For the men who read this, I think we will all agree that there are men who we meet in life who stand out, men who are “giants in the earth in [our] days.” My Dad, my grandfather, Rector H. Smith, and my friend, Lieutenant Colonel Pat Oates, are three such men. So, too, is Joe Griffis. While I have mentioned him in passing elsewhere, and shall set down some specific adventures in future posts, allow me the privilege of fully introducing Joe Griffis, Lieutenant Colonel of Marines.
Colonel Griffis assumed command of the battalion while I was on R and R. A new commanding officer can be unsettling to a unit. Who is this new guy? Does he know his stuff? What does he expect of his commanders? His staff?
I met him the day after I returned from R&R. The XO called me down and informed me that the battalion would be returning from the Arizona to An Hoa that night for one night, and then would move to Phu Loc (6) for about a month. The new CO wanted to have a cook out for the troops and they need a place to bed down. I turned to.
My S-4 Chief, a Staff Sergeant, coordinated with the Regimental Mess Chief, a Master Sergeant, to arrange for grills. The menu was steaks grilled on the spot, baked potatoes, mixed vegetables, and two Cokes and two beers per man.
In the meantime, the Police Sergeant organized a working party from the casual personnel we had in the rear. We moved a dozen 40-man General Purpose tents into an open area and began setting them up. There being no law of which I am aware that prohibits an officer from getting dirty (contrary to the belief of some) I was the 6th man on one of the 6-man teams that erected a dozen tents in about three hours.
At about 1600, the battalion arrived on foot, still wet from fording the Song Thu Bon. The grills were up and burning, we had a couple of jeep trailers filled with ice, Cokes and beer, and we began to feed the troops almost immediately. I met the Colonel and gave him a quick rundown on what we had done. He nodded.
He was a man in his early 40’s, somewhat grizzled, graying. In 1943, he left home and tried to join the United States Marine Corps. He was 15 and too young to enlist, so he joined the Merchant Marine and sailed on Atlantic convoy duty. The next year, at 16, he fudged his age a bit and enlisted in the Marine Corps. He went through boot camp and then served in combat in the South Pacific. After the War, he attended Officer Candidate School, was commissioned, and led troops as an infantry officer in the Korean War. Vietnam was his third war and this was his second tour of duty. He never stopped being a Grunt!!
Now, the Old Man had a couple of quirks, as all great commanders seem to have. He wore a blue bandanna tied around his neck; he was never without it. He had obtained a carbine version of the M-16 with a folding stock and carried it everywhere. And he thought every Marine, officer and enlisted, in his battalion ought to carry a rifle unless he was a gunner on an M-60 machine gun.
“I want it done quickly, Four. Get moving.”
The good news was that because we were under-strength, we had excess rifles in the armory. I approached the Regimental Four, Major Castagnetti, to see about getting the rest of the rifles we needed.
“Are you outta your mind,” he counseled? “How do you resupply?”
“Sir, my Six says he wants it done. I’m just asking if I can get the rifles?”
“Yeah, you can, but it is gonna bite you in the ass one of these days, young Lieutenant.”
Unbelievably, we swapped out all the pistols from officers, SNCOs and others by the time the battalion entrucked the next afternoon. The Old Man said nothing, which I soon learned was high praise. He had ordered and his staff had performed to his standard. Simple.
Thirty years later, at my first reunion of the Division, I went to re- introduce myself. “Colonel, you probably don’t remember me, but….”
“I know who you are, Mac. You’re my Four. Nice job on the rifles.” Oh, man!
As reported in his obituary, he was a strong proponent of education for everyone and set the example by earning his Associates, Bachelors, two Masters and a Doctorate. After he retired from the Corps, he taught in many venues, including University of Louisville, Adelphi, Pontifical Universidade, Catolico (Rio de Janeiro on a NIMH grant), and presented workshops and seminars. He had a private group psychology practice in Burlington , Vermont, from which he retired in 1989.
Bored, he soon came out of retirement again to work as a counselor at the Veterans Center in Key Largo , Florida, and then transferred to Lake Worth , Florida. Until his final retirement in 2006, he was the team leader at the Veterans Center in Lake Worth .
In his obituary, it was said that “Hurting veterans build walls; he helped them and their families build bridges. He carried these skills and abilities to battalion and other military reunions where he offered unconditional help to participants.” It was thanks to his urging that I finally turned to the VA for help in 2007.
He was a fixture at reunions of the battalion held in conjunction with the reunion of the 1st Marine Division Association. His last was in Philadelphia in 2007. He had been gallantly fighting cancer for years. To see him with “his Marines,” you would never have known how sick he was…but we did.
As we were leaving the hotel for the Battalion Dinner, most folks planned to walk to the restaurant. I was quietly grabbing people to ensure that the Old Man and the XO, Colonel O’Toole, had rides. The Colonel saw what I was doing and, grinning broadly, wagged a finger at me. “Still the Four, aren’t you, Mac?”
It was at that reunion that I could finally introduce my kids to Joe. He was gracious, as ever. When I introduced Andrew, I mentioned that he was named after Chip.
“Then you are a lucky boy, Son,” he said to Andy. “He was a good man!” (Such was Chip's reputation in the battalion; he was KIA before the Old Man took command, but the Colonel had heard the stories. The next night, as we walked to the hotel from the Company Dinner, Andy reduced me to tears. He suddenly stopped and looked up at me. “That Mr. Chip must have been a good man. Everybody says so.” And the people of God say “Amen” and “amen.”)
As we were leaving the final banquet to head home, I went over to say goodbye, praying that it would not be our last, suspecting that it would. He stood up and when I said “So long, Sir” he hugged me. “I love you, Son,” he said. “Love you, too, Sir.”
In his introduction to his classic memoir of WWII, On Valor’s Side, T. Grady Gallant talks of Marines as men who “are not ashamed.” At the conclusion, he writes that when they returned to the States after the War, as they tied up at the pier, they wept openly. “And we were not ashamed.”
That night, as I took my leave of the Old Man, I wept and was not ashamed.
We had had our last conversation that night, at least for a while. He reported to Marine Barracks, Heaven, the next winter. I traveled to Arlington for the interment. As we got to the grave site, there was a figure leaning against a tree, checking a blackberry. Several other young people hovered around.
“Well, it’s nice to see Charlie Company could make it,” said the former Delta-6 and now- Senator Jim Webb. His staff seemed a little concerned that the then-newly minted Senator was missing several committee meetings, but none of the people who counted were bothered. This was the Old Man’s funeral. Nothing was more important.
I trust that we will serve together again. I expect to hear “Now, Four, this morning I was talking with God and we really need to do something about . . .”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
13 March 2010
12 March 2010
R and R (Part 2)
The remainder of our flight to Hawaii was uneventful. We were escorted to the R and R Center where we were briefed on the program, received a discount card that the Chamber of Commerce had arranged with merchants, informed of the time we were to report for our return flight (no, they did not extend our stay!!), and sent on our way.
I had told Maryann to go straight to the hotel, so I caught a cab and was off.
Honolulu out did itself. Every store had the “Aloha, R&R” sticker in the window. Cabbies knew that R&R rates applied to us. The hotel staffs bent over backward to be, if you will pardon the pun, accommodating. Maryann was already in our room. We celebrated and then went shopping.
The “uniform of the day’” was Hawaiian vacation garb all the way—aloha shirts, slacks and shorts, swim wear. We all needed new clothes. I was all the way back up to 140 pounds, but my uniform had hung on me. The merchants were gracious and everyone seemed to be genuinely glad to see us. I spent 1500 (1969) dollars in four and a half days. Multiplied by hundreds of new arrivals every day, that probably helped their attitude, too.
We swam and sunned at Waikiki, went to the Arizona Memorial and Punch Bowl Crater, shopped, dined and did all the things young people in love have done over the ages when the warriors come home. We were close enough to the wedding to plan the honeymoon trip in detail (New Orleans) and to just relax.
Relaxing did not come easy. I woke often to find myself prowling our room “checking lines.” A couple of chance encounters with fire crackers did not go well. I was not alone; as we met other couples, the wives and girlfriends shared amazingly similar experiences with one another. It was the first time (of many) Maryann referred to me as “old.”
On our last day in Hawaii, I suggested to Maryann that we get married right away—“just in case.” Bad move on my part. She freaked out, and the rest of that evening was spent calming her down. [There was more to her hesitation than that, but that came out 20 years later.]
I learned that that, too, was normal. One Captain I knew had been shot in the neck. He had asked that his wife not be officially notified, deciding he would break it to her himself. He “forgot” and she learned when he threw his arm around her shoulders and she turned to see a pretty ugly scar. She spent the first day of their visit on meds. I know of two cases where wives arrived at the Center only to be informed that their husbands had been killed in action just before leaving Vietnam.
I took her to the airport for her return flight to Chicago and then reported for our return flight. As we were about to walk out to the plane (no jet ways in those days), one helicopter pilot walked over to a couple of MP’s and demanded that they handcuff him and escort him to the plane.
“Sir?”
“Look, you’ve got to be crazy to go back to Vietnam. I gotta go back, but I’m not crazy. So, take me away.” They did, all of us, including the pilot, laughing as we walked.
What a goofy war. . .
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
I had told Maryann to go straight to the hotel, so I caught a cab and was off.
Honolulu out did itself. Every store had the “Aloha, R&R” sticker in the window. Cabbies knew that R&R rates applied to us. The hotel staffs bent over backward to be, if you will pardon the pun, accommodating. Maryann was already in our room. We celebrated and then went shopping.
The “uniform of the day’” was Hawaiian vacation garb all the way—aloha shirts, slacks and shorts, swim wear. We all needed new clothes. I was all the way back up to 140 pounds, but my uniform had hung on me. The merchants were gracious and everyone seemed to be genuinely glad to see us. I spent 1500 (1969) dollars in four and a half days. Multiplied by hundreds of new arrivals every day, that probably helped their attitude, too.
We swam and sunned at Waikiki, went to the Arizona Memorial and Punch Bowl Crater, shopped, dined and did all the things young people in love have done over the ages when the warriors come home. We were close enough to the wedding to plan the honeymoon trip in detail (New Orleans) and to just relax.
Relaxing did not come easy. I woke often to find myself prowling our room “checking lines.” A couple of chance encounters with fire crackers did not go well. I was not alone; as we met other couples, the wives and girlfriends shared amazingly similar experiences with one another. It was the first time (of many) Maryann referred to me as “old.”
On our last day in Hawaii, I suggested to Maryann that we get married right away—“just in case.” Bad move on my part. She freaked out, and the rest of that evening was spent calming her down. [There was more to her hesitation than that, but that came out 20 years later.]
I learned that that, too, was normal. One Captain I knew had been shot in the neck. He had asked that his wife not be officially notified, deciding he would break it to her himself. He “forgot” and she learned when he threw his arm around her shoulders and she turned to see a pretty ugly scar. She spent the first day of their visit on meds. I know of two cases where wives arrived at the Center only to be informed that their husbands had been killed in action just before leaving Vietnam.
I took her to the airport for her return flight to Chicago and then reported for our return flight. As we were about to walk out to the plane (no jet ways in those days), one helicopter pilot walked over to a couple of MP’s and demanded that they handcuff him and escort him to the plane.
“Sir?”
“Look, you’ve got to be crazy to go back to Vietnam. I gotta go back, but I’m not crazy. So, take me away.” They did, all of us, including the pilot, laughing as we walked.
What a goofy war. . .
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
11 March 2010
R and R (Part 1)
This is a continuation of my Vietnam memoir...
During the Vietnam War, there was a policy that each service member in Country should receive a five-day rest and recreation period in one of several locations. Troops were allowed to select their desired destination which could include Bangkok, Thailand; Sydney, Australia; Taipei, Taiwan; Tokyo, Japan; Kuala Lampur, Maylasia; and Honolulu, Hawaii. Hawaii was a popular locale for married Marines, and for many whose fiancés or girl friends could come to Honolulu. It was strictly forbidden for individuals to travel beyond Hawaii, i.e., to the continental United States, but some adventurous souls did so.
As I was engaged, I asked to take my R and R in Hawaii.
Getting ready was an adventure in itself.I had to go to Disbursing to draw greenbacks for the trip. (We used scrip in country.) I then retrieved my seabag and the one summer service uniform I had brought in country. I now had four ribbons instead of the single National Defense Service Medal I had worn in country. Civvies would be my first purchase in Hawaii.
The morning before my scheduled flight, I went to the LZ in An Hoa and flew up to Danang. I spent the night at the R and R Center at Danang AFB, where I could get a haircut, shower, press out my uniform, shine my leather and brass, and generally make myself presentable for the inspection that would precede our trip.
Our flight was scheduled to depart at about 1600. A Marine Colonel was the senior officer on the trip. Our flight filled every seat (6 abreast) on a Pan Am DC-8. There were representatives of all 5 services; I ended up sitting between an Air Force lieutenant colonel F-4 pilot and his Lieutenant back-seater. As we left Danang, two F-4s from their squadron “escorted” us out to sea.
Our trip to Anderson AFB, Guam (our re-fueling stop) was uneventful. We arrived at about 2300 and had about 90 minutes to visit the “duty free store” to purchase alcohol for our use in Hawaii. I had become an aficionado of Chivas Regal and purchased two fifths for $2.00 apiece. Those were the days, my friend…
We took off for Hawaii at 0030. We had just settled back for the last leg of the trip when the two pilots sat up, looked at each other, and said “What the (universal modifier) was that?” Damn!
A few minutes later, the Captain informed us that a widget had broken and that we were dumping fuel en route to Agana Naval Air Station, Guam, for repairs. We landed at about 0115.They made us de-plane and we waited.
At about 0300, the Pan Am Station Manager informed the officers that they had fixed the widget, but that they were removing another part from our plane to use on a passenger flight from Tokyo to Sydney. We were “not to worry” because Pan Am would have a replacement part in Guam later that day and we could then resume our flight. That we would lose a precious day of R and R mattered not! The Colonel was livid. He informed the Station Manager that we all had families waiting for us.
“Well, I don’t know what we can do,” replied that worthy rep of American aviation. “The flight from Tokyo was carrying passengers. We couldn’t very well delay them when we had an available part.” Oooooooops. Big mistake.
Very quietly, the Colonel asked “And just what the (universal modifier) are we, [anatomical reference to the sphincter muscle]?” Because the Colonel’s face was only an inch or two away from the Bozo’s face, he quickly realized that he had erred. He paled visibly.
“I’ll call Honolulu and tell them to inform the military authorities so they can alert your folks.”
“The hell you say. We’ll use your phone and call 'em ourselves.” Remember that this was 1969, when transpacific cable phone lines charged a dollar or more for each minute.
The Station Manager looked at the assembled officers, steely-eyed killers to a man, counted to about 30, and then discretion became the better part of his valor.“Fine. I’ll allow your officers a three minute call, each.”
“Go ahead, boys,” the Colonel said. They headed into the Station Manager’s office. “Lieutenant, come here,” he said, motioning to me. “Find me the two biggest Marines you can and send them over here. Then tell all the troops that Pan Am is giving away free phone calls until we leave. And they can talk as long as they want. (muttering) I’ll show you passengers, you sob.”
The next time I saw the Station Manager, flanked by two big Sergeants, he was sweating dollar signs!
The Navy bussed the officers to the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters for breakfast and a place to sleep. (The troops who were not waiting for the phone were marched to a nearby messhall.) We got to the BOQ at about 0450. As we entered and headed for the dining room, a Navy steward came out.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Where’s the bar,” my Air force seatmate growled.
“Oh, Sir, the bar does not open until 1700 [12 hours away]. But I can seat you for breakfast.”
We picked up our bags and boxes of duty free booze and followed him. As we sat down, a mess man came over to take our orders.
“Gimme a glass and a bucket of ice,” said our worthy birdman. We all joined in the order and a lot of the duty free stuff disappeared quickly. Great breakfast!
At about 1300 we were finally on our plane and headed for Hawaii, 12 hours late.
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
During the Vietnam War, there was a policy that each service member in Country should receive a five-day rest and recreation period in one of several locations. Troops were allowed to select their desired destination which could include Bangkok, Thailand; Sydney, Australia; Taipei, Taiwan; Tokyo, Japan; Kuala Lampur, Maylasia; and Honolulu, Hawaii. Hawaii was a popular locale for married Marines, and for many whose fiancés or girl friends could come to Honolulu. It was strictly forbidden for individuals to travel beyond Hawaii, i.e., to the continental United States, but some adventurous souls did so.
As I was engaged, I asked to take my R and R in Hawaii.
Getting ready was an adventure in itself.I had to go to Disbursing to draw greenbacks for the trip. (We used scrip in country.) I then retrieved my seabag and the one summer service uniform I had brought in country. I now had four ribbons instead of the single National Defense Service Medal I had worn in country. Civvies would be my first purchase in Hawaii.
The morning before my scheduled flight, I went to the LZ in An Hoa and flew up to Danang. I spent the night at the R and R Center at Danang AFB, where I could get a haircut, shower, press out my uniform, shine my leather and brass, and generally make myself presentable for the inspection that would precede our trip.
Our flight was scheduled to depart at about 1600. A Marine Colonel was the senior officer on the trip. Our flight filled every seat (6 abreast) on a Pan Am DC-8. There were representatives of all 5 services; I ended up sitting between an Air Force lieutenant colonel F-4 pilot and his Lieutenant back-seater. As we left Danang, two F-4s from their squadron “escorted” us out to sea.
Our trip to Anderson AFB, Guam (our re-fueling stop) was uneventful. We arrived at about 2300 and had about 90 minutes to visit the “duty free store” to purchase alcohol for our use in Hawaii. I had become an aficionado of Chivas Regal and purchased two fifths for $2.00 apiece. Those were the days, my friend…
We took off for Hawaii at 0030. We had just settled back for the last leg of the trip when the two pilots sat up, looked at each other, and said “What the (universal modifier) was that?” Damn!
A few minutes later, the Captain informed us that a widget had broken and that we were dumping fuel en route to Agana Naval Air Station, Guam, for repairs. We landed at about 0115.They made us de-plane and we waited.
At about 0300, the Pan Am Station Manager informed the officers that they had fixed the widget, but that they were removing another part from our plane to use on a passenger flight from Tokyo to Sydney. We were “not to worry” because Pan Am would have a replacement part in Guam later that day and we could then resume our flight. That we would lose a precious day of R and R mattered not! The Colonel was livid. He informed the Station Manager that we all had families waiting for us.
“Well, I don’t know what we can do,” replied that worthy rep of American aviation. “The flight from Tokyo was carrying passengers. We couldn’t very well delay them when we had an available part.” Oooooooops. Big mistake.
Very quietly, the Colonel asked “And just what the (universal modifier) are we, [anatomical reference to the sphincter muscle]?” Because the Colonel’s face was only an inch or two away from the Bozo’s face, he quickly realized that he had erred. He paled visibly.
“I’ll call Honolulu and tell them to inform the military authorities so they can alert your folks.”
“The hell you say. We’ll use your phone and call 'em ourselves.” Remember that this was 1969, when transpacific cable phone lines charged a dollar or more for each minute.
The Station Manager looked at the assembled officers, steely-eyed killers to a man, counted to about 30, and then discretion became the better part of his valor.“Fine. I’ll allow your officers a three minute call, each.”
“Go ahead, boys,” the Colonel said. They headed into the Station Manager’s office. “Lieutenant, come here,” he said, motioning to me. “Find me the two biggest Marines you can and send them over here. Then tell all the troops that Pan Am is giving away free phone calls until we leave. And they can talk as long as they want. (muttering) I’ll show you passengers, you sob.”
The next time I saw the Station Manager, flanked by two big Sergeants, he was sweating dollar signs!
The Navy bussed the officers to the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters for breakfast and a place to sleep. (The troops who were not waiting for the phone were marched to a nearby messhall.) We got to the BOQ at about 0450. As we entered and headed for the dining room, a Navy steward came out.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Where’s the bar,” my Air force seatmate growled.
“Oh, Sir, the bar does not open until 1700 [12 hours away]. But I can seat you for breakfast.”
We picked up our bags and boxes of duty free booze and followed him. As we sat down, a mess man came over to take our orders.
“Gimme a glass and a bucket of ice,” said our worthy birdman. We all joined in the order and a lot of the duty free stuff disappeared quickly. Great breakfast!
At about 1300 we were finally on our plane and headed for Hawaii, 12 hours late.
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
09 March 2010
THE MOST DANGEROUS AMENDMENT?
“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”
U.S. Const, Amend 2
In the run-up to and aftermath of the Supreme Court argument in the Chicago gun ban case, McDonald v. Chicago, I heard an anti-gunner refer to the Second Amendment as “the most dangerous amendment.” Then the Philadelphia Inquirer, a champion of the First Amendment, editorialized in the same vein, although it did not use those words. And it got me to wondering. . ..
The document that the Constitutional Convention of 1787 sent to the States for review and ratification was a framework for a central government of limited powers. However, a number of prominent Americans, particularly George Mason of Virginia, one of the drafters of the Constitution, were concerned about the absence in the document of any protections of the fundamental rights of free men. So distressed was he that he refused to sign the document in part because it lacked any provisions specifically protecting explicit States’ rights and individual rights to balance against the significantly increased federal powers conferred upon the proposed central government. Upon his return to Virginia, along with Patrick Henry and other anti-federalists, he pressed for such a statement. The result was a “bill” (or list) of 12 amendments to be taken up by the First Congress which sent them to the States in 1789. Based on the Virginia Declaration of Rights, which Mason had drafted in 1776, proposals 3 through 12 were ratified by the States by 1791 and are now known to us as "the Bill of Rights."
Allow me to digress. The second proposed amendment, which was also sent to the States in 1789 was finally ratified in 1992 as the 27th Amendment. That amendment limits the power of Congress to increase the salaries of its members by requiring one election to occur after a pay raise is adopted before it goes into effect. Significantly, Congress has not formally raised its own pay since ratification, taking only occasional “cost of living” increases based on inflation. Those pesky voters might object, eh?
To return to the topic, what is it that makes our liberal friends so fear the Second Amendment, while revering the First and Fourth through Eighth? Why do folks who find a “right of privacy” (never mentioned in the Constitution) which, they claim, “clearly” allows unlimited abortion nonetheless deny the very explicit statement of the Second Amendment?
I suspect that it is for the same reason that one “scholar” on a recent national news program opined that it is “unfair” for small States to have the same number of Senators as, e.g., California, thus enabling 20 small States to block “important, crucial” legislation such as his preference for national single payer health insurance. (Quaere: Has our educational system become so bankrupt as to fail to teach Americans our constitutional history—that the great compromise of 1787 envisioned exactly that result?)
The importance of the Second Amendment to the preservation of our liberties is demonstrated
every time a politician, sadly, usually a member of the Democratic Party, claims to know better what the people need than do individual citizens. That claim of a right of the elitist liberal ruling class to ignore the desires of the people is exactly what the framers knew they had to protect against by adopting the Bill of Rights.
And to ensure that the new federal government was never allowed to usurp the rights of the people, a right of the people to keep and bear arms was essential. After the Revolutionary War, most of the 13 States incorporated into their constitutions a “right of revolution.” The current Constitution of New Hampshire, adopted in 1784, provides in Part I, Article 10 that
Thus, the Second Amendment is actually the most important, the one that ensures all the others, and the least dangerous to the freedom and rights of the people. It ensures the survival of the protections afforded by the rest of the Constitution.
In 1989, as the Nation celebrated the bi-Centennial of the Constitution, the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a ten-day series of articles on the Bill of Rights, one article per day. When it came to the Second Amendment, the writer was a law professor from the University of Pennsylvania. Expecting the worst, I was pleasantly surprised when the author, whose name I cannot find, wrote that the Second Amendment clearly protected an individual right.
In summing up, he wrote (as nearly as I can remember): “We have all seen the bumper sticker that says ‘When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.’ If the Framers had written that bumper sticker, it would read ‘If guns are outlawed, only government will have guns.’ And that scared them a lot more than anything else!”
U.S. Const, Amend 2
In the run-up to and aftermath of the Supreme Court argument in the Chicago gun ban case, McDonald v. Chicago, I heard an anti-gunner refer to the Second Amendment as “the most dangerous amendment.” Then the Philadelphia Inquirer, a champion of the First Amendment, editorialized in the same vein, although it did not use those words. And it got me to wondering. . ..
The document that the Constitutional Convention of 1787 sent to the States for review and ratification was a framework for a central government of limited powers. However, a number of prominent Americans, particularly George Mason of Virginia, one of the drafters of the Constitution, were concerned about the absence in the document of any protections of the fundamental rights of free men. So distressed was he that he refused to sign the document in part because it lacked any provisions specifically protecting explicit States’ rights and individual rights to balance against the significantly increased federal powers conferred upon the proposed central government. Upon his return to Virginia, along with Patrick Henry and other anti-federalists, he pressed for such a statement. The result was a “bill” (or list) of 12 amendments to be taken up by the First Congress which sent them to the States in 1789. Based on the Virginia Declaration of Rights, which Mason had drafted in 1776, proposals 3 through 12 were ratified by the States by 1791 and are now known to us as "the Bill of Rights."
Allow me to digress. The second proposed amendment, which was also sent to the States in 1789 was finally ratified in 1992 as the 27th Amendment. That amendment limits the power of Congress to increase the salaries of its members by requiring one election to occur after a pay raise is adopted before it goes into effect. Significantly, Congress has not formally raised its own pay since ratification, taking only occasional “cost of living” increases based on inflation. Those pesky voters might object, eh?
To return to the topic, what is it that makes our liberal friends so fear the Second Amendment, while revering the First and Fourth through Eighth? Why do folks who find a “right of privacy” (never mentioned in the Constitution) which, they claim, “clearly” allows unlimited abortion nonetheless deny the very explicit statement of the Second Amendment?
I suspect that it is for the same reason that one “scholar” on a recent national news program opined that it is “unfair” for small States to have the same number of Senators as, e.g., California, thus enabling 20 small States to block “important, crucial” legislation such as his preference for national single payer health insurance. (Quaere: Has our educational system become so bankrupt as to fail to teach Americans our constitutional history—that the great compromise of 1787 envisioned exactly that result?)
The importance of the Second Amendment to the preservation of our liberties is demonstrated
every time a politician, sadly, usually a member of the Democratic Party, claims to know better what the people need than do individual citizens. That claim of a right of the elitist liberal ruling class to ignore the desires of the people is exactly what the framers knew they had to protect against by adopting the Bill of Rights.
And to ensure that the new federal government was never allowed to usurp the rights of the people, a right of the people to keep and bear arms was essential. After the Revolutionary War, most of the 13 States incorporated into their constitutions a “right of revolution.” The current Constitution of New Hampshire, adopted in 1784, provides in Part I, Article 10 that
Government being instituted for the common benefit, protection, and security, of the whole community, and not for the private interest or emolument of any one man, family, or class of men; therefore, whenever the ends of government are perverted, and public liberty manifestly endangered, and all other means of redress are ineffectual, the people may, and of right ought to reform the old, or establish a new government. The doctrine of nonresistance against arbitrary power, and oppression, is absurd, slavish, and destructive of the good and happiness of mankind.The Constitutions of at least two other States (North Carolina and Tennessee) and 2 Commonwealths (Pennsylvania and Kentucky) still specifically recognize a right of revolution, described in the constitutions of the two commonwealths as “an inalienable and indefeasible right [of the people] to alter, reform or abolish their government in such manner as they may deem proper.”
Thus, the Second Amendment is actually the most important, the one that ensures all the others, and the least dangerous to the freedom and rights of the people. It ensures the survival of the protections afforded by the rest of the Constitution.
In 1989, as the Nation celebrated the bi-Centennial of the Constitution, the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a ten-day series of articles on the Bill of Rights, one article per day. When it came to the Second Amendment, the writer was a law professor from the University of Pennsylvania. Expecting the worst, I was pleasantly surprised when the author, whose name I cannot find, wrote that the Second Amendment clearly protected an individual right.
In summing up, he wrote (as nearly as I can remember): “We have all seen the bumper sticker that says ‘When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.’ If the Framers had written that bumper sticker, it would read ‘If guns are outlawed, only government will have guns.’ And that scared them a lot more than anything else!”
08 March 2010
A REVIEW: THE PACIFIC
When this man gets to heaven
To St. Peter he will tell:
“Another Marine reporting, Sir.
I’ve served my time in hell.”
Epitaph scribbled by a shipmate on the cross over a grave of a Marine on Guadalcanal
Starting this Sunday, March 14, HBO will present its 10 part series, The Pacific. It is the second part of the story that began with Band of Brothers in 2001. Spielberg and Hanks did a wonderful job in translating Steven Ambroses’ marvelous retelling of the feats of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry to the screen. However, there has been some concern among WWII vets and others that that, considering the sorry state of education in America today, many folks might forget that at the same time, there was also a little ruckus going on in the Pacific in WWII. Disclaimer: my Dad made 5 opposed landings in WWII—Tarawa, Kwajalien, Saipan, Tinian, and Pelelieu, and I’m a Marine, so I may be over-sensitive. Nonetheless, it is an historical fact that D-Day on Iwo Jima was more deadly than D-Day in Normandy, and it is great that the rest of the story will now be told.
Following Ambrose’s model, the story will focus on three real Marines: Gunnery Sergeant John (“Manila John”) Basilone, Robert Leckie, and Eugene “Sledgehammer” Sledge. Gunny Basilone was awarded the Medal of Honor on Guadalcanal with the First Marine Division and was sent home. He insisted on returning to combat and was killed in action on D-Day on Iwo while serving with 1st Battalion, 27th Marines, 5th Marine Division. He received the Navy Cross posthumously. He is a legend in the First Marine Division (“The Old Breed”), my Division in Vietnam. Leckie, the author of Helmet For My Pillow, and Sledge, author of With The Old Breed at Pelelieu and Okinawa, also served with the First Marine Division. Both died in 2001.
The presentation of the story appears to have the same attention to detail that was so apparent in Band of Brothers. Watching the work they did to portray the effects of the Spring monsoon on Okinawa made me long for my old poncho. I suspect that anyone who watches The Pacific will quickly realize that Semper Fidelis is legitimately the motto of the Corps and that “the Hymn” isn’t kidding about Marines having the natural responsibility of guarding the streets of Heaven.
Finally, I hope the Spielberg and Hanks will find appropriate vehicles to portray the "Mighty Eighth" Air Force's air war in Europe, although the classic 12 O’Clock High will be a tough act to follow. Then I would like to see the gallantry of our Navy brethren depicted, perhaps through a recounting of the action in San Bernadino Strait (Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors) and off Okinawa (Brave Ship, Brave Men). I once met one of the Aaron Ward sailors and the story of their 30 minutes of hell deserves retelling
At any rate, I think Band of Brothers and The Pacific will reveal to today’s America just how much we owe those men who won WWII. In a documentary about Pelelieu, Peter Graves summed it up by reading a letter from a wounded Marine aboard a hospital ship to his mother back in West Virginia.
He wrote “They say I’ll be coming home soon. Give my love to Dad, sisters, brothers, and kin folk. And if you see Parson Brown, tell him I’d like to talk to him when I get home. I want to talk about heaven. Tell him there is no need to talk about hell—I’ve been there.”
Semper Fi.
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
To St. Peter he will tell:
“Another Marine reporting, Sir.
I’ve served my time in hell.”
Epitaph scribbled by a shipmate on the cross over a grave of a Marine on Guadalcanal
Starting this Sunday, March 14, HBO will present its 10 part series, The Pacific. It is the second part of the story that began with Band of Brothers in 2001. Spielberg and Hanks did a wonderful job in translating Steven Ambroses’ marvelous retelling of the feats of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry to the screen. However, there has been some concern among WWII vets and others that that, considering the sorry state of education in America today, many folks might forget that at the same time, there was also a little ruckus going on in the Pacific in WWII. Disclaimer: my Dad made 5 opposed landings in WWII—Tarawa, Kwajalien, Saipan, Tinian, and Pelelieu, and I’m a Marine, so I may be over-sensitive. Nonetheless, it is an historical fact that D-Day on Iwo Jima was more deadly than D-Day in Normandy, and it is great that the rest of the story will now be told.
Following Ambrose’s model, the story will focus on three real Marines: Gunnery Sergeant John (“Manila John”) Basilone, Robert Leckie, and Eugene “Sledgehammer” Sledge. Gunny Basilone was awarded the Medal of Honor on Guadalcanal with the First Marine Division and was sent home. He insisted on returning to combat and was killed in action on D-Day on Iwo while serving with 1st Battalion, 27th Marines, 5th Marine Division. He received the Navy Cross posthumously. He is a legend in the First Marine Division (“The Old Breed”), my Division in Vietnam. Leckie, the author of Helmet For My Pillow, and Sledge, author of With The Old Breed at Pelelieu and Okinawa, also served with the First Marine Division. Both died in 2001.
The presentation of the story appears to have the same attention to detail that was so apparent in Band of Brothers. Watching the work they did to portray the effects of the Spring monsoon on Okinawa made me long for my old poncho. I suspect that anyone who watches The Pacific will quickly realize that Semper Fidelis is legitimately the motto of the Corps and that “the Hymn” isn’t kidding about Marines having the natural responsibility of guarding the streets of Heaven.
Finally, I hope the Spielberg and Hanks will find appropriate vehicles to portray the "Mighty Eighth" Air Force's air war in Europe, although the classic 12 O’Clock High will be a tough act to follow. Then I would like to see the gallantry of our Navy brethren depicted, perhaps through a recounting of the action in San Bernadino Strait (Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors) and off Okinawa (Brave Ship, Brave Men). I once met one of the Aaron Ward sailors and the story of their 30 minutes of hell deserves retelling
At any rate, I think Band of Brothers and The Pacific will reveal to today’s America just how much we owe those men who won WWII. In a documentary about Pelelieu, Peter Graves summed it up by reading a letter from a wounded Marine aboard a hospital ship to his mother back in West Virginia.
He wrote “They say I’ll be coming home soon. Give my love to Dad, sisters, brothers, and kin folk. And if you see Parson Brown, tell him I’d like to talk to him when I get home. I want to talk about heaven. Tell him there is no need to talk about hell—I’ve been there.”
Semper Fi.
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
23 December 2009
PREGNANCY AND MALINGERING
Get ready for a firestorm from the left. MajGen Tony Cucolo, US Army, the Commander, Task Force Marne (I am betting he is CG, Third Infantry Division "The Rock of the Marne")headquartered in Tikrit, Iraq has announced a policy within his command that soldiers who get pregnant in theater, and those who impregnate them (if they can be identified) will face disciplinary action. I can already hear the howls from feminists.
But think about this: If a soldier shoots himself or herself in the foot, necessitating transfer out of theater and leaving the unit short-handed, he or she would face court-martial. Why then ought not a soldier who voluntarily incurs some other condition that results in a similar detriment to the accomplishment of the unit’s mission (which always takes precedence) face similar action? I thought the feminists wanted women to be treated equally and insisted that they be allowed to do anything a man can do in theater.
I hope that the National Command Authority backs General Cuculo on this one.
But think about this: If a soldier shoots himself or herself in the foot, necessitating transfer out of theater and leaving the unit short-handed, he or she would face court-martial. Why then ought not a soldier who voluntarily incurs some other condition that results in a similar detriment to the accomplishment of the unit’s mission (which always takes precedence) face similar action? I thought the feminists wanted women to be treated equally and insisted that they be allowed to do anything a man can do in theater.
I hope that the National Command Authority backs General Cuculo on this one.
22 December 2009
BACK ON SESSION
[START vent] I was installed on Sunday to fill an unexpired one-year term. Last night was my first meeting. This morning I am asking God if He really wants me to do this--the rancor and discord was disheartening. I think at one point I was called a liar and a con man, but I'm not sure. I'll resort to Matthew 18 to sort that out. Merry Christmas!!![END vent]
20 December 2009
BATTALION S-4
As I write this, it is the 41st anniversary of my arrival in Vietnam. On my Face Book page, Reformed Catholic reminded me that I had started this project last year at this time. After I got through my days in the bush with the Marines of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines, I took a break. But now, I think it is time to finish up my time “down south in the Republic.”
After I returned to An Hoa from Embarkation School, I was “transferred” from Charlie Company to Headquarters and Service Company (H&S Company). Major Pat O’Toole was acting CO, Colonel Riley having been transferred while I was in Okinawa. The Battalion staff, consisted of Lt. Tom Pottenger (a TBS classmate) as Adjutant and S-1 (Personnel Officer), Major Bob Kerzic as “the Three” (S-3—Operations Officer), and I was now “the Four” (Logistics Officer). There was no officer available to fill the S-2 (Intelligence Officer) billet, so the “Two Chief,” an NCO performed that function.
I had no idea how to be the Four, but fortunately for me, Captain Castagnetti was soon assigned as Regimental S-4. Three-Five’s four was a Captain who had shepherded our little gaggle of lieutenants down to An Hoa the previous December. Those two Captains took me under their wings and I began to learn how to be a staff officer. In particular, Captain (soon to be Major) Castagnetti began to “invite” me to his bunker for a nightly “four” school. The many things I learned, from references to Marine Corps publications to tricks of the trade, stood me in good stead for the rest of my career.
A few days later, we got a new Battalion Commander. Lieutenant Colonel Joseph K. Griffis is one of those men who make a mark on a young man’s life. He was a veteran of WWII (as a very young enlisted Marine) and Korea. Joe Griffis was a hard man who knew the hard business of war. And as young men often do, we failed to realize just how lucky we were to have him as “the Old Man.” Fortunately, we had the privilege of being his boys for another 39 years.
In 1969, he wore a trademark blue bandana at his neck and insisted that every man in the battalion carry a rifle unless he was actually carrying a crew-served weapon. (That would later cause me some grief, but that is a story for another day.) He himself had acquired a M-16 carbine, another trademark.
As a result of his arrival, Maj. O’Toole came back to An Hoa and resumed his position as Executive Officer. The battalion continued to operate in The Arizona.
I did not really like being a staff officer. It was tedious and not very exciting. Then I heard that 1st Reconnaissance Battalion was looking for platoon commanders. That struck me as a perfect solution.
A reconnaissance platoon commander led recon patrols deep into enemy-controlled territory. A team of six to eight Marines with a Corpsman would be inserted into an area for several days to seek out enemy positions, snatch prisoners, and call in artillery on enemy formations. It was lonely and dangerous work, but it sure beat manning a desk. All I had to do was get the transfer.
I can best tell what happened in this way. In 1999, the 1st Marine Division Association held its annual reunion in Philadelphia. I had been a Life member since 1969 but had never attended a reunion. Robin Montgomery called me and asked me to attend so that we could vote for his platoon sergeant who was running for Vice President.
SWMBO came into town for the banquet on Saturday night. That afternoon we were in the Charlie Company hospitality suite when in walked J.K. Griffis. He was greeted warmly by a number of folks. I caught his eye.
“Sir, you probably don’t remember me, but. . .”
“Of course I do, Mac. You were my Four!” After 30 years!!! I started to introduce SWMBO when I was grabbed from behind in a monstrous bear hug.
“Mac, Mac, you sonuvabitch! I was hoping you would be here!” It was Colonel O’Toole.
SWMBO’s eyes were like dinner plates. I began to introduce her to a grinning Colonel Griffis and the XO. Pat O’Toole turned to SWMBO. “I am so pleased to meet you,” he said. “Let me tell you about the crazy sob you married.”
“He had been the Four for a week or so. One Friday morning, he reported to me with an AA form (Administrative Action form) requesting a transfer to Recon Battalion. I tore it up and told him ‘You’re the Four. Now get back to work.’”
“But he wants to argue. ‘Major,’ he says, you can’t do that. The book says you can forward it recommending disapproval, but you have to forward it.’ I said ‘The hell I can’t. You’re the Four. Now get out of here.’ There was no way we were going to lose him.”
“Well, the next Friday morning, there he is again. I tore up his AA form and we had the same conversation. The next week, I had something going on with Regiment, so I told one of the S-1 clerks to go up and tell Mac that I was busy and that he should just go ahead and tear up the AA form himself.”
“And, Mrs. Mac, the crazy sob did just that!”
Unlike most sea stories, that one was spot on. The room erupted in laughter. A couple of guys said “So. It was you. He has told that story for years!” I was home again.
A few days after the “AA form incident,” I went on R&R to Hawaii and by the time I returned, I knew that I was the Four for the duration of my tour. In retrospect, it was right for me.
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
After I returned to An Hoa from Embarkation School, I was “transferred” from Charlie Company to Headquarters and Service Company (H&S Company). Major Pat O’Toole was acting CO, Colonel Riley having been transferred while I was in Okinawa. The Battalion staff, consisted of Lt. Tom Pottenger (a TBS classmate) as Adjutant and S-1 (Personnel Officer), Major Bob Kerzic as “the Three” (S-3—Operations Officer), and I was now “the Four” (Logistics Officer). There was no officer available to fill the S-2 (Intelligence Officer) billet, so the “Two Chief,” an NCO performed that function.
I had no idea how to be the Four, but fortunately for me, Captain Castagnetti was soon assigned as Regimental S-4. Three-Five’s four was a Captain who had shepherded our little gaggle of lieutenants down to An Hoa the previous December. Those two Captains took me under their wings and I began to learn how to be a staff officer. In particular, Captain (soon to be Major) Castagnetti began to “invite” me to his bunker for a nightly “four” school. The many things I learned, from references to Marine Corps publications to tricks of the trade, stood me in good stead for the rest of my career.
A few days later, we got a new Battalion Commander. Lieutenant Colonel Joseph K. Griffis is one of those men who make a mark on a young man’s life. He was a veteran of WWII (as a very young enlisted Marine) and Korea. Joe Griffis was a hard man who knew the hard business of war. And as young men often do, we failed to realize just how lucky we were to have him as “the Old Man.” Fortunately, we had the privilege of being his boys for another 39 years.
In 1969, he wore a trademark blue bandana at his neck and insisted that every man in the battalion carry a rifle unless he was actually carrying a crew-served weapon. (That would later cause me some grief, but that is a story for another day.) He himself had acquired a M-16 carbine, another trademark.
As a result of his arrival, Maj. O’Toole came back to An Hoa and resumed his position as Executive Officer. The battalion continued to operate in The Arizona.
I did not really like being a staff officer. It was tedious and not very exciting. Then I heard that 1st Reconnaissance Battalion was looking for platoon commanders. That struck me as a perfect solution.
A reconnaissance platoon commander led recon patrols deep into enemy-controlled territory. A team of six to eight Marines with a Corpsman would be inserted into an area for several days to seek out enemy positions, snatch prisoners, and call in artillery on enemy formations. It was lonely and dangerous work, but it sure beat manning a desk. All I had to do was get the transfer.
I can best tell what happened in this way. In 1999, the 1st Marine Division Association held its annual reunion in Philadelphia. I had been a Life member since 1969 but had never attended a reunion. Robin Montgomery called me and asked me to attend so that we could vote for his platoon sergeant who was running for Vice President.
SWMBO came into town for the banquet on Saturday night. That afternoon we were in the Charlie Company hospitality suite when in walked J.K. Griffis. He was greeted warmly by a number of folks. I caught his eye.
“Sir, you probably don’t remember me, but. . .”
“Of course I do, Mac. You were my Four!” After 30 years!!! I started to introduce SWMBO when I was grabbed from behind in a monstrous bear hug.
“Mac, Mac, you sonuvabitch! I was hoping you would be here!” It was Colonel O’Toole.
SWMBO’s eyes were like dinner plates. I began to introduce her to a grinning Colonel Griffis and the XO. Pat O’Toole turned to SWMBO. “I am so pleased to meet you,” he said. “Let me tell you about the crazy sob you married.”
“He had been the Four for a week or so. One Friday morning, he reported to me with an AA form (Administrative Action form) requesting a transfer to Recon Battalion. I tore it up and told him ‘You’re the Four. Now get back to work.’”
“But he wants to argue. ‘Major,’ he says, you can’t do that. The book says you can forward it recommending disapproval, but you have to forward it.’ I said ‘The hell I can’t. You’re the Four. Now get out of here.’ There was no way we were going to lose him.”
“Well, the next Friday morning, there he is again. I tore up his AA form and we had the same conversation. The next week, I had something going on with Regiment, so I told one of the S-1 clerks to go up and tell Mac that I was busy and that he should just go ahead and tear up the AA form himself.”
“And, Mrs. Mac, the crazy sob did just that!”
Unlike most sea stories, that one was spot on. The room erupted in laughter. A couple of guys said “So. It was you. He has told that story for years!” I was home again.
A few days after the “AA form incident,” I went on R&R to Hawaii and by the time I returned, I knew that I was the Four for the duration of my tour. In retrospect, it was right for me.
© 2010 Michael R. McCarty. All rights reserved.
18 December 2009
THE DESPOTIC CONGRESSWOMAN JANICE SCHAKOWSKY
I just heard Rep. Janice Schakowsky (D.ILL) being interviewed on POTUS (XM 130/Sirius 110). The issue was, of course, the massive restructuring of the American economy that the Democratic Party is attempting to foist on us in the form of so-called “health care reform.”
The specific topic was whether or not the missing Senate bill (set to be unveiled by Harry Reid and his cohorts 36 hours before the Senate votes on the measure) can withstand a cloture motion. Under the Senate rules, a filibuster can be ended only if two-thirds of the Senate votes for “cloture,” i.e., to limit debate. Right now, Sen. Ben Nelson of Nebraska has stated that he will not vote for cloture if the Senate bill does not contain language similar to the Stupak amendment which was added to the House bill.
Tim Farley was talking to Rep. Schakowsky about the possibility of compromise on the issue. He referred to the warning by former-President Clinton to the Democratic party that “America can't afford to let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” (In so doing, he was paraphrasing Admiral Sergei Gorshkov, a tactical and strategic genius and one of my heroes, believe it or not. The Admiral said “Perfect is the enemy of good enough.”)
Rep. Schakowsky, demonstrating an astounding ignorance of American history complained that the real problem at hand is the rules of the Senate. In particular, she is incensed that “a Senator from a small state” can hold up what she thinks is the most important legislation of the past 70 years. (I wonder if that member of the Democratic Party base—the NAACP—would be willing to put the Civil Rights Act of 1964 or the Voting Rights Act lower on the list?)
Apparently Rep. Schakowsky has never studied the Constitutional Convention of 1787. She espouses the demand of the large states that they control the Federal legislature—a demand that failed in the convention. The idea of a Senate in which the States were represented equally balancing a House of Representatives whose membership was based on population was just one of the checks and balances written into our Charter. Now, Rep Schakowsky wants to rewrite 220 years of Constitutional history so that what she deems “best” for the Nation need not be subjected to any such checks on an unbridled central government.
She should know better. Shame on her!
The specific topic was whether or not the missing Senate bill (set to be unveiled by Harry Reid and his cohorts 36 hours before the Senate votes on the measure) can withstand a cloture motion. Under the Senate rules, a filibuster can be ended only if two-thirds of the Senate votes for “cloture,” i.e., to limit debate. Right now, Sen. Ben Nelson of Nebraska has stated that he will not vote for cloture if the Senate bill does not contain language similar to the Stupak amendment which was added to the House bill.
Tim Farley was talking to Rep. Schakowsky about the possibility of compromise on the issue. He referred to the warning by former-President Clinton to the Democratic party that “America can't afford to let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” (In so doing, he was paraphrasing Admiral Sergei Gorshkov, a tactical and strategic genius and one of my heroes, believe it or not. The Admiral said “Perfect is the enemy of good enough.”)
Rep. Schakowsky, demonstrating an astounding ignorance of American history complained that the real problem at hand is the rules of the Senate. In particular, she is incensed that “a Senator from a small state” can hold up what she thinks is the most important legislation of the past 70 years. (I wonder if that member of the Democratic Party base—the NAACP—would be willing to put the Civil Rights Act of 1964 or the Voting Rights Act lower on the list?)
Apparently Rep. Schakowsky has never studied the Constitutional Convention of 1787. She espouses the demand of the large states that they control the Federal legislature—a demand that failed in the convention. The idea of a Senate in which the States were represented equally balancing a House of Representatives whose membership was based on population was just one of the checks and balances written into our Charter. Now, Rep Schakowsky wants to rewrite 220 years of Constitutional history so that what she deems “best” for the Nation need not be subjected to any such checks on an unbridled central government.
She should know better. Shame on her!
09 December 2009
4th ANNUAL SAPPY CHRISTMAS SONG CONTEST
I'm probably preaching to the choir, but Quotidian Grace is sponsoring her 4th Annual Sappy Christmas Song contest. The prizes are mundane, but the honor associated with writing doggerel and drivel is really heady. Give it a look.
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