In the old wooden sailing ship days, they came up with a command to “Batten down the hatches” which has turned into a common phrase…even though we no longer batten down hatches in the modern Navy…they “dog” the hatches now.

In any case, the current meaning is to prepare for trouble, like an incoming hurricane, a ticked off boss, a tough personal issue, etc.

Duck and cover is a phrase, originally from the 1950’s relating to a response to a nuclear attack (which we were all nervous about during the Cold War, and even practiced “duck and cover” in our classrooms…once again, I’m giving away my age…), which is now a common term among the infantry, and means to “duck” when you start taking fire, and “take cover” behind something that can protect you from the incoming bullets.  It has also become a common metaphorical phrase now, meaning to take cover from anything dangerous or unpleasant – again – like a hurricane, boss, issue, etc…

And as long as we’re using former military terminology that is now used as a metaphor in normal conversation…both battening down the hatches and ducking and covering can lead to a “bunker mentality”, where someone hides in a bunker, and then feels so safe that they tend to stay behind walls or in a metaphorical bunker, and not want to come out…more comfortable in a bunker than they are exposed to everyday life.

It can happen to the best of us if we’re not paying attention.  Events just overwhelm people sometimes, and before you know it, you’ve gone from ducking and covering to preserve a bit of control or sanity in your life, to finding yourself barricaded inside a bunker with only slits for windows, and wondering what the heck happened!

Let’s say, (not so) hypothetically, that a series of events takes place over several weeks, or a couple of months.  Things like:

• You’re working on “The Hill” for several weeks to help pass a bill to restore Agent Orange benefits to a group of a hundred thousand (surviving…) Vietnam Veterans who originally had those rights granted in a bill from 1991, but then the VA, through an administrative procedural implementation “interpretation”, stripped those rights away from those Veterans (many who are dying or who have died, or who are suffering the effects now) in 2002, and you see your bill (HR 299 – after a 7 year fight to restore those benefits) going down in flames because of one Senator (Isakson) who lets it die in committee…just like the Veterans are dying because he and the VA oppose the bill, even though it was passed unanimously without opposition in the House, and a majority of the Senators on both sides support it.
  
  
• You’re attending/participating in multiple events (fundraisers, visiting wounded Veterans at Walter Reed, visiting incarcerated Veterans at various institutions, presenting as a guest or main speaker at multiple venues, etc., etc.)
  
  
• You have a major hurricane predicted, and spend a week preparing, stocking supplies, etc.
  
  
• Immediately following that, you have a family visit for about a week and a half, and (willingly) spend all your time with them, enjoying their visit very much, even as it takes you away from your normal tasks which have already been stacking up.
  
  
• You allow multiple people to pull you in multiple directions, each with good intent, but overwhelming your time with their needs or requests, further adding to your own backlog of issues and tasks that need your attention.
  
  
• And the list goes on…

Eventually, it takes its toll, and you hunker down in your bunker, and shut the door.  Just to get some peace.  Some quiet.  To shut out the volume of the incoming…

You can stay there if you like.  It’s quiet.  Cool and dark.  Uncrowded.

And a self-imposed trap.

Don’t get me wrong, nothing wrong with taking a break, getting some fresh air – even walking away from everything for a while just to get some sanity and perspective back.

But then, as my grandpa told me (after he got done laughing when I got thrown off of a young bull calf I had jumped down onto from the corral fence, and ridden for almost a full ¾ of a second...just because), “you gotta get back up on that horse and ride’im!”  As I limped away with my bruised hip, back and ego, I replied “good thing he’s not a horse” – which only made him laugh again.

So, there are two choices.  Stay in the burrow, or, as a friend (my former Campaign Manager) was once told by one of my fellow Marines – with a grin (when she mentioned that a meeting time he suggested was pretty early in the morning), you can “Suck it up and quit’cher whinin’…ma’am” – and pop your head back out and take a look around! 

Refocus, reengage, and reprioritize your time and commitments.  Besides my already published techniques (“B.R.A.S.S.” and “The Next Steps”), I’m also going to re-establish my time management, but with an updated system from when I went through the 1980’s traditional system training…and start prioritizing what I need to get done, and not get drawn back down the rabbit hole of over-commitment, other people’s priorities, and time thieves, especially #s 1, 4, 8, 9, and 10.  Like it says at the end of # 12, “in short, by not letting the thieves steal your time”.

It feels almost like spring time again…just as the leaves are starting to fall in my yard!  It’s really good to see the sun again.

In the modern military there are “fire and forget” weapons, like some anti-tank missiles.  You aim at your target, the missile locks on, you fire it, and the missile does the rest.  You can duck back under cover or go on about your business, while the missile does its mission.

Kind of like the Ronco© Showtime Rotisserie… “Set it and forget it!”  Put in your chicken, turn it on, and it cooks all on its own – or so they say.

Young Marine Corps Grunts are not.  They’re more like an unguided missile, a hand grenade, or very large sledge hammer…  Do NOT turn them loose on their own and expect a genteel result.

So…way back in the early-mid 1970’s (I’m guessing early ’74 or so) I was a young Corporal, and one of my ship-mates (we were in the Marine Detachment, or MarDet, stationed on the USS Proteus AS-19, a Submarine Tender stationed in Guam), who was an even younger Private First Class (PFC), were hanging around the MarDet area one day…when the Gunny stepped out and asked for volunteers.

Any normal person would have immediately gotten very busy, left the area at a dead run, or done something to disappear quickly…because everyone knows that when the Gunny asks for volunteers, it’s going to be what we euphemistically call a “work party”.  And trust me, that “party” part is an oxymoronic misnomer…

But, as I said, any normal person would’ve gotten very scarce very quickly.  Grunts are not normal, and to say that Brian and I were far past that “not normal” state is actually a very significant understatement.

As we say in the Grunts, “Pain is weakness leaving the body”.  We had our own (somewhat twisted) extension of that quote.  “Pain is good. Extreme pain is extremely good!”

As soon as we heard “working party”, we jumped on it.  Not only did it sound like it was going to be a lot of hard, physical work…it got even better!  It was going to be hard, physical work in a tight, enclosed, very hot space for an extended period of time!

Doesn’t get any better than that!

Our ship was going through some retro-fits (repairs, upgrading, etc.), and the MarDet had its own spaces.  A berthing space (living quarters with our bunk beds, TV room, armory, office, etc.) and our “head”, or latrine for you Army folks, and bath/rest room for Air Force and civilians.

We were responsible for the cleaning and upkeep of our own spaces, and all the heads on the ship were being refurbished…sort of.  The decking (or floor) was some sort of hard, thick black waterproof material applied over the steel deck – since a ship is basically a big steel boat divided by steel decks (floors) and steel bulkheads (walls) into compartments (rooms).

If you get the impression that the Navy has its own language, you’re correct…

Anyway, we were told to go into the MarDet head, and chip out the flooring so new material could replace the old…  And no further instructions…

There is a reason the Marine Corps insists that junior Marines be given very specific tasks, followed with guidance by someone a little senior, constant oversight, and instruction.  Young Marines are nothing if not enthusiastic – and Brian Moyer and I were known to be very enthusiastic.  We called it “motivated”.

After a couple of hours of increasing complaints coming from sailors in the decks below our spaces, the Gunny came over to check on our progress, and frankly, to see what the h#!! all the complaints were about.  We had taken “initiative”, and decided it looked so bad we were going to get it all up, and had attacked the decking with 20-pound sledge hammers…which we had been “enthusiastically” employing with all of our strength and speed – in, as always happens when Marines “work” together, a competition to the death…  (sorry these old photos are hard to see…they’re as faded as my memory) ​

Not only did we not “chip” at the decking material, we had beaten it all out by smashing it up, and had even dented the steel decking below it.  Evidently, we were just supposed to chip off a layer or two so they could pour the new material in over top of it.

The Navy Chief (of the Department responsible) was flaming mad, the Captain of the Ship heard about it…but the Gunny did not impose the normal punishment for overly enthusiastic behavior…which would have been a “working party”.  I think that was probably for the best…

It was a learning experience for all involved.  The Gunny never put Brian and I on another physical task or working party unsupervised – we enjoyed it too much.

Brian and I ended up volunteering for Operation New Life about a year later, and worked out in the hot sun for weeks building a huge tent city for the Vietnamese fleeing at the end of the war.  It was extremely rewarding work, helping all the folks…but it was also another opportunity for hard, physical work out in the heat, and to compete on how many areas could be cleared, big “GP” (general purpose) tents we could set up, etc., etc.

It was hard, long, dirty, sweaty work under extremely trying conditions – and we loved it!  Heck, Brian even got to help a Navy Corpsman deliver a little baby girl in one of those tents, when her mother went into labor!

The days were long, and it was a huge international story, with press swarming all over the place, as we helped house, feed and reunite families as the refugees poured in.

However, as we know, the press is not always accurate…  One newspaper published a bunch of photos, including this one, of Brian and another Marine running through the area where they were building tents, with a caption that said something like “Marines running to render assistance…” ​

Roughly translated, that means “Here’s to us. Who’s like us?  Damned few, and they’re all dead.”  It is a toast given by those who survive battle, to fellow survivors…and to those who did not.  Perfect toast for those wearing the Purple Heart medal on that day.

This year was different.  I celebrated publicly, in the company of many other Recipients, their families, and supporters of those who paid the cost of Freedom with their health, their blood, or their lives.
Here’s how the week went…

Tuesday August 7th: 

Just like every other year, some private time commemorating those who sacrificed and those who fell, with a “wee dram” (or two) of scotch, and “the toast”.

Friday August 10th: 

6pm - A wreath laying at (and celebration of the 20th anniversary of the laying of) the Purple Heart Monument – and the origin (mile-marker zero) of the Virginia Purple Heart Trail, at George Washington’s Mount Vernon estate.

The highlight of the program was our keynote speaker, highly acclaimed American author Patrick K. O'Donnell, who told us a riveting recollection of his time embedded with the U.S. Marines in combat, and the incredibly heroic but devastating story of one young Marine that he served with. ​

In addition, PH Recipients from each war from WWII to modern day were called upon to rise (as their war(s) were called out) and be recognized for their sacrifice.  It was very moving to see these surviving warriors standing proudly, recognized by their peers.

And more than one speaker (both Friday night and Saturday morning) talked about the medal itself…the shape like a heart – both the original Badge of Military Merit and the Purple Heart Medal.  General George Washington understood service, and sacrifice for the greater good.  As I’ve said before in my “Quotes” post,

That’s why he designed the original Badge, and why the Medal that came from that, are both shaped like a heart.  Service to something greater than yourself – to your country, to your fellow combatant, to anyone – comes from love.​

1pm – A private reception for Recipients, their families and guests, and chance to mingle and talk with some true heroes…and do what military and veterans do when they come together…give each other a hard time and just have fun!

So while the final reception was a chance to let our hair down and just have fun, the most part of the week was spent in remembrance and celebration of those who stepped up when so many step away.  And who paid the price.
​
The funny thing is, they all just looked like regular folks.  Guys and gals, lots of older folks, and a few who looked like teen-agers.  You just never know…   

Our country’s history is marked (defined and/or scarred) by a series of wars and battles.  Our birth, through the Revolutionary War. Character was refined (not defined) by the Civil War. The Marines were memorialized by many wars, but the battle that really set them in stone was Iwo Jima. And there are too many others to count… Some honorable, some not so much, depending on your personal frame of reference.

But like most of my posts, I’m not here to discuss the bigger picture at a national scale – I’m going to bring it right down to each individual.  What was YOUR defining war or battle?

I’ve been wanting to write this one for a long time, because mine are so vivid, even now, and color my outlook on most of life.

When I was at American University attending the Masters of Public Administration (MPA) program (as a student…and simultaneously as a guest lecturer in the same course, same class…but that’s a story for a different time), there was one course of instruction that was particularly interesting to me.  It was Organizational Diagnosis, or viewing an organization through the Four Frame (four frames of reference) Model of Bolman and Deal (2003) – Structural, Political, Human Resources and Symbology.  Of the four, Symbology held the most interest for me (which is the segment of that course that I, as a student, was invited by the Professor to be the “surprise guest lecturer” for in my own class…).

It is all about how you see things, and how they can color your perceptions – and even influence how you feel about and react to life and events.  I came in as a guest lecturer in other classes besides my own, and always started out by having them read the 3 page-long first chapter of my current book, “The Making of a Warrior”.  I would watch them as they read it, and see a variety of reactions, even to some of them laughing, then crying as they read it.

At the end, I wouldn’t ask them what they thought…I’d ask them what they felt.  What they saw.  What they heard, and what they smelled when they were reading it – and I always got a very strong reaction from each class and person that read it.  That is the power of symbology.

So, once again I ask you.  What was your defining war and/or battle?  Even if you were not in the military, there is a war, battle or event that was your defining event.

For me, it was Vietnam. Many of you were in it, many of you grew up watching it – our first “televised” war, many of you were or had loved ones who were affected by it, and many protested against it. It was my defining war, and has colored my outlook on life since I was a teenager in the ‘60’s (while I grew up in a military family), and as a Marine from the early ‘70’s (and beyond).

Don’t get me wrong. There were others – I was in the Gulf War, went to Bosnia, Kosovo, etc…even ended up in Iraq (in 2005-2006), but the one that defined me was Vietnam.

For some, they remember Pearl Harbor (sadly, a dwindling few). Others, Korea, the “forgotten war”…except for those that were there. Or today’s Pearl Harbor – the Twin Towers in New York and the Pentagon in Virginia.  They evoke visceral reactions.

Or Afghanistan.  Iraq.  Syria.

Lots of my friends were in one or more of those – and their entire life, and their loved one’s lives were changed forever. Their outlook and perceptions of life are colored through those lenses.

Maybe it was a specific battle.  Iwo Jima.  Khe Sanh. Ramadi. Wanat. These are personal to me (I’m feeling them as I write – elevated heart rate and breathing, simmering anger, heartache, etc.), because I know people from each of these – and just thinking about my defining war, and specific battles through the eyes of my friends is an emotional event.

Each of you has that war, that battle that turned a switch in your life and forever colors some of your perceptions on life. What was that event or moment? What has it done to or for your life? Are you a better person, have you let it take control, what is it that changed in your life?

Those who were there, those who had loved ones or friends there. Gold Star Families. Families of those who were injured or wounded (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually). Those who were not involved, but witnessed these events during their lives. Those who protested or fought against the war(s).  All had a defining moment, a defining war, a battle.​

Tell me yours. Share it with a friend or someone you trust. Write me – and share your story. I’d love to hear it, and in sharing it, some may find some peace…from their war.

I Think Mine’s Defective…
By Jim Kuiken

Dogs are just weird.  Mine is a (mostly) black lab (rescued from a high-kill shelter), and trained as a Service Dog by K9s For Warriors – so he’s a highly trained professional…when he’s at work. 

But he’s still a freakazoid.  Nuts.  Crazy. 

(I think they all have a little #4 in them…)

It’s not just Labs, they’re all demented.  I belong to a private chat group of folks with dogs, and several of them know I’m older than most of them (heck, than most of the current population…), and I was also a K9 Officer, K9 Trainer, and K9 Trainer Instructor way back before a lot of them were born – so they ask me stuff about dogs (or just ask the group, and I chime in).  “My dog does (this or that).  Why the heck does he do that?”

After I let it sit for a while, I jump in and reply.  “I can tell you exactly why he does that!”  (whatever it is that they’ve done…), and then just wait.

Never fails – they always answer back “Why?”

“Because they’re a dog!”  (always cracks me up)

Dogs do what dogs do.  People always think they’re going behave like a little human, or at least follow our rules.  DUH!!!  They’re dogs!  They follow our commands, we can train them to do stuff, they give us unconditional love…but they do things based on their own dogly purposes, instincts and ‘logic’.

Don’t get me wrong – they’re intensely loyal, and in most cases, just want to be with us. 

They’re loving, comforting – and protective – of their human(s). 

And most of us would do anything for them in return. 

However…studies have shown that they actually learn behaviors – like giving us the puppy eyes, etc. – that help them get what they want.

They generally understand the rules, and look for ways to get or do what they want…sometimes pushing the boundaries of the rules without actually breaking them. 

So we try to figure them out. We interpret some of what they do as human characteristics and behaviors, trying to get a better understanding of our “fur babies”. 

But, unless you accept that they are not human, and embrace their “doggieness”, you will NEVER understand them – not that you will, fully, anyway.

They come in all shapes and sizes, 

They aren’t bothered by the same things that might bother us, and are completely comfortable with themselves and conditions we might see as difficult, 

They love to share our moments with us, 

Love to play, and can amuse themselves with almost anything, 

Or even just chase squirrels… 

But no matter how long you have them, how much you love them (it’s a given that they love you with all their soul), or how much you understand them…sometimes you just have to say

What The Heck???

And like I’ve said before (even to the founder of K9s For Warriors when they paired me up with Freedom)

I think mine’s defective… 

It’s chic nowadays to be a real “Warrior”. 

A rough-and-tumble “bad@$$”. 

​A “Hero”. ​

There are lots of actual tough guys/gals, lots of heroes, etc. in this world.  You probably know some of them, and a lot you’ll never know – the quiet guy just mowing his lawn, or sitting next to you in a coffee shop sipping his latté, and eating a spinach and artichoke quiche…  They may have been a true Hero, or even a Warrior.  But they’ll never tell you.  Or try to prove it all the time… ​

​After I got off active duty in January 1977, I transitioned over to the reserve component, and stayed in the M​arines…but with a twist…

I was coming from 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, where I was a Recon Marine, and transitioning over to C Company, 4th Tank Battalion…  Talk about a transition!  Recon to Tanks?  What the H#!! was I going to do in Tanks?  I didn’t know anything about tanks! 

And besides that, the unit I was coming from was “squared away”…everyone in shape, looking sharp and all “gung-ho”!  All these guys were bigger, and way dirtier – wearing greasy coveralls, etc.  What the heck had I done?

It didn’t take me long to see that Marines are Marines – Recon or Tankers – and were focused on being the best Marines they could be.  The tankers were dirty because they were working on big, greasy tanks!  If they weren’t greasy and sweaty…it was because they weren’t working…and boy, did those guys work!  I quickly became close friends with my fellow Marines, and felt right at home – except, I still didn’t know anything about tanks!

Never fear, I knew about weapons, and as a Staff Sergeant, they put me in the armory as the Company Armorer working on M-16 rifles, .45 caliber pistols, M-240 co-axial machine guns (basically an M-60 7.62mm machine gun), the big, beautiful M-2 .50 cal. machine gun, and other miscellaneous weapons.  I was in heaven!

After a couple of years I was promoted to Gunnery Sergeant…but as a Gunny, I had to leave the armory and became the Company Tank Leader (which is like a Company Gunny to most non-tank units).  The only trouble was…once again…I didn’t know anything about tanks, except their weapons.  And as the Company Tank Leader, I had to know about tanks!

Again, easy fix.  They sent me to Tank School in Ft. Knox, which is run by the Army.  Even though the Army was transition to their new M-1 tanks, the Marine Corps generally got the Army cast-offs, and we were moving from the M-48’s (from Korea and Vietnam days) over to the refurbished M-60A3’s that the Army was getting rid of…  

Lots of interesting things happened with me (as a Marine Corps Gunny) on an Army base, but I’ll save those for future “Frontline Tales” episodes.  This one is about what happened in the actual classroom training that I attended there at the school.

As the senior Marine in the class (there were several PFC’s through Corporals, a couple of Sergeants, and one Staff Sergeant in class with me…along with a whole passel of Army soldiers), I automatically took charge of the class – and especially the Marines.  I made sure I sat in the back of the class so I could see if any of them were goofing off or starting to nod out.  With the Army guys, the instructors would ask them to stand along the side wall if they started to fall asleep, but with the Marines…  Well, let’s just say we had our own way of doing things.

I had a sock with sand in it, tucked up into a ball, and if I saw any Marine heads start to bob, I’d bounce it off the back of their head to get their attention (which always freaked the Army instructors out – but they didn’t say anything), then had them come stand in the back (and bring me my sock full of sand in case I needed it again).  

When break time came along, if we had any that had been drifting off during that session, I’d take all the Marines out back (because if one fails, we all fail…so we all pay with the one) and do a bunch of push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, mountain climbers, or whatever I felt like doing during that break (and yes, as a Marine leader, I did them with my men), and after they really had their blood pumping and were all woken up, we’d head back in and see if they could make it through another of the scintillating classroom sessions without them bouncing their forehead off the table in front of them or getting whiplash from their heads snapping back as they lost consciousness.

After one of the non-sweat inducing breaks (i.e., none of the Marines had fallen asleep during the preceding class), we had been sitting out back on the grass enjoying the fresh air and some sun, when it was time to go in.  The Staff Sergeant and I got up to head back to class with the rest of the Marines trailing behind, when I started to come around the corner of the building, saw an opportunity and jumped back, pushing the Staff Sergeant back behind me.

In order to get to the class from where we were, we had to come around the corner and walk along a long loading dock on the back side of a warehouse with multiple loading bays (doors), go around the other side, and go into the classroom attached to the other side of the warehouse.

What I had seen was an Army Major stepping out from one of the bays onto the loading dock – along with an Army Master Sergeant, probably to get some fresh air and a couple of minutes in the sun.

I lined all the Marines up and stood next to the corner, and at about 5 - 10 second intervals, sent them around the corner to walk down the dock, past the Major and back to class.  

Of course, I first instructed them to make sure they gave a good, crisp Marine Corps salute and rendered a good, loud verbal greeting – “Good Afternoon Sir!” as they came within 6 paces of the Major.

For about the first 4 or 5 Marines, the Major stood there, and returned each salute and verbal greeting…but then he looked to his left and saw more coming, and stepped back into the loading bay under “cover”, and took his uniform hat off, so he didn’t have to salute.  Each Marine continued to salute and greet him as they went by.  “Good Afternoon Sir!”  “Good Afternoon, Marine.”  “Good Afternoon Sir!”  “Good Afternoon, Marine.”  Etc., etc.

After all 20+ Marines has passed, the Staff Sergeant and I came around the corner, in step, and marched past him, also rendering a good, crisp Marine Corps salute and greeted him.  “Good Afternoon Sir!!!”  He returned the greeting, and after we were more than 6 paces away, stepped back out, put his uniform cover back on his head, and said “Hey, Gunny!”

That should have been a red flag, because most of the Army guys just call everyone from E-5 up “Sergeant”, regardless of their actual rank.  He knew the Marine Corps rank and protocol…

I stopped, turned, and said “Yes Sir?”

With a slight twinkle in his eye he said “Next time don’t space them so evenly…”  He knew exactly what I had been doing.

With a smile, I said “Roger that Sir!”, turned, and went back to class…