Justice for Jones

As difficult as this might be to believe, Marines sometimes get themselves into trouble. In fact, the rumor is that Marines found so many different ways to get into trouble the military had to invent the Uniform Code of Military Justice to deal with all of the possibilities. Previously, the Articles for the Government of the United States Navy, 1930 (known as Rocks and Shoals) regulated discipline in the Naval Services. In the naval service, individuals who are referred to nonjudicial punishment are said to appear at “Captain’s Mast,” or “Office Hours.” A referral to court-martial may be appropriate for persons who commit serious offenses.

The mid-1970s was a difficult time for the Marine Corps. As President, Jimmy Carter gutted the military to the point of obstructing organizational efficiency and mission capability. Reduced manpower levels with no noticeable reduction in training requirements placed a great deal of stress within every critical occupational specialty, and if this wasn’t bad enough, Carter’s pardon of war time deserters had a demoralizing effect on the active duty components of the Armed Forces. Consequently, there was an increase in disciplinary problems — from unauthorized absence and drug use, to racial assaults and larceny. There was a spike in the number of alcohol related incidents. Some times, disciplinary action wasn’t enough, so the Corps placed greater emphasis on administratively separating Marines who established a pattern of misconduct. Knowing this, some Marines pursued regulatory infraction with abandon. Still, with limited Marines in the accession pipeline, commanders were hesitant to discharge Marines, even if they were a pain in the ass, because there would be no replacement.

At Marine Aircraft Group 11, Private First Class (PFC) Jones (not his real name) was taken to nonjudicial punishment (NJP) because he was absent without authorization (UA) for a period of twenty-five days. For this offense, referral to Office Hours was appropriate because his absence, being less than thirty days, did not result in desertion. Nevertheless, his absence from duty did place a greater burden on fellow Marines in the Avionics Section and because he absented himself without authority on two previous occasions, neither his NCOIC nor OIC were particularly happy with PFC Jones.

The squadron commander was Lieutenant Colonel Charlton, an easy-going F-4 pilot who preferred flying fast-movers to conducting office hours. The Squadron Sergeant Major marched Jones in to the colonel’s office, the charges read, he was accorded his rights under Article 31 (self-incrimination prohibited), and he was asked for his pleading. Jones admitted he was guilty of unauthorized absence.

Colonel Charlton reminded Jones that an admission of guilt removed the government’s burden to prove his absence was unauthorized, and Jones indicated that he understood that. Both the Sergeant Major and the CO discerned a somewhat surly attitude from Jones, even as he admitted guilt.

Before determining a suitable punishment, Colonel Charlton attempted to inquire further into Jones’ conduct, seeking to understand why he would go over the hill — knowing, as he should, that his absence would make everyone else’s job more difficult in the Avionics Department. Jones maintained his sullen silence until the gruff-voiced Sergeant Major said, “The Colonel asked you a question, numb-nuts,” at which point Jones responded with, “Well dude, it’s like this — I’d rather shovel horse shit than to work in this chicken outfit.”

The Sergeant Major, a veteran of 28 years, bristled but Colonel Charlton signaled him to remain “at ease.” After thinking about the problem for a few minutes, Charlton instructed the Sergeant Major to have Jones wait outside his office for a few moments. Jones stood at the position of attention outside the colonel’s office for about fifteen minutes until the Colonel ordered him brought back inside.

Said the colonel, “Inasmuch as you have admitted your guilt, I find you are guilty of the offense. Your service record book indicates — considering time lost for bad behavior so far, that you will get out of the Marine Corps in fourteen months. Is that information correct?”

“Yeah,” said Jones.

The Sergeant Major dearly wanted to choke Jones for his lack of respect — but again Colonel Charlton motioned for him to remain in check. “I have taken your desires into consideration, Jones. I do not wish to force you to work in a “chicken” outfit, especially since the quality of avionics repair demands only our best, our brightest, and our most motivated Marines. I am therefore going to once again reduce you to the grade of Private (E-1), and I am going to fine you 2/3 of one month’s pay for two months. You will be restricted to the limits of your barracks, the dining facility, and your place of duty for a period of 45 days. Do you understand the punishment I have awarded to you?”

“Yeah,” said Jones.

“In addition,” the colonel continued, “commencing tomorrow morning, you will be assigned to the Base Stables, where you will be shoveling horse shit from now until you are released from active duty.” And then, directing his remarks to the Sergeant Major, Colonel Charlton continued, “You will place Private Jones on restriction effective immediately; tomorrow morning, Jones’ NCOIC will escort him and all his personal effects to the base stables where a rather unpleasant Gunnery Sergeant will be waiting for his arrival. He will remain on restriction, so make sure the restriction documents accompany him.”

“”Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant Major.

“Private Jones, you are dismissed,” said the Colonel.

Private Jones was slow to execute an “about, face” as understanding revealed itself, and in the space of two meters, from his position in front of the colonel’s desk to the door to the colonel’s office, Jones’ facial expressions evolved from shock to utter disbelief. Private Jones was turned over to his NCOIC, a Master Sergeant, and Jones went away. We never saw Jones again after that.

After that, it seemed to us that the Sergeant Major was in an uncharacteristically good mood. He was no doubt reveling in the fact that justice was finally served in the case of the United States vs. Private Jones. After that, the number of petty offenses by our Marines seemed to decrease for some reason or another, and the overall estimation of our squadron commander increased.

Probate

One of the gunnery sergeants attached to the Marine Corps transient facility at Camp Hansen, Okinawa was killed one Saturday afternoon while riding in a taxi enroute from Camp Hansen to the Air Station at Futenma – some 20 miles south. His family was notified of his demise, along with relevant details, and the body was returned to his family. I didn’t know the Marine personally, in as much as I was a lowly sergeant, but he seemed to be well regarded by his peers.

About two months later, the Commanding General received a letter from the gunny’s wife, which thanked the General for his kind letter and then she asked about the disposition of her late-husband’s property in Okinawa. The CG assumed that there was some problem getting the Marine’s personal effects back to his wife, so he directed that an inquiry be made about the status of this property.

The company commander didn’t know anything about a problem with the gunny’s personal effects, and his records reflected that the articles were inventoried, screened for contraband, and shipped back to widow. The CG directed the Staff Judge Advocate (SJA) to draft an appropriate response to this effect and send it off over the lawyer’s signature. This was done promptly.

Another month went by and the Commanding General received another letter, this time from an attorney who demanded to know about the deceased Marine’s real estate on Okinawa, as his wife wanted to take possession of the property, as was her legal entitlement. The General again had the SJA visit with him, along with the gunny’s company commander. The question was, “What real estate?” But no one knew the answer to a question made even more confusing by the fact that American personnel are not allowed to own property on Okinawa. Finally, the General called in his Sergeant Major, who within a few moments offered a likely explanation.

Military personnel have a number of phrases they use to disguise socially unacceptable behavior. Among the least clever are such expressions as “shacking up,” and among the more witty is “ranching.” Apparently, the deceased Marine had written a letter to his wife telling her he had invested in a ranch. Indeed, he had — but it wasn’t anything the Marine Corps could send back to the States.

Lacking Protocol

While stationed at Headquarters Marine Corps, I occasionally presented myself to the Marine Corps Liaison Officer to the Office of the Joint Chief of Staff for temporary duty as a “stand in” for a regularly assigned Marine while he was on leave. The liaison officer’s duties involved a number of administrative tasks, not the least of which was to provide courier support for documents originating from the joint secretariat to the office of the Commandant. When vehicle support was needed, the liaison office used the driver and sedan assigned to the Operations Deputy.

Corporal Bevins, the driver, was a down-to-earth kind of Marine. When he wasn’t driving, polishing, or cleaning the inside of the sedan, he was more than likely sitting in a chair in the liaison office reading a comic book. One day he set his comic book aside and announced to our Colonel that he was going down the hall to use the head. He may have been gone about ten or fifteen minutes when a Navy captain suddenly entered the office with Corporal Bevins in tow. “May I help you, sir?” the liaison officer asked.

“Does this Marine belong to you?”

“Yes sir,” he replied.

“Well, you need to keep him out of the Chairman’s head,” he ordered.

In the Navy and Marine Corps, the word “head” refers to toilet facilities, or a latrine. In this case, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, a four star officer, was assigned his own facility. After the captain left, the liaison officer said, “What were you doing in the Chairman’s head, Corporal Bevins?”

“I didn’t know it was the Chairman’s head, sir.”

“Well, wasn’t the door marked ‘private’?” he asked.

“Yes, sir . . . but I figured if an effin private could use it, so could a corporal.”

Difficult Thanksgiving

A Marine private doesn’t have a lot of responsibility, other than to do what he or she is told to do—and the reason for this is that it is assumed that privates know very little about the art and science of war. So privates are in the learning curve. The good news is, a private has nowhere to go but up in the rank structure. The bad news is that everyone is just waiting for you to make a mistake.

I was assigned as the “assistant duty noncommissioned officer” for Company E, 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines on 22 November 1963. My task was to do what the Duty NCO told me to do. This was essentially limited to being a “runner,” supervise any fire watches after taps, and to answer the telephone when the Duty NCO was away from his desk in the company recreation room. The Duty NCO was Corporal Graham — a veteran of four years who didn’t have much use for privates.

At about 1400, Corporal Graham informed me that he was going to make a tour of the company area. He said, “If anything important comes up, write it down on this pad of paper and I’ll decide whether it goes in the log book when I return.” So I sat at the desk and listened to the corporal’s radio while he made his rounds. A news bulletin interrupted the music: “Ladies and gentlemen, President John F. Kennedy has been shot in Dallas, Texas.” I noted the time. It was 1425. I wrote it down on the pad of paper on Corporal Graham’s desk.

Corporal Graham returned from making his rounds, noted my handwritten entry on the pad of paper, and asked, “Are you serious, private?” He turned on the television in the recreation room and we watched the unfolding events for the rest of the day. I cannot recall a single other event that occurred on that day — but I recall that it wasn’t a very happy thanksgiving that year.

Griffin's Wife

Before the Ryukyu Islands reverted to Japanese Control, a senior military officer governed the islands according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice and various other martial orders and regulations. One regulation prohibited the presence of wives without formal command sponsorship, and limited spousal visits to no more than sixty days. The situation was fine with the Marine Corps because all Marines on Okinawa were part of the Fleet Marine Forces and therefore regarded as “forward deployed” assets. When wives did visit their husbands on Okinawa, the individual Marine’s command monitored that visit to ensure that it did not extend beyond sixty days. The rule applied to all Marines, regardless of rank. No officer with career intentions would bring his wife to Okinawa, and few enlisted personnel could afford it.

Sergeant Griffin could afford it, and he had the fortitude to go through a mountain of paperwork that would ultimately gain the military governor’s approval for a visit by Mrs. Griffin. As part of the process of gaining approval, the Marine “sponsor” had to certify that he had the funds for a round trip ticket for his wife, that he had a suitable place for her to stay, and that the “departure date” of the wife did not extend beyond the allotted period. Now, it is a tradition in the Marine Corps that no one ever sticks his nose into the private affairs of his subordinates — especially financial matters, so long as they are legal. No one questioned where Sergeant Griffin got the money for his wife’s airfare, because it just wasn’t done and because it was sufficient that Sergeant Griffin provided evidence of having the funds to defray these costs.

Had Sergeant Griffin kept his own counsel about his wife’s visit, few people would have even found out about the “impending” visit, but then again, keeping it a secret wasn’t Sergeant Griffin’s plan. The first curiosity of the NCO quarters was satisfied when Sergeant Griffin informed us that he could afford to bring his wife to Okinawa because he owned his own business in Tennessee. Of course, that revelation led to a number of follow-up questions, such as “What kind of business?” And it went downhill from that point on.

It may have taken two months for Sergeant Griffin to obtain permission to bring his wife to Okinawa for a visit. Within that time, he dutifully obtained “suitable quarters” for Mrs. Griffin, gained permission for two weeks on-island leave, and set up a series of guest appearances for her at a number of Okinawan owned and operated cabarets (otherwise known as dives) frequented by Marines — strictly for medicinal purposes. Was Mrs. Griffin a singer? No, she was an exotic dancer and the star attraction at a club jointly owned by the Griffins; it was their intention to make a ton of money from her performances at a location where American women were scarce on the order of honest politicians.

Mrs. Griffin arrived on Okinawa in due course and understandably, for the first two weeks, no one saw much of Sergeant Griffin. At the end of that time, his husbandly desires fully sated (we assumed), Sergeant Griffin returned to duty and we were informed of the fact that Mrs. Griffin would be performing her “act” at a number of clubs adjacent to Marine Corps camps, from McTureous northward — beginning at Camp Hansen, which was convenient because that is where we happened to be located. Hundreds upon hundreds of Marines stranded in the land of sliding doors, starved for “round eyed” entertainment, flocked to see Ms. Griffin entertain. Our regularly attended bars were “standing room only” beginning with the second day Mrs. Griffin shared her particular talents with us.

Mrs. Griffin was tall, bleached-blonde, very white, and exceedingly well endowed. I cannot honestly say whether she was a good dancer; only that she began her routine fully clothed and ended it with considerably less. In spite of the fact that the local villages were regularly patrolled by the military police, her performances went on for several weeks before Mrs. Griffin came to the official notice of the United States Marine Corps. It could be an understatement to say that the command hierarchy was not pleased. Still, little could be done about Mrs. Griffin — or the Sergeant, since to anyone’s knowledge neither had broken any laws. In the final analysis, what would be the point? I recall that several officers volunteered to “observe” Mrs. Griffin so that the command could be promptly informed of any law violation, but no senior officers bought into that idea — and I remember that officers were specifically admonished to stay clear of any establishment in which Mrs. Griffin appeared.

In time, Marines became somewhat sluggish due to a lack of sleep and the over-consumption of alcohol, including Sgt Griffin who had “protection” detail for his wife while she performed from 2200 to 0200 local time, six days a week. In time, Mrs. Griffin having a deleterious effect on the readiness and efficiency of Marine units, commanders began to deny “liberty” to Marines during the week, resulting in higher prices for Orion beer on the weekends. Eventually, Mrs. Griffin returned to Tennessee — financially better off than when she arrived — which is more than most of us could say. Personally, I do not believe that Mrs. Griffin was a talented entertainer, but then I didn’t see her performance more than ten or twenty times.

A case of insolence

During World War II, a British army captain injured his knee during parachute training. Rushed to an adjacent RAF dispensary for x-rays, two officers from his training unit went to visit him the next day only to find the RAF medical staff less than helpful.

“We have come to see Captain Crouchback.”

“D’you know where to find him?”

“No. Perhaps you can tell us.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. Did you say ‘Captain’? We don’t take army blokes here.”

“He came yesterday for an x-ray.”

“You can try radiology.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’ll tell you on the board,” said the airman.

“I suppose it would be no good putting that man on a charge for insolence:” said Captain Freemantle.

“Not for the smallest,” said Captain de Souza. “It isn’t an offence in the Air Force.”

~From Evelyn Waugh’s novel The End of the Battle.

Not Exactly Bonhomous

The Infantry Training Regiment at Camp Geiger, North Carolina was a great experience following recruit training at Parris Island, South Carolina. It was the first time we had the opportunity to experience what it is to be a Marine sans the ever-present drill instructor. But this isn’t to say we were without adult supervision. We didn’t march everywhere, either. To facilitate transportation from main side billets to various training areas, we were loaded on “cattle cars,” which were trailers configured for passengers behind a commercial tractor. None of us realized there would be so much to learn during infantry training, from weapons to explosives and basic tactics. Most importantly perhaps, we developed self-confidence.

As with any aspect of Marine Corps life as a snuffy, there were occasional work details. Aside from the normal clean up details that we performed in the barracks, we frequently policed outside areas. The Marine Corps is big on cleanliness. We may be pigs when we’re in the field, but in garrison we are generally “squeaky clean.” Among our NCOs and officers, nothing is ever quite clean enough, and practice does make for perfection. I don’t think we ever quite achieved perfection — ever, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

With thousands of available Marines, there is never a shortage of labor. On one detail, my platoon went to work in an area designated for demolition. The World War II Era buildings that had out lived their usefulness and our mission was to tear them down. The sergeant issued us sledgehammers and crowbars, pointed to the buildings he wanted gone, and said, “Get to it.” The only advice our sergeant was, “Start from the top and work down.” It did not take long to realize that working in the field was a lot easier than ripping down buildings. It didn’t occur to me until much later to wonder, why does the Marine Corps have all those bulldozers if they aren’t going to use them?

Now as it happened, we had a Marine in our platoon named Private Chauvin. I remember he was from Louisiana. If you can remember the character “Francis” in Bill Murray’s movie “Stripes,” Chauvin could have been that guy. To say he was strange is an understatement. He was always quiet, and a loner. When we were in the field, he paid attention to what was going on, but he never had any questions, and he never volunteered for anything. He never responded to a greeting, always sat by himself during meals, whether in garrison or the field — and he loved to fight.

I was working with a team of four other Marines on a building; we were on the roof tearing up roofing materials and tossing them into a pile of rapidly accumulating trash on the ground. Another team of Marines on an adjacent structure included Private Chauvin. Apparently, one of the Marines had to use the head, so he climbed down the ladder and went off to take care of business. I have no idea how long he was gone, but when he was on the way back to his assigned building, Private Chauvin called out to him from the roof, “Well, it’s about damn time!” The Marine, whose name I cannot now recall, replied, “Shove it, Chauvin.” Without saying another word, Chauvin leaped off the roof like the caped crusader, landed on top of the Marine, and one hell of a donnybrook ensued. The two went at it for quite a while until an NCO broke it up. Both were bloody, but it wasn’t long before they were once again working side-by-side and the matter forgotten.

As far as I can tell, Chauvin never discriminated against anyone; he even fought with Marines from other companies. I remember being glad when I received orders for the 8th Marines and Chauvin went to another regiment. I have no idea what happened to this guy — but if he ended up in Vietnam, I sure as hell feel sorry for any Viet Cong who pissed him off. That this Marine was anti-social is a given, or he might have even been mentally disturbed. One thing is for certain, however; he was not exactly a bonhomous fellow.

Copyright: 2007

Pucker Factor

“Ocean weather was changeable, and we encountered strong head winds at 35,000 feet, that slowed us and increased fuel consumption, so we climbed a couple thousand feet at a time until the winds decreased at about 40,000 feet. At the two-hour mark, we made our first tanker rendezvous, and the refill operation was perfect. But two hours later, the weather turned murky and it became damned near impossible to visually sight those big birds. We only carried gun-sight radar, which is why we were limited to day flying. No radio contact either. Nuthin. I began to sweat it. As far as I could figure we were right on time and on the mark, and those tankers were probably in our vicinity; but that wasn’t good enough with fuel gauges edging toward empty. I was practically straining my eyeballs out of my head, until by sheer luck I came in right on the tail of a big lumbering shadow in the middle of a dark cloud. Those guys had been calling us on the wrong channel frequency. The last of our airplanes to refuel had about two minutes of fuel remaining.”

~Chuck Yeager

Courage Under Fire

Marion F. Sturkey enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1961. Three years later, the Marine Corps selected Corporal Sturkey to attend training as a Marine Corps Aviation Cadet. He attended Naval Aviation Flight School, receiving his commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in 1965. After an additional year of training in the CH-46, Sturkey and his squadron reported to the Republic of Vietnam in May 1966. Lieutenant Sturkey was wounded while flying an aero-medical evacuation in August; after recovering in Japan, he returned to his squadron in Vietnam until he completed his “in country” tour in 1967.

Marion Sturkey is the author of one of the finest accounts of the Vietnam War ever published. In his book Bonnie Sue: A Marine Corps Helicopter Squadron in Vietnam, he wrote:

“Two reinforced Marine platoons began working their way up the eastern slope of the hill. These grunts ran into concentrated mortar attacks and machinegun fire from the entrenched North Vietnamese, and a fierce mortar duel began. Within minutes, several wounded grunts were stranded and lying helpless somewhere in the tall elephant grass between the Marine mortar positions and the NVA trenches and bunkers.

“Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron (HMM) 265 got the frag [at 1700]: ‘Emergency medevac!’ Captain Jack *House drew the HAC [aircraft commander] role. Jim Dalton crawled into the co-pilot’s seat on the left side of the H-46 cockpit. The crew chief was Lance Corporal Daniel D. Delude, and the gunner was G. L. “Red” Logan. Within two minutes after leaving Khe Sanh, they arrived over Hill 861. A grunt on the slope popped a smoke grenade, and Jack bottomed the collective pitch lever and whistled down toward the Marines below.

“The Bonnie Sue helicopter touched down in the tall elephant grass, and the first two wounded grunts staggered up the rear ramp. The other casualties would not be able to make it to the helicopter without help, the two grunts shouted to the crew chief.

“Delude disconnected his long-cord, dashed out of his helicopter, and ran 75 feet to a wounded grunt. Delude dragged the man back to the H-46, got him inside, and then he made two more trips to retrieve two more wounded men. NVA machinegun and rifle fire still whipped through the thick elephant grass on the slope of the hill, but Delude ignored the danger.

“With only one incapacitated grunt left stranded, mortars suddenly began impacting in the LZ. A Marine Corps citation would later explain: ‘Undaunted, Lance Corporal Delude courageously returned to the last of the injured men and brought him safely back to the aircraft.’ Delude half carried and half dragged the last grunt up the H-46 ramp, and they collapsed in a jumble of arms and legs onto the metal floor of the cabin.

“Logan screamed into his ICS mike that all were aboard. Up in the cockpit, Dalton hit the ramp toggle switch as House pulled in full power. They flew threw a hail of enemy fire on takeoff, but the made it back to the medical aid station at Khe Sanh.

No one would deny that Lance Corporal Delude demonstrated superior courage under fire; he was definitely the target for enemy gunners. I suspect that he was so focused on recovering he wounded Marines he may not even have heard the snapping sound of enemy fire. He was one busy young man, then. There was a significantly larger target — the CH-46 chopper; As Delude worked to drag wounded Marines into the airship, and Logan returned fire with his M-60 machine gun, House and Dalton sat passively in the cockpit all the while enemy fire zipped through the aircraft’s fuseloge and enemy mortars were exploding all around the craft.

In my view, this is a case of exceptional courage—Marine pilots doing what had to be done, keeping a cool head, realizing that their fate was really in someone else’s hands. And yet, this is what these Bonnie Sue pilots did every single day throughout their thirteen-month tour of duty in Vietnam. Not every flight crew survived such missions, and in fact, Captain House subsequently lost his life while performing a similar mission. Courage — no, it was something much more than that.

Buy the book — you will not be able to put it down. You will not find a better read than this excellent history of the air/ground war in Vietnam.

Lessons for Lieutenants

Smedley D. Butler, commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in 1898, is one of only two Marines who received the Medal of Honor for two separate acts of heroism. Wrote Butler of one of many of his Marine Corps adventures:

“A typical Central American revolution had just broken out in Honduras, and Admiral Joe Coghland, ordered to protect American interests, steamed away in February 1903. Our battalion was put on board the Panther . . . but our high spirits sank to zero when we became better acquainted with our banana transport. It was a small ship and the 350 of us were jammed to suffocation. We could have accepted the discomfort with Marine philosophy, if the captain of the Panther had not been a very disagreeable naval commander named Wilson. His quarters were in the forward end of the deckhouse next to the forecastle, outside of which the enlisted men congregated to get a breath of air.

“One afternoon, the Captain summoned the whole ship’s company to the quarter deck. He separated the sheep from the goats. The Marines were lined up on the port side, the sailors on the starboard. He struck a Napoleonic pose between the two crowds and addressed up pompously. ‘Somebody has been using profane language near my cabin. I want you all to understand that I will not tolerate profanity. I know the guilty party cannot be one of these fine men,’ he said, waving his left hand toward the sailors; ‘therefore it must have been one of these — these men enlisted from the slums of our big cities.’ And he aimed his right hand at the Marines.

“I was standing ten feet from him, with my sword drawn and resting on the deck. My hand itched on the hilt. I was overwhelmed with desire to run him through. Then and there I made up my mind that I would always protect Marines from the hounding to which they were subjected by some naval officers.”

Butler did just that. But not every naval officer treated the Marines badly. In a letter to Colonel Commandant John Harris, USMC in 1863, Admiral David D. Porter wrote, “A ship without Marines is like a garment without buttons.”

Paris Liberty?

John Thomason was an exceptionally gifted writer and illustrator, famous because of his ability to chronicle the life of forward deployed Marines, and his book entitled Fix Bayonets.

After the 4th Marine Brigade made a good account of themselves while serving with the United States 2nd Infantry Division, VI Armee . . . rumor offered the possibility of liberty in Paris. Someone positioned highly in the political structure, however, may have concluded that it would not be a good thing to release battle-tested American Marines inside Paris.

Wrote Colonel Thomason:

The Marines have a very noble song: The Marine Corps Hymn. It is taught, along with close order drill and things like that to recruits at Parris Island and on the West Coast. It begins:

“From the Halls of Montezuma,
To the Shores of Tripoli,
We will fight our country’s battles,
On the land and on the sea . . .”

And it closes, gloriously:

“If the Army or the Navy,
Ever look to Heaven’s scenes,
They will find the streets are guarded,
By United States Marines.”

One platoon, however, led by a brazen throated gunnery sergeant, is roaring out “Bang Away, Lulu . . .”

Had the Gunny selected a different verse to march his Marines . . .

Thank a Vet

World War I concluded during the eleventh month, on the eleventh day, and at the eleventh hour in 1918. It became known as The Armistice — the cessation of hostilities associated with what was then termed “The Great War.” At that time, no one could imagine a war among nations that could be any greater in scope or aftermath. A year later, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed the first Armistice Day with these words:

“To us in America, the reflections of armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations . . . "

During the following year, at the urging of American churches, President Wilson decreed that the Sunday nearest November 11 of each year to be a national reflection on the hope for international peace. In 1921, Congress passed legislation approving the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and confirmed November 11 as the day upon which the nation would honor all those who participated in the war. A congressional resolution in 1926 directed the President to make an annual proclamation on Armistice Day and in 1938, Congress formally designated the date to become a Federal holiday. In 1954, President Eisenhower signed the law changing the name of this observation from Armistice Day to Veterans’ Day.

Our nation continues to celebrate Veterans Day, but I think it must be difficult for people to “imagine” what our service men and women have had to endure — such that we have set a day aside to remember their sacrifices. For many people, it is no more than a “day off” from work, and a time to relax. Few people, I am convinced, seriously reflect on the sacrifices made in their behalf, and indeed, there are some today who arrogantly proclaim, “I didn’t ask them to do it.” More the pity because even today, our young men and women — warriors all, return from participating in hostilities with wounds and scars that go much beyond bullet injuries or the loss of limbs. No one ever experiences the horror of war without significant psychological trauma, all of which remains for the rest of their lives. In most cases, mental stress is manageable — but for some, it is not.

Veterans’ Day ought to be a time to consider what our military personnel have had to give up, in order that we can remain free. They’ve made the ultimate sacrifice for their Country by giving up their lives, and many have given up parts of their body. But even the unblemished has had to build a closet in their mind to store such traumatic events as the loss of a friend, and oddly enough, the guilt associated with their own survival.

American veterans have given us a lot more than is obvious for most people. Every veteran has given of them selves in large measure — and it is the least we can do to approach a veteran and say, “I cannot imagine what you endured, but I thank you for your service.” If we cannot do that, then perhaps we do not deserve such wonderful people at all.

X-Post,Social Sense

Photo credit: While it is my understanding that this photograph originated from public domain, it may be subject to copyright; other than bringing it to the attention of my small readership, no copyright infringement is intended, and no remuneration is involved in its display.

232nd Marine Corps Birthday

10 November 2007 marks my 44th celebration of the United States Marine Corps. I will begin by saying, quite honestly, that I absolutely detest not serving in uniform. Contrary to what my drill instructors told me, not every day was a holiday — certainly not every meal was a feast. But none of that really matters when you have the privilege of serving with men and women who are entitled to wear the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor.

No — what mattered most is that whatever needed to be endured, and there are too many of those to list here, you endured it while standing shoulder to shoulder with your fellow Marines. It didn’t make any difference if they were older or younger, senior or junior in rank, well educated or not, northerner or from the south, New Yorker or Californian — only one thing stood out: we were serving Marines and there was nothing that anyone or anything could throw our way that we couldn’t handle. We might not have been very happy about it, we were likely to comment on it, and we might have even used the colorful language taught to us by the Navy to describe it. But we always accomplished our mission. Later, we might even joke about it — unless it tore us up inside, and then of course no one would talk about it. Some words were better unspoken, and in such matters, events never forgotten.

In most cases, we had exceptional leaders, but even when that wasn’t in the cards we still learned something about leadership. Rarely did Marines ask another about personal issues — unless he just needed to talk about them. Everyone had issues of one kind or another. Not every Marine could walk on water, and there were few that you’d ever want to meet your mother — but every single one of these fellows would fight with you, and maybe even die for you, because that's what it is to be a United States Marine.

I served on active duty for 29 years, but I’ve been a Marine for 44. On this occasion of the 232nd Anniversary of the United States Marine Corps, I am offering this pathetic tribute to the Marines who most contributed to my success as a U. S. Marine. It is dismal because they deserve so much more. Not all of these fine Marines are alive today, but they remain with me today, and always, in my mind's eye. All of them taught me what it means to be a Marine; they always stood by me, and all they ever asked of me in return was . . . to keep the faith, pass the word, continue the march. I am grateful for their memory, and proud beyond words to have stood with them.

I salute you, Marines.

Barker, R. M.

Benjamin, F. L.

Beyma, D. C.

Bice, D. M.

Boomer, W. E.

Busby, J. D.

Cantiney, J. B.

Chapman, L. F.

Chapman, P. W.

Conner, T. L.

Curtis, W.C.

Davidson, M.

Drulowe, D. B.

Dunlap, L. S.

English, J.E.

Evans, D. E.

Franklin, E. E.

Fris, E. S.

Glick, J. E.

Gray, A. M.

Greene, C. E.

Hamilton, F. X.

Hawkins, D.

Hearney, R. D.

Herring, G. F.

Houston, R. A.

Huckle, R. C.

Jacalone, T. D.

Kelley, C. E.

Leek, F. E.

Loar, G.

Lott, B. M.

Lucas, J. M.

Mackey, W. M.

Mason, T. R.

McMonagle, J. J.

Metzger, L.

Murray, R. L.

Myers, D.

Newbold, G. S.

Nicolopolous, D.

Pike, D. C.

Piper, W.

Polke, J. C.

Ryan, M. P.

Sardo, A. A.

Schweingruber, W. M.

Sniffen, J. E.

Tharin, F. C.

Tomkins, R. M.

Vandergriff, B.

Wawrznick, S. R.

Whiteside, D. A.

Wildprett, W. R.

Winston, R. S.