United States Marine Corps

It wasn’t April Fool’s Day, I checked. But it was early April in 1964; I would be graduating high school and moving on to adult hood all in a matter of less than two months. I was more excited than a seven year old on Christmas morning. On this Saturday morning I was en route to a quick breakfast and headed out for a sandlot baseball game at Burnett Park, something that we (friends) did often. My room was separate of the main house and I entered the house from a side door that went through my brother’s room, the hall, living room and into the kitchen. My short trek to the kitchen was halted abruptly by my Father, sitting in his chair, paper and coffee in hand. “Good morning,” “Good Morning,” was all I could come up with. With five sons at home from ages 17 to 2 he was almost always working, so to us Saturday was a work day. The last time I saw him at home when he was usually at work was when I got caught ditching class and going surfing. Never got caught again, I valued my life.

“So son, what are you up to today?”
“I was going to have some breakfast and head for Burnett Park.”
“Oh.” “Which college do you think you will be attending after you graduate?” Where did that come from and I didn’t even know he noticed. I had been told for years that his job was to get me through high school.
“Well I’m not really sure, haven’t thought about it much graduation is still almost two months away.” Seemed like enough time to plan for college. I really didn’t like school so going on was not high on my list anyway.
“Okay, well you and I are going down to the Post Office later, so hang around.”
“Yes sir.” Why would I want to go to the Post Office on a Saturday? I guess he didn’t hear I was going to Burnett Park. Oh well, I needed to make a couple of phone calls, the 2nd baseman was going to me missing.

It was a silent ride but once I realized that the Post Office was closed and the only thing open on a Saturday in the Post Office building were the “recruiter’s offices” the internal screaming was deafening. All he knew was that I was sitting in silence, little did he know. Too late but you could have said you applied at City College and this would have never happened. I don’t think from that moment on did I allow a question to catch me off guard, and the lesson to pause and contemplate an answer using some form of common sense and good judgment has been my beacon and compass to avoid being categorized as stupid.

The elevator ride to the 3rd Floor seemed to take quite awhile. Surprisingly the internal screaming did not echo throughout the vacant foyer and halls of the building. The doors opened and the signs over the open doors with the uniformed open arms of decorated, creased, pressed and shined men who didn’t know what college they were going to stood before me. United States Army, United States Navy, United States Air Force, United States Coast Guard, National Guard. All of these doors would be passed, at rather a quick pace I believed. Of course, I am 5’ 7” and my Father was 6’4”, at least, so his stride was a little longer than mine, so basically I was jogging to keep up. There was no mistaking his destination as my eyes made the focus on the sign at the end of the hall; United States Marine Corps. My father was a decorated WWII Marine Corps Veteran and the embodiment of “Once a Marine, Always a Marine.” Much of my disciplinary training came from a very thick Marine Corps Garrison Belt.

The Recruiter was very accommodating, to my Father, I think he looked like a Vulture circling some fresh road kill to me. As I think back he couldn’t have been over 25 but I became his relative almost immediately.
“So son, what do you think you would like to do in the Marine Corps to help defend the freedoms of your Country?” There were more posters in this room than there were Playboy Playmates, and just like the Playmates each one depicted a different choice that would make a decision extremely difficult. Okay I was somewhat impressionable. Hey I was here to please my Father, I wasn’t sure if I had ever done that and it would be years before I found out. My attention kept going back to the poster representing an Aviation Mechanic.
“I really think I would like working on planes.” as I pointed to the poster.
“Son, that’s a helicopter.”
“Yes sir, those too.”
“Well that takes a little extra commitment and you have to pass a special test to see if you would qualify to attend a special school.”
"Yes sir. Where would I have to go to take the test?”
“Oh, we can do that right here.” How convenient I thought. I was thinking I could delay this a little longer…wrong!

It really didn’t take that long to take the test nor was it very difficult. I’m thinking being a mechanic on planes or helicopters couldn’t be much different than working on cars, something I had been doing at my Father’s side since I was eight. I did think the test would be more difficult, especially the written part. But I found that identifying nuts from bolts, square from round and tall from short wasn’t really that difficult. I scored extremely high I was told and would have no problem qualifying for Marine Aviation. It was only a four year commitment, so what did I think.
“He thinks that is great.” My Father replies, “Sign him up.”

My Father, whom I never really considered a planner, although a very organized person, never a planner, hell he had sons 17, 12, 8, 7 and 2 for Pete’s sake, had my Birth Certificate, Social Security Card and a pen. Good grief.

Now I’m thinking, I can’t go to Boot Camp, I’m still in high school, haven’t graduated and I’m only 17. Have you ever heard of the Delayed Entry Program? I hadn’t, but apparently the person I didn’t consider a planner had, and he was assured by my high school that I had the credits to graduate and all he had to do was sign on the dotted line giving the Marine Corps his approval as my parent. Apparently he had also planned for one more thing; something I don’t think the Marine, creased, shined and starched had planned on this Saturday morning. With the paperwork complete the Recruiter moved it across his desk and presented it to my Father for his signature. My Father signed, with a smile I had never seen, and returned his pen to pocket. He pushed the papers back toward the Recruiter and was stopped with a slight waving motion from the Dress Blued Marine. Mr. Page we are going to need your wife’s signature on the forms.

With the sternness I was very familiar with, in the commanding voice of a former gun tub Sergeant aboard the USS Intrepid and summoning on all of the Marine that he was and would always be he looked this larger than life man in the eye, took all of the wind from his sails, took him back to boot camp as a lowly Private from his current position as a Staff Sergeant and in no uncertain terms informed him, “No, no you won’t.” “Yes sir, no problem.” was his quick and obedient reply, what a wuss. Before the end of the year I would be a United States Marine. I knew that failure to do so was not an option. Little did I know, well maybe a little; Once a Marine, Always a Marine. Semper Fi.

Discipline

Basically I learned discipline from three different sources. My father, who during my youth, found that being strict, stern and the household justice system that Corporal Punishment was a major contributor to the learning curve. I think today they call it child abuse. I am afraid even though I did not apply it to the same degree that he did that it has its place in the teaching/learning process. Secondly from Ka Ka who had a totally different approach that never involved a belt. He would take the time to help me understand how decisions that I have to make need to reflect a thought process that considers others, leads to accomplishing what I have set out to do and in doing so follows a logical path involving set goals and a concentrated effort to succeed, regardless of how minor the task. Hell, one of those lessons came when I was being taught how to hook the worm properly. The way he explained it was the discipline it takes to do it correctly, not looking at it as hurting another creature but the reward at the end of the process and the benefit the fish would provide for the family. He was unsuccessful applying this to deer hunting so I would go along to enjoy the outdoors, but could never shoot one. It would be sometime before I learned how different his process was. He hunted with a .22 caliber pistol. He would later explain that it really wasn’t fair to the deer from a couple of hundred yards away. But if he was able to get close enough, the deer had earned the right to be at his table. Then there was the United States Marine Corps. They have a completely different process that I didn’t recognize in the beginning but turned out to be a combination of the other two. That combination has led to a work ethic that has been described by others as exceptional, a true honesty of purpose, true honesty of character, and the discipline to stay on course. With that said, until recently, none of this applied on the golf course. I have gotten much better lately. My disapproval of my swing did not set well with someone I respect a great deal, so I am applying an extra effort to discipline myself when the shot goes astray. A funny thing happened on the way, I have far fewer stray shots. Ka Ka would have told me this but he passed before I took up golf. And that brings me to the United States Marine Corps.

"What Makes Sammy Run"

or; how did I get here? What influences shaped this character, this person. To a great degree the blog title covers a lot of who I am now, Ka Ka. But along the way aspects of life were laid out in my path to maneuver around, or through. All of which has led to me. Some aspects were good, some not so good, but looking back I can now see that even the bad helped form what is now good. I really do mean good. Some may not like some of the views I share. They may not like my haircut, my motorcycle, my golf swing, my choice of music, political views or the battles I choose to fight. But I am a good person. I am honest, trustworthy, sincere, committed, dedicated, empathetic, sympathetic and to a degree a man of peace. Please don’t confuse this with the fact that if you threaten my family, my friends, my country or its freedoms I will hunt you down and kill you like a rabid dog. About that I am also very sincere. I have taken three oaths that I hold in my heart and soul to this day…”Till death do us part…” “…I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies…” “…Assist those in peril or distress, and, if necessary, lay down my life rather than swerve from the path of duty;...”

They all happen to have the same expiration date. Until that time I will continue to grow, do the best that I can, help those that I am capable of helping and love those that I am capable of loving. What has gotten me here: Discipline, Sacrifice, Commitment, Regret, Humor, Love, Compassion, Likes and Dislikes. I hope you enjoy the journey as much as I have.

Gramps

Someone ask me the other day, "What is important?" It took about second to answer and the answer even surprised me. I said my grandkids. I mean like I was standing over a 5' birdie putt. "Why?" he ask. I wonder if we are doing enough to make sure they really do have it as good as we do. Did I do enough for my son, like my father did for me and my brothers, to make sure he had it better than I did? Did I pass on to him the desire to apply the same concern for his kids, my grandchildren? He was kind of startled, "That's the most serious answer I have ever heard you give." Well it was the most serious question I have been ask in some time. If he was just trying to distract me...I made par. Then I started thinking about the Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan, the Market, our troops, my grandchildren, their father and mother living on the Gulf and about what else can I do. I bogied the next three holes. But it wasn't really that important.

Why Google?

I read somewhere that it was relatively easy to set up, good help features, a good place to start and was FREE. All true by the way. No, why really? Okay it is pretty simple, LEP are my initials, my initials and last name is shared by one of the founders of Google and until he passed away I had a cousin named Larry, same last name, common spelling. It just seemed like the place to start. Apparently it worked out pretty well for Mr. Page; hey don't believe me just Google It.

This isn't e mail!!!!

As easy as this is...with a lot of help from Google, Mr. Bob Walsh " clear blogging" and a zillion other blogs, this is great. For me it was like eating vegetables, should have tried them much sooner in life than I did. It will be sometime yet before I get control so for the most part I will stick with the simplistic approach and hopefully pick up some followers of family and friends and maybe a stranger or two along the way. Once I get some postings completed I'll let my Facebook Friends know where they can stay in touch via my blog. This is really cool...I'm blogging. For those that don't know...if you don't want my opinion; don't ask. Oh, it is a blog...so I'll give it anyway.

Who the heck is Ka Ka???

In this day and age the term role model is greatly abused. It is given to entertainers, athletes, television celebrities, and even musicians. The list of these people that I admire, in some cases idolized, and respect is endless and ever growing. They never were a role model but Ka Ka was. He was my Grandfather, he was my hero, he was my rock, he was my guiding light, my shoulder to cry on, my support group and my Ka Ka. He would eventually be called that by my four younger brothers and other family members. Something I was very proud of. I can remember someone outside of the family calling him that once and thought "How dare you, that's my Ka Ka, not yours."

Throughout my life what he taught me, the things he shared with me, the words of advice, the stern moments of correction and the lesson of pause, (not applicable on the golf course) has kept me on the sane side of life.

I am now at the age he was where my independent recollection of his words and actions can be completely recalled. So when I decided to create a blog and I have some very strong opinions, the other intelligent and calming voice in my life, my wife, suggested I name it after the one person she knew that would guide me down the right path. So when I go to the blog to express my likes, dislikes and everything in between I will have a reminder that it is okay to express yourself, be opinionated, and relish the freedoms you enjoy. In doing so you don't have to be rude, vulgar, disrespectful, biased, prejudicial, mean, destructive or evil.

If you read and enjoy...Ka Ka and I are both glad. If there is a degree of difference in our beliefs, please express yourself. Hopefully you will do so under the guidance of a good role model...and if I have a response it is provided as he would have approved.