Point of View

23 October

They couldn’t be further from those yellow foot prints or from home. The Marines of the 24th MAU, Marine Amphibious Unit, were now calling Beirut, Lebanon home, at least for the time being. Years of civil unrest in the region had forced our government to offer aid and security to help restore order and assist the citizens of that beautiful country. It was dubbed a peaceful mission; a humanitarian effort and for most of them it was their first deployment to foreign soil, and sadly their last.
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I woke to the sun beaming through the slits of my window blinds and a soft breeze of morning air. I chased the sleep from my eyes and started to mentally plan out my day of remembrance for my brother Marines killed twenty-four years ago today. Not being able to attend the official memorial services in North Carolina I decided to pay a visit to the Carl T. Hayden Veteran’s Hospital in Phoenix. I have always felt a close connection with the older generation service members and enjoy hearing their stories and memories.
I dressed in my Marine camouflage greens, dusted off my boots and gave myself a brief inspection in the full length mirror before heading out. I was greeted by a cloudless sky opening over the city in various hues of blue and paused to let the warmth of the sun caress my face.
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I stopped for my morning coffee and headed to my former reserve unit for a visit with the staff there. Bulk-Fuel, “C” Company is located in the west valley, just a short drive up the I-10 from my home. They are responsible for the installation and maintenance of fuel bladders which get buried under ground and serve as fueling stations for the tactical equipment during deployments. I was a member of Headquarters platoon which provided the communication service installed along the “pipe-line” as well as security patrols that protected the men and vital fluid everyone depended on…fuel. I met SSgt. Blecman, the motor-t chief, enjoying a morning cigarette just outside his office. He has been around since I served there, four years ago, and has become a close friend. We exchanged some small talk as he shared his “things haven’t changed around here” speech with me. Active-duty service and reserve service are completely two different animals and most of the Marines in “C” Company, including myself have done both. He asked if I would be interested in being the “A” driver for the upcoming Veterans Day parade, which I gladly accepted. There’s not much to this duty other than being a “back-up” driver and helping to guide the vehicle through close obstacles. Otherwise you sit shotgun and wave at the people that line the parade route. We parted ways and I headed inside to add my name to the duty roster for upcoming events. Each year the Marines at “C” company take part in the annual Toys for Tots drive and collect and distribute thousands of toys to needy children all over the valley. It’s a rewarding effort and a way for me to give back to my community; having been one of those needy children growing up.
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I arrived at the medical center which consists of a hospital ward and an assisted living wing which is where I would be visiting today. The assisted living quarters houses the permanent residents who can no longer care for themselves and require special needs most family members can not manage. I signed in with the receptionist and was issued my visitors badge before heading into the assisted living wing of the hospital. Because most of the residents have diminished capacities, and are free to roam from their rooms to the recreation center and court yard, the ward is secured for limited access which requires a key-code to enter and exit.
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You pass through two wooden double-doors, the hospital-like odor being the first thing that strikes the senses, to see a small army of wheel chairs, walkers, and electric scooters. Most are parked along the length of the halls and in various rooms, their sleeping operators hardly aware of their surroundings. I head to the nurses station to announce my arrival and check-in with the staff, my green uniform in drastic conflict with the hospital gowns and slipper-socks worn by most of the residents. I arrived just in time for chow as I notice a steady stream of residents making their way to the dinning room. Rows of serving carts line the outer hall containing the individual meals of each man and I pitch in to help get everyone seated and comfortable. The nursing staff is wonderful, never questioning my actions and treating me as one of their own. I do try to keep from interfering with their duties, but seldom feel in the way. One of many long time residents, Mr. Brady, spots me and starts calling for me to get him some water. I hurry to his “rescue” only to be told it’s not cold enough. Another resident, Ernie, speaks very loudly as he greets me and starts regaling me with a story as the company gun-smith while in Korea. It always amazes me that they remember me each time I visit yet sad they can’t remember telling me a tale just moments before. Needless to say, I hear a lot of repeat stories, but I don’t mind.
I work my way around the room helping the others put on their bibs or cleaning up the occasional spilt glass of juice. Bob, an old WW II Navy man calls for me while another man asks for help turning on his “dancing” flower pot, a battery operated music box of sorts, and soon the room is filled with the tune “You Are My Sunshine.”  Most of the residents are able to feed themselves, while others need help. They carry on with mumbled conversations or just eat in peace. Mr. Brady calls again but this time to ask me to join him for an after lunch cigarette. The afternoon continues in similar fashion, listening to the stories of our hero veterans and sharing a few of my own. These are proud men and I never tire of our visits together. Soon the men return to their rooms for their afternoon naps and then the whole process will start over again at dinner time. It’s a day of rituals for the men within these walls and a place where time no longer exists as they wait for their final “duty call” and leave behind a legacy of honor and pride for us to remember.