We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
A fellow former Marine who knows the family forwarded this to me. For those, few, who don't know what Semper Fi means, it's the shortened version of Semper Fidelis - always faithful. (I've removed the name of the recruiter; any Marine would do this for another.)
My dad Angelo was in the hospital in Tacoma, Washington. A former Marine and veteran of the Korean War, he was having his third knee replacement surgery. A long and very painful operation was going to be made even worse because dad was going through it alone. There was no one to hold his hand, no familiar soft voices to reassure him. His wife was ill and unable to accompany him or even visit during his weeklong stay. My sisters and brother lived in California, and I lived even farther away, in Indiana. There wasn't even anyone to drive him to the hospital, so he had arrived that morning by cab.
The thought of my dad lying there alone was more than I could stand. But what could I do from here?
I picked up the phone and called information for the Puyallup,Washington, Marine Corps recruiting station, where I joined the Marines ten years before. I thought that, if I could talk to a Marine and explain the situation, maybe one of them would visit my dad.
I called the number. A man answered the phone and in a very confident voice said, "United States Marines, Sergeant XXXX. May I help you?"
Feeling just as certain, I replied, "Sergeant XXXX, you may find this request a little strange, but this is why I am calling." I proceeded to tell him who I was and that my father was also a former Marine and 100 percent disabled from the Korean War. I explained that he was in the hospital, alone, without anyone to visit and asked if Sergeant XXXX would please go and see him.
Without hesitation, he answered, "Absolutely."
Then I asked, "If I send flowers to the recruiting station, would you deliver them to my dad when you go to the hospital?"
"Ma'am, I will be happy to take the flowers to your dad. I'll give you my address. You send them, and I will make sure that he receives them," he replied.
The next morning, I sent the flowers to Sergeant XXXX's office just as we had planned. I went to work and, that evening, I returned home and phoned my dad to inquire about his surprise visitor.
If you have ever talked with a small child after that child has just seen Santa Claus, you will understand the glee I heard in my dad's voice. "I was just waking up when I thought I saw two Marines in their dress blue uniforms standing at the foot of my bed," he told me excitedly. "I thought I had died and gone to Heaven. But they were really there!"
I began to laugh, partly at his excitement, but also because he didn't even mention his operation. He felt so honored; two Marines he had never met took time out to visit an old Marine like him. He told me again and again how sharp they looked and how all the nurses thought he was so important.
"But how did you ever get them to do that"? he asked me.
"It was easy. We're all Marines, Dad, past and present. It's the bond."
After hanging up with my dad, I called Sergeant XXXX to thank him for visiting my dad. And to thank him for the extra things he did to make it special: wearing his dress blue uniform, bringing another Marine along. He even took a digital camera with him. He had pictures taken of the two Marines with my dad right beside his bed. That evening, he emailed them to me so I could see for myself that my dad was not alone and that he was going to be okay.
As for the flowers, they hardly mattered, but I was glad for the opportunity to express my feelings. The card read: "Daddy, I didn't want just anyone bringing you flowers, so I sent the World's Finest.
My uncle died this year at the age of 82. He had retired from the Marines some 32 years earlier after serving for 32 years in the Army (Okinawa) and Marines (Korea and Nam).
The Marines at Camp Pendleton sent a burial detail: bugler, 7-member firing party, pallbearer detail and escort for my aunt. Most of the Marines taking part had been born after Gunny had retired. The ceremony was a fitting honor for my uncle and his decades of service. After the funeral, the firing party leader gathered the spent casings (21, but it's NOT a 21-gun salute, it's three volleys) and distributed them to the family. Now I need to have that casing mounted with Gunny's medals for my own son.
I think this bond is common for many military and veterans, not unique to Marines.
As so much of the rest of our society fragments into little self-concerned corners, it's important that the rest of us keep the faith. I'm a former dogface but I respect my bros who served in the mean green machine. Semper fi indeed. If the rest of us keep the faith you boys and girls just might be our high priests.
I was a Mrine long before joining the militia (National Guard). As a sat with my father-in-law by his death-bed, he told me stories of his days in the Marines at the end of WWII.
Like me, his days in the Corps were among the best of his life. Or maybe they were the days of his life in which he was the best. Either way, seeing a young squared away Marine always makes me smile with pride and a little envy - damn time.