Times Gone By

Earlier this week, I was contacted by an old Marine buddy of mine. I tried contacting this guy once, maybe 10 years ago. But I haven't heard from him in easily 15 years. I always considered myself a Marine's Marine. Tough, Ruthless, Fit, Mean... but this guy was really a Marine to be emulated. He looked out for his troops, shielded them from the wrath of superiors, took more crap from the underlings than he ever should have, positive attitude, cheerful, trustworthy, honorable, fearless. Turns out, as he's watching President Obama's inauguration, he sees a guy we both served with in 29 Palms. William Brown, the Drum Major of "The President's Own" in D.C. He sends him an email and starts contacting the crew that served at that station.

I've been hooking up with old comrades all this week. It's been great. These are men and women I would still die for. These Marines were great to serve with. Our particular situation at the time was pretty rough, and our duty wasn't easy. 29 Palms was a hard place to be. Our "band hall" was an abandoned tank shed in the middle of the Mojave Desert.

For me, it seems like life began in boot camp. Anything before that is very disconnected for me, high school is a blur, growing up with my brothers is there, but vivid memory as for who I am really starts with The Marines. The memories that are flooding my mind are endless and I find myself bursting out with laughter unable to explain myself to my wife. Some things just don't translate. And since her dad and brother are former military, she understands.

I have forgotten how much I loved being a Marine and how much I still love my fellow Marines.
Chapa - thank you for the email. I'm looking forward to chatting with more comrades from those days. Semper Fi Dogs! Can't wait to catch up!