Marine Corps Birthday and Veterans Day, by a Vet
Monday was the 250th birthday of the United States Marine Corps. It is with ample pride I count myself as one of the few and proud who made it through Recruit Training, what we actually called “Boot Camp” back in the day.
My Marine Corps story began with the Marine Corps recruiters in West Allis, Wisconsin, a nice suburb of Milwaukee. Well, actually, it started with a Navy recruiter who said I would be much happier (sort of) joining the Marines because I wanted to do stuff the U.S. Navy didn’t do … but when I heard about the UDTs (Underwater Demolition Teams) and SEALs (Sea Air and Land) I felt like I was misled.
Both my Dad and oldest brother served in the U.S. Navy; Dad during WWII, mostly in the Pacific Theater, living through the Japanese strafing, torpedoes — and when his ship, the USS Wyman (DE-38), got to Iwo Jima and Okinawa (1945), Kamikaze attacks.
The Wyman, a destroyer escort, corvette in British parlance, was primarily a sub hunter, tasked with finding Japanese submarines and killing them. For the official record, the Wyman killed two Japanese subs.
Dad saw several of his shipmates either wounded or killed in action, including friends in a motor whaler who were strafed by U.S. Navy planes right after the Wyman got its first kill.
That’s a very tough — and brave — legacy for any son(s) to follow.
My oldest brother Carl, not junior because Dad’s and Carl’s middle names were different, joined the Navy in 1962 as the Kennedy Administration was ramping up operations in South Vietnam. Yeah, there were two Vietnams, separated in 1954 after the Viet Minh defeated the French at Dien Bien Phu.
North and South Vietnam were reunited after the government and military of the Republic of Vietnam was defeated in 1975 and …. Well that’s getting into my era.
Anyway, my oldest brother Carl wound up on the U.S.S. Pickaway, Carl spent most of his Navy years transporting troops, including Marines, to and from South Vietnam. The Pickaway (APA-222) took the Marines for their, sort of weird, amphibious landing on the beaches of Da Nang, South Vietnam. You may have seen pictures of the Marines of the 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the 9th Marine Regiment landing unopposed.
Our family was interested because my brother was there, some distance off shore, on the U.S.S. Pickaway. Thus began my mother’s second stretch of stressing about a loved one in a faraway land during an escalating war. He would drop off and ;pick up Marines at Camp Buckner, Okinawa. In the mid-70s I was on Okinawa and went to Buckner on occasion.
Based at Naval Base San Diego (32nd Street Pier), the Pickaway would also stop at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, the Philippines (Subic Bay), Guam, Hong Kong, Mainland Japan, and I believe Australia. Oh, and San Francisco and Long Beach, California and the bases in and around Puget Sound, Washington. And taking combat troops to and from Vietnam.
Mom would stress about that day and night until her eldest son was honorably discharged That was 1967. Former President Lyndon B. Johnson involuntarily extended the enlistments of all military personnel of E-5 and above for six months. Ooo-rah.
There’s a common American misconception that once the Paris Peace Accords were signed, the Vietnam War had ended. That obviously is incorrect. In fact, the Vietnam War didn’t officially end for America until April 30, 1975.
I know because I was in a barracks at MCAS Yuma, AZ watching it unfold during the months of March and April. There was an effort by then President Gerald R. Ford and Secretary of State Henry Kissinger to re-escalate America’s involvement to stop North Vietnam from completely defeating the South, as it was stated in the Paris Peace Accords. The U.S. was supposed to come to come to South Vietnam’s assistance to fight back against North Vietnam’s invasion if it occurred within 18 months after the signing of the treaty. What a crazy idea — honoring the terms of a treaty.
Congress wasn’t having any part of it. Eventually the U.S. began pulling civilians and troops still at Tan Son Nhut Airbase, sending them back to the U.S., which had been going on since the signing of the Paris Peace Accords.
The most difficult day of my enlistment was April 30, 1975, when the last Americans left the American Embassy in Saigon, South Vietnam, after lowering the colors — the U.S. Flag — at the embassy for the last time. There has been a pit in my stomach from watching those colors come down ever since. It’s gotten smaller over the past 50-plus years, but it comes back on every national holiday and April 30.
So, today on Veterans Day we should celebrate our Vets and currently serving military personnel. Approximately 20 million veterans are living in the U.S., including the various territories and I believe the Philippines. Plus the Expats in places like Thailand. There are Expats in Japan, Okinawa; plus the American territories of Guam, American Samoa, Northern Marianas and territories in the Caribbean Sea: Puerto Rico and American Virgin Islands — They are not expats though, not in American territories..
American vets are spread everywhere. Hawaii and Alaska have vets.
In my active service my MOS was 1161, heating, and refrigeration tech. I didn’t care for the job and had I re-enlisted I would have applied for some other MOS, like military correspondent. Writing had become an interest so that would have been my next MOS.
In December 1977 I was injured in a motorcycle accident that required surgery on my foot. The long recovery from that injury and surgery had me doubting I could do the required Physical Fitness Test, that included a three-mile run that I needed to complete within 27 minutes. Usually I would do the run in 18-20 minutes, but I could barely run a few blocks. The required pullups and sit-ups were no problem, but it was the running that was keeping me down. I was on “light duty” until I was discharged.
There was another issue: my drinking had become out of control. It got me in trouble in April of 1978, while I was limping around on crutches, after a bar brawl in an off-base bar across the highway from the main gate to Camp Foster, Okinawa.
My Company Commanding Officer, a major (H&S Co, 3rd Engineers) just had me come to his office, instead of a formal disciplinary action, and said if I was going to make the Marine Corp my career, I had to do something about my drinking. With the injury issue, plus the drinking, which I could not stop or control, I decided to get out with n honorable discharge while I could.
Although it was disappointing at the time, not re-enlisting, and actually tried to do so shortly after getting out, it is something I don’t regret. Because of my connections to the Crazy Shepherd and Shepherd Express, I was able to meet hundreds of musicians and band, from rock’n’roll to jazz and classical. I loved it all. From the biggest names in the industry, to the regional and local bands that were working on recordings and playing gigs
Special shout-out to the Milwaukee bands Snopek, Man With a Camera, Johnny and the Losers, Couch Flambeau, The Haskells — love you Jerome— Jack Grassel and of course the Violent Femmes
… and my pal Greg Koch (Turn up the volume).
Then there are so many others I met along the way, from the Shepherd staff to the various club owners and others in and around the Milwaukee music scene.
How could I regret any of that?
My only regret in all this is that shortly after I was discharged my Dad told me my mother cried for three days after I went off to the U.S. Marines on July 31, 1974. I don’t know if that information would have changed my mind, I felt bad for making her cry.
Both Mom and Dad knew the Vietnam War was not over and that I could be deployed to the steaming jungles of Southeast Asia. In March and April 1975 my unit, the 2nd LAAM Battalion at MCAS Yuma were told to pack up our personal gear as well as our equipment packed to be deployed to South Vietnam. I called my dad and told him. His advice was to stay low and don’t lose my composure, no matter how frightening it would get.
It was no surprise Dad wept when he picked me up from the bus stop om 84thStreet in West Allis/Milwaukee. He wept and hugged me — that beautiful experience never leaves me. I’ll remember it forever.
Then Mom hugging me and crying once we got home. When I left in 1974, Mom just stood at the kitchen sink, pretending to do something. She would not, or could not, turn around to see me off, let alone give me a hug. I’ll never forget that.
I also remember the warm and loving welcome when I walked through that side door of the house, greeting Mom.
Sadly I lost most of the photos from my service time, so much of those three years, 10 months and 22 days are logged into my memory.
Eventually I became clean and sober, just over 41 years. No regrets about that. I’m also a firm believer all drugs should be legal and the money spent on this unwinnable “War on Drugs” be spent on drug and alcohol treatment, recovery and education. We should spend our resources to keep people off drugs and get people clean and sober, living productive lives once again.
In June 1992 I moved to San Diego and have enjoyed the beautiful Pacific Ocean and many other accoutrements of Southern California. Six Flags, Magic Mountain closed last month ….
Being a veteran is important to me and it’s important for me to remember and honor those that served, especially those who gave their last full measure of devotion for this union. But Veterans Day is for everyone who has served, or still serving. Looking out over the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery we can see many graves for men and women who died in wars, but we can also find thousands pf veterans that have lived full lives after their service, veterans like my brother Carl.
The wall his niche is in over looks San Diego Bay. The sub base, North Island, 32nd Street Pier and the Coast Guard base.
It’s peaceful and lovely. A reminder that the minutes take too long and the days are too short.
My day starts with gratitude and I try to maintain that throughout the day. I am grateful I’ve lived one more day, grateful for the meal I had at Chili’s, one of the many restaurants that honored veterans with a free meal on Veterans Day.
Most of all, I’m grateful for all the friends and family that have kept me afloat for nearly 70 years.
Semper Fi my fellow Marines and a shoutout to all the other veterans around the world. And to those still serving: stay safe and listen to my dad’s advice: Keep low, and keep your composure no matter how frightening it will get.
Peace out.
Tim Forkes started as a writer on a small alternative newspaper in Milwaukee called the Crazy Shepherd. Writing about entertainment, he had the opportunity to speak with many people in show business, from the very famous to the people struggling to find an audience. In 1992 Tim moved to San Diego, CA and pursued other interests, but remained a freelance writer. Upon arrival in Southern California he was struck by how the elected government officials and business were so intertwined, far more so than he had witnessed in Wisconsin. His interest in entertainment began to wane and the business of politics took its place. He had always been interested in politics, his mother had been a Democratic Party official in Milwaukee, WI, so he sat down to dinner with many of Wisconsin’s greatest political names of the 20th Century: William Proxmire and Clem Zablocki chief among them. As a Marine Corps veteran, Tim has a great interest in veteran affairs, primarily as they relate to the men and women serving and their families. As far as Tim is concerned, the military-industrial complex has enough support. How the men and women who serve are treated is reprehensible, while in the military and especially once they become veterans. Tim would like to help change that.