I started this Veteran’s Day column back at the end of July. Often, I finish the weekly treatise right before the deadline every Thursday evening. Given the nonstop news’ cycle, what I have learned over the last 21 years is how it’s a fool’s errand to try and “get ahead.” There are some events, however, that transcend the moment and what occurred in July was one of them.
Another lesson about column writing is when an idea strikes, you had best start it, pronto. The column you are reading now was the result of a terse exchange of emails with an unfamiliar editor who was filling in. The last two longtime editors at this particular publication departed within weeks of each other, and this designated editor was making his presence felt by refusing to publish the column provided changes weren’t made.
The piece focused on Ohio Sen. J.D. Vance who that week was named as Donald Trump’s running mate. Vance had a lot going for him and still does, but what struck me was the fact, provided the GOP won, he would be the first Marine to serve as a vice president. Considering the USMC has been around since 1775, the Corps never had one of its own as either a president or vice president. Moreover, Vance did not serve as a Marine officer but was an enlisted recruit who emerged from the sandflea infested bowels of Parris Island right out of high school, like so many of us enlisted Marines.
One of our own would be a heartbeat away from the presidency. What was not to initially like? After all, less than one percent of Americans have served in the Marine Corps.
This entire episode reminded me of a conversation I had with an old Marine buddy. Readers of this space may recall that every New Year in the annual “Rearview Awards” column the parting award is in recognition of my friend John Filipowicz, who along with his son, was killed protecting his family’s abode in Staten Island during Hurricane Sandy.
This conversation took place on a late November weekend in 1986. Flip made the journey to Pennsylvania from New York in his new Nissan 300ZX to visit while I was attending college.
It was the same weekend that Mike Tyson, another New Yorker, made history becoming the youngest heavyweight champion in history by bouncing Trevor Berbick off the canvas like a tennis ball. We both watched the fight with another Marine and Korean War veteran and NYPD retiree, Frank Maresca.
It was a memorable Jarhead trifecta.
Post-fight, Flip and I parked ourselves at a couple of the local pubs along the college circuit. Flip was working as a correctional officer at the infamous – The Bing – the most challenging cell block at New York City’s Rikers Island, a place where if it wasn’t for boxing, Mike Tyson would most likely have spent some time.
The Corps’ cultural influence strongly resonated as we were not that far removed from receiving our honorable discharge after six years that included two deployments. The leadership of the Vietnam veterans who led and mentored us still cast a long shadow that remains. How they were treated upon returning stateside was all too familiar and such shenanigans would not happen on our watch.
In the 1980s, the nation was still healing from Vietnam and movies about the war were not only being made but recognized like Full Metal Jacket and Platoon to name only two. We were still a few years out from the ubiquitous “Thank you for your Service” salutation and the Veteran’s Day discounts that followed.
During my freshman year, I paid a visit to the university veteran’s office that was a little larger than a walk-in closet in the basement of the admission’s office to inquire if any other Marines were enrolled. I was promptly informed by the female Air Force veteran that I was the only Jarhead on a campus of 8,000.
To my surprise, when Flip stepped out on the town that evening, he wore a gold eagle, globe and anchor chain around his neck like some kind of Jarhead rapper. I knew what he was up to and thankfully no one was foolish enough to take the bait. On this particular crisp November night, a culture of one would be a revitalized fraternity of two.
As we positioned ourselves surveying the entrance and exits, Flip joked how I should be back in the city working “inside” like he was. As fate would have it, working “inside” would arrive soon enough but in another state.
Surveying the collegiate crowd, Flip became rhetorical, “how many do you think ever entertained the thought of going grunt.” Such bravado wasn’t even on their radar and most likely never would be.
For those few who did and who continue to stand watch, we owe them a hefty debt of gratitude.
And when this editor, who nixed the column after I refused to make any changes, departs this life he better hope Flip is not pulling Duty NCO at the pearly gates.
