"The Other Side of Glory"--September 2nd, 2008

Seemed like only yesterday...

I had a chance to do some "research" for my book, "The Other Side of Glory" this weekend.  This year, my friends from the Marine Corps and I met in Spring, Texas, home of my very good friend-- "Big" George Ledezma. When we started this tradition a few years ago, we all agreed we would change the locale every year, giving each of us a chance to host the meeting and also give everyone else a chance and reason to take a vacation and get away from the horrid plagues of everyday life. And for me personally, all I can say is--it couldn't have happened at any better time...

(Me and my boy, Dennis "Denno" Maund, of Cleveland, Ohio)

The boys and I haven't been together as a group since 1997, when each of us, one by one, started rotating back home and into civilian life, leaving French Creek and our lives as Marines forever.  One by one we slowly arrived at Big George's house...first Ponce and I, as we drove together from Ft. Worth, then  "Denno" flew in with his girlfriend Stacey from Ohio. Apart from Ponce, the rest of us hadn't seen Dennis since 1997. He was just as great and just as soft-spoken as he was in the Corps--no matter what he says.

 

(Me and Steve "Doodie" Velez of Miami, Florida)

Then, when the four of us had just enough alcohol to be late picking up Steve Velez from the airport as they flew in from Miami...well...we picked up Steve and his wife Brenda late from the airport...(Sorry Steve!)  We argued the entire way to Houston International Airport--about the quickest route, which lane to drive in, whether the Cowboys were better than the Texans and lastly, what the hell Steve looked like, as we hadn't seen him at all (any of us) since 1997. We pissed off some patrons on the side of the road, laughing with our heads sticking out the windows like kids, asking if they were Steve or if someone else was him...and then...as we pulled within earshot of security--and a moment before any one of us put our foot in our mouth's--we heard a shout, a familiar call. It was him...our buddy...our friend...our brother...with a little less hair and an attitude the same as he had when we shared a barracks in French Creek.

(Me and Ralph Ponce of Abernathy, Texas)

Within moments of arriving at Big George's home, we were back at it, having our way with words. If any "normal" human being had been around they would have called the cops, a therapist or perhaps even the FED's for the things we were saying. We laughed alot, mostly about the stupid things we did when we were kids, when we were "young" men. So many things came back to mind and more importantly, circumstances and situations I can use for the story, things I almost forgot and others the guys hoped I would forget. The overall consensus however was this: They want me to write this story--their story--every Marine's story--not because they want to be held accountable for their lives back then, but because the essense of who we were when we were younger thrives on knowing it will forever be a part of us. It is the bond that holds us together, even when we have grown up to become union workers, city workers, construction contractors, IT professionals and even writers.

(Me and my boy, Big George Ledezma, of Spring, TX)

We spent the next three days and three nights--between heavy Marine Corps style alcohol consumption--playing spades (or at least trying to), remembering our days in Barracks FC 525 and FC530, our fights with other groups in the Corps and our fights with one another. We remembered a dear friend by the name of Lamar Pompa who passed on after we left the Corps and we remembered names of those we forgot. We discussed the "Magic Place", the off-limits bar that opened after midnight and closed just before sunrise. We remembered all its granduer and mysticism. And a group of Marines having a few drinks wouldn't be complete without the memories of The Driftwood--the highly populated topless bar these guys visited frequently enough to have money taken out of their paychecks on a monthly basis to support their habit of beers and breasts. (I can't believe they would visit such places, but who am I to judge? I am still paying my tab to this day...) We talked about our best times together and we argued still about our worse. We rememberd how badly we wanted to come home and how much we wished to return.

In the end, we had to say good-bye once again, just like we did in 1997. One by one we left, but this time it was different. We were sad, only to leave, but happy knowing the friendships and the bonds we have established over the years IS enough to sustain our lives forever now. We may not see one another for a year at a time, maybe longer as some can't always make it (Mark McManus!!!) But that's the way it goes sometimes. I told my daughter as she just began the 7th grade, that she will face peer pressure from the idiot kids in school who judge others by the clothes they wear or what shoes they have or worse, by how much money their parents make. I told her to ignore those people, because a true friend never judges. Yes, they will hold you accountable for your bullshit, but they never really leave you. Ever.

Walking into Big Geoge's home this weekend was like walking into his barrack's room many years ago. It was crowded, loud and it smelled of dirty men, stale beer breath and cigarette smoke. There were enough profanities to flip Mother Teresa over in her grave and enough friendship to break your heart. I will carry them with me forever and I will write their story as part of "The Other Side of Glory." For their story is my story and perhaps the story of every other Marine who ever dared to dream only to see it broken, hit bottom but did not fail and who knows what it is to believe in Jesus Christ and who isn't afraid to have a drink with the Devil. So with my glass held higher than my pride... I say...as we did back then...

Here's to you...here's to me...friends we'll always be...and if we ever disagree...then fuck you, here's to me!

~Bobby Ozuna

"Drawing Stories...With Words"