Via Blackfive, this incredible story about the Marines who take care of their fallen comrades and their familes here at home. Don't read it at work unless you have someplace to go be alone for a while.
Despite the best efforts of Pacific heat, jungle vermin, naval artillery, and Japanese infantry at Guadalcanal and Tarawa, it wasn't until 1994 that my grandfather finally fell. To his own heart, in the frozen food aisle of a grocery store in Florida.
Once the war was over, he set about his life and career and family and all that. He rarely attended unit reunions.
But he was a Marine nevertheless, whether he was still in uniform or not. And that was explained to me, simply but effectively, by the gunnery sergeant leading the honor guard at grandpa's wake.
Theirs was a small detachment, attached to an Air Force Reserve unit, but were the only active duty Marines in the neighborhood, so were frequently called upon for funerals. I asked him whether it was ever sad, or discouraging, to spend so much of his time rendering honors for fallen Marines.
He said this:
"Your old man fought and lived through places that we learn about in boot camp. He was a Marine.
He rates.
And when I go, I'll rate."
And that's it. No magic, no bluster, no puffy chests or improbable promises. Just a simple point of fact; an irrevocable law of Nature: grass is green; skies are blue; Marines will always take care of their own.
As with everything else they do, the Corps distills this sentiment to its essence, in an economy of words:
Despite the best efforts of
Despite the best efforts of Pacific heat, jungle vermin, naval artillery, and Japanese infantry at Guadalcanal and Tarawa, it wasn't until 1994 that my grandfather finally fell. To his own heart, in the frozen food aisle of a grocery store in Florida.
Once the war was over, he set about his life and career and family and all that. He rarely attended unit reunions.
But he was a Marine nevertheless, whether he was still in uniform or not. And that was explained to me, simply but effectively, by the gunnery sergeant leading the honor guard at grandpa's wake.
Theirs was a small detachment, attached to an Air Force Reserve unit, but were the only active duty Marines in the neighborhood, so were frequently called upon for funerals. I asked him whether it was ever sad, or discouraging, to spend so much of his time rendering honors for fallen Marines.
He said this:
"Your old man fought and lived through places that we learn about in boot camp. He was a Marine.
He rates.
And when I go, I'll rate."
And that's it. No magic, no bluster, no puffy chests or improbable promises. Just a simple point of fact; an irrevocable law of Nature: grass is green; skies are blue; Marines will always take care of their own.
As with everything else they do, the Corps distills this sentiment to its essence, in an economy of words:
Semper Fidelis
Great article. I was/am a
Great article. I was/am a Marine and I have to admit that Major Beck has far more courage than I do.
I would rather foot patrol Fallujah for the next year than knock on one of those doors.