27 December 2019

Author’s Note:This was penned by a friend, a fellow motorcycle rider and former USMC F4 pilot during the Vietnam era who flew many of the aerial scenes in the movie The Great Santini. Augustus Fitch has appeared under fictional aliases in my former no-shit two wheeled sea stories.

– Marlow

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

My Brother in Arms

We made eye contact as I exited a family restaurant on a Sunday morning where my riding partner and I had just finished a filling repast. The place was on Hwy 19 just north of the “Forest” and close to the town of Palatka, Fl.

He arose as I passed him and he seemed to follow me out to my bike. As I neared the bike, I heard him exclaim, “Semper Fi” Marine. As all Marines do, I turned to face the source of the salutation and return his Semper Fi. On the outside chance that some readers may not be familiar with the expression “Semper Fi”, it is a contraction of the Marine Corps’ motto, Semper Fidelis, which, when translated from the Latin means, Always Faithful. I have heard it said that the Corps did not need a motto having to do with faith.

It’s the training.

By the time a Marine finishes basic grunt training at Camp Pendleton on the west coast or Camp Lejeune on the east coast, his faith is in the Corps and in his hole mate on the line. If he stands a watch or flies a BARCAP, his Corps has taught him that a 244 year history and tradition places that Marine in his era of the Marine Corps legacy and he will never let them down. Truth is, his performance good or bad is part of the Corps’ history and its leadership are top notch ad men.

This happens all the time when I am on a motorcycle ride because I wear my summer leather jacket with all the USMC patches and stuff. This story would not have been possible without the jacket.

Regardless of the history or circumstance, this human has successfully completed the requirements of the recruit depot and advanced infantry training schools and is automatically rendered the respect he or she deserves unless actions prove otherwise.

My fellow Marine was short, very thin, with reddish gray hair that was also very thin. His skin was the pallor of a smoker and he looked none too healthy. We chatted pleasantly for several minutes and I then attempted to extract myself from the conversation because my riding partner was waiting on me.

This man appeared to have endured the travails of a rough life. If he told me the correct dates of his service in the Corps, 1963 to 1967, that would put him in his seventies. Although appearances can be deceiving, I would guess that most of that time he spent doing hard work out doors for meager wages.

Men like this are visible all over the 50 states and are lost creatures whose age and health have made them dependent on something or someone. This man is close to being down and out. It will probably happen regardless of his immediate future. This man who once wore the Green uniform with pride stands before me looking for a moment that I, some how, will put a pause to his pain. I may not be able to feel this pain but I believe him because he is a Marine.

He may or may not have had a wife and kids. He may have known true love but it does not matter now.

I speak now with the conviction of a prophet.

With all that life has thrown at this man he can still recall that hot, steamy day in the barracks and on the grinder, when he knew, he knew, for the first and possibly the last time in his life, he had just completed the requirements to belong to an elite group. A group that puts the mission of the group above all else.

This is what makes us different.

Now that electric moment with the DI finishing a facing movement to congratulate the former recruit but now a Marine. The DI puts two Eagle Globe and Anchor emblems in your palm and you close those moist clammy fingers around the cool black metal that were the object of your dreams in the squad bay.

That his fellow brothers, who will ultimately end up in harms way, would give up their lives to protect his and that he can count on their loyalty, “in every clime and place”. He has a swollen chest from the pride of his accomplishments in this caldron and he knows and feels that he inherits the history and traditions of hundreds of years of fellow Marines. The Corps dished it out and he soaked up the culture. He will bleed for the right to issue a hearty Semper Fi.

For after a lifetime of “nothing special”, he will be able to tell himself that he once was the pride of the nation. He was once a member in good standing in the United States Marine Corps.

May his nation show their respect at his passing and may his creator find a place for him, “where the streets are guarded by United States Marines.”

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