The Scars Of Service
Sometimes when you don’t expect it, you cross paths with extraordinary people. They can seem rather ordinary until you get to know them and hear their story. If you will please indulge me, I’ll tell you about an extraordinary gentleman I met this morning over breakfast.
Waiting for my order, I was seated at the food counter catching up on Ricochet, when a gentleman walked in and sat a couple of seats down from mine. “What branch were you in,” he asked, pointing at my hat. “Air Force,” I said, adding, “20 years.” He introduced himself as Larry. He told me that his daughter is in the Air Force over Iraq right now, on the AWACS. She is an air battle manager, a demanding job. I told him about my limited experiences on AWACS aircraft and how much I respect what those folks do.
Then, in a soft spoken voice, he told me that he did 12 years in the Marine Corps. I asked him when he separated, and he answered 1989. Very soft spoken, and unfailingly polite, he ordered his corned beef and eggs, “…and please ask the cook to make the bacon soft,” he asked the waitress. “What did you do in the Corps,” I asked. A very unassuming fellow, Larry looked me in the eye and answered, “Scout Sniper, Recon.” He loves Air Force bases, he said, recalling how posh Udorn Air Base, in Thailand, used to be.
"What did you do at Udorn?" I asked. Getting information out of him wasn’t very easy, but eventually he opened up. I never got the impression he was embellishing, but rather, he seemed to be reliving some things he would really rather not relive. He asked about the steel POW/MIA bracelet I wear, and then explained that after the Vietnam War’s conclusion, he was sent looking for American POWs. Most of the time he went as an observer, but he did manage to bring a few of our guys back. He battled his superiors, who did not always approve his repatriation efforts. This was during the Carter administration, he reminded me, and those people didn’t want to rock the international boat. And sometimes, he said, the POWs were so far gone that they would never have survived the trip back. Gut-wrenching decisions. Agonizing orders.
Larry told me about his training. He was one of the last scout snipers to train under the direction of “Gunny Hathcock,” a legend in the Marine Corps and in the world of snipers in general. With 93 confirmed kills in Vietnam and hundreds more unconfirmed, he was an exacting and incredible teacher. “The guy had unbelievable eyes,” he said. “He could see stuff at 500 meters that I couldn’t find with my scope! And if he saw me while I was maneuvering in the bush, he’d shoot me with a BB gun or pellet gun.”
Years later, he applied for a federal law enforcement position using his sniper skills. He did fine in the physical tests, but believes he was rejected for psychological reasons. Asked if he would have any remorse for taking out a bad guy, Larry quickly answered, “not at all.” “I think they wanted me to have at least some heart,” he said. But, we both agreed that the time spent doing the Hamlet thing can mean the difference between life or death for an innocent or even for the sniper himself. “I don’t have any remorse over what I had to do” he said, “but I can still see them.” Then Larry made a comment that mirrors what I’ve heard other snipers say. “The first one never leaves you.” “I can see it perfectly,” he continued, “I squeezed the trigger, and his face exploded.” He grew quiet, and I just nodded. What is there to say?
Larry was in Tripoli when President Reagan ordered the bombing. After jumping from 24,000 feet, he helped identify the targets for our bombers. In 1989, he was injured when a parachute malfunctioned. The Corps offered to keep him on active duty, but behind a desk. He declined, as we both agreed on the differences between duty stateside and duty at the pointy end. I had to be on my way, so Larry and I shook hands and thanked each other for his service, and said good-bye.
To most folks, this genteel man was just another truck driver, only more quiet, more courteous, and with impeccable manners that set him apart from many in this profession. But listening to him, watching him tell his story, I couldn’t help but notice the emotional scars and the mental toll his service has bequeathed him. Like so many other vets, like my best friend Bob Lee, he did it for you. And he’d do it again, if asked.
The cliché says that Freedom is not Free. But to those who paid a life-altering price, it isn’t a cliché. It just…is.
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Jul '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
There is nothing that has a greater price tag than freedom, because it is paid in willing blood.
Edited on Sep 5, 2010 at 6:57pmMay '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
Dave, great chance encounter and a great story. That is the first time I have ever heard of recon/JTACs being on the ground for El Dorado Canyon....
May '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
I've got a cousin in the Air Force. Right now, he's packing parachutes and helping load. He's more confident than he was before joining, but still the guy I grew up with. There's a chance he'll be shipped off for escort duty to maneuver around IEDs and listen for mortar fire. I've wondered how that might change him. My great uncle was a Marine at Tarawa and many of the other WWII island battles. He was always quiet when I saw him, but I found out later that he was pretty outgoing as a young man.
On the other hand, I have a friend who performs Special Ops and he's still the same joker he always was! He is tired at times, though.
My thanks to all who serve -- that includes the soldiers with luckier roles.
Edited on Sep 5, 2010 at 7:21pmAug '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
That was riveting writing. I am passing that on to friends.
Re: The Scars Of Service
Same here Charles. Not sure if F-111s used laser guidance or how that worked, and I didn't get too much into the weeds with the gentleman. It seemed more appropriate to let his memories and thoughts unfold on their own. I got the impression that there was much he did not say,...that there were memories he would just as soon not recall vividly. I respect that.
Re: The Scars Of Service
Aaron, if you see your cousin between now and the time he deploys, please give him my sincere thanks for his service. And tell him the honey-flavored hookahs are the best.
Aug '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
Intellectually, I understand the truth of this. But I'm still in awe of those who have the self-mastery to avoid doing Hamlet thing, and who instead do the job that must be done, however grim. What a sacrifice that must take.
Between womanishness (I am one, after all) and an upbringing sheltered from nearly everything military (I'd be unfit for service anyhow), I pay perhaps less attention to war and military matters than I ought. But this man's story moved me. My heartfelt thanks to him and those like him, who sacrifice so much to protect those like me.
Jun '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
A very well written and poignant tale, Dave, which leaves me curious: My father, now dead, was wounded at Monte Cassino in World War II, and considering most, if not all, of his mates were killed there, he was one of the lucky ones. Prior to that battle, though, he had what could only be described as a very colourful life. Transported by the Communists from his home in Poland to Siberia from where he and his mates trekked out of to fight the Germans in the desert and then on to Italy. By any standard this is the stuff of, if not legend, at least interesting conversation, yet my father never spoke of his experiences. Perhaps you have a better understanding of this kind of reticence than I do. If you do, I’d truly appreciate your musing on this post war silence, for not all of my dad’s experiences were harrowing. So what do you think? Or is it my fault for not having asked enough questions, which I must confess I feel guilty about, given that I was what might be termed a difficult if not obnoxious teen.
Jun '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
Dave, Many thanks to both you and Larry for your military service. And wishing you good luck and safety on your continuing interstate-highway recon missions. :)
Re: The Scars Of Service
Cas, this is all speculative on my part, but I'll tell you what I've seen and heard. As a young man, I would occassionally hear veterans talk about their service, mainly in general terms. It was after I went on active duty myself, that many of them (including some in my own family) would open and get into more serious detail. I wonder if they perceived a common bond between us that had not existed before...(continued on next post)
Re: The Scars Of Service
....and so felt that they could unload, as it were, on someone who would understand. I know that I share things with other vets that I wouldn't tell most folks, on the assumption that they understand. So that may be part of it. Likewise, some experiences are best kept tucked away from everyone, particularly ones where friends have been lost, or where someone has been exposed to the monstrous reality of the evil that some people can perpetuate (here I'm thinking of our forces who liberated the concentration camps, Bataan, etc.).
One anecdote: During combat training in 1984, our trainer, who had served in Spec Ops in Vietnam, was demonstrating how to search an enemy KIA while being careful for booby traps, etc. It seemed very tedious and elaborate, and we asked him about it. "Boy, you don't want to know what happened to my friend who didn't follow these steps," he snapped with sudden emotion.
Cas, I think certain things get buried, and sometimes are better left buried. Sometimes, I think it's best when I don't ask questions. Sometimes, it can be a relief NOT to be asked to relive certain events.
Jul '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
What I liked best about this story was the female AWACS officer.
I have to admit that when the issue of women in the military was being hotly-debated, I was on the "nay" side.
I'm glad I was proven wrong. I'm so proud of our female troops, I'm like a groupie whenever I see a camouflaged female soldier in an airport.
God Bless our troops - of every gender and color.
Jun '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
Dave, thank you for kind response, it fills in some gaps and adds a dimension to my remembrance of my father, who was kind enough and brave enough to allow me to discover the world he helped protect on my own. Oh! And thank you for your service, too.
Re: The Scars Of Service
Kenneth: What I liked best about this story was the female AWACS officer.
I have to admit that when the issue of women in the military was being hotly-debated, I was on the "nay" side.
I'm glad I was proven wrong. I'm so proud of our female troops, I'm like a groupie whenever I see a camouflaged female soldier in an airport.
God Bless our troops - of every gender and color. · Sep 5 at 8:45pm
You're so right, Kenneth. We've got some tough gals. The only thing that gives me pause about lifting the combat exclusion, is an issue that perhaps our legal minds can answer: As I understand it, the combat exclusion is the only thing that protects women from the draft, should we ever have to revive it. Voluntary service is one thing. Drafting moms and daughters is, in my mind, very different.
That said, our ladies are phenominal. No doubt about it.
Re: The Scars Of Service
You're quite welcome Cas. It was an honor. Truly.
May '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
My great uncle died with most of his stories. My dad and uncles, who also served, though far from combat, only rarely heard him talk about his war experiences, and I gather that they had to ask. It seems that way with many WWII vets.
Few remain. My grandpas died before I could inquire about their service. I had no idea WWII was involved India until I saw pictures of one of them stationed there. You never see that on History Channel.
My friend in the Corps can't talk about his missions for security reasons (which I expect isn't uncommon for most soldiers during a campaign), but I've told him I'll listen if ever he cares to talk. He has expressed to me before that he feels like he needs to share some things, but he's limited by his duty and, though I don't judge him, I have no experiences even remotely like the ones that affect him. Still, he occasionally appreciates it if someone will just listen.
I think it's sometimes less about catharsis than the soldier wanting someone to understand how his experiences have changed the way he sees the world.
Jul '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
Dave Carter
You're so right, Kenneth. We've got some tough gals. The only thing that gives me pause about lifting the combat exclusion, is an issue that perhaps our legal minds can answer: As I understand it, the combat exclusion is the only thing that protects women from the draft, should we ever have to revive it. Voluntary service is one thing. Drafting moms and daughters is, in my mind, very different.
That said, our ladies are phenominal. No doubt about it. · Sep 5 at 8:57pm
Well, given the well-known tendency for military service to instill conservative values, the more young women who serve, the better.
As for combat exclusion, perhaps we should ask the Israeli's how they handle that.
Re: The Scars Of Service
Bingo. I can't come up with a better way to restate what you've so marvelously encapsulated. Thank you.
May '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
Dave and his friend are not exaggerating about the late “Gunny” Carlos Hathcock, one of the most storied American warriors of this century, may God rest his soul.
Thank you, Larry.
Jun '10
Re: The Scars Of Service
One of the best moments of my life ticked past at Granville Island Market in Vancouver, BC. Granville Island is what is termed in the trade a “festival market.” It is a place crowded with boutique businesses, an arts school, street merchants, a concrete plant, and more than your fair share of buskers. As I waited for my lunch order in the warehouse that accommodates the food court and fish market, I turned and saw an impossibly small black man wearing a Tuskegee Airman jacket. Imagine my surprise, in all of the places in all the world where they could hold a reunion the Tuskegee Airman were in my beautiful Vancouver. It was a piece of history I could not let walk away from me without a word. I caught up to the man and his wife and tapped him on his leathered shoulder. He turned and I held out my hand and said, “Thank you for your contribution.” I don’t know which of us was most moved or surprised he, his wife, or me. I will never forget this brush with history nor the tear that welled in his eye.