navy and Army respectively. Marvin went willingly, Junior was drafted. Dad was too young at the time, having been born in '29. A number of other uncles and a few aunts and cousins were also in the Army, Army Air Corps, and WAC's. With the exception of cousin Ronald and Uncle Marvin, all came home in one piece.
Marvin was on a ship that was hit by a Japanese torpedo. He was climbing a ladder on his way to his battle station. The force of the impact knocked him down six levels, breaking his back and hip on a rail. The VA didn't dink around with his benefits, thank God.
Dad fought in Korea, and was there with one of his good friends and hunting buddies, Clayton. They had known each other for ten years, and Clayton had also served in France as a tanker. In Korea, as a Staff Sergeant, Clayton commanded a tank.
Dad was hit by mortar shrapnal on Oct. 8, 1951, and he said it was the second most miserable moment of his life. The worst came about four years later when he barked up his leg with a chainsaw and the rest of the crew made him drive himself the 30 miles to the nearest hospital for treatment.
During Viet Nam, I had four first cousins and twelve second and third cousins that were in the Army and Air Force, and all but three served at least one tour in 'Nam. One, Mike, went over the hill, but, after talking to Grampa, turned himself back in and did time in the stockade. Another, Jay, spent three tours in special forces -- Rangers, Green Beanies, SOG Groups -- and then, when he returned to Minnesota, wasn't sure he was ready to rejoin society. On a windy June day in '74, Jay got on a northbound Grayhound and went to Ely, MN, where he homesteaded, raising and training sled dogs. It wasn't until '96 that he rejoined the family for more than Christmas supper and funerals. He's since moved back to the home farm, first living in a trailer home, then building a new house a quarter mile through the woods from the house he grew up in. He now works for another cousin doing body work, something he's enjoying and has a natural knack for.
Jeff got out of the Army and joined the National Guard. He also ended up working at the VA hospital in Minneapolis, first as a pharmacist, then as a liason officer, and finally, a division leader. He retired a few years ago so he could help his sister with her son, a young man who became a quadraplegic after diving into an above ground pool.
And then, Glen, the other I know well enough to actually write about. Glen was drafted at the time when 'Nam was winding down, and instead of going to Southeast Asia, he ended up in Colorado and Hawaii. Something happened during that time, soemthing he won't discuss, that made him a social misfit within the family. At one family reunion at his father's farm, Glen and Jeff (who are brothers) got into an argument that ended up in a thrown beer bottle, a few black eyes, and a broken nose. Jeff may have been an officer in the National Guard and served two tours in 'Nam, but, for pure fury, he couldn't handle Glen.
I joined the Marines in '83 while I was still in high school. I was pretty certain I'd end up serving in the military at some point from the time I was a kid, and there was always something about the Corps that...
fascinated...
me. Maybe it's because I was told for so long that I was basically worthless. Perhaps it was because they had/have the longest, and by reports from others, the toughest initial training. Or, it might have been something to do with the fact that no one in the family before me had ever been a Marine.
Regardless, I joined the Corps. Signed the contract on April 11, 1983, and went to boot camp in September. We were on the rifle range, Edson Range at Camp Pendleton, at the end of October when I realized for the very first time that my decision could kill me. One of our Drill Instructors, Staff Sgt. Johnson, a Viet Nam vet, woke us at 2:10 a.m. to tell us that the Marine Barracks the Beirut International Airport, housing members of the 24th Marine Amphibious Unit (MAU) had just been bombed.
"Fuckin' rat bastard drove a truck right into the building. Blew himself up to Allah. Think about that tomorrow, fucknuts, as you're puttin' rounds down range."
A few days later, he also informed us of the attack on Grenada that the 22 MAU played a role. We cheered until he chastised us with words I still remember to this day.
"Anytime a Marine is in battle it means that someone, somewhere, failed in their job to solve a problem peacefully. Anytime that we are in battle, we...you ...could die. Remember that."
Staff Sgt. Johnson served three tours in Viet Nam. He had 6 Purple Hearts along with the Navy Cross. If you don't know what a Navy Cross is, well, it's the second highest award for valor you can earn in the Marine Corps (or the Navy for that matter).
I got lucky. While I was in the Corps, the closest I came to being put into harm’s way occurred in ‘85 when my unit was placed on alert after four Marines on embassy duty in Nicaragua were killed while drinking coffee in a café. We spent a week on the football field in front of the General’s Building at Camp Pendleton waiting for the word to
I’m not a pacifist. I believe that there are times we as a country must make sacrifices to protect our country and our interests. I also believe that once committed, we need to support our Marines, soldiers, swabbies, and airmen.
I believe we also need to hold the leaders responsible for what’s done with our troops.
This morning, I listened to the account of what happened in Haditha, Iraq last November after a young Marine, Lance Cpl. Miguel Terrazas, Jr., was killed in an insurgence ambush. How the Marines, and in this case I use the term loosely, retaliated against the civilians, killing over 20. And how the family of the young warrior have been struggling with the news. Lcpl. Terrazas was from a family of Marines, and they are in denial over what was done in his name. Personally, I think everyone involved in that action needs to be held responsible.
Unfortunately, four of the main leaders won’t be. Four people who took us into this unwinnable conflict.
And it’s not just the troops that are currently serving are being screwed over by the powers that be. Last week it was announced that the records of 26 MILLION Veterans were stolen because some mid-level pogue decided to take the information home on a laptop. I can’t even express how much that angers me, especially when this information was hushed up for two weeks. I still haven’t received my letter from the VA, but I know others who have. But, what sticks deep in my craw is the fact that Bush has stated he has confidence in the head of the VA.
But, do the Veterans? Do we have confidence in the head of the VA? Do we have confidence in Bush?
Last weekend when I was home, my father, an ardent supporter of Bush, even said a few things that surprised me about Bush. The war. The current state of affairs around the world in general.
On this Memorial Day, I woke early, and I said prayers. Prayers of peace. Prayers of protection. Prayers for guidance. Prayers for my brother and sister Marines. Prayers for those that have been lost. Prayers for those that are in Harm’s Way. And prayers for us.
Peace.
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