What the heck kind of story title is that? Read on:
Sometime around 1998 or 1999 I was surfing the internet for no particular reason. I ran across some photos submitted by someone to a random Marine Corps related website. There I noticed a photo and the caption was something to the effect that the person who submitted it wanted the photo identified. “That’s easy” I said to myself, “that’s Namo Bridge.” I was there in 1967 and I know that bridge. So, I get on the email link with my response. A guy emails me back with a lot of personal questions; what was my rank in 1967? Outfit? Why was I there? Etc., and was I with F/2/7? I was not with F/2/7, I was not and 0300, I was an 1141 but had a lot of contact with Foxes as I was with the Service Company, 7th Engineer Bat. After a few short conversations via email we had a couple of telephone exchanges. We found that we had a few things in common. Thus, I met Barry Smith. During one of our conversations the subject of electric razors came up. I asked Barry why the ‘bleep’ did you grunts at Namo bridge have electric shavers? He was never able to formulate a logical answer but I marveled at the requests I had to wire up outlets for them to plug in and shave. That chore was in addition to my other job and I did it as a favor for C-ration cigarettes. You may recall the ones in a 4 pack, and Kools brought great prices back at Chu Lai! Barry told me that he was a retired law enforcement officer. I, too, am a law enforcement officer and I’m still on the job. Barry’s wife name is Jean (affectionately Gunny Jean) and my wife’s name is Jean. Gunny Jean was working in an attorney’s office when they lived in Albuquerque, NM. My wife is an attorney. It took Barry and me from 1999 to 2007 to glean that information from each other, but it was a fun time. I was on Barry’s ‘list’ along with guys he located from Fox and others, like me, who were not. Barry told me once that I was one of the first ones he contacted on his quest to get everyone together. Then he started ram rodding the Fox reunions, I never attended, but was encouraged by Barry, and I kick myself for my oversight now. Regardless, the more Barry and I communicated the more coincidences we discovered.
That takes me to sometime the first week of October 2007. Barry gives me a phone call and we chat a while about all sorts of topics. He tells me he is thinking of taking Gunny Jean to Europe on a vacation. I tell Barry that I think it’s a great idea and add that I took my Jean to England for our honeymoon. Barry asks me “why England?” Well, I go on to explain that my Dad was in the Air Force and we lived there in the mid-1950’s and I wanted to take my Jean and show her where I did some of my growing up. “Really?” says Barry, what base was your Dad stationed and I tell him and Barry went on to explain the he, too, was an Air Force brat. I’m sure you know where our conversation went from there. But wait, there’s more!! Barry asked me about my Dad and I explained to him that we lived off-base because when we arrived there was no housing on-base so we lived in town (Newmarket). I told him that my Dad organized a Little League baseball team made up of 100% British kids. And, additionally, they were not too bad a team (mostly because they didn’t know about the game and had no bad habits!). Barry added that his Dad also coached a Little League team (on-base) and Barry played catcher on that team. He also remembered the all British team and my Dad. So, from 1999 to 2007 we never made the connection because my last name is different from my step-Dad’s name. Additionally, I did not play on the team for a couple of reasons; 1. I was not British! And, 2. I was away at a boy’s boarding school (for various reasons too numerous to mention in this story, use your imagination). However, in the summer I would assist my Dad coaching and being a score keeper at games. Barry said he had a program from an awards dinner that might have my Dad’s picture on it. That’s when I about fell out of my chair. “Barry” I says, “somewhere I’ve got that same program!” Not only that, but I was thinking my picture was on that program too. Barry says “I’ll call you right back” and hangs up. By this time I know Barry Smith and the race is on! I’m running around the house, rummaging through all sorts of boxes, closets, old footlockers, everywhere. AND, YES, I find the program just as the phone rings. It’s Barry, of course, and we discuss the photo in this 50 year old Little League banquet awards program. He tells me that he will make a copy and circle himself on the program and mail it to me. And, of course, I do the same. I found that my Dad’s back was to the camera man but I turned and just happened to face the camera just as the picture was taken. When Barry explains who he is in the photo I tell him “I know that kid!! He was voted the most valuable player of the year, a catcher on one of the base teams.” Of course, it was Barry Smith when he was about 10 years old. He told me that he recognized me too as hanging around that British team. All those years Barry and I communicated and we never made the connection. We both got a great laugh out of the fact that our Dad’s served together in the Air Force and we both came from a warrior mentality environment, no small wonder we became Marines. I told Barry that we likely rubbed shoulders in Nam and were for sure around each other as kids. There were too many coincidences and we really needed to get together in person. That takes me to the next part of my “Barry and me” story.
We both agreed that we needed to get together. Barry told me he was headed to Rowan, Iowa to spend Thanksgiving (2007) with a close friend of his that he served with (Les Simpson). So, I suggested that he and Gunny Jean come through Lincoln, NE and spend some time at our house while he’s enroute to Les’ place. It’s on the way from Albuquerque anyway. Barry turned down my offer because he already had arrangements to take his ‘southern route’ through Oklahoma and Missouri where he planned to stop and visit some other people he knew. All of sudden, in the middle of our conversation, Barry tells me “I gotta’ go, I’ll call you right back!” My initial thoughts were “what the ‘bleep’ is Barry up to now?” After what seemed hours Barry calls me back: “What are you and your Jean doing for Thanksgiving? You guys are invited to Les Simpson’s place for the long weekend. “ My response; “I’ll call you back, Barry” I talk to my jean about Barry’s idea and of course my Jean says “are you nuts! I’m not going to some strangers house with a bunch of your crazy Marine buddies who I don’t even know. What the ‘bleep’ is the matter with you?” Well now the gauntlet has been thrown down! Without advice from a divorce attorney and my psychiatrist I push hard on the idea with all my best law enforcement/Marine tactics and, of course, shallow promises. Our kids were not going to be around anyway, it might be an adventure, and some other lame ideas. Well, my Jean bought into it and by November 21st we were on the road headed to Rowan, Iowa, some small town north of Des Moines in north central Iowa for Thanksgiving weekend with ‘strangers.’ On the way we got a little behind schedule because of a blizzard we encountered. I phone Barry and advise him we will likely be a little late because of the storm, in fact, we might spend the night in Des Moines. Barry asked if we are sure we can’t make it and shortly we drive out of the snow storm. So, we adapted and continued on. Arriving about 10 PM at the Simpson’s after following Barry’s directions. The reunion is on!! And Barry and Gunny Jean met us in the driveway at the Simpson place. We immediately recognize each other and I got the biggest hug from a guy I’ve ever had. In fact, it was so prolonged I was getting uncomfortable and barely able to breathe. Besides, it was winter and we were outside and I was freezing my ‘bleep’ off. Once inside we were introduced and handshakes were exchanged and after about an hour I’m getting ‘the look’ from my Jean. I announce that we needed to head out and find a room for the night and it’s getting late. “Nonsense!” says Les Simpson, “you folks are staying here if you don’t mind sleeping on the floor on an air mattress in our spare room. Besides, this is Rowan, Iowa, where there is no other place to stay.” So, my Jean and I go to the spare room and lay our weary heads down on the air mattress and look around. My God! My Jean says “We are in middle of the largest, most extensive collection of Marine Corps memorabilia outside the museum in D.C.!” And, yes, I had to agree. There were knives and guns on the walls, grenades everywhere, a giant Marine Corps flag on the ceiling, all sorts of hardware, and I really didn’t care to know what was in the giant safe in the corner. Thanksgiving Day we were up early, more Marines were arriving, mostly Foxes, and my Jean presented the cherry pie she made and carried all the way from Lincoln, NE. It was a great time, a reunion of sorts, with strangers who were no longer of that status. At one point, my Jean asked Barry where I was because she had not seen me in a while. “Oh” says Barry, “Herb’s out in the shop with Les. Les is offering him a job with his company!” And, yes, it’s true, Les did offer me a job. I had to turn it down because as we coppers know, we don’t have jobs, we have identities. That compounded with the Marine identity and you have a force to contend with. Barry knew that, lived it, and personified it. As cops we take care of others, as Marines we take care of each other. Describes Barry to a tee.
I’ve got to end this story, it’s likely to crash the funeral home’s server. You can usually tell it is a Marine story because it starts something like this: “You’re not going to believe this ‘bleep’ but…………………..” We all know that Barry went to the other side last week and he’s going to be honored on the 30th. And, here’s my take on what happened last week. Barry crossed over to the other side and, it’s biblical Gunny Jean, so believe this, he is now in perfect fit and health with no pains or worries, perfect in every way. But, this is what I think took place. Barry is standing in line at the pearly gates. Two things we Marines are very well trained at; marksmanship and standing in line! Barry has his 782 gear casually slinged over his shoulder and in his other hand he’s got his ditty bag, patiently waiting. St. Peter calls out Barry’s name and Barry double times it to the front of the line. “Barry Smith, reporting as ordered, SIR!” St. Peter takes a look at Barry and says “Listen and listen tight, Marine, don’t call me ‘sir’, I work for a living!!” Barry recognizes the voice from sometime in his past. St. Peter tells Barry, “Go on in, Marine, you’ve spent your time in hell. I’ve got a job for you!” (note the last stanza of the Marine Corps Hymn). Again, the voice sounds familiar but Barry takes a step through the gates. “Hold on there, Marine,” says St. Peter, “you don’t need that stuff here, leave it at the gate, we supply everything here.” Dejected Barry sets his gear down and there’s a commotion in the line. St. Peter tells those that wait that it might go smoother if the form up a take a “column of files from the riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!.” (remember your Marine Corps Drill Instructor told you he was God? He lied, he just works for God, at the gate) While St. Peter’s attention is diverted Barry reaches in his ditty bag and ‘palms’ something from the world and puts it in his pocket. St. Peter missed this slick Barry move and sends Barry through the gates. The first thing Barry does is round up all the Foxes for a reunion, naturally, it’s just Barry’s way. Once he gets everyone together he reaches into his pocket………………………………………………..
Remember that ol’ Norelco? The one with the floating heads?
