Semper Sigh

Every once in a while, there are moments in your life when your past experiences congregate in a moment. If you’re lucky, that moment will give you insight and appreciation.?

I had one of those moments yesterday.?

Anybody that knows me well knows that of all my personal accomplishments, two stand out above the rest. I am proud to be a graduate of The U, but most of all, I’m proud to be a U. S. Navy Hospital Corpsman who served as a medic with the Marines in Vietnam. For part of my tour, I was a grunt corpsman with India Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines high up in I Corps, right at the DMZ- in Dong Ha, Phu Bai, the Rockpile and other exotic places.?

The Grunts, be they in the Marines or the Army, are the 10% of the troops that do 95% of the fighting. Ninety percent of the people who serve in the military do not see combat. Grunts live in the s**t and survive and thrive in it.

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Grunts seldom come from society’s upper crust. They generally come from working class backgrounds. My parents were factory workers. A large component of gruntness is composed of Blacks, Hispanics and poor white folks.

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Gruntness brings folks together for life. As a grunt, you spend your life asking one question when you meet someone: Would I want this person in a fighting hole (foxhole) with me if the s**t was hitting the fan??

That’s a high bar.?

And grunts take care of grunts. On one occasion, during the height of the monsoon season, we were on an operation. Vietnam may be a jungle-like place in many respect, but I have never been wetter or colder than during that operation. When we got the chance to go to sleep for the night, I was wet, freezing and shivering. I thought I was going to freeze to death- literally.

In the dark, I heard a voice say, “Doc, come over here and sleep between us. We’ll keep you warm.” The voice came from one of the Blackest black dudes in the company. I crawled over to where he and two other black dudes were huddled together. “ Crawl in between us, Doc. Go to sleep. We’ll take care of you like you take care of us.”?

I did what he said and slept safe and warm.?

Eventually, of course, I made it out of Vietnam, came back to the U. S., got a job as a Nursing Assistant at Baptist Hospital of Miami, attended and graduated from the University of Miami and embarked on a career in Healthcare that brought me to the National Healthcare Hall of Fame- The Bellwether League.?

And I owe a lot of my life to three black guys that kept me from catching pneumonia during a deluge in I Corps in 1967.?

Back to last night…?

I was walking into my local Walmart to pick up a prescription and resolve what I thought was an overcharge…?

First, some background. I live in Cleveland Heights, Ohio- you, know, the home of the Kelce brothers. Cleveland Heights is a culturally diverse neighborhood- 47% white, 42% black, 11% “other”, and the Walmart is probably occupied by a customer base that is 75% African American- may of whom are older and use the electric shopping carts to go through the store.?

As I walked in, I saw an old Black man sitting in one of those electric shopping carts. He seemed to have a device hooked up to him and plugged into an outlet in the entryway. He was holding a plastic cup and asking for change.?

And he was wearing a baseball cap with the USMC logo and a caption that said “Retired Marine”.?

I talked with him for a few minutes and told him that I was a corpsman. Note: You tell a Marine that you’re a corpsman, and they will fall all over themselves telling you how much they love you.?

I gave him $20 and went in to resolve my problem.?

At the Pharmacy counter I met a young Black woman who got my meds and told me that it would cost me $750 for the three-month supply. I braced myself and told her that I know I hadn’t met my deductible for the year yet, but that I thought the cost should be less. I gave her my insurance card and she looked it up. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s only going to be $150.”

I thanked her, paid for the medicine, and went to do some more shopping. As I was shopping, I got to thinking how the $750 would have been no big deal for me, but there was a guy out in the entry that was trying to get money for a hotel room- a guy who had made exactly the same (or more) contribution to this democracy as I had, but who had not had the good fortune I did to carve out a financially successful life.?

I decided I needed to give him more money to help him out.?

As I was leaving the store, I saw that he was still there and that there was a young Black mn talking to him. The young man gave him some money, too, which touched me. Too often, people just walk by and pretend not to see.?

When the old Marine saw me, his face lit up. “Thank you, Doc. We always love our corpsman.”

He told me he had an external cardiac device that needed to be worked on and that he had an appointment at the VA to get it worked on and he was trying to get a room for the night. I asked him how much the room cost and he told me it was $70, so I reached in my wallet and found another $60.?

It was the least I could do. After all, I was just paying him back for what his brothers had done for me back in 1967.?

There’s a sad moral to this story. There are too many people in this country like that old Marine- people who gave their all and find themselves struggling. While people mean well when they say it, “Thank you for your service” doesn’t get the job done.?

When you see someone like that old Marine, engage them, talk with them, and reach into your pocket if they need it.?

I guarantee you that you won’t regret it. I have never met one of them that I wouldn’t want to be in a fighting hole with.?

OOORAH!

Semper Fi

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