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American Veterans Make Their Own History, Minute by Minute
I heard that line in an otherwise forgettable pop song the other day and I couldn’t tell you what the rest of the song was about or who sang it. But that one line carried so much impact that it jumped out and bit me like a snake. It reminded me that every moment of every day we make decisions and choices that direct the course of our history. I was out running when I heard it and I had been idly thinking about Veterans Day. Those words interposed themselves smack into the middle of my thought pattern and formed a connection that was clear as a bell; veterans have individually changed their own history at some point in time when they made up their mind to serve their nation. Their history, and in a collective sense the history of the United States, was affected by their decision to join the military. U.S. military veterans have been involved in every major watershed historical event that has affected the history of this nation. From the American Revolution to the Civil War, from dealing with pirates on the Ivory Coast to Communism in Vietnam, from facing terrorists in Beirut to fighting a Global War on Terror, military veterans have been in the thick of things. So these random thoughts were running through my mind as my feet were unconsciously running along the cart path. And it led me back to my own personal history, the course of which was changed one muggy August Illinois day in 1976 when fate placed me in a U.S. military recruiting office. Joining the military had always been a deep, unconscious yearning for me. I remember my dad being regretful because he couldn’t serve during WWII. I remember my mother talking with such pride about her brothers who had served in the Army, Navy and Marines. I was brought up believing that serving one’s country was an obligation, a duty. But two years of college after high school and three years of installing carpet with my brothers later, at age 23, I still had that yearning. I was back living with my parents for a while in Standard, Illinois, my dad’s hometown where my parents had moved after selling our Wisconsin farm. I was trying to figure out what my life would be. I had also been taught that higher education was a must, so college was in my sights. I worked at a K-mart in a nearby town and every day on the way to work passed a joint-service recruiting station without really seeing it. So it came as a great surprise to me one day when, without consciously knowing why, I found myself parked in front of the building. I walked in. There were four doors to my left down a straight and narrow hallway. First was the Army, then Navy, then Air Force and last, Marine Corps, recruiting offices. Vietnam was pretty much wound down by then. As happens after armed conflict, the military was trimming back, drawing down numbers. Of course, I didn’t know this. I was just a farm boy from Wisconsin looking for options. I didn’t know much about Vietnam, or even much about the military. But I had heard you could get an education while serving, so I figured it was worth talking about. As I made my way down the row of recruiters, I was not especially impressed or motivated; just guys in plain offices selling a product. Then I got to the Marine recruiter. Now, here was what I had unconsciously been looking for. This guy’s office was like a museum of military history. Swords and K-bars adorned the walls. Pithy recruiting posters of steely-eyed Marine drill instructors eyeball-to-eyeball with a scared-looking recruit and the phrase “Marines – We don’t promise you a rose garden,” screaming out in big, bold letters. A military rifle (it was rubber, but I didn’t know that) hung from a rack behind him. A U.S. flag flanked him on his right, a Marine Corps flag on his left. A huge, brass Marine Corps Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblem on the wall behind him cast a dull glow that sort of made him look other-worldly. My senses were awakening. The staff sergeant behind the desk, which was surrounded by green sandbags to form a bunker, stood up slowly. The creases on his military-pressed shirt were so crisp they crackled as he move. Somehow, sitting in the chair had not left a wrinkle anywhere on his uniform. He looked straight at me, didn’t say a word. No “can I help you” or “what can I do for you young man?” Just a steady gaze as though he was analyzing me to see if I measured up. I had a strong impulse to retreat. Then he said in a deep and resonant tone, “Do you want to be a Marine?” as though that really meant something. None of the other guys had asked me that. “Maybe,” I said, knowing as soon as I said it and saw the dark clouds forming over his head that I’d given the wrong answer. “Son, there is no maybe in my Marine Corps,” he shot at me. “You either want to be a Marine, or not. Not everybody’s cut out to be a Marine; if it was easy anybody could do it. So what’s it gonna’ be?” I had another urge to flee and thought this might be a good time to request a potty break. So this was that point in my life where my future history hung in the balance and would be decided by what I did next. Hindsight is always 20-20 and of course I wasn’t thinking clearly at that moment. But looking back, I now realize that my decision to say “Yes sir, I want to be a Marine” would set my course for the next 20 years. Little did I know when I signed those enlistment papers that August 1976 day that I was among the first in the new “All Volunteer Force” after the draft was discontinued in 1973. Little did I know that during my initial three-year enlistment I would grow to enjoy the military life and re-up for another three, then another three. I never dreamed of all the adventure and challenge there would be along the way; even got the chance to dodge a few bullets and live to tell about it. And never would I have imagined I’d become a chief warrant officer of Marines, get my bachelor’s degree compliments of the Marine Corps, retire after 20 years, get my master’s degree using the old GI bill, move to Peachtree City, Ga., and become its first and only (so far) Director of Leisure Services. (A title, by the way, that a retiring Marine found difficult to accept but, like naming your boy Sue, makes life more of a challenge) That one decision changed my history from what it might have been. Every veteran has a story that’s surely different than this, but with one similarity. A decision to serve the greater good changed their history, and contributed to the history of our nation. So, next time you cross paths with a U.S. military veteran, shake his or her hand, talk to them about their history; because, their history and the history of every American is inextricably tied together as one. You’ll probably find you have more in common than you might think.
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