I opened the velvet-covered blue box and looked at the medal. There’d been no ‘pinning’ the medals to anyone’s chest, as I’d experienced in the Marine Corps. The medals and an eight-and-a-half by eleven blue plastic-covered certificates were handed out. The medal was the medal of valor, but the certificate didn’t mention the medal, only reading: “Certificate of Valor” across the top, written in ornate scrip. The medal box held the medal and a ribbon, pinned in just under it. I removed the ribbon to examine it in detail. The ribbon, blue and yellow striped with a thick red stripe running up and down it’s center, was the operational part of the award.
In the Marine Corps, there were rigid rules about not only the existence of decorations but also strict policies about how and when to wear full-sized medals, like the one I’d just been awarded. There were rules about the wearing of miniature ones to be worn with civilian attire, and then there was the positioning on the chest of where to place the ribbons and in what order. The ribbons were used on almost all uniforms and served to represent the medals themselves unless it was an unusual award like the combat action ribbon. There was no medal for that.
I stared at the ribbon and smiled to myself. There were no rules about the wearing of any decorations at the San Clemente Police Department simply because no one had ever received one before. Lieutenant Gates informed me about that when I stopped at the station to show Pat Bowman and Bobby Scruggs the decoration and to return the Marauder. My decision about wearing the decoration, or the ribbon that represented the decoration, was to pin it above my right breast just above the middle of the pocket like I would have worn the national defense ribbon if that was the only decoration I was entitled to in the military. The metal commander badge, which wasn’t an official San Clemente Police Department rank, could be retired, at least temporarily.
Lieutenant Gates had been uncommonly nice in letting me drive his Marauder to the awards ceremony, although I was and remained surprised afterward that nobody at all from the department, except for Richard, had bothered to go along with me. The reporter from the San Clemente Sun Post seemed more impressed with my medal than anyone in the department.
My uniform was ready to go, and my new, and lonely-looking ribbon, pinned to the top of the right pocket, looked a little out of place because the stiff starched pleat running up and down the front on that side was flattened by it. My badge went above the left pocket, the place where the military reserved for such ribbons since there were no badges of authority in the Marine Corps. The uniform itself served that purpose. Normally, only foreign decorations were placed on the right side but none of that applied for police forces in the U.S. because there was no foreign duty to be served, that I knew of.
I would serve my last shift on street patrol probation later from four to midnight, wherein I had to ride with another more senior officer before being released to be on my own if ever I was to patrol the streets of San Clemente again.
I was instrumental in getting Gularte promoted with a probationary waiver from having to be on probation but that waiver hadn’t applied to me and my qualification to be in the field. For some reason, the beach patrol had no rules about serving any time on probation, even though the complexity of working the beaches at all hours was more than that of normal street policing. All the same codes and rules applied to beach patrol shit as they did on street patrol and many more that non-beach patrol officers had to deal with.
Tony Herbert reached out through Richard, who had stationed himself in the parking lot behind the police station. I saw his Mercedes when I drove in but he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t on the roster for beach patrol. That was Rodriquez and Gularte, but they’d gone out at midday which meant their shift would be over around the time I was going on duty.
“What’s he up to?” I growled to myself, as I got my nightstick out of the backseat and walked toward the rear entrance, already beginning to feel like I might be making one of my last entries to the place. I realized that I wasn’t ready to leave. The department had helped me have a unit again, to have a backup, to allow me to appear in uniform, a covering that layered over all of the physical and mental problems I’d accumulated down in the Ashau Valley.
I’d miss the Marauder, even though my wife’s Chevy was probably quicker. I passed my right hand over the hood as I walked by. I’d always harbored a deeply secret feeling that all the complex parts that went into the manufacture of such vehicles gave rise and potential power to the things having some sort of spirit. The Marauder was a gentle old man with the body and power of an Olympian, while Mary’s Caprice was a teenager of a spirit in almost every way.
I pulled the small medal box from the pocket and carried it into Pat’s office, but she wasn’t there.
“She’s always there,” I whispered to myself, as Chief Brown walked up behind me. I felt his phony cowboy presence and turned before he could say anything.
“Chief,” I murmured, attempting to put the medal back in my pocket.
“No, no, let me see it,’ he said. “Richard went to the ceremony to represent the rest of us who were too busy. He said that you did do what you promised and mentioned me and how great the department is doing.”
I handed the velvet-covered box to him, struck dumb. Even the governor hadn’t spoken and certainly none of the medal recipients. Evelle Younger was a hard organizer, politician, and manager, as well as a very driven and successful district attorney and nobody who wasn’t on the schedule was allowed to say anything. The entire medal ceremony had taken less than twenty minutes.
“Of course, Chief,” I finally got out.
That Richard had known enough to understand that Brown wanted a mention was revealing all by itself. That meant the department was bugged too. Was there no end to the ability, manpower, and equipment of the CIA to do such things? And why was such importance being placed on me? Quite possibly, I reflected as Brown pulled the medal out and draped it over his own chest.
“That’s the medal I should have received for Coachella,” he said, with a big smile, before putting the medal back in its box, closing it carefully and gently handing it back.
“Nice work,” he said, then turned and walked back toward his office.
It was five minutes to four so I went into the squad room to take a seat and wait. The shift would consist of four cars on patrol to cover the whole city. They’d all be single officer cars as it was a quiet weeknight off-season and there were no ride-along cadets in their baby blue uniforms so there’d just be me to be chosen. The regular officers, senior to me, got to choose any probationary ride-along like me. I would do all the scut work, get the coffee, write the reports, and even fuel up the vehicle sometime during the shift since the big V8-powered cars ate so much fuel. Sometimes there was good-natured competition to see who would get the rookie. Riding with two officers the cars were social instruments, as well, since it was a lot easier to pass an eight-hour shift talking if no calls came in or illegal activity was witnessed.
I sat as the other officers filed in. Sergeant Chastney was the last to enter the room, closing the door behind him. The meetings in the squad bay, held before every shift, detailed the problems or crimes outstanding from the shift before, that we might run into out on our patrol.
The meeting was a short one, which most were since the eight to four shift would be coming in just as we were finishing. When the meeting ended Chastney walked out and then so did the other officers.
I sat where I was, waiting. Nobody had made any comment about my small but very prominent ribbon, not even in jest or with a derisive remark. Fifteen minutes went by, but I didn’t move, listening to the cars arrive just beyond the thin walls of the departmental building and where I was. Finally, it grew silent. I knew the prior shift was headed to the lockers and to get out of the station as fast as they could. The shift I’d been scheduled for had gone out on patrol. Without me. I knew I could go find Chastney and have somebody come back to pick me up, but I decided not to do that. The humiliation of not having anyone want me with them was simply too much to deny or to try to fight on even terms. I’d lost by winning and I needed to accept that.
Richard walked through the door, closing it behind him, and took a seat across the table from me.
“Nice ribbon,” he said, nodding toward the right side of my chest.
“Thank you,” I replied, quietly, wondering whether he was behind the rather universal abandonment I was experiencing.
“It’s called the “hero turd syndrome,” he said, his voice soft and gentle.
“What is?” I asked, after a few seconds.
“Herbert sent me,” Richard said, “He knows stuff, stuff like you do but different. He wants to meet you at your home in the morning early, like six, and then you can go over to the coffee shop for breakfast. He wants to meet in your garage so nobody will be disturbed and apparently, he likes that big garage for other reasons. I don’t know what those reasons might be, although I suspect you might.
“The hero turd syndrome, what is it?” I asked, turning the conversation away from what might or might not be in my garage. The main feature of working for the CIA I was beginning to believe was an emotion akin to being worried, unsettled, and surprised all at the same time.
“You experienced a whiff of that at Camp Pendleton when you stopped wearing your ribbons because you took so much heat in always being stopped to verify or prove they were real, and you deserved them.”
A more unsettled surprise came at me. I waited for the worry to follow.
“This time, you got the big medal and here it is, physical proof of just how pervasive and hurtful this syndrome is. The officers here don’t mean it, any more than they understand it. You have to have your medals or Herbert’s to know that. The syndrome is evident here because the men left without taking you because they believed they needed to bring you back to reality. They are unaware that you are sitting here cut to the bone and wondering if it’s worth going on through life at all.”
“The turd part,” I breathed out.
“Yes, they brought you back to their level and then cast you down so far it can be almost impossible to come back. Nobody means for that to happen, but it happens all the time.”
I breathed deeply in and out, for no good reason beginning to feel better. It wasn’t me. I hadn’t deserved the medal, nor most of the ones I’d been awarded in the military, but it didn’t matter. It was a social game and I was it.
“Colonel Herbert has a question he’d like you to think about before you meet at your garage tomorrow morning,” Richard asked.
“Okay,” I replied, curious but not saying anything more.
“Are you ready to leave here yet?” Richard walked over to the door and stepped through it. I thought he might say more, but that was it.
I got up and headed for the back door of the station, passing Pat’s office on the way. Brown looked up from under the huge brim of his even huger cowboy hat and smiled as I passed. I headed for the back door, thinking about Herbert’s question, wondering if he meant the police department or all of what I’d become since getting home. I passed the trash container and stopped. The Marauder was in front of me, its engine crackling a bit from my relatively hard driving bout with it. The car seemed to be motioning to me although it didn’t move at all. I edged over to the trash can, reached into my pocket, and took out the velvet box. It seemed warm to the touch, maybe even hot.
I wondered if God had sent me to the Marauder, substituting the big, tough, and powerful vehicle for the sergeant major on the base. I tossed the box into the trash without opening it. I’d wait to take the ribbon off until I was getting undressed at home. It could go into the stash of military medals I’d wrapped in
Saran Wrap, like my wife had wrapped around me for almost a year to hold me together.
My walk over to the Volks took only seconds, but I was smiling when I got in. I sat looking at the building, my whole experience there coming into full view as if the place I was looking at was a giant panoramic photograph. I started the Volks and absently turned on the radio. A song played like the songs had so meaningfully played from down in the valley and then back in the real world. Songs to guide my Marines. I didn’t have any more songs to guide my own life. I recognized the voice before I remembered the song. It had played in the Valley but I’d never used it just been impressed by it. Shirley Bassey made me turn the ignition off. She sang the haunting first stanza: “If you go away on this summer day, then you might as well take the sun away. All the birds that flew in a summer sky, when our love was new and our hearts were high. When the day was young and the night was long and the moon stood still for the night birds song. If you go away, If you go away, If you go away.”
I drove toward my home, down Calafia, over to Del Mar, and then headed south on Ola Vista. I knew I was not going to need more time to think about my situation or answer Herbert’s very pertinent question.
I was going away, not just from the police department, the beach patrol, or any of the rest. I was going away from a mental construct that had been created for me and I’d accepted very willingly, out of complete ignorance of the human condition going on when I returned home. There was no point in being a hero, or in being considered a hero. The commander’s fake authority badge I’d taken off to substitute for the real medal’s ribbon over the right pocket of my duty uniform shirt was more real than the decoration or its representation.
A faded gold-colored Chevelle pickup sat in front of my house as I passed by. It was on the other side of the street, where almost nobody parked. I knew the vehicle. It was Fred Sweggles’ ‘Batmobile,’ as he called it. Fred was the one and only investigative reporter for the San Clemente Sun Post, about the last person on earth I wanted to see.
As soon as I was out of the car he was outside on his own, running across the street. Fred was a bit melodramatic, and his effusive personality was on full display.
“I didn’t know,” he said, “Nobody announced anything. I would have been there. Nobody’s ever gotten that medal from San Clemente. It’s a big deal. I have to do a story, and take some photos.”
“I’m really not in the mood,” I said, emotional fatigue starting to claim me. The squad bay event had been hard, although I hadn’t felt any physical effects while still at the department.
“I’ll lose my job,” Fred begged.
“Okay, okay,” I agreed. Fred had always been fair and kind to me. “But tomorrow sometime. I don’t want to wear the uniform, maybe a suit or something.”
“Oh, thanks so very much,” Fred gushed out. “I’ll make sure you’re on the front page.”
I wondered what part of the hero turd syndrome would be surfaced and worked over by the media as both of those social events could be magnified even more. There was a problem with the medal. I’d tossed it and I wasn’t going back for it. That left me with the certificate and ribbon. Those would have to be enough, and hopefully satisfy Fred’s needs.
The next morning Herbert was prompt, as usual. His Lincoln showed up right at six, as he’d promised. The sun was just beginning to make itself felt on the eastern horizon, invisible from my house because of the mountains that ran along the east side of Camp Pendleton.
I walked straight to the side door leading into the garage. I’d thought to lock it the night before merely to show that I kept it locked at all times, which I didn’t. The garage was just too easy to break into and there was no sense either having to replace the glass in the door or the lock if somebody wanted to get in.
Herbert stepped inside and I closed the door behind him, hitting the light switch, which lit up about twenty shop lights hanging from the ceiling, the owner, or the owner before him, was a brightness nut. He sat on one of the four stools near the workbench and I sat on another, not far away. I waited for him to talk, and it didn’t take long.
“Sandia Labs is in Albuquerque, right adjacent to the runway at the airport,” he began.
I thought about the fact that I had no idea what Sandia was but he simply went right on.
“Up to Santa Fe, and from there north about fifty more miles is the turn to Los Alamos. Those are both national labs. I’m sure you’ve heard of Los Alamos where they built the bomb.”
“I don’t understand,” I began, but he cut me off again.
“You understand perfectly well. I’m the one in the dark here. There’s something here, I know that. Whatever it is you know all about or as much as anyone else on this planet. It’s dangerous, to you and a whole lot of other people but it’s also political, strange, alien, and exotic. I don’t see anything that comes close to matching that in this garage, except maybe for you…and they tell me that it’s not you. Those labs need to be contacted and brought in, whatever that might mean to you.
“How am I supposed to do that, and transport the thing?” I asked, a bit perplexed at the general nature of the discussion.
The fact that the object was no more than ten feet from either of us also seemed weird, although Herbert appeared to have no interest whatsoever in seeing it or knowing more about it.
“They said you’d know,” he answered, contorting the lines across his forehead into a frown.
I didn’t know, of course. I’d have to figure it all out. Questions like; why wasn’t a team there or being sent to get the artifact? How was I to move the object more than eight hundred miles since it didn’t take well to almost any transportation? What was the timeline for all this to happen, bounced around in my mind as I waited through another of our silences. One name came to mind as the only person who’d volunteered to work on whatever mission I might be involved with. I was glad that I’d kept Matt’s number. It would be interesting to see if he was the kind of guy I thought he might be.
“The question,” Tony finally said after a couple of minutes, knowing I wouldn’t forget his request for Richard to ask me the question.
“I’m going,” I answered immediately, without saying more.
“Good, what will you need from me?”
I wondered what the simple appearing, but very complex man meant.
“Leave me just enough love to fill up my hand,” I replied, quoting from the Shirley Bassey hit, knowing he wouldn’t understand but not caring.
He shook his head, his facial expression one of faint disgust, but he said nothing. It was his turn to wait.
“Is Paul with the CIA?” I asked, knowing I’d be leaving my therapist, or whatever he was, behind.
“Can’t discuss employees with employees,” Herbert said.
“I wasn’t sure what my status was with the agency but I guess you just answered that and my question,” I laughed as I spoke the words.
“Jesus Christ,” Herbert said, getting up off his stool. “Paul’s an asset and that’s it. He wouldn’t be that if you hadn’t made him so and drawn him into all this.”
I wanted to ask Herbert what an asset was but didn’t. The word must be part of the jargon I’d learn in training or as time in service went along. Paul was being used and manipulated just like I was but held a different position. His relative importance, by knowledge and behavior, however, made me think that he was way more than an ‘asset’ to be used and discarded.
“I have to sit for the newspaper story about my alleged heroism so I can’t do the coffee shop this morning,” I said, sorry we wouldn’t be getting together socially. The big Army officer was impossible not to like and even admire and I much enjoyed his apparent enjoyment in spending time with me.
“And then Paul, no doubt,” Herbert replied heading for the garage door. “Don’t hurt him. He’s innocent. He’s afraid about what happened with your wife and that you might not take it as lightly as you apparently did.”
“Oh great,” I said to his back as we walked toward his car, “My life is a totally open book now. You bugged his office too?”
“Nope, he told me during the interview,” Herbert replied, climbing into the Lincoln, and smiling back at me as he pulled the big barge of a car away from the curb and did a U-turn to head back to Ola Vista.
I stood by the curb, watching the vehicle depart, becoming ever more certain that the CIA was anything but the Marine Corps or even the police department. It was more like Massachusetts Mutual. Everything was loose and depended upon field people to make their way. The rules were there but only discovered when one was violated.
The newspaper appointment awaited so I went into the house to change. The schedule for getting Mary and the kids to Albuquerque would have to be discussed with her as well as about a hundred other details. How I was to be paid hadn’t been discussed, nor when. I had the advance but how long would that last? The American Express card was in my wallet but what were the rules on its use and what were the limits that had to be there somewhere?
Herbert had sensed somehow that I had lingering feelings about Paul and what he’d pulled with Mary. I wanted to see him one more time so that time might as well be right after I was about to be published once more as a hero. The turd part of that might lurk right there in Dana Point. Little Mardian was there, as was Butch and Richard. It was about to become an interesting day, I realized, the lyrics to If You Go Away still resonating in my mind as I stared at the home I’d worked so hard to find and get into.
I was going away, but would I only have a bit of that love left in my hand, as I’d quoted to Herbert when I arrived wherever it was that I was going?
It seems all things happen for a reason in thier own time. Being rejected by the guys on watch, would have been excrutiating, the very people you would sacrifice for turning thier backs. Though in doing so along with the incompetent boss makes the choices you had to make easier, a catharsis. I know well the feeling surrounding what others feel about your service decorations and what you do. I recall as a rookie on parade with the old vets with rows of medals that spoke of action and gallantry. Now I look at mine cased and pinned to a shabrack and held in a shadow box for others to see. They are what other people thought of my service, I have my own thoughts.
Being survieled and manipulated by an unseen entity had to be humbling and somewhat terrifiying, even your wife not knowing the depth of it all. Definitely a new begining, a chance to belong, become part of the great cloak of protection the rest of the world will never see. There are so many challanges and opportunities to overcome, it had to be hugely exciting like an adrenalin junky. In plain sight of the world but with an invisible mandate no one else can know. The perfect setting for one adept at keeping thier worlds segregated, homelife, coverlife and worklife, each segmented away but appearing blended on the surface. Paul must have given the green light to your psychic that you could now control your various personalities, junior, officer Strauss, husband and dad and now operator/contractor.
Your sharing your lifetrough this medium has been an awesome journey! keep them coming!
Cheers
Jamie
Well, not that is one heck of an extensive comment. Several layers of intense interest here, at least from my standpoint as the author.
Your reach into the intimacy of the work is extraordinary and your own exhibition of writing talent is quite evident too. I much
enjoyed the reading and also the thought and contemplation you caused with my own emotions about that time.
Thanks for this remarkable comment and I am so happy to respond and approve it so the other readers, most of whom
read these remarks but don’t comment themselves, can enjoy it too.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Great insight is shown in your comment, James.
Thanks Chuck, although I’m not exactly sure which comment you were referring to.
No matter, I’ll take your intent and run with it!
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim
Jim, I was referring to James Johnston’s comment
Thanks Chuck, that was a comment in full, I’ll say. Some of these readers can astound me
with the length and breadth of their knowledge about the work and life itself.
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim
Must have been unnerving (to say the least) when you learned that much of your stay in San Clemente was monitored by the CIA and they had assets you were unaware of (Paul). Not sure what to make of the fact that the response of most who know of the artifact is you’ll know what to do. Big changes coming in the next chapters. Off to Los Alamos & Sandia labs next?
It was an amazing time of my life, and the lives of quite a few others. It made me understand that the internal workings of power
are nothing like what the public or I think they are…probably today too. thanks for the great comment. It wasn’t so unnerving as it was
being in a near constant state of shock.
Semper fi,
Jim
I concur with Jim’s analysis regarding what we THINK is going on locally and what is REALLY happening, especially in those interesting Western White House Days in San Clemente. I also left about the same time to engage a ‘different’ lifestyle.
Chuck Bartok left to pursue a life in Northern California where he met the woman of his dreams and enjoyed the rarest kind of marriage, as i have
enjoyed all these years. It’ hard to believe that on and off Chuck and I have worked together on different projects for more than fifty years.
That has been most wonderful. He’s stubbornly brilliant, stupidly loyal and more trustworthy than a bank vault. Thanks so much Chuck for all
you have put into my development over the years.
Semper fi,
My great friend,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
I have never served, but I have long held a deep admiration and respect for those have – even in peace time, but especially in war time, and most especially in combat. In one of the comments along with this chapter, there was a statement that I need to think about.
““Torn between wanting to recognize a a deed and not wanting to trivialize a commitment made.”
Kind of a heavy duty idea. When I try to thank men and women who have served, I hope that it is received as sincere. And now I wonder if I should continue as I meet veterans in the future. What do you advise?
Thank you.
3.7 million served in Vietnam, of those only 375,000 saw open combat, of those 362,000 were killed or wounded.
1.2 million served in Iraq and Afghanistan, of those 116,000 saw open combat, of those 51,500 were killed or wounded.
Your chances of ever meeting and talking to a real combat veteran is slim to almost none…and part of that reason
is that those who live through that carnage of hell can’t much talk about the experience. Most vets you meet will not
be those combatants who survived and you can be pretty easy going with them as vets in generally are congenial, helpful
and caring…in spite of television and movie mythology.
Semper fi,
jim
Jim, I am enjoying reading this as you are looking back and writing it with probably a lot more understanding then when you were actually experiencing it. I don’t know if you ever kept a diary but doubt it because you were too busy living it and there seems to be always a lot going on not only in you but around you. You are fortunate to be able to look back and remember and share what you were actually experiencing. I wish I lived closer. It would be interesting to have you as a friend or neighbor. Blessings, friend, as you continue looking back. Keep writing! I almost feel like I am there near you as you share your experiences.
Thanks Henry, as you’ve discovered in life, it’s wonderful to have friends, but in this day and age, especially as we age,
it’s hard to find and have many of them around. Thanks for that wonderful comments. People don’t generally make generically
foundational comments about my value to them on the planet…so thank you most sincerely for stating wha you did. I shall continue
the work now on chapter XIII with a smile on my face.
Semipro fi, my friend,
Jim
Next stop Los Alamos ?? Well it can’t be worse then down in that damn valley right ??
Right ?? 😉
Very indepth chapter James, keep them coming !!
Semper Fi
Thanks, Sgt Bob, The Valley, The hospitals after surgery, coming to naked on the savannah in Africa, yes, there are some places I can
day dream back to and realize I’m not in that situation nor was the stuff I was going through right back then, even in chapter XII as bad
as those. It’s good to think that way as I never have a bad day…not in comparison.
Semper fi, and thanks of the compliment,
Jim
Minor point, but you wrote that you pinned the ribbon to your right breast “like the NDSM”. Is that a Marine thing? In the Army it would go on the left side.
The NDSM ribbon goes on the left breast, of course, and I was not clear about that.
I was reminded of when I took all my ribbons off at the sergeant major’s advice and wore
only the required NDSM ribbon, like the Medal of Valor ribbon but on the other side.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim this is a compassionate and deep dive into your psychological state at this time! Lots of drama in this transition. It was sensitive the way you described how we place medals on our uniforms noting those that are foreign. I had no idea of any of this – probably because I never received any recognition for anything except driving on the Shirley Highway. Oh well, I was there and was blessed that I didn’t have to experience what you did. I honor you, my friend, and am thoroughly enjoying the read. SF. Batman
The distance between San Clemente and Newport Beach was a lot further than 31.6 miles. That was by car, that distance, of course,
but the dimensional distance was considerably greater. You were the insurance end of the deal and at that, and teaching me about life
with the ability to socially survive, you were brilliant, but you were not to cross over…or you might not be with us today at all.
So many are not. I am happy that you are with us now. Wy the way, you have received and still recess the love of so many, and that
is worth more than all the little ribbons and medals put together.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Tom, you may not have had the same experiences, but your “time spent” definitely helped develop your fine leadership qualities and the ability to SHARE.
Newport Beach was a long way away, where Tom operated the main officer out of. In fact,
I can’t recall him ever visiting San Clemente in those years. After all, he had us!
Semper fi,
Jim
I have been following your story since you were sent directly to the field . I served peacetime Navy , 56 to 60 so I saw none of what my son and grandson saw during their service . This chapter brought me to tears when I realized just how truly some of our guys and gals suffer after returning. I will look at them a bit differently now and hug them a lil longer .
That old expression “it’s a hard world’ can fit in right after the phrase ‘thank you for your service’ although the two are never heard
pronounced together. There were and remain good moments and bad, but the bad early on sure seemed to outnumber the good.
Thanks for the great comment and the compliment in your making it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I normally preface ‘thank you for your service’ with “I know it sounds trite”, which it has become. Torn between wanting to recognize a a deed and not wanting to trivialize a commitment made, I have, as yet, failed to find something more appropriate. The guys wearing silver stars, purple hearts, and other decorations, know all too well that ‘it’s a hard world’, and don’t need me reminding them.
My father served from 1936 to 1963 in the R C A F, passing away the day before he was to retire. So I know all about unrewarding commitment. ( his pension died with him)
“Torn between wanting to recognize a a deed and not wanting to trivialize a commitment made.” Wow, now that was a comment to
take time to think about. Thank you for the depth of your writing on the subject and adding the part about your own
experience… and your dad too. Means a lot to me.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another excellent chapter, Jim, though quite a bit deeper.
That’s kind of putting it mildly, my friend. That as a tough period, the change from one world, again, to another.
At the very least I had my wife, Julie, Michael and Bozo to take with me. Thorkelson, Bro, Elwell, Alice, Ronstadt,
Brown, Manning, Gularte and few more are still with us and its been a pleasure to be in contact with them again.
Most all played major parts in that past but almost none of them had any real clue as to what was going on when
it came to the big picture. thanks for the short but great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
What an interesting chapter! Seems as if your questions are all about to be answered with or without you asking. To me it seems most of your time in San Clemente was controlled without your knowledge, and you where being steered to follow a path to you couldn’t even think about. I can understand your sorrow for leaving it behind, but it seems you passed the test with flying colors!! Welcome home sir! Semper fi
Bob I believe you are correct in your analysis. I think now, any time one may. work for such powerful people one is being manipulated in
ways that are not revealed, except by the resulting actins and consequences of that manipulation. Thanks for pointing this out in your
comment and thanks for making such things so pubic in such a well written way.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
James, Interesting that tasks are not assigned but hinted at …and it is left to you to determine how to accomplish them. Apparently you are very good in meeting those goals.
I await reading how you transition from San Clemente.
YouTube Dakota Meyer “Why the Medal of Honor has ruined my life”
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/RfCAn5LvEs8
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
Unlike the Marine Corps, where there were rigid rules
“In” instead of “Unlike”
Drop “, where”
In the Marine Corps there were rigid rules
/to pin it above my right breast just above the middle of the pocket like I would have worn the national defense ribbon if that was the only decoration I was entitled to in the military./
My Army experience is the National Defense Service Medal (which was the first medal many of us received) was worn over the left breast. The right breast was for things like a Presidential Unit Citation.
turned and walked back to ward his office
“toward” rather than “to ward”
turned and walked back toward his office
“What is?? I asked, after a few seconds.
Drop second “?” replace with quotation mark.
“What is?” I asked, after a few seconds.
medals I’d wrapped in
Saran Wrap,
Backspace to close gap.
medals I’d wrapped in Saran Wrap,
Marines I didn’t have any more songs to guide
Two sentences
Period after “more”
Capitalize “Songs”
Marines I didn’t have any more. Songs to guide
‘Batmobile,’ as he called it. It. Fred was
Extra “It” Drop
‘Batmobile,’ as he called it. Fred was
I’d be leaving my therapist, or whatever he was behind.
Maybe a comma after “was”
I’d be leaving my therapist, or whatever he was, behind.
How was I to be paid hadn’t been discussed
Transpose “I” and “was”
How I was to be paid hadn’t been discussed
Blessings & Be Well
Dan, so great to have you not only back but right on top of things so quickly. I much appreciate your corrections
additions and so on, as well as you commentary about the story itself. I came to realize over time that, like the Liam quote from the movie Taken,
“I have certain skill sets.” I was talented but did not see it myself although that talent was so apparent to those around me. I just saw life as reacting to one thing after another…which in some ways it is, but not in all ways by any means. Thanks for the tremendous support and friendship.
We will meet one day.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, didn’t write after the last chapter and should have. More to Little Mardian then we as readers had realized and you to. Now his chapter revels the CIA is everywhere around you. Paul is a CIA asset but only because of you. There’s more there than you know even now. Now the metal you threw away I believe was promised to your daughter.
JT.
The medal was not promised to Julie. She wanted it but that was not to be. To her it would have been a mere bauble, while to me
it was a symbol. Thanks for the analysis of what’s going on and the depth of your immersion in the story. Great compliment in its
way.
Semepr fi
Jim
You have pretty much answered my question about the makeup of the artifact LT, what I suspected but thought surely not! Time will out! BTW, also read your article about Bobo and the puppy and must say I am 100% in agreement!
Thanks Joe, yes, the puppy thing…bit kind of personal and deep. I do so hope that at the very least the state of South Dakota finds a way
to remove her from making governor decisions about everyone else’s lives. Thanks for the great comment and your extensive reading of my work.
Semper fi,
Jim
“All the same codes and rules applied to beach patrol shit as they did on street patrol and many more that non-beach patrol officers had to deal with.”
Did you mean SHIFT?
(I know either word fits…)
Nice to read another chapter so soon. It was good to relax and read it after finishing the last segment of competing my 712 feet of fence painting. All done, not bad for a 76+ year old. “The Fence is dead, Jim”–as ‘Bones’ would say to Capt. Kirk.
Sad that you tossed the medal.
THE WALTER DUKE. One must place a value on something in order to want to gain or retain it.
I didn’t mind the medals through that part of my life, civilian or military. They were beautiful and
well intended. But the reaction to them I wanted not at all. It was hard to write that last chapter.
I didn’t mention that I was crying in that parking lot. I never wanted to do that again. Once I said a man injured in an
auto accident. I was the first and only person there. I got him out and found that he had an arterial bleed from his left arm from
a glass cut. I belted the arm off and then began making sure he didn’t go into shock (raising feel, padding head and talking the whole
way through it. The EMTs finally came. I pulled back, my hands and chest a mess of blood, looked around and found my car. I went home and cleaned up and
never said a word. I felt fine. I’d done a redemptive act. I ran because I didn’t want another medal. I think you might understand.
Semepr fi, my friend,
Jim
The lyrics you’ve shared are from a song called “If You Go Away.” It talks about the intense feeling of loss and emptiness when someone you love leaves. The imagery of taking away the sun and the birds flying in the summer sky reflects the depth of this emotional experience.
You are mysterious and smart
The artifact’s removal is going to be tricky
What I am asking myself is what are you losing going to Los Alamos? Not leaving behind but losing?
I think you are losing your fear and realizing the turd hero is real – but you never liked the medals did you?
Did you feel you were just doing your job?
i did
You are a matryoshka doll
Thank you, Richard, for the depth of your response.
I felt about the medals, and still feel, that I was doing what I could to make a bad situation better, for myself and for those around me whom I could or might affect.
The blowing winds of change have blown very strongly and in almost cyclonic ferocity at times and what other people have witnessed, in their opinions about my conduct have been their opinions, not mine.
You are not consulted when you are awarded a medal for valor and such a medal is almost impossible to reject as the social degradation of doing that is worse than suffering the slings and arrows of the hero turd syndrome. The ‘prove it’ part of high decorations I never ever expected.
I thought that everyone would just know by the awarding and all that, but time flies and people go away and new ones come along and they went proof…not generally to honor but to find fault with. I never sent off for another California medal, the
certificate sits in my drawer here and the ribbon of course, just like in the story.
The artifact was more unbelievable than it was feared. It was like a UfO that’s actually sitting in your backyard.
Believe it or not, almost no one will want to look at it, and if seen, will try any explanation other than what the thing really is.
Thanks for your great comment and your great friendship.
As the therapist at the VA said to me years ago, when I waxed on about how I understood Jung’s works; “You are not nearly as intelligent as you think you are or portray, you simply have a quality wherein you can convince people around you that you are truly intelligent.” He didn’t understand when I sincerely thanked him.
He lacked the intellect to understand that you cannot convince people that you are truly intelligent unless you are.
Your friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
I think it is appropriate that we look back on your birthday to this confusion of leaving an acquired life as a “cowardly lion” to move forward into the abyss of the CIA! The question really is “What if you hadn’t left….there is no way you would have subsisted for 50 years an insurance guy! Great job describing the detail of all that is going on; but you really didn’t have any option, just like when you.went into the Vally
Happy Birthday
This last chapter and the next two are vital chapters in the saga.
They are chapters written when I was on the cusp, the very edge, with no rope, no pitons and staring down at an abyss many thousands of feet below.
When enriched nuclear product reaches the point of ignition it’s called ‘going critical’ and that’s where I was on many levels.
Thanks for the usual great comment and pointing out, once again, that those of us who have roamed the world in all different costumes and roles do so much more out of the vagaries and forces exiting and pressing upon us rather than by design.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Homan.
Your comment “there is no way you would have subsisted for 50 years (as) an insurance guy! ” struck me humorously this morning.
Actually, Strauss was a damn good agent, he just needed to be watched over intensely ~~smile
Yes, Chuck, I was well ‘watched over’ during those years…I can’t imganie any of the readers would disagree with this comment.
Semper fi, my friend
That is what made life so enjoyable during those wonderful times. ~~smile
It was an amazingly enjoyable time in so many ways…although with plenty of emotional spice…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
You wrapped your medals in Saran Wrap like Mary did to you! Damn! As unique and interesting as the artifact is I can’t believe they left you to your own devices. I think they’re all scared to deal with it! You wrote a beautiful empathetic article about Noems Cricket and Cowardly Lion in the same week! Wow! Good stuff Jim!
It is difficult to be sympathetic to a woman who has revealed an inner part of herself that she should never have surfaced, but once
revealed can never be taken back. Probably why I did not pursue the Thirty Days manuscript earlier in my life. Also, there’s the intellect issue
to consider. Just what kind of dim intellect would assume that the killing of puppy because you don’t or didn’t like it would fly in a dog, cat,
bird, horse and more pets culture? Her walk back will never be political but in life she can recover over time but it will take some real
work and also therapy.
Thanks for noticing the work and reading it and the clarity of your comment…always the clarity and depth.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim