Remembering old grandpa & a young Marine

Wars come and go, deaths happen. The chance finding a few days ago of a magazine published twenty-one years ago this month brought back memories of one war and one death in particular. There are a few words about this incident in the second element of this post. Semper Fi, until the end of time. But, before those words, here are a few about my old grandpa. Today is his day.

Happy birthday, old one

As I have done in past years, I want to note that today is my maternal grandfather's birthday. I grew up without a father in my life, and by the time a step-father arrived, I was entering my teenage years and had no time for strangers.

That is another story for another time -- maybe.

This grandfather was an identical twin. He loved horses and raised them. He rarely spoke to me or to anyone else. He drank too much. He loved to read. Drinking too much and reading too much are traits I probably picked up from him. (I think like Wolf Larsen thought: "My mistake was in ever opening the books." Or something like that. You do not know Wolf Larsen? What can I say other than, be curious.) Both habits -- drinking and reading -- have been much fun, no matter what else.

For better or for worse, old grandpa and my grandmother's brother were the two most influential men in my young life. Great uncle Harry had left the family farm and fought in Europe. I mean, actually fought. Most military veterans have never been close to real combat, although they usually like to pretend they have been. Harry later became a cop and a part-time farmer. From him, I learned about firearms and how to shoot.

Harry believed in the old saying about Samuel Colt: "God made men, but Sam Colt made them equal." Please, do not tell me you do not know Sam Colt. If you do not know who Sam Colt was, I feel sorry for you. And, if before you did not recognize the name of Wolf Larsen, either, that is two in a row. Then, I would feel really sorry for you. Obviously, you do not understand the reality of equality and live in a fairy tale world. (Do not take me too seriously this evening.) Anyway, I am like Harry in that regard. (Or, take me too seriously any evening, come to think of it.)

All right. Enough about this and that and other things. Happy birthday, old one. See you sooner or later, and we will have a beer together like we did the last time we saw each other. Your turn to buy the next round ....

The curse of political correctness

I have called October more-or-less a month of deaths in my life. January is almost as much so, and perhaps one of greater relevance in the course of my life. I doubt I ever will write about all of these things here, but I do want to pull from the recesses of my mind a January event which always lurks within me but seldom rises to the surface.

The event returned from memory to mind this week when I ran across an old magazine which contained an article about the incident. Eleven troopers of the U.S. Marine Corps were killed by friendly fire on January 29, 1991, during the opening days of the American invasion of Iraq in the so-called Gulf War. Two more Marines were badly wounded.

This "accident" (negligent homicide, I would call it) was broadcast live on television. I saw it happen, heard the chopper pilots celebrating their "kill," heard a ground control voice come on and say there might have been a "mistake," heard the talk slow and the silence grow -- then, the abrupt end of the transmission.

The trigger-happy crew in a U.S. Army helicopter had cut loose with missiles on a Marine convoy of Bradley armored vehicles engaged in a night-time reconnaissance patrol. One of the Marines killed was related to me through marriage. He was twenty-three years old.

I guess the losses were considered acceptable in context of the fact that thirty-three Iraqi tanks and twenty-eight armored personnel carriers were also taken out by American fliers that night. Apparently, most of these "heroes" actually were intelligent enough to tell the good guys from the bad guys, in a manner of speaking.

The really sick element about this incident is that today, in this age of political correctness, accounts of this "accident of war" and the Marine deaths are made to appear as though they were not caused by friendly fire.

Did you know that about one-quarter of all allied deaths in the Gulf War were caused by trigger-happy friendlys, most of them pilots? Not one of them ever faced courts martial for negligence.

Oh, well. What the hell. Time to shut my mouth and just glare. So ends February, not with a whimper, but with some vivid memories.