Back in the day (younger readers will refer to this era as “pre-history”) when Marines were Marines and Sailors were afraid to talk to them, yes, back when I served, there was a competition of sorts between the branches of the services. That is to say, each one was sure that the others were mere poseurs, wimps, wanna-bes and wash-outs. I served on several posts where there were multiple services (Presidio of Monterey, for one) and it was quite plain to the eye that the differences between the services were deeply ingrained and would never change. (although, given the choice, I would avail myself of the dining facilities of the Navy and the E-clubs of the Air Force as often as possible)

Something seems to have changed over the years. Looking back through several years of memories, it seems that more and more often whenever I come across a veteran, the difference in branch of service just got less and less important. Not less important to the individual, but less important than the fact that the individual had served this country.

I used to only want to talk to Marine vets. Oh, how many personal histories did I dismiss as “not important” because the speaker was not a Marine? I have learned through trial and trouble, time and temerity, that all service histories, taken together, are what makes up the fabric of the Armed Forces as a whole.

Now, I see every veteran as a brother or sister in arms, a comrade with whom I would share my last dollar or fire my last shot to protect. Marine, Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, or any of the reserve components, have my undying respect and gratitude for their service.

Some might see this as a sign of weakness; other will recognize growth and maturity when they read this. I prefer to think of it as finally realizing that without any of the services, it would be pretty darned tough to have gotten as far as we did as a country.

Although I give my Navy friends grief, they know that I respect them for their service. The same goes for others I have contact with. I may kid and rib, but underneath it all is the basic love for the fellow fighter, the bond that is forged in service for a common goal. We all served this country, in a capacity we thought we were best suited for. The end result is the important thing - freedom still rings.

I’ve said all that to introduce what I’ve been trying to work into a post since I received it almost two and a half weeks ago. The writer is not a Marine (although I think he would have made a good one), and if he had tried to have this conversation with me while we were serving I would have dismissed it and him as irrelevant, since he wasn’t a Marine. A Navy veteran and friend of mine, Gawfer, popped the following piece to me during The O Word on July 11, 2008. I was going to write a post around it, and I have tried (and failed) to expound and expand on the basic idea in this bit of writing, and have gotten nowhere. The original words are the most powerful, and anything I could do to explain it would be an utter failure:

Whether the founders followed the Christian faith or not, they understood that Biblical values formed the basis of the not only the republic but English Law, and that the republic would be destroyed if the people’s knowledge of those values should ever be lost.

This brings me to the head of the spear, so to speak. Understanding that our constitution is man’s interpretation of God’s divine law, one must assume that at times the constitution will fall short of providing adequate solutions to humanistic transgressions. When this occurs, such as the recent ruling against capital punishment extending beyond murder, and the California Supreme Court’s ruling to overturn the vote of the people regarding gay marriage, the solution is not to interject one’s opinion or to seek a populous consensus as was done in both cases, but to go to the source of our constitution; divine law.

Because secularism has pervaded our society and our nation has become mostly agnostic, our appointed judges are ruling based on a popular opinion rather than using fundamental principles of interpretation. It is very clear that in both cases, the decisions would have been exactly opposite had they adhered to the basic truths and applied biblical principles to each case. Thankfully, we are still ‘One Nation, Under God’; but that is slowly slipping away.

So, there you have it. Time and age have taken the age off of the animosity between branches of service, but at the same time it has forged a stronger bond between like-minded people. As I mentioned in a comment, when BZ urged me to keep on keeping on, if we don’t all “keep on” there won’t be anything worth keeping.

I just re-read this entry, before posting it. I realize it’s a bit of a mind-bender, and it doesn’t really flow as cleanly as it should, but I’m going to leave it up. After all, it is Monday, and this is the result of several themes that have been roiling around in my head all weekend. Have fun keening the depths of my mind.

Thank you for stopping by, In GOD We Trust, God bless you all, Time, Inc. is a bunch of weasels, listen to The O Word on BlogTalkRadio, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

Be sure to stop over and listen to (and rate!) the archive of today’s The O Word.

Do you have red on today?

***(confidential note to all the members of the Armed Forces: thank you.)***

Thank you for stopping by, In GOD We Trust, God bless you all, Time, Inc. is a bunch of weasels, listen to The O Word on BlogTalkRadio, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

Wearing the RED to show the TROOPS that I truly do SUPPORT them!

So, did you listen to The O Word this morning? Or, like a couple of squids (whom I really do respect) were you just not able to get up in time?

(gentle digs at Gawfer and Doug. i really do respect these two. no, really, i do.)

Hope you have a good weekend - I’m off for wedding activities (a friend is getting married and since I have the enclosed trailer, I get to pick up the rental items) and other Friday tasks.

Thank you for stopping by, God bless you all, Time, Inc. is a bunch of weasels, listen to The O Word on BlogTalkRadio, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

If you are a Marine, please take the time to read and comment. If you are not a Marine, then it’s up to you whether you read this or not. The issue was brought to my attention by Akinoluna. She blogged about the trend of the term “Devil Dog” to be looked on as a curse more than a point of pride.

Personally, I find this trend disturbing. I am very proud of the nickname “Devil Dog” and find it odd that the younger Marines of today would be bothered by it. However, I will take to task those of higher rank that use it only when getting ready to issue a correction or reprimand - of course it would become associated with bad behavior. The idea behind using it, as stated in the article:

“I think the backlash against ‘Devil Dog’ does begin with the leadership. [Noncommissioned officers] (myself included) use the following phrase, ‘HEY, DEVIL DOG!’ to initiate a ‘correction’ when we don’t know exactly who the Marine may be. Thusly, hearing the phrase Devil Dog creates a negative Pavlovian response in Marines. As they come up in the Corps, the response stays,” one Marine wrote.

(emphasis mine) (yes, I know the article appeared back in April. sue me.)

Now, when I was serving, if you didn’t know who the Marine was, you would use the term “Marine” to get their attention. “Devil Dog” was reserved for when you knew who were motivating - and it was used as motivation: “Come on, you Devil Dogs! Let’s take that hill!”

Corrections or reprimands would start out with you, the corrector or reprimandor, spotting a goldbricker slouching across the parade deck (for example) and hollering out, “Hey, MARINE!” This would get their attention and allow you to quickly determine the rank of the offender.

You would then issue the correction based on their rank: if the Marine in question was of lower rank, then “boot” or “maggot” was used to get your point across: “Hey, maggot - quit dragging your heels whilst strolling across my parade deck - step to smartly, and make it look like you know where you’re going!”

If the Marine was of the same rank, then a more comradely term would be used: “You know, corporal, by dragging your heels while walking across the parade deck some boot might think that was the way to do it. Let’s try stepping a little more lively to impress the newbies.”

If the Marine was of higher rank, then a whole new attitude would have to surround the conversation: “Good morning, Second Lieutenant Wetbehindtheears, here on the hallowed grounds of the Third Battalion, we have a tradition of either circumventing the parade deck or stepping off in a smart manner in order to impart the respect we have for those who have passed before.”

Using “Devil Dog” as a jumping-off point for corrections is setting a bad example - and chewing up the traditions of the Corps. Shame on the Marine who helps tear this fabric. Let’s show some respect for those who HAVE passed before!

Thank you for stopping by, God bless you all, listen to The O Word on BlogTalkRadio, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

I knew I was forgetting something all along this morning.

Sixty four years ago today, D-Day took place - when allied troops broke through at Normandy and started liberating Europe from the Nazi invasion.

Find a member of that greatest generation, and tell him “Thank you” today. Or, any other day, for that matter.

Also, go to Third Wave Dave and read a story about a very young Marine who epitomizes the pride and love for country. Texas Fred wrote about him here.

I don’t know where to start.

Yesterday afternoon (as TMBWitW was working from home, right before a Very Important Conference Call/Online Meeting) the connection was lost to the Internet. Where’s Al Gore when you need him? Several hours and many, many reboots and conversations with Cox later, and we are back online.

What a time frame to not have access - Shrillary basically hands the DemocRAT nomination to the Obamanation and then begs for the Veep slot. (I don’t know about BHO, but I would be remembering Vincent Foster when considering any dealings with Her Royal Pantsuit)

Ann Coulter has a lovely little piece on the whole affair, with some commentary about hypocrisy, in her weekly article.

I’ve added a link to my blogroll - her name is Samantha West, and she stores her thoughts here. She is very pro-military. I like her already.

I have three cats that need to find a new home - they are picking on the older two, and TMBWitW is not going to put up with that for much longer. Adopting them out is going to be much more humane than putting them on the street.

Speaking of pets - Logan is not doing real well. I introduced you to him here and for comparison purposes, here’s a recent photo:

Well, his polyneuropathy is starting to affect his bladder control. He has left a couple of puddles this week, and last week there was a bit of a BM issue by the back door. (when I went to help him stand up, it happened. I think he already needed to go, and my lifting him kind of added to the pressure.) We were told he would live between three and five years, and he just turned three. We might be losing him sooner than later. I am not looking forward to this stage of his life with us.

Thank you for stopping by, God bless you all, listen to The O Word on BlogTalkRadio, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

I, Cary Cartter, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

In Flanders Fields

John McCrae, 1915.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

To all who have served: Thank you. May this day help us all to remember those who have given everything in defense of the ideals that is the United States of America.

And thank you, Dad, for instilling in me the morals and ideals that I needed to become the man I am, no matter how painful it was at the time. I miss you.

Thank you for stopping by, God bless you all, listen to The O Word on BlogTalkRadio, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

Tip of the cap to The Loon, who sent this to me and I just saw it last night (mea culpa, mea culpa):

Before You Go Home

Quite the reminder of what we are losing, everyday.

In case I haven’t said this lately, let me say it now - go out and thank as many veterans as you can find. Doesn’t matter how old they are or how young they are. Tell them you appreciate their service to this country. Doesn’t matter if they claim they were forced into it, or if they served willingly and would do it again. Thank them for their service. I thank every veteran I run across. I usually get tears in return, if the veteran is older than I am. I’ll get a “It was my pleasure, sir!” out of the younger ones. If the veteran is a little stooped, and his baseball cap with the 1st MarDiv patch on it has World War Two battlegrounds listed next to it, I’ll learn some military history and some personal service history. If the names on the cap are oriental and difficult to pronounce, I’ll get clarification of the names, and why they are on his cap. Sometimes, from a Viet Nam vet, I’ll get five minutes of silence while his stare goes out to a thousand yards and he runs down his mental list of buddies he can’t see anywhere but in his mind… that’s when I sit quietly, and watch his face, and start to tear up for him, and for my cousin, who died with the epithet of “babykiller” still ringing in his ears, thirty years after he stepped off the freedom bird. Thank them all, because they did something not everyone is willing to do - put their beliefs and their lives fully behind the greatest nation in the world.

Thank you, Gawfer.
Thank you, Doug.
Thank you, Fred.
Thank you, Kris.
Thank you, Old Soldier.
Thank you, Greybeard.
Thank you, Gunny.
Thank you, GuyK.
Thank you, Akinoluna.
Thank you, dtodeen.
Thank you, Hans and Lewis.
Thank you, Fix4RSO.
Thank you, Mac.
Thank you, Stu.
Thank you, Eric.

Added 5-19-08
Thank you, Richard.
Thank you, Rogue.

And thank you to the ones I missed, whether because I couldn’t remember or since I was writing this so late at night I shouldn’t even be up…

To all the veterans out there: Thank You.

On this day, in 1943, US forces landed on Tarawa. In honor of that occasion, once again I refer you to this post:

=+=+=+=
It was low tide. The young man stood on the outermost shelf of the reef that protected this island paradise, the crashing waves behind him, the coral cliffs that supported the flat top of the island more than a hundred yards away and thirty to forty feet high. The reef itself was only eight inches below the surface of the water; waves didn’t make it to this point because of the deep drop off at the end of the coral shelf. He had carefully made his way to this vantage point, gingerly stepping around the many sink holes that would be hidden from view in more turbulent water. His eyes scanned the many scars and cracks on the face of the cliff, knowing that each mark was man made-either with the picks and shovels of the defenders or the impact of high-explosive ordinance thrown from the invaders’ ships more than forty years in the past.

He searched and found the narrow slits at the tops of the cliffs, and followed them down twisted pathways to the narrow strips of dazzling white sand at the water’s edge. In his mind he replayed the words he had read – “…the landing craft ran aground on the reef… …as the ramps crashed down, we were sitting ducks for the Japanese guns in the cliffs… …I was the only one that made it to the beach from our LC… …they were dug in so deep we couldn’t get at them… …the water was red from the waves to the shore…” – and stood there, in the quiet summer sunshine, and listened to the ghosts of the Marines who had taken Tarawa.

He turned from the cliffs, and rejoined his fellow Marines as they regrouped at the base of one of the paths to the top. Pausing, they examined the shreds of leather that had been their boots before they stepped onto the knife-sharp coral shelf. The joking back and forth died down, replaced with the sobering realization of just what those young kids had faced in World War Two. Scrambling up the steep path, they found an opening into the warren of caves behind the cliff face. Moving from room to room, bent over double, they could see every inch of the defender’s territory from the base of the cliffs to the watery horizon. Idle kicking of the dust on the floor would turn up Japanese machine gun casings, bits of shrapnel, and the remains of cooking fires – signs of human occupation many years past.

Returning to the coveted airstrip, they boarded an older model cargo plane, ready to continue their flight back to the base on the island of Okinawa. The plane’s propellers strained against the wheel brakes as the engines were readied for the launch; assisted by an auxiliary jet engine, the plane leaped back into the clear blue sky over the Sea of Japan.
=+=+=+=

Thank you for stopping by, God bless you all, Wear Red on Fridays, and support Warriors for Innocence!

Ooh-Rah. Semper Fi. Happy Birthday to all my Devil Dogs out there in Blogland.

God bless you all, Wear Red on Fridays, and get in on the Baby Pool!