War veteran ponders what's really important :
Letter to the Editor
Don Puterbaugh
Issue date: 3/29/07 Section: Opinion
- Page 1 of 1
I was a 19-year-old Marine when the door of the airplane opened and I felt the first wave of hot, humid air wash over me. It had that kind of smell that you never seem to get out of your mind, and I wondered if I ever would.
A few days later I was in the bush, scared, soaking wet from the occasional rain, and picking the occasional leach off my arm. They just fell from the leaves, sensing perhaps that I was as vulnerable as I felt. I wondered as I picked up my rifle and moved on with my platoon...can I hack this for a year?
I heard it coming before it hit, several in fact, artillery shells. I watched in horror as a young Marine 20 yards in front of me disappeared, literally, a mist of blood slowing falling to the ground. I wondered about that too, later, when it was dark and the constant rain was falling. What was it like? If I was just walking along the trail and the next second I would be drops of misty blood falling to the ground. Would it hurt? Would I know what happened or just...nothing. I really wondered about that.
Years later I watched a documentary on the History channel about the Marines at the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. It was so long ago but they all looked so young, they were 19 to 20 year old kids really. Just like I was when my turn came. Frozen Marines stacked in body bags waiting for nothing. I was left wondering how they had died.
A few weeks ago I was at the airport and saw an Iraqi veteran getting off a plane. He only had one arm and walked with a cane. I saw the tattoo on his arm, USMC. I softly said as we passed, "Semper Fi Marine." He softly repiled, "Semper Fi Sir."
Four weeks ago I picked up a copy of The Torch and read an article about a young man who complained that he had to walk in the street because the sidewalk had not been cleared of snow and...I wondered.
A few days later I was in the bush, scared, soaking wet from the occasional rain, and picking the occasional leach off my arm. They just fell from the leaves, sensing perhaps that I was as vulnerable as I felt. I wondered as I picked up my rifle and moved on with my platoon...can I hack this for a year?
I heard it coming before it hit, several in fact, artillery shells. I watched in horror as a young Marine 20 yards in front of me disappeared, literally, a mist of blood slowing falling to the ground. I wondered about that too, later, when it was dark and the constant rain was falling. What was it like? If I was just walking along the trail and the next second I would be drops of misty blood falling to the ground. Would it hurt? Would I know what happened or just...nothing. I really wondered about that.
Years later I watched a documentary on the History channel about the Marines at the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. It was so long ago but they all looked so young, they were 19 to 20 year old kids really. Just like I was when my turn came. Frozen Marines stacked in body bags waiting for nothing. I was left wondering how they had died.
A few weeks ago I was at the airport and saw an Iraqi veteran getting off a plane. He only had one arm and walked with a cane. I saw the tattoo on his arm, USMC. I softly said as we passed, "Semper Fi Marine." He softly repiled, "Semper Fi Sir."
Four weeks ago I picked up a copy of The Torch and read an article about a young man who complained that he had to walk in the street because the sidewalk had not been cleared of snow and...I wondered.
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