My Marine
Do you have a Marine?
I do. If you don’t, I’m really
not sure what to tell you. They can be
loving, tough, hard-working and quite handy to have around. But I wouldn’t necessarily recommend one for
everyone. They can be kind of like a
very big dog, mixed breed of course.
They might let you pet them sometimes, but at other times you are never
really certain that they won’t greet you with a low, rumbling growl. You just have to approach cautiously, speak
low and calmly and hope for the best. If
he licks your hand it could very well be that he is accepting; or, it could be
that he is testing to see what you taste like.
You kind of have to take your chances.
In my case, my Marine is one of my big brothers. Gary is my parents’ second born. He’s part of my mom and dad’s first family. My parents had five children – three boys and
then two girls in pretty quick order.
The next seven years they experienced two miscarriages. Then my brother Mike was born, and me, the
caboose, I came along a year after Mike.
I refer to my oldest siblings as my parents’ first
family because life was so different for them than it was for Mike and I. They were the ones who knew my younger
parents. They lived through the hard
times when good paying jobs were difficult to find. When I came along my dad had already started
a thirty plus year career at the paper mill.
Because of the age difference I don’t have many early memories
of Gary. He enlisted in the Marines
shortly out of high school. The war was
raging in Viet Nam, and Gary was sent overseas into the mess of it. I know that he saw and experienced things
there that no one should see or experience.
I saw some pictures, the contents I won’t describe. I don’t know why he kept those pictures; I
don’t believe I would have wanted to.
When the three oldest boys were in the service in
those war years, there were days, maybe rainy afternoons or snowy mornings,
when my mother would tell me stories about them. I’m sure those were days when she was
particularly concerned about them, and missing them. The things I remember the most when she
talked about Gary was what a hard worker he was. He was just a teenager when he and Jim shared
a newspaper route, Gary also washed dishes at St Vincent Hospital after school,
and during the summers he would pick strawberries at a local fruit farm for the
generous wage of a nickel per flat.
We were all happy when Gary was discharged from the
Marines. He came back home for a short
while. It was winter. I remember that we had a big snowstorm just a
few days after he came home. I can see
him, standing in the kitchen holding the curtain back, and looking out at the
thick blanket of snow that had spread across the landscape. “Decent” was all he said. I think that maybe he felt that the jungle of
Viet Nam was finally a long way away. He
told me to get my snow clothes on and he pulled on his Marine jacket. I remember thinking that it looked too light
to be very warm. Once outside he told me
to get my sled. Then he pulled me all the
way around big block – Murphy to Westfield to Bond to Nancy and then back
home. It was at least a two-mile circle. It was grand.
When we got another snowstorm a few weeks later Gary seemed less
enthusiastic. There was no long sled
ride. I guess the “decent” of cold and
snow must have worn off quickly.
That next summer I recall when the little carnival
that always set up in the big parking lot on the west side of Green Bay came to
town. I never was much for the scarier
rides, but Gary wanted to go on the Rock-o-Plane, which was a Ferris wheel but
the seats were in little cages and those cages also could spin around. They strapped us in and closed the door on
the cage. We had just begun to go up and
Gary grabbed the big metal ring. “What
does that do?” I asked. “This makes the
car go around,” Gary said as he pulled the ring back Marine hard. We began spinning wildly as the big wheel also took
us around. I needed a break. “Can we stop for minute?” I pleaded. Gary tried pushing the ring forward. It was stuck.
He had pulled so hard that the ring wouldn’t go back forward. The cage, with us inside, spun around for the
entire ride. There were two men waiting
for us when we reached the unloading station.
They helped slow the cart down; we actually finally came to a stop
upside down. It would have been funny if
I didn’t feel so woozy. I have not gone
on a carnival ride since.
Gary worked for the city for a number of years. One winter he came down our block with a
front- end loader to dig all the fire hydrants out of the snowdrifts after a
snowfall. He also dug out our driveway,
and then came in for a quick visit and warmup. My
mother had just finished baking chocolate chip cookies. The cookies bulged out of the top of the cookie
jar so that the lid wouldn’t fit. By the
time Gary left the lid fit nicely. Gary called later that day to say that one of the neighbors had called the city to
complain that he had used city equipment to dig out his parents’
driveway. The next snowstorm, after the plows
were done, Gary came back down our road again with his front-end loader. He dug out every fire hydrant, and then he
cleared every driveway on the whole block except for the neighbor who had
called in on him. I suspect that was the last time
that neighbor complained! Sometimes it
is better to show someone the error of their ways than to try to convince them
with words.
It is being a Marine that I think finally gave Gary a
positive outlet for all those pent-up war emotions, memories and experiences. He got involved in a Vets motorcycle group –
Rolling Thunder. He’s been out to
Washington D.C. for a number of their Memorial Day celebrations. Knowing Gary I doubt that he talks much about
himself with others. I suspect that it
is enough for him to just be with others who understand.
One place where Gary does talk is when he has led a
number of flag table ceremonies to honor Prisoners of War (POW) and those Missing in
Action (MIA); these are emotionally powerful.
I recall the first time I witnessed him doing that at a very large event
at Lambeau Field. I had no idea that he
was going to be there, so I was taken aback when it was my brother who stepped
up to the microphone. In the ceremony he
urged us all: "Never forget the brave service members who fought for
freedom with honor." – “Remember!”
The fifteen-year gap in our lives never really got
filled in. It seems that Gary has always
been in a different phase of his life than I am in. We’ve never been as close as I would have
liked, but it is what it is as they say.
It’s hard for men, especially when one is a Marine.
But, I want him to know that I do and always will remember. I remember my mother’s memories of how he
helped take care of our family with his many jobs. I remember being afraid for him when he was
off at war. I remember when the snowstorm
was “decent” and the sled ride was exciting.
I remember why I don’t like carnival rides. I am very proud of you, and of being your Little Brother. Love you, Big Brother.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by William Rudolph on Unsplash
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