Echo Five Echo

Reflecting on the last 20. Semper Fidelis.

2015-08-22T14:12:00.001-04:00

Today is an important day. More important than a birthday. More important than a holiday. Twenty years ago this past June I graduated high school. The class of 1995. Summer vacation, then a closing of that volume of my life. August 23, 1995 I arrived at Parris Island, South Carolina. 18 years old. This was the beginning of the next volume. It opened with me nervous, tired, confused, and shivering as I began the process of becoming a United States Marine. Boot camp. 3rd Recruit Training Battalion. A place where I was pushed harder than I had ever been pushed before to become something I thought at times was an impossibility.

I graduated from boot camp on November 10, 1995, the Marine Corps’ 220^th birthday.

Two months later, after Basic Warrior Training at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, I find myself Camp Johnson, North Carolina, for Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) school. Apparently in my Service Record Book my original occupation was supposed to be field artillery, but that had a large “X” over it. Beneath it was a different MOS; Motor Transport Basic Automotive Organizational Mechanic. 3521.

We all lived in squad bays while waiting to be picked up for the next available class for school. There was a guy that with a huge boom box in his wall locker. I remember him playing some Eric B. and Rakim. He kept to himself. When we were finally picked up for school and were selecting roommates the people I thought I would room with selected each other and I was the odd man out, kind of like being the last one picked at dodge ball. The guy that had the boom box in his wall locker said, “You can be with us.” His name was J. Dudley. I became roommates with him, M. Evangelista, and E. Hernandez-Sandoval. Oh, the stories from that brief time at school.

A picture of the my barracks back in the day at Motor Transport Mechanics School at Camp Johnson. The room on the 1st floor above the bush on the far right was mine.

There was something called a “Dream Sheet.” Once done with school you were allowed to select where you preferred to be stationed: East Coast, West Coast, or overseas. Basically, east coast put you in the Camp Lejeune, North Carolina area, west coast put you over at Camp Pendleton, California, and overseas sent you to Japan. For years I had wanted to go to Japan. I was into the whole “anime thing” years before it became mainstream. I remember having the “Dream Sheet” placed in front of me. I remember seeing the options: East coast, West coast, Overseas. I remember telling myself mentally, “Don’t fuck this up!” Like in an old cartoon there was a dotted line that went from my eye to the “Overseas” option. This was one of the reasons why I decided to join the Marine Corps, to go overseas, to get to Japan. This was the moment where I could make my dream of going to Japan come true. I took a mental snapshot of the moment. I still remember the excitement I was feeling as I made sure that with that pen in my hand I circled the word, “Overseas.”

July, 1996. I remember being at airports, making my way across the US. I boarded a flight to Osaka, Japan. From there another one to Okinawa, Japan. Okinawa is a small island group south of Japan. The main island is 16 miles long and only 3 miles across at is narrowest point. What happened on these flights eludes me as I was so excited that my dreams of going to Japan were coming to fruition that I think I may have mentally blacked out. I remember the voice of the flight attendant as she spoke Japanese. Her voice sounded so "cartoonish" and cute. I remember being on a bus from the airport to Camp Foster. I remember seeing the buildings, neon signs, everything, being in Japanese. Then again, mental blackout. My next memory is being at Camp Foster looking for the PX. I had made my way up a road that took me to the top of a hill near one of the gates. From here I looked down and I could see the town outside of Camp Foster, I could see the East China Sea, and above the clouds were enormous in a beautiful blue sky. It was my first day on Okinawa and while taking in this breathtaking view I said to myself, “I’m never going to leave this place.” At the time it was mandatory to have one overseas tour per enlistment. One year overseas, the other three somewhere stateside. While some people dreaded going to Japan I loved it. I extended my time in Okinawa twice, for a total of three years which took up the entirety of my first enlistment in the Marine Corps. When it was time to leave I had to pretty much be forced to go. They guy in administration said to me, “You only have a week left in the Marine Corps!” If I could have stayed beyond that I would have.

I fell in love with Okinawa. Such a beautiful place.

My first duty station on Okinawa was Camp Hansen. Located next to the town of Kin, it was north of Camp Foster and kind of like in the middle of the island. 7^th Communication Battalion, Headquarters and Service Company, Motor Transport Platoon. While checking in who do I run into out of all people? J. Dudley. He was checking to the same unit and conveniently “lost” his check in sheet so that we could check in together. Dudley was a year older than me and took me under his wing. My knowledge of the world was limited to Orangeburg, South Carolina, boot camp, and the little “exposure” I received in Jacksonville, North Carolina. I look up to him as a big brother and credit him for a majority of the molding that made me into the individual that I am today. During a time when I was new to the world and could have been influenced to go many different directions or have taken different courses of action Dudley gave knowledge, direction, and friendship. I can give him accolades all day and still won’t be able to express my gratitude for him being instrumental at me becoming the person I am today. He is the one person that I would unquestionably follow into the gates of hell. Man, there are stories of our adventures on Okinawa… but I’ll save those for another day.

Kin-cho, outside of Camp Hansen. Okinawa, Japan.

As a matter of fact there were many more stories of my time on Okinawa. Many people. But only a few who from that time who I consider family. J., Kanae, Mizuki. Family.

August 1999. Back home in Orangeburg, SC. While it felt good to be away from the demands of Marine Corps life I felt like I had fallen into a rut. My mother said to me, “There’s nothing going on here, you need to go back.” For that and other reasons I made my way back to the recruiting station, and four months after leaving the Marines I re-enlisted. My intention was to get back to Okinawa, but that wasn’t happening at the moment. I settled on the west coast, Camp Pendleton, California.

53 Area, Camp Horno, Camp Pendleton, California.

February 2000. 1^st Marine Division, 1^st Marine Regiment, Headquarters Company, Motor Transport Platoon. Camp Horno. 53 Area. Everything good and everything bad about the Marine Corps occurred here. I worked alongside some of the greatest Marines I have ever known, up and down the ranks. I became the Color Sergeant for the 1^st Marine Regiment. My picture hung in the entrance to the Regimental Headquarters next to large display case honoring Lewis “Chesty” Puller. I started as the guy that carried the Marine Corps Colors, and with 1^st Marines being a highly decorated regiment the colors were very heavy from the amount of streamers that were attached to the flag. I then moved on to becoming the actual Color Sergeant, the guy who carried the National Ensign, or American Flag. One of the single most motivating and rewarding things I have ever done in my life. I felt like Denzel Washington’s character towards the end of the movie Glory.

This is also where I came across a lot of the power-trippers, assholes, backstabbers, and buddy-fuckers that made being in the Marine Corps miserable. I don’t want to waste time and energy talking about these people. I once had a picture of one asshole in particular with and arrow and caption that read: #1 Reason for NOT Re-Enlisting. While I should have been able to see that this individual was only a temporary problem, just the thought of encountering and having to deal with any other assholes like him corrupted my view of the Marine Corps and completely dashed any thought of making it a possible career.

September 2001. I was working as the clerk in the tool room. That morning I turned on the TV and saw a live report about an airplane crashing into a building in New York. I had a radio in the tool checkout window that was broadcasting the events of that morning. The confirmation of it being a terror attack put the base on full alert. I remember saying, “If that building falls we are going to war.”

Both things happened.

January 2003. 40 days and 40 nights aboard the LHD Boxer 4 in route to Kuwait. Went ashore in February, right into a sandstorm. We played the waiting game until President Bush gave us the green light.

USS Boxer (LHD 4).

War is hell…

You may serve with many units but you never forget the unit with which you first saw combat. I told my guys that once we get back and everyone is safe and sound I will be done with the Marine Corps. I don’t want to venture any further into this subject. It takes me to a dark place.

D. Caudle, C. Kaczmarczyk, C. Jardin, B. Evans (Me), D. Sadler (front). Baghdad, Iraq. April 2003

October 2003. I had saved up a certain number of leave days and used them towards getting out of the Marine Corps early. It’s called terminal leave. My time was up at the end of December, but I used those days to get out in October instead. With there not being a solidly trained replacement Color Sergeant in place so close to the Marine Corps Ball, the Regimental Sergeant Major was a bit wary about signing my checkout sheet. I promised him that I would come back and do the ball. It was the craziest thing to show up to Marine Corps Ball Ceremony practice with a goatee. No one could really say anything, I was on terminal leave, practically out of the Corps, and came back on my own to do the ball. That was my last obligation to the Corps.


Motor Transport Platoon, Marine Corps Ball, November 2003. Me on far left wearing Color Guard harness.

I look back on it all now. A brief period of 8 years and the 12 years that followed. There’s A LOT of stuff I omitted from this past 20 years. A LOT. I wonder what life would be like had I decided not to go into the military. I could not, would not allow myself to stay in my hometown and work at a plant. I wonder what life would be like if I had decided to join another branch of service. Maybe I would be satisfied, but I would always wonder if I would have been good enough to join the Marines. I wonder what if I had stayed in the Marine Corps… Would I have made it to 20 years? Could I have died in some overseas operation? I have a family now. They would not exist had I taken another path. I can question every decision made and only come up with more questions, or I can be grateful for the people and experiences that have molded me into the individual I am today. There are some who do not have this luxury. For them, for my family, for myself I continue on. I can only imagine what the next 20 years will bring. For such a life changing series of events does life go from being set in volumes to becoming a B.C. /A.D. time setting? The Marine Corps has given and continues to give me something greater than any fraternity, club, congregation, organization, or ensemble could ever amount. My brothers, my sisters, my family. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. What an honor it is to be included amongst your ranks.

Semper Fidelis.

2015-07-14T13:12:00.000-04:00

Female Marine Officer Fired: Led ‘Toxic Leadership,’ Implied Victims Are To Blame For Sexual Assault, Etc.

Lt. Col. Kate Germano

I have to take a hard-nosed conservative stance on this one. The Lt Col. was doing her job of "Making Marines." She wanted them to be held at the same standards as the men and put the pressure on them to do so. The results show that they improved all around. If there are people concerned with getting their feelings hurt then they shouldn't be in the Corps in the first place. It's rough! If a female Marine is in a fighting hole next to me I'd like to know that she can hold sh*t down as well as any guy. This is the "PC bullshit" that my friends on the right are always talking about, and I agree with them here. We need more Marines like the Lt. Col. I think that they are punishing her in public, but I guarantee you that there are a lot of people commending her in private. Semper Fi, Lt. Colonel!

9 Years.

2014-11-17T16:20:00.003-05:00

I just hit the 9 year mark of being smoke free! I know that after a while it may lose it's significance, but I celebrate it because there have been MANY (and some of you know) times when the stress has been so bad that I could have turned to a cigarette and undone all that progress. It is truly a blessing that I have been able to find the strength to not light up, drink up, or just drop out when other people may just have. So, I guess this is less about smoking cigarettes and more about finding the strength to carry on despite the weight of the burden. I look behind me and I see that the two sets of footprints became one a long time ago. That's the only reason I've made it this far. Be Blessed.

2014-03-25T11:06:00.003-04:00

I was in Okinawa from June 1996 until August of 1999. The last past few months in Oki I was basically dodging the system. I had orders to go to another unit for a few months, NOPE! My unit wanted me to do PT even though I had already done my final physical, NOPE! Received word from the the brass that I had to do PT anyway, FUCK THAT, I went on terminal leave. Just hung out without having to do shit.
Finally admin says to me, "Dude, you have ONE WEEK left in the Marine Corps, we gotta get you outta here to terminal." My sweet n' sour chicken ass would have stayed right there in Oki if I could have. Boarding that plane was one of the worst moments in all of my life. I was leaving home, and didn't know If I was ever going to be able to go back.
Okinawa, to me, was that one fantastic dream that you have where you just don't want to come back to reality. I still have dreams that I am still there. I have my first car, the Civic, and I get to drive around this time. Yet the only place I want to go is to King Taco, right outside of the gate. I dream that I re-enlist but am not able to get back to Oki (really happened), so I made a deal with someone high up on the ladder to make my next duty station somewhere in Japan (wish it happened).
It's not the same anymore. The people (J, K, M) and some of the places still exist, but those moments in time are gone. Now,I kinda don't want to go back. I want to preserve the memory rather than update it.
Some nights I say to myself, "I'm going to get some taco rice and cheese, come back to the room, pop "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" into the VCR and enjoy my meal..." Then I wake up...

Vol. 3?

2013-06-13T18:16:00.003-04:00

I had a talk with my mom a while back and I told her that in my 20's I thought I knew everything, but in my 30's I realized that I knew nothing. To which my mom told me that in your 40's you begin to realize and understand how the things you have done in life have affected the person you are. At this moment I feel as though I am looking back and seeing past experiences, choices, decisions, outcomes, consequences and rewards, both bad and good. Half a lifetime ago I graduated high school and went off to join the Marines. I look at that point as the "second volume" of life. The point of my life when I found out who I was, who true friends are, and how to survive. Maybe this is the start of the "third volume" where I take from the lessons learned in previous volumes to further shape this life. Learn from the negative, build on the positive.

The Unedited Manifesto of Christopher Dorner

2013-02-12T02:32:00.000-05:00

This is not a show of support for the actions of Mr. Dorner, nor of Mr. Dorner himself. I do believe that he brings forth information that bears looking into. I do agree with many of his opinions outside of his issues with the LAPD.

-EchoFiveEcho

"For those unaware, Christopher Dorner is an Ex-LAPD police officer currently at large. He has military and tactical training, and is currently hunting cops as well as their families as punishment to the LAPD for their corruption." -Yolowolf

This is the unedited manifesto of Christopher Dorner:

Reblogged from: Long hair, don't care.

“Feb 4, 2013 9:14:04 AM Last Resort
From: Christopher Jordan Dorner /7648
To: America
Subj: Last resort
Regarding CF# 07-004281

I know most of you who personally know me are in disbelief to hear from media reports that I am suspected of committing such horrendous murders and have taken drastic and shocking actions in the last couple of days. You are saying to yourself that this is completely out of character of the man you knew who always wore a smile wherever he was seen. I know I will be villified by the LAPD and the media. Unfortunately, this is a necessary evil that I do not enjoy but must partake and complete for substantial change to occur within the LAPD and reclaim my name.

The department has not changed since the Rampart and Rodney King days. It has gotten worse. The consent decree should never have been lifted. The only thing that has evolved from the consent decree is those officers involved in the Rampart scandal and Rodney King incidents have since promoted to supervisor, commanders, and command staff, and executive positions.
The question is, what would you do to clear your name?

Name;
A word or set of words by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to.

Name Synonyms;
reputation, title, appellation, denomination, repute.

A name is more than just a noun, verb, or adjective. It’s your life, your legacy, your journey, sacrifices, and everything you’ve worked hard for every day of your life as and adolescent, young adult and adult. Don’t let anybody tarnish it when you know you’ve live up to your own set of ethics and personal ethos.

In 8/07 I reported an officer (Ofcr. Teresa Evans/now a Sergeant), for kicking a suspect (excessive force) during a Use of Force while I was assigned as a patrol officer at LAPD’s Harbor Division. While cuffing the suspect, (Christopher Gettler), Evans kicked the suspect twice in the chest and once in the face. The kick to the face left a visible injury on the left cheek below the eye. Unfortunately after reporting it to supervisors and investigated by PSB (internal affairs investigator Det. Villanueva/Gallegos), nothing was done. I had broken their supposed “Blue Line”. Unfortunately, It’s not JUST US, it’s JUSTICE!!! In fact, 10 months later on 6/25/08, after already successfully completing probation, acquiring a basic Post Certificate, and Intermediate Post Certificate, I was relieved of duty by the LAPD while assigned to patrol at Southwest division. It is clear as day that the department retaliated toward me for reporting Evans for kicking Mr. Christopher Gettler. The department stated that I had lied and made up the report that Evans had kicked the suspect. I later went to a Board of Rights (department hearing for decision of continued employment) from 10/08 to 1/09. During this BOR hearing a video was played for the BOR panel where Christopher Gettler stated that he was indeed kicked by Officer Evans (video sent to multiple news agencies). In addition to Christopher Gettler stating he was kicked, his father Richard Gettler, also stated that his son had stated he was kicked by an officer when he was arrested after being released from custody. This was all presented for the department at the BOR hearing. They still found me guilty and terminated me. What they didn’t mention was that the BOR panel made up of Capt. Phil Tingirides, Capt. Justin Eisenberg, and City Attorney Martella had a signigicant problem from the time the board was assembled. Capt. Phil Tingirides was a personal friend of Teresa Evans from when he was her supervisor at Harbor station. That is a clear conflict of interest and I made my argument for his removal early and was denied. The advocate for the LAPD BOR was Sgt. Anderson. Anderson also had a conflict of interest as she was Evans friend and former partner from Harbor division where they both worked patrol together. I made my argument for her removal when I discovered her relation to Evans and it was denied.

During the BOR, the department attempted to label me unsuccessfully as a bully. They stated that I had bullied a recruit, Abraham Schefres, in the academy when in reality and unfounded disposition from the official 1.28 formal complaint investigation found that I was the one who stood up for Abraham Schefres when other recruits sang nazi hitler youth songs about burning Jewish ghettos in WWII Germany where his father was a survivor of a concentration camp. How fucking dare you attempt to label me with such a nasty vile word. I ask that all earnest journalist investigating this story ask Ofcr. Abraham Schefres about the incident when Ofcr. Burdios began singing a nazi youth song about burning jewish ghettos.

The internal affairs investigation in the academy involving Schefres was spurned by a complaint that I had initiated toward two fellow recruit/offifcers. While on a assigned patrol footbeat in Hollywood Division, Officers Hermilio Buridios IV and Marlon Magana (both current LAPD officers) decided that they would voice their personal feelings about the black community. While traveling back to the station in a 12 passenger van I heard Magana refer to another individual as a nigger. I wasn’t sure if I heard correctly as there were many conversations in the van that was compiled of at least 8 officers and he was sitting in the very rear and me in the very front. Even with the multiple conversations and ambient noise I heard Officer Magana call an indivdual a nigger again. Now that I had confirmed it, I told Magana not to use that word again. I explained that it was a well known offensive word that should not be used by anyone. He replied, “I’ll say it when I want”. Officer Burdios, a friend of his, also stated that he would say nigger when he wanted. At that point I jumped over my front passenger seat and two other officers where I placed my hands around Burdios’ neck and squeezed. I stated to Burdios, “Don’t fucking say that”. At that point there was pushing and shoving and we were
separated by several other officers. What I should have done, was put a Winchester Ranger SXT 9mm 147 grain bullet in his skull and Officer Magana’s skull. The Situation would have been resolved effective, immediately. The sad thing about this incident was that when Detective Ty from internal affairs investigated this incident only (1) officer (unknown) in the van other than myself had statements constistent with what actually happened. The other six officers (John Carey, Gary Parker, Jacob Waks, Abraham Schefres and names I have forgotten) all stated they heard nothing and saw nothing. Shame on every one of you. Shame on Detective Ty (same ethnicity as Burdios) for creating a separate 1.28 formal complaint against me (Schefres complaint) in retaliation for initiating the complaint against Burdios and Magana. Don’t retaliate against honest officers for breaking your so called blue line. I hope your son Ryan Ty, who I knew, is a better officer than you, Detective Ty.The saddest part of this ordeal was that Officer Burdios and Magana were only given 22 day suspensions and are still LAPD officers to this day. That day, the LAPD stated that it is acceptable for fellow officers to call black officers niggers to their face and you will receive a slap on the wrist. Even sadder is that during that 22 day suspension Buridios and Magana received is that the LAPPL (Los Angeles Police Protective League) paid the officers their salaries while they were suspended. When I took a two day suspension for an accidental discharge, I took my suspension and never applied for a league salary. Its called integrity.

Journalist, I want you to investigate every location I resided in growing up. Find any incidents where I was ever accused of being a bully. You won’t, because it doesn’t exist. It’s not in my DNA. Never was. I was the only black kid in each of my elementary school classes from first grade to seventh grade in junior high and any instances where I was disciplined for fighting was in response to fellow students provoking common childhood schoolyard fights, or calling me a nigger or other derogatory racial names. I grew up in neighborhoods where blacks make up less than 1%. My first recollection of racism was in the first grade at Norwalk Christian elementary school in Norwalk, CA. A fellow student, Jim Armstrong if I can recall, called me a nigger on the playground. My response was swift and non-lethal. I struck him fast and hard with a punch an kick. He cried and reported it to a teacher. The teacher reported it to the principal. The principal swatted Jim for using a derogatory word toward me. He then for some unknown reason swatted me for striking Jim in response to him calling me a nigger. He stated as good Christians we are to turn the other cheek as Jesus did. Problem is, I’m not a fucking Christian and that old book, made of fiction and limited non-fiction, called the bible, never once stated Jesus was called a nigger. How dare you swat me for standing up for my rights for demanding that I be treated as a equal human being. That day I made a life decision that i will not tolerate racial derogatory terms spoken to me. Unfortunately I was swatted multiple times for the same exact reason up until junior high. Terminating me for telling the truth of a caucasian officer kicking a mentally ill man is disgusting. Don’t ever call me a fucking bully. I want all journalist to utilize every source you have that specializes in collections for your reports. With the discovery and evidence available you will see the truth. Unfortunately, I will not be alive to see my name cleared. That’s what this is about, my name. A man is nothing without his name. Below is a list of locations where I resided from childhood to adulthood.

Cerritos, CA.
Pico Rivera, CA.
La Palma, CA.
Thousand Oaks, CA.
Cedar City, UT.
Pensacola, FL.
Enid, OK.
Yorba Linda, CA.
Las Vegas, NV.

During the BOR an officer named, Sgt. Hernandez, from Los Angeles Port Police testified on behalf of the LAPD. Hernandez stated for the BOR that he arrived at the location of the UOF shortly before I cuffed the suspect. He also stated that he assisted in cuffing the suspect and that’s old the BOR he told me to fix my tie. All of those statements were LIES!!! Hernandez, you arrived at the UOF location up to 30 seconds after I had cuffed Mr. Gettler. All you did was help me lift the suspect to his feet as it was difficult for me to do by myself because of his heavy weight. You did not tell me to fix my tie as the BOR members and everyone else in the room know you lied because the photographic evidence from the UOF scene where Gettler’s injuries were photographed clearly shows me wearing a class B uniform on that day. A class B uniform is a short sleeved uniform blouse. A short sleeved uniform blouse for the LAPD does not have a tie included. This is not Super Troopers uniform, you jackass. Why did you feel the need to embellish and lie about your involvement in the UOF? Are you ashamed that you could not get hired on by any other department other than port police? Do you have delusions of grandeur? What you did was perjury, exactly what Evans did when she stated she did not kick Christopher Gettler.

What they failed to mention in the BOR was Teresa Evans own use of force history during her career on the LAPD. She has admitted that she has a lengthy use of force record and has been flagged several times by risk management. She has a very well known nickname, Chupacabra, which she was very proud to flaunt around the division. She found it very funny and entertaining to draw blood from suspects and arrestees. At one point she even intentionally ripped the flesh off the arm of a woman we had arrested for battery (sprayed her neighbor with a garden water hose). Knowing the woman had thin elastic skin, she performed and Indian burn to the woman’s arm after cuffing her. That woman was in her mid-70′s, a mother and grandmother, and was angry at her tenants who failed to pay rent on time. Something I can completely understand and I am sure many have wanted to do toward tenants who do not pay their rent. Teresa Evans was also demoted from a senior lead officer rank/position for performance issues. During my two months of working patrol with Teresa Evans, I found her as a woman who was very angry that she had been pulled from patrol for a short time because of a domestic violence report made by Long Beach Police Department because of an incident involving her active LAPD officer boyfriend, Dominick Fuentes, and herself. Dominick Fuentes is the same officer investigated for witness tampering. She also was visibly angry on a daily basis that she was going to have to file for bankruptcy because her ex-husband, a former LAPD officer and not Dominick Fuentes, who had left the department, state, and was nowhere to be found had left her with a tax bill and debt that she was unable to pay because of a lack of financial means. Evans, you are a POS and you lied right to the BOR panel when Randy Quan asked you if you kicked Christopher Gettler. You destroyed my life and name because of your actions. Time is up. The time is now to confess to Chief Beck.

I ask that all journalist investigating this story submit request for FOIA with the LAPD to gain access to the BOR transcripts which occurred from 10/08 to 2/09. There, you will see that a video was played for the BOR members of Mr. Christopher Gettler who suffers from Schizophrenia and Dementia stating that he was kicked by a female officer. That video evidence supports my claim that Evans kicked him twice in the upper body and once in the face. I would like all journalist to also request copies of all reports that I had written while employed by LAPD. Whether in the academy, or during my 3 years as a police officer. There are DR#’s attached to each report (investigative report) that I have ever written so they all exist. A FOIA request will most likely be needed to access these at Parker center or at the Personnel/Records. Judge my writin/grammar skills for yourself. The department attempted to paint me as an officer who could not write reports. Even though Sgt. Joel Sydanmaa a training officer who trained me stated for the BOR panel that there was nothing wrong with my report writing and that I was better than all rookie/probationer officers he has ever trained. Officer David Drew stated the same but refused to testify as he did not want to “get involved” with the BOR’s. Contact Sgt. Donald Deming ,(now a Captain at Lompoc PD), Sgt. Thaddeus Faulk, and Sgt. Ed Clark. All will state that my report writing was impeccable. I will tell you this, I always type my reports because I have messy handwriting/penmanship. I never had a single kickback/redlined report at Southwest division and Sgt. Faulk and Sgt. Clark can testify to that. I never received an UNSATISFACTORY on any day or week. The same can be said within the U.S. Naval Reserves. All commanders will state that my report writing was always clear, concise, and impeccable. Even search my AAR (after action reports),chits, Memorandum’s, IIR’s (Intelligence Information Reports) which were written in the Navy. All were pristine.

I had worked patrol at LAPD’s Harbor Division from 2/06 until 7/06 when I was involuntarily recalled back to active duty (US Navy) for a 12 month mobilization/deployment to Centcom in support of OIF/OEF. I returned back to LAPD’s Harbor division on 7/07 and immediately returned to patrol. I worked at Harbor division until 11/07 where I then transferred to Southwest Division. I worked At Southwest division until 6/25/08 when I was relieved of duty.

I have exhausted all available means at obtaining my name back. I have attempted all legal court efforts within appeals at the Superior Courts and California Appellate courts. This is my last resort. The LAPD has suppressed the truth and it has now lead to deadly consequences. The LAPD’s actions have cost me my law enforcement career that began on 2/7/05 and ended on 1/2/09. They cost me my Naval career which started on 4/02 and ends on 2/13. I had a TS/SCI clearance(Top Secret Sensitive Compartmentalized Information clearance) up until shortly after my termination with LAPD. This is the highest clearance a service member can attain other than a Yankee White TS/SCI which is only granted for those working with and around the President/Vice President of the United States. I lost my position as a Commanding Officer of a Naval Security Forces reserve unit at NAS Fallon because of the LAPD. I’ve lost a relationship with my mother and sister because of the LAPD. I’ve lost a relationship with close friends because of the LAPD. In essence, I’ve lost everything because the LAPD took my name and new I was INNOCENT!!! Capt Phil Tingirides, Justin Eisenberg, Martella, Randy Quan, and Sgt. Anderson all new I was innocent but decided to terminate me so they could continue Ofcr. Teresa Evans career. I know about the meeting between all of you where Evans attorney, Rico, confessed that she kicked Christopher Gettler (excessive force). Your day has come.

I’m not an aspiring rapper, I’m not a gang member, I’m not a dope dealer, I don’t have multiple babies momma’s. I am an American by choice, I am a son, I am a brother, I am a military service member, I am a man who has lost complete faith in the system, when the system betrayed, slandered, and libeled me. I lived a good life and though not a religious man I always stuck to my own personal code of ethics, ethos and always stuck to my shoreline and true North. I didn’t need the US Navy to instill Honor, Courage, and Commitment in me but I thank them for re-enforcing it. It’s in my DNA.

Luckily I don’t have to live everyday like most of you. Concerned if the misconduct you were apart of is going to be discovered. Looking over your shoulder, scurrying at every phone call from internal affairs or from the Captains office wondering if that is the day PSB comes after you for the suspects you struck when they were cuffed months/years ago or that $500 you pocketed from the narcotics dealer, or when the other guys on your watch beat a transient nearly to death and you never reported the UOF to the supervisor. No, I don’t have that concern, I stood up for what was right but unfortunately have dealt with the reprocussions of doing the right thing and now losing my name and everything I ever stood for. You fuckers knew Evans was guilty of kicking (excessive force) Gettler and you did nothing but get rid of what you saw as the problem, the whistleblower. Gettler himself stated on video tape ( provided for the BOR and in transcripts) he was kicked and even his father stated that his son said he was kicked by Evans when he was released from custody. The video was played for the entire BOR to hear. Tingirides, Eisenberg, and Martella all heard it. You’re going to see what a whistleblower can do when you take everything from him especially his NAME!!!

Look what you did to Sgt. Gavin (now lieutenant) when he exposed the truth of your lying, racism, and PSB cover-ups to frame and convict an innocent man. You can not police yourselves and the consent decree was unsuccessful. Sgt. Gavin, I met you on the range several times as a recruit and as an officer. You’re a good man and I saw it in your eyes an actions.

Self Preservation is no longer important to me. I do not fear death as I died long ago on 1/2/09. I was told by my mother that sometimes bad things happen to good people. I refuse to accept that.
From 2/05 to 1/09 I saw some of the most vile things humans can inflict on others as a police officer in Los Angeles. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the streets of LA. It was in the confounds of LAPD police stations and shops (cruisers). The enemy combatants in LA are not the citizens and suspects, it’s the police officers.

People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. How ironic that you utilize a fixed glass structure as your command HQ. You use as a luminous building to symbolize that you are transparent, have nothing to hide, or suppress when in essence, concealing, omitting, and obscuring is your forte.

Chief Beck, this is when you need to have that come to Jesus talk with Sgt. Teresa Evans and everyone else who was involved in the conspiracy to have me terminated for doing the right thing. you also need to speak with her attorney, Rico, and his conversation with the BOR members and her confession of guilt in kicking Mr. Gettler. I’ll be waiting for a PUBLIC response at a press conference. When the truth comes out, the killing stops.

Why didn’t you charge me with filing a false police report when I came forward stating that Evans kicked Mr. Christopher Gettler? You file criminal charges against every other officer who is accused and terminated for filing a false police report. You didn’t because you knew I was innocent and a criminal court would find me innocent and expose your department for suppressing the truth and retaliation, that’s why.

The attacks will stop when the department states the truth about my innocence, PUBLICLY!!! I will not accept any type of currency/goods in exchange for the attacks to stop, nor do i want it. I want my name back, period. There is no negotiation. I am not the state department who states they do not negotiate with terrorist, because anybody with a Secret or TS/SCI has seen IIR’s on SIPR and knows that the US state department always negotiates by using CF countries or independent sovereign/neutral country to mediate and compromising.

This department has not changed from the Daryl Gates and Mark Fuhrman days. Those officers are still employed and have all promoted to Command staff and supervisory positions. I will correct this error. Are you aware that an officer (a rookie/probationer at the time) seen on the Rodney King videotape striking Mr. King multiple times with a baton on 3/3/91 is still employed by the LAPD and is now a Captain on the police department? Captain Rolando Solano is now the commanding officer of a LAPD police station (West LA division). As a commanding officer, he is now responsible for over 200 officers. Do you trust him to enforce department policy and investigate use of force investigations on arrestees by his officers? Are you aware Evans has since promoted to Sergeant after kicking Mr. Gettler in the face. Oh, you Violated a citizens civil rights? We will promote you. Same as LAPD did with the the officers from Metro involved in the May Day melee at MacArthur Park. They promoted them to Sergeant (a supervisor role).

No one is saying you can’t be prejudiced or a bigot. We are all human and hold prejudices. If you state that you don’t have prejudices, your lying! But, when you act on it and victimize innocent citizens and fellow innocen officers, than that is a concern.

For you officers who do the job in the name of JUSTICE, those of you who lost honest officers to this event, look at the name of those on the BOR and the investigating officers from PSB and Evans and ask them, how come you couldn’t tell the truth? Why did you terminate an honest officer and cover for a dishonest officer who victimized a mentally ill citizen.

Sometimes humans feel a need to prove they are the dominant race of a species and they inadvertently take kindness for weakness from another individual. You chose wrong.
Terminating officers because they expose a culture of lying, racism (from the academy), and excessive use of force will immediately change. PSB can not police their own and that has been proven. The blue line will forever be severed and a cultural change will be implanted. You have awoken a sleeping giant.

I am here to change and make policy. The culture of LAPD versus the community and honest/good officers needs to and will change. I am here to correct and calibrate your morale compasses to true north.

Those Caucasian officers who join South Bureau divisions (77th,SW,SE, an Harbor) with the sole intent to victimize minorities who are uneducated, and unaware of criminal law, civil law, and civil rights. You prefer the South bureau because a use of force/deadly force is likely and the individual you use UOF on will likely not report it. You are a high value target.

Those Black officers in supervisory ranks and pay grades who stay in south bureau (even though you live in the valley or OC) for the sole intent of getting retribution toward subordinate caucasians officers for the pain and hostile work environment their elders inflicted on you as probationers (P-1′s) and novice P-2′s. You are a high value target. You perpetuated the cycle of racism in the department as well. You breed a new generation of bigoted caucasian officer when you belittle them and treat them unfairly.

Those Hispanic officers who victimize their own ethnicity because they are new immigrants to this country and are unaware of their civil rights. You call them wetbacks to their face and demean them in front of fellow officers of different ethnicities so that you will receive some sort of acceptance from your colleagues. I’m not impressed. Most likely, your parents or grandparents were immigrants at one time, but you have forgotten that. You are a high value target.

Those lesbian officers in supervising positions who go to work, day in day out, with the sole intent of attempting to prove your misandrist authority (not feminism) to degrade male officers. You are a high value target.

Those Asian officers who stand by and observe everything I previously mentioned other officers participate in on a daily basis but you say nothing, stand for nothing and protect nothing. Why? Because of your usual saying, ” I……don’t like conflict”. You are a high value target as well.

Those of you who “go along to get along” have no backbone and destroy the foundation of courage. You are the enablers of those who are guilty of misconduct. You are just as guilty as those who break the code of ethics and oath you swore.

Citizens/non-combatants, do not render medical aid to downed officers/enemy combatants. They would not do the same for you. They will let you bleed out just so they can brag to other officers that they had a 187 caper the other day and can’t wait to accrue the overtime in future court subpoenas. As they always say, “that’s the paramedics job…not mine”. Let the balance of loss of life take place. Sometimes a reset needs to occur.

It is endless the amount of times per week officers arrest an individual, label him a suspect-arrestee-defendant and then before arraignment or trial realize that he is innocent based on evidence. You know what they say when they realize an innocent man just had his life turned upside down?. “I guess he should have stayed at home that day he was discovered walking down the street and matching the suspects description. Oh well, he appeared to be a dirtbag anyways”. Meanwhile the falsely accused is left to pick up his life, get a new, family, friends, and sense of self worth.

Don’t honor these fallen officers/dirtbags. When your family members die, they just see you as extra overtime at a crime scene and at a perimeter. Why would you value their lives when they clearly don’t value yours or your family members lives? I’ve heard many officers who state they see dead victims as ATV’s, Waverunners, RV’s and new clothes for their kids. Why would you shed a tear for them when they in return crack a smile for your loss because of the impending extra money they will receive in their next paycheck for sitting at your loved ones crime scene of 6 hours because of the overtime they will accrue. They take photos of your loved ones recently deceased bodies with their cellphones and play a game of who has the most graphic dead body of the night with officers from other divisions. This isn’t just the 20 something year old officers, this is the 50 year old officers with significant time on the job as well who participate.

You allow an officer, Thaniya Sungruenyos, to attempt to hack into my credit union account and still remain on the job even when Det. Zolezzi shows the evidence that the IP address (provided by LAPFCU) that attempted to hack into my account and change my username and password leads directly to her residence. You even allow this visibly disgusting looking officer to stay on the job when she perjures (lies) in court (Clark County Family Court) to the judge’s face and denies hacking into my personal credit union online account when I attempted to get my restraint order extended. Det. Zolezzi provided the evidence and you still do nothing.

How do you know when a police officer is lying??? When he begins his sentence with, “based on my experience and training”.

No one grows up and wants to be a cop killer. It was against everything I’ve ever was. As a young police explorer I found my calling in life. But, As a young police officer I found that the violent suspects on the street are not the only people you have to watch. It is the officer who was hired on to the department (pre-2000) before polygraphs were standard for all new hires and an substantial vetting in a backround investigation.

To those children of the officers who are eradicated, your parent was not the individual you thought they were. As you get older,you will see the evidence that your parent was a tyrant who loss their ethos and instead followed the path of moral corruptness. They conspired to hide and suppress the truth of misconduct on others behalf’s. Your parent will have a name and plaque on the fallen officers memorial in D.C. But, In all honesty, your parents name will be a reminder to other officers to maintain the oath they swore and to stay along the shoreline that has guided them from childhood to that of a local, state, or federal law enforcement officer.

Bratton, Beck, Hayes, Tingirides, Eisenberg, Martella, Quan, Evans, Hernandez, Villanueva/Gallegos, and Anderson. Your lack of ethics and conspiring to wrong a just individual are over.

Suppressing the truth will leave to deadly consequences for you and your family. There will be an element of surprise where you work, live, eat, and sleep. I will utilize ISR at your home, workplace, and all locations in between. I will utilize OSINT to discover your residences, spouses workplaces, and children’s schools. IMINT to coordinate and plan attacks on your fixed locations. Its amazing whats on NIPR. HUMINT will be utilized to collect personal schedules of targets. I never had the opportunity to have a family of my own, I’m terminating yours. Quan, Anderson, Evans, and BOR members Look your wives/husbands and surviving children directly in the face and tell them the truth as to why your children are dead.

Never allow a LAPPL union attorney to be a retired LAPD Captain,(Quan). He doesn’t work for you, your interest, or your name. He works for the department, period. His job is to protect the department from civil lawsuits being filed and their best interest which is the almighty dollar. His loyalty is to the department, not his client. Even when he knowingly knows your innocent and the BOR also knows your innocent after Christopher Gettler stated on videotape that he was kicked and Evans attorney confessed to the BOR off the record that she kicked Gettler.

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants-TJ. This quote is not directed toward the US government which I fully support 100%. This is toward the LAPD who can not monitor itself. The consent decree should not have been lifted, ever.

I know your TTP’s, (techniques, tactics, and procedures). Any threat assessments you you generate will be useless. This is simple, I know your TTP’s and PPR’s. I will mitigate any of your attempts at preservation. ORM is my friend. I will mitigate all risks, threats and hazards. I assure you that Incident Command Posts will be target rich environments. KMA-367 license plate frames are great target indicators and make target selection even easier.

I will conduct DA operations to destroy, exploit and seize designated targets. If unsuccessful or unable to meet objectives in these initial small scale offensive actions, I will reassess my BDA and re-attack until objectives are met. I have nothing to lose. My personal casualty means nothing. Just alike AAF’s, ACM’s, and AIF’s, you can not prevail against an enemy combatant who has no fear of death. An enemy who embraces death is a lose, lose situation for their enemy combatants.

Hopefully you analyst have done your homework. You are aware that I have always been the top shot, highest score, an expert in rifle qualifications in every unit I’ve been in. I will utilize every bit of small arms training, demolition, ordnance, and survival training I’ve been given.

Do you know why we are unsuccessful in asymmetrical and guerrilla warfare in CENTCOM theatre of operations? I’ll tell you. It’s not the inefficiency of our combatant commanders, planning, readiness or training of troops. Much like the Vietnam war, ACM, AAF, foreign fighters, Jihadist, and JAM have nothing to lose. They embrace death as it is a way of life. I simply don’t fear it. I am the walking exigent circumstance you created.

The Violence of action will be HIGH. I am the reason TAC alert was established. I will bring unconventional and asymmetrical warfare to those in LAPD uniform whether on or off duty. ISR is my strength and your weakness. You will now live the life of the prey. Your RD’s and homes away from work will be my AO and battle space. I will utilize every tool within INT collections that I learned from NMITC in Dam Neck. You have misjudged a sleeping giant. There is no conventional threat assessment for me. JAM, New Ba’ath party, 1920 rev BGE, ACM, AAF, AQAP, AQIM and AQIZ have nothing on me. Do not deploy airships or gunships. SA-7 Manpads will be waiting. As you know I also own Barrett .50′s so your APC are defunct and futile.

You better have all your officers radio/phone muster (code 1) on or off duty every hour, on the hour.
Do not attempt to shadow or conduct any type of ISR on me. I have the inventory listing of all UC vehicles at Piper Tech and the home addresses of any INT analyst at JRIC and detachment locations. My POA is always POI and always true. This will be a war of attrition and a Pyrrhic and Camdean Victory for myself. You may have the resources and manpower but you are reactive and predictable in your op plans and TTP’s. I have the strength and benefits of being unpredictable, unconventional, and unforgiving. Do not waste your time with briefs and tabletops.

Whatever pre-planned responses you have established for a scenario like me, shelve it. Whatever contingency plan you have, shelve it. Whatever tertiary plan you’ve created, shelve it. I am a walking exigent circumstance with no OFF or reset button. JRIC, DOJ, LASD, FBI and other local LE can’t assist and should not involve themselves in a matter that does not concern them. For all other agencies, do not involve yourself in this capture or recovery of me. Look at the big picture of the situation. They (LAPD) created the situation. I will harm no outside agency unless it is a deadly force/IDOL situation. With today’s budgeting and fiscal mess, you guys can not afford lose several officers to IOD or KIA/EOW. Plus, other officers should not have to take on the additional duties and responsibilities of dead officers. Think about their families, outside agencies, Chiefs/Directors.

Outside agencies and individual officers on patrol. If you recognize my vehicle, and confirm it is my vehicle thru a dmv/want warrant check. It behoves you to respond to dispatch that your query was for information purposes only. If you proceed with a traffic stop or attempt to notify other officers of my location or for backup you will not live to see the medal of valor you were hoping to receive for your actions. Think before you attempt to intervene. You will not survive. Your family will receive that medal of valor posthumously. It will gather dust on the fireplace mantel for years. Then one day, it will go in a shoe box with other memories. Your mother will lose a son or daughter. Your significant other will be left alone, but they will find someone else to fill your void in the future and make them just as happy. Your children, if you have them, will call someone else mommy or daddy. Don’t be selfish. Your vest is only a level II or IIIA, think about it.

No amount of IMINT, MASINT, and ELINT assist you in capturing me. I am off the grid. You better use your feet, tongue and every available DOD/ NON-DOD HUMINT agency, contractor to find me. I know your route to and from home, and your division. I know your significant others routine, your children’s best friends and recess. I know Your Sancha’s gym hours and routine. I assure you that the casualty rate will be high. Because of that, no one will remember your name. You will merely be a DR# and “that guy” who was KIA/EOW or long term IOD/light duty in the kit room. This is exactly why “station 500″ was created. Unfortunately, orphanages will be making a comeback in the 21st century.

If you had a well regulated AWB, this would not happen. The time is now to reinstitute a ban that will save lives. Why does any sportsman need a 30 round magazine for hunting? Why does anyone need a suppressor? Why does anyone need a AR15 rifle? This is the same small arms weapons system utilized in eradicating Al Qaeda, Taliban, and every enemy combatant since the Vietnam war. Don’t give me that crap that its not a select fire or full auto rifle like the DoD uses. That’s bullshit because troops who carry the M-4/M-16 weapon system for combat ops outside the wire rarely utilize the select fire function when in contact with enemy combatants. The use of select fire probably isn’t even 1% in combat. So in essence, the AR-15 semiautomatic rifle is the same as the M-4/M-16. These do not need to be purchased as easily as walking to your local Walmart or striking the enter key on your keyboard to “add to cart”. All the firearms utilized in my activities are registered to me and were legally purchased at gun stores and private party transfers. All concealable weapons (pistols) were also legally register in my name at police stations or FFL’s. Unfortunately, are you aware that I obtained class III weapons (suppressors) without a background check thru NICS or DROS completely LEGALLY several times? I was able to use a trust account that I created on quicken will maker and a $10 notary charge at a mailbox etc. to obtain them legally. Granted, I am not a felon, nor have a DV misdemeanor conviction or active TRO against me on a NCIC file. I can buy any firearm I want, but should I be able to purchase these class III weapons (SBR’s, and suppressors) without a background check and just a $10 notary signature on a quicken will maker program? The answer is NO. I’m not even a resident of the state i purchased them in. Lock n Load just wanted money so they allow you to purchase class III weapons with just a notarized trust, military ID. Shame on you, Lock n Load. NFA and ATF need new laws and policies that do not allow loopholes such as this. In the end, I hope that you will realize that the small arms I utilize should not be accessed with the ease that I obtained them. Who in there right mind needs a fucking silencer!!! who needs a freaking SBR AR15? No one. No more Virginia Tech, Columbine HS, Wisconsin temple, Aurora theatre, Portland malls, Tucson rally, Newtown Sandy Hook. Whether by executive order or thru a bi-partisan congress an assault weapons ban needs to be re-instituted. Period!!!

Mia Farrow said it best. “Gun control is no longer debatable, it’s not a conversation, its a moral mandate.”

Sen. Feinstein, you are doing the right thing in leading the re-institution of a national AWB. Never again should any public official state that their prayers and thoughts are with the family. That has become cliche’ and meaningless. Its time for action. Let this be your legacy that you bestow to America. Do not be swayed by obstacles, antagaonist, and naysayers. Remember the innocent children at Austin, Kent, Stockton, Fullerton, San Diego, Iowa City, Jonesboro, Columbine, Nickel Mines, Blacksburg, Springfield, Red Lake, Chardon, Aurora, and Newtown. Make sure this never happens again!!!

In my cache you will find several small arms. In the cache, Bushmaster firearms, Remington precision rifles, and AAC Suppressors (silencers). All of these small arms are manufactured by Cerberus/Freedom Group. The same company responsible for the Portland mall shooting, Webster , NY, and Sandy Hook massacre.

You disrespect the office of the POTUS/Presidency and Commander in Chief. You call him Kenyan, mongroid, halfrican, muslim, and FBHO when in essence you are to address him as simply, President. The same as you did to President George W. Bush and all those in the highest ranking position of our land before him. Just as I always have. You question his birth certificate, his educational and professional accomplishments, and his judeo-christian beliefs. You make disparaging remarks about his dead parents. You never questioned the fact that his former opponent, the honorable Senator John McCain, was not born in the CONUS or that Bush had a C average in his undergrad. Electoral Candidates children (Romney) state they want to punch the president in the face during debates with no formal repercussions. No one even questioned the fact that the son just made a criminal threat toward the President. You call his wife a Wookie. Off the record, I love your new bangs, Mrs. Obama. A woman whose professional and educational accomplishments are second to none when compared to recent First wives. You call his supporters, whether black, brown, yellow, or white, leeches, FSA, welfare recipients, and ni$&er lovers. You say this openly without any discretion. Before you start with your argument that you believe I would vote for Obama because he has the same skin color as me, fuck you. I didn’t vote in this last election as my choice of candidate, John Huntsman, didn’t win the primary candidacy for his party.

Mr. President, I haven’t agreed with all of your decisions but of course I haven’t agreed with all of your predecessors decisions. I think you’ve done a hell of a job with what you have been dealt and how you have managed it. I shed a tear the night you were initially elected President in 2008. I never thought that day would occur. A black man elected president in the U.S. in my lifetime. I cracked a smiled when you were re-elected in 2012 because I really didn’t think you were going to pull that one off. Romney, stop being a sore loser. You could’ve exited graciously and still contributed significantly to public service, not now. Mr. President, get back to work. Many want to see you fail as they have stated so many times previously. Unfortunately, if you fail, the U.S. fails but your opponents do not concern themselves about the big picture. Do not forget your commitment to transparency in your administration. Sometimes I believe your administration forgets that. America, you will realize today and tomorrow that this world is made up of all human beings who have the same general needs and wants in life for themselves, their kin, community, and state. That is the freedom to LIVE and LOVE. They may eat different foods, enjoy different music, have different dialects, or speak a second language, but in essence are no different from you and I. This is America. We are not a perfect sovereign country as we have our own flaws but we are the closest that will ever exist.

Unfortunately, this is not the first time an authoritative figure has lied on me.

Mr. Freid, assistant principal, Cypress HS. Remember when you lied to my mother and the police officer in your office about stating that you never stated to me in a private conversation that you know the theft suspect (Miranda) stole my watch. Let me refresh your memory. A physical education teachers assistant, a student, stole the list of combination codes to peoples lockers, from the P.E. teacher. That student then opened many of those lockers and stole students personal property. My watch was taken in that multi theft an I reported it to you. A week later you discovered that the theft suspect was Paul Miranda, a student. You stated to me in private that you know for a fact he stole my property. When I attempted to retrieve my property from the suspect. Campus security was called and you lied and stated that you never stated to me that you “know he stole my watch”. You sat there and lied to their faces right in front of me. You said it with such a deliberate, stern face. I never forgot that and was not surprised when 13 years later I was lied on again in the BOR by Teresa Evans. maybe you can confess to your family at the very least in the private of your own home. After that, contact my mother and apologize for lying to her in 1996.

If possible, I want my brain preserved for science/research to study the effects of severe depression on an individual’s brain. Since 6/26/08 when I was relieved of duty and 1/2/09 when I was terminated I have been afflicted with severe depression. I’ve had two CT scans during my lifetime that are in my medical record at Kaiser Permanente. Both are from concussions resulting from playing football. The first one was in high school, 10/96. The second was in college and occurred in 10/99. Both were conducted at Kaiser Permanente hospitals in LA/Orange county. These two CT scans should give a good baseline for my brain activity before severe depression began in late 2008.

Sure, many of you “law enforcement experts and specialist” will state, “in all my years this is the worst……..”, Stop!!! That’s not important. Ask yourselves what would cause somebody to take these drastic measures like I did. That’s what is important.

To my friends listed below, I wish we could have grown old together and spent more time together. When you reminisce of our friendship and experiences, think of that and that only. Do not dwell on my recent actions the last few days. This was a necessary evil that had to be executed in order for me to obtain my NAME back. The only thing that changes policy and garners attention is death.

Luis Sanchez, greatest friend, Marine officer, aviator, and an even better father and husband. I Couldn’t have had a better big brother than you. Your spoken wisdom was always retained by me, you old salty Mustang. You sternly told me that no matter what I accomplish I will always be a ni#%er in many individuals eyes. At the time, I did not comprehend your words. I do now. I never forgot the quote you state below. I love you bro.

I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever feeling sorry for itself. –D.H. Lawrence

Jason Valadao, greatest friend, Naval officer, aviator, Great Father, husband, doctor, and even better human being. I always strived to live my life parallel to your similar values and personal disciplines. Danika is lucky to have found a man like yourself, and you are fortunate to have married an irrefutable imperfect woman. Always focus on your IMMEDIATE family as they are the ones who have loved you unconditionally and always been their to support you in difficult times. I always lived my life as WWJD (what would Jason do). Danika, take care of this guy. Jason, I’m sorry I missed your wedding and you had to find another best man. I’m sorry my predicament with the department stopped me from watching you and Danika get married and arguing with you about issues that were insignificant when I was really angry at the LAPD for what they did to me. I’m deeply sorry and I love you guys.

James Usera, great friend, attorney, father, husband, and the most cynical/blatant/politically incorrect friend a man can have. Best quality about you in college and now is that you never sugar coated the truth. I will miss our political discussions that always turned argumentative. Thanks for introducing me to outdoor sports like fishing, hunting, mudding, and also respect for the land and resources. Us city boys don’t get out much like you Alaskans. You even introduced me to PBR. A beer, that when you’re a poor college student is completely acceptable to get buzzed off of. I’m sorry I’ll never get to go on that moose and bear hunt with you. I love you bro.

Kinta Smith, greatest friend, accountant, entrepreneur, and even better Human being. You are probably the most well balanced person I’ve ever met and the most driven for success. In college, and after graduation, I was inspired by your personal drive. Never settle. When you make your first million, promise me you won’t forget to enjoy it a bit. I know your first reaction will be to invest it somewhere else. Spend a little, just a little. I love you bro.

Jason Young, great friend, entrepeneur, husband and father. You showed me the importance of fatherhood and friendship. Love you bro.

Suzie Clark Cunningham, Kassandra Harrell, Melinda Yates, Cal Jackson, Ryan Smith, The Rebelledos, The Banks, Ben Bines, J. Work, Bill O’neill, Jeremy Fletcher, and Rob Harriston.
You guys were all important and very special to me. Don’t be angry with me. I missed some of your weddings and unfortunately, some of your funerals. This was a necessary evil.

Some say it is my fault that I was terminated. Yes, DDX, I remember you stating this to me in an angry fit. You said that I should have kept my mouth shut about another officer’s misconduct. Maybe you were right. But I’m not built like others, it’s not in my DNA and my history has always shown that. When you view the video of the suspect stating he was kicked by Evans, maybe you will see that I was a decent person after all. I told the truth. It still hurt that you abandoned me in my time of need. I hope you’re happy, that’s all I ever wanted for you.

Sgt. Leonard Perez, you meant well but you should have known with your time on the job that the department would attempt to protect someone like Evans because of her time on the job, personal friendships, and ethicity. I’m not angry with you, but you should have known as an IA investigator.

Sgt Maggie Faust LPPD, Ofcr John Thomas LPPD (ret), and Chief Eric Nunez LPPD, your guidance and mentoring as a young police explorer was second to none and invaluable as a young man, police officer, and naval officer.
Sgt Faust, you forewarned me long ago about joining LAPD as they were “different” and operated differently from other modern law enforcement agencies. I now know it was your humbleness and respect for all who wear the badge and protect their communities that you didn’t just express what you wanted to say, that they lack values and basic ethics as law enforcement officers.
Chief Nunez, your fucking awesome. Thanks for the long talks over the years when I was an explorer, college student, Naval officer, and Police officer. Your are a great leader and carry your heart on your sleeve. Your son will be a great Air Force officer with the upringing you provided.
John, what can I say? Your just an awesome person and my first exposure to what law enforcement was really about was on our ride alongs. Your realistic approach and empathetic approach to treating all people as humans first is something I carried with me daily.
Thank you, every one of you.

Dr. Funahashi, thank you for the superb surgery you performed on my knee on 7/98 in Irvine, CA. I never had the opportunity to thank you for allowing me to live a life free of knee joint pain. Thank you.

CM1 Bissett (Ret.), I learned more from you about leadership than most of my own commanders. You lived by a strict ethos of get it done, and get it done right. I wanted to attend your retirement, I really did. But because of my predicament I was unable to. Hope you and Ritchie are still together. I’ve always held you in high regard.

Sgt Maj. Kenneth “Rock” Rocquemore USMC, Thank you for the intense instruction and mentorship and time spent forging me into a never quit officer. You were challenging as a DI. You made sure the vicious and intense personality I possess was discovered. On a lighter note….Don’t feel humbled you never broke me. I made it a personal goal to never give up years before. The Corp is lucky to have you at the front. Your leadership is essential and needed for all marines, especially staff NCO’s and mentorship and advisement to company grade officers. You are the epitome of a US marine and never forget that.

I thank my friends for the awesome shared experiences. I thank the unnamed women I dated over my lifetime for the great and sometimes not so great sex.

It’s kind of sad I won’t be around to view and enjoy The Hangover III. What an awesome trilogy. Todd Phillips, don’t make anymore Hangovers after the third, takes away the originality of its foundation. World War Z looks good and The Walking Dead season 3 (second half) looked intriguing. Damn, gonna miss shark week.

Mr. Vice President, do your due diligence when formulating a concise and permanent national AWB plan. Future generations of Americans depend on your plan and advisement to the president. I’ve always been a fan of yours and consider you one of the few genuine and charismatic politicians. Damn, sounds like an oxymoron calling you an honest politician. It’s the truth.

Hillary Clinton. You’ll make one hell of a president in 2016. Much like your husband, Bill, you will be one of the greatest. Look at Castro in San Antonio as a running mate or possible secretary of state. He’s (good people) and I have faith and confidence in him. Look after Bill. He was always my favorite President. Chelsea grew up to be one hell of an attractive woman. No disrespect to her husband.

Gov. Chris Christie. What can I say? You’re the only person I would like to see in the White House in 2016 other than Hillary. You’re America’s no shit taking uncle. Do one thing for your wife, kids, and supporters. Start walking at night and eat a little less, not a lot less, just a little. We want to see you around for a long time. Your leadership is greatly needed.

Wayne LaPierre, President of the NRA, you’re a vile and inhumane piece of shit. You never even showed 30 seconds of empathy for the children, teachers, and families of Sandy Hook. You deflected any type of blame/responsibility and directed it toward the influence of movies and the media. You are a failure of a human being. May all of your immediate and distant family die horrific deaths in front of you.

Chris Matthews, Joe Scarborough, Pat Harvey, Brian Williams, Soledad Obrien, Wolf Blitzer, Meredith Viera, Tavis Smiley, and Anderson Cooper, keep up the great work and follow Cronkite’s lead. I hold many of you in the same regard as Tom Brokaw and the late Peter Jennings. Cooper, stop nagging and berating your guest, they’re your (guest). Mr. Scarborough, we met at McGuire’s pub in P-cola in 2002 when I was stationed there. It was an honor conversing with you about politics, family, and life.

Willie Geist, you’re a talented and charismatic journalist. Stop with all the talk show shenanigans and get back to your core of reporting. Your future is brighter than most.

Revoke the citizenship of Fareed Zakaria and deport him. I’ve never heard a positive word about America or its interest from his mouth, ever. On the same day, give Piers Morgan an indefinite resident alien and Visa card. Mr. Morgan, the problem that many American gun owners have with you and your continuous discussion of gun control is that you are not an American citizen and have an accent that is distinct and clarifies that you are a foreigner. I want you to know that I agree with you 100% on enacting stricter firearm laws but you must understand that your critics will always have in the back of their mind that you are native to a country that we won our sovereignty from while using firearms as a last resort in defense and you come from a country that has no legal private ownership of firearms. That is disheartening to American gun owners and rightfully so.

The honorable President George H.W. Bush, they never give you enough credit for your successful Presidency. You were always one of my favorite Presidents (2nd favorite). I hope your health improves greatly. You are the epitome of an American and service to country.

General Petraeus, you made a mistake that the majority of men make once, twice, or unfortunately many times in a lifetime. You are human. You thought with your penis. It’s okay.I personally believe you should have never resigned and told your critics to shove it. You only answer to two people regarding the affair, your wife and children, period. I hope you return to government service to your country as it is visibly in your DNA.

General Colin Powell, your book “My American Journey” solidified my decision to join the military after college. I had always intended to serve, but your book and journey motivated me. You are an inspiration to all Americans and influenced me greatly.

To all SEA’s (senior enlisted advisers), you are just as important if not a greater viability to large and small commands. It’s time you take a more active role in leading your enlisted and advising officers. These are not your twilight years or time to relax. You can either strengthen the tip of the spear, or make it brittle. You decide.

Pat Harvey, I’ve always thought you carried yourself professionally and personally the way a strong black woman should. Your articulation and speech is second to none. You are the epitome of a journalist/anchor. You are America.

Ellen Degeneres, continue your excellent contribution to entertaining America and bringing the human factor to entertainment. You changed the perception of your gay community and how we as Americans view the LGBT community. I congratulate you on your success and opening my eyes as a young adult, and my generation to the fact that you are know different from us other than who you choose to love.
Oh, and you Prop 8 supporters, why the fuck do you care who your neighbor marries. Hypocritical pieces of shit.

Westboro Baptist Church, may you all burn slowly in a fire, not from smoke inhalation, but from the flames and only the flames.

Tebow, I really wanted to see you take charge of an offense again and the game. You are not a good QB by todays standards, but you are a great football player who knows how to lead a team and WIN. You will be “Tebowing” when you reach your next team. I have faith in you. Get out of that circus they call the Jets and away from the reality TV star, Rex Ryan, and Mark Rapist Sanchez.

Christopher Walz, you impressed me in Inglorious Basterds. After viewing Django Unchained, I was sold. I have come to the conclusion that you are well on your way to becoming one of the greats if not already and show glimpses of Daniel Day Lewis and Morgan Freeman-esque type qualities of greatness. Trust me when I say that you will be one of the greatest ever.

Jennifer Beals, Serena Williams, Grae Drake, Lisa Nicole-Carson, Diana Taurasi, N’bushe Wright, Brenda Villa, Kate Winslet, Ashley Graham, Erika Christensen, Gabrielle Union, Isabella Soprano, Zain Verjee, Tamron Hall, Gina Carano, America Ferrara, Giana Michaels, Nene, Natalie Portman, Queen Latifah, Michelle Rodriguez, Anjelah Johnson, Kelly Clarkson, Nora Jones, Laura Prepon, Margaret Cho, and Rutina Wesley, you are THE MOST beautiful women on this planet, period. Never settle, professionally or personally.

Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” is the greatest piece of music ever, period. Hanz Zimmer, William Bell, Eric Clapton, BB King, Bob Marley, Sam Cooke, Metallica, Rob Zombie, Nora Jones, Marvin Gaye, Jay-Z, and the King (Louis Armstrong) are musical prodigies.

Jeffrey Toobin and David Gergen, you are political geniuses and modern scholars. Hopefully Toobin is nominated for the Supreme Court and implements some damn common sense and reasoning instead of partisan bickering. But in true Toobin fashion, we all know he would not accept the nomination.
,
John and Ken from KFI, never mute your facts and personal opinions. You are one of the few media personalities who speak the truth, even when the truth is not popular. I will miss listening to your discussions.

Bill Handel, your effin awesome. For years I enjoyed your show.

Anthony Bourdain, you’re a modern renaissance man who epitomizes the saying “too cool for school”.

Larry David, Kevin Hart, the late Patrice Oneal, Lisa Lampanelli, Chris Rock, Jerry Seinfeld, Louis CK, Dave Chapelle, Jon Stewart, Wanda Sykes, Dennis Miller, and Jeff Ross are pure geniuses. I’m a big fan of all of your work. As a child my mom caught me watching Def Jam comedy at midnight when I should have been asleep. Instead of scolding me, the next night she let me stay up late and watch George Carlin, Eddie Murphy and Richard Pryor comedy specials with her for hours. My sides were sore for days.

Larry David, I agree. 72-82 degrees is way to hot in a residence. 68 , degrees is perfect.

Cyclist, I have no problem sharing the road with you. But, at least go the fucking speed limit posted or get off the road!!! That is a feasible request. Livestrong you fraudulent assholes.

Cardinal Mahoney, you are in essence a predator yourself as you enabled your subordinates to molest multiple children in the church over many decades. May you die a long and slow painful death.

If you continuously followed me while I was walking at dusk/night I would confront you as well. Too bad Trayvon didn’t smash your skull completely open, Zim. While Trayvon’s body erodes to bones 6 feet under, Zimmerman has put on no less than 40 pounds while out on bail. Zimmerman was arrested for battery on a Peace officer and avoided jail/prison because he completed a diversion program. Thats a history of being an asshole. Zimmerman couldn’t get hired by a LE agency because of poor credit/and a history of violence/restraining orders with women. So what does he do? Designate himself, neighborhood watch captain and make complaints to his city council about the horrible work ethic and laziness of the officers patrolling his neighborhood. Good one Zim. How classy that your father attempts to use his veterans status “disabled veteran” during your bail hearing but doesn’t state what his disability percentage is. Prior service personnel know it can be 5% disability to 100%. You and your attorneys always avoid mentioning your fathers occupation as a magistrate/judge because I’m sure he’s utilized his position to get you out of way more jams then the public has discovered and that your family is not indigent. Oh, tell your wife to stop perjuring herself in court.
KCCO

Anonymous, you are hated, vilified, and considered an enemy to the state. I personally view you as a culture and a necessity that brings truth to a cloaked world. Forge ahead!

Charlie Sheen, you’re effin awesome.

My opinion on women in combat MOS’, Designators, Rates, and AFSC’s. I wish all of you who attempt to pursue combat occupational roles the greatest success in completing, graduating, and qualifying in their respective schools/courses. Many want to see you fail. Remember, everyone of you is a pioneer. There was a time when they didn’t allow blacks to fight the good fight. This is your civil rights. Don’t quit!!!

It’s time to allow gay service member’s spouses to utilize the same benefits that all heterosexual dependents are eligible for. Medical, Dental, Tricare, Deers, SGLI, BX, Commissary, Milstar, MWR, etc. Flag officers, lets be honest. You can’t really give a valid argument to as why gays shouldn’t be eligible as every month a new state enacts laws that allow same sex marriage.

LGBT community and supporters, the same way you have the right to voice your opinion on acceptance of gay marriage, Chick Fil-A has a right to voice their beliefs as well. That’s what makes America so great. Freedom of expression. Don’t be assholes and boycott/degrade their business and customers who patronize the locations. They make some damn good chicken! Vandalizing (graffiti) their locations does not help any cause.

Mr. Bill Cosby, you are a reasonable and talented man who has spoken the truth of the cultural anomalies within the black communities that need to change now. The black communities’ resentment toward you is because they don’t like hearing the truth or having their clear and evident dirty laundry aired to the nation. The problem is, the country is not blind nor dumb. They believe we are animals. Do not mute your unvarnished truthful speech or moral compass. Blacks must strive for more in life than bling, hoes, and cars. The current culture is an epidemic that leaves them with no discernible future. They’re suffocating and don’t even know it. MLK Jr. Would be mortified at what he worked so hard for in our acceptance as equal beings and how unfortunately we stopped progressing and began digressing. Chicago’s youth violence is a prime example of how our black communities values have declined. We can not address this nation’s intolerant issues until we address our own communities morality issues first. Accountability. We need to hold ou” (end of manifesto)

Sniper Alley

2012-05-19T15:04:00.002-04:00

NEWS STORY: Helmetless Boardless Dad Helping Son Fined by OPD Cop, Found Guilty

This news article only appears to be the workings of "one crazy cop" to those who do not know Officer Gary Truscott. For those of us who have ever crossed paths with him this is nothing out of the ordinary.

Camp Horno. I arrive at 1st Marine Regiment, which appeared to be a rest stop between Las Pulgas and School of Infantry, a ghost town. It was early 2000. I had just re-enlisted 'cause wasn't shit going on in Orangeburg, and I was trying to get back to someone. Okinawa was not available so I selected California. The horror stories coming out of Lejuene were enough for me to stay away from there. Too fat to fit into my Alpha's, I came to the unit in civvies and had to check in in cammies. Yes, I know, it was a sign of wonderful things 'a comin' in the future.

As with arriving to any new location the vets tend to school the rookies on the "rules of engaments", the "laws of the land" and so forth. The Postal Exchange, or PX was located behind the 1st Marine Regiment CP (Command Post) and in front of the armory. The Regimental Sergeant Major's office sat on the second floor of the CP and overlooked the PX parking lot. The Regimental Sergeant Major (abbreviated SgtMaj) at this time was SgtMaj Gary Truscott. SgtMaj Truscott was HARD. His name struck fear into the hearts and minds of enlisted and officers alike. From his perch on the second floor SgtMaj Truscott would scan the parking lot, looking for Marines and sailors in violation of anything and then shout down to them to make the appropriate correction. This corridor between the PX and the CP became know as "Sniper Alley". If you parked your POV (car) there you would look to see if his gaze was upon you prior to exiting your vehicle. I remember the SgtMaj's white Lexus parked out front of the Regiment CP, like it was his own house! If you were on foot... then God rest your soul if you had something out of place. There would be no place to run or hide, and you'd be stuck there in the middle of a parking lot yelling "aye, sir!", "yes sir!", "no sir!'. Sadly enough, it would not be something out of the ordinary, and others would seize on the opportunity to make their escapes. If singled out in a group, that Marine would become the "sacrifice", drawing fire from the SgtMaj allowing the others to make it to the safety of the PX. Those Marines would then look on with a level of helplessness similar to that of Joker, Cowboy, and Animal Mother as they watched Doc Jay and Eightball receive potshots from that ill-fated sniper.


1st Marine Regiment CP. To the far left you can make out the word "EXCHANGE" on the PX . "Sniper Alley" is the parking lot between these two buildings. SgtMaj Truscott would sometimes have his car parked in front like so.

My tenure as Color Sergeant of 1st Marine Regiment began as bearer of the Marine Corps Colors. That flag was HEAVY. I was glad to move up to carrying the National Ensign once the previous Color Sergeant PCS'd outta there. In charge, lighter colors, center of attention...nice. One day during practice for one of many ceremonies (retirement, change of command, etc.) SgtMaj says to the his staff, "Why is the Color Sergeant and corporal? The faces of these people, my superiors, was priceless. "Do you have your MCI's done?" was a common question up until that second day in June/July when I was begrudgingly promoted to Sergeant in the Company Gunny's office devoid any ceremony or public recognition. As I type this it dawns on me it would have been no different had they tossed me the chevrons and spit on my boots. Me being naive and oblivious was just happy to move up to E-5 and get my own room in the Sgt Barracks.

I believe that every SgtMaj has this story, or at least is waiting for the day this happens: The SgtMaj was outside of the HQ engaged in some conversation with some other enlisted Marines. Just then a 2nd lieutenant comes up on his way to the HQ. The Marines all pop to attention and render salutes, the SgtMaj carries on. The 2nd lieutenant says "Don't I get a salute SgtMaj?" To which the SgtMaj replies "How about you climb these rockers and find your salute." I'm sure that there are some majors, colonels, and generals who have encountered this and now understand and respect the importance of saltiness over rank.

True Story: A non-NCO greets the SgtMaj by saying "Sergeant Major", as you would greet someone by just saying their name. A few seconds pass and the SgtMaj says "WHAT!" (As if there were more to follow the greeting).

True Story: While practicing for a retirement ceremony there was this loud Gunnery Sergeant that I'm pretty sure if the guy was not "in the closet" he must have been raised in a household of strong black women, because that's the image he portrayed. He was a former D.I., yet there was enough "mincing" to his walk to make you wonder. Although, understand, this did not impact on his ability to be or lead Marines, he was still a hard-charger. This is not about him though, it is about him screaming and yelling at everyone during this ceremony practice. I had a tendancy, until I learned otherwise, to slightly bob my head with the music to get the beat to call my commands in time with the music. The music starts, my head nods ever so slightly with the music, the GySgt starts screaming "STOP MOVING YOUR HEAD!" It seemed as though he had some type of vendetta against the color guard. SgtMaj Truscott shows up to oversee how things are going and the GySgt is going off on us again. The SgtMaj then suddenly shouts "HEY! YOU DON'T YELL AT MY COLOR GUARD, THAT'S MY JOB!" We may have been saved from the wrath of the GySgt, but it made us look like the kid at school whose "mommy" and to come and save them from the playground bully.

Now when the SgtMaj did yell at the color guard it hardly phased us. This was the SgtMaj, and he yelled at everyone. It got to the point sometimes that the SgtMaj yelling at you became somewhat comical. That was until he came up into your face. He looked like a SemperToons character or one of those big guys in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons that was fed up with Bugs' hijinks. At that point there was no more humor, only fear. That T-Rex staring into the Jurassic Park suv window type of fear. When we would screw up on something the SgtMaj would say this line that I will always remember as one of the funniest quote ever: "The color guard's on ecstacy!"

When SgtMaj Truscott retired, SgtMaj Leal took over. There's a funny story in there involving SgtMaj Leal and the color guard that I'm not going to share until I'm on my deathbed, that way I'm sure there won't be any repercussions. Just thinking about it gets me chuckling. Word got around that SgtMaj Truscott would be joining the police force in Oceanside. We Marines new that we would never be safe from his watchful eye. I started hearing about sightings of "Officer" Truscott. I even caught one of those investigative journalism crime shows about some guy that killed someone, and since the guy was old friends with SgtMaj Truscott he called him up to ask for help/advice on what to do. They played the actual recording on the show. The killer should have known that he was screwed, cause the SgtMaj was not about to cover for his ass.

Now this, Officer Truscott writing a ticket to a father who was not wearing a helmet while holding the hand of his son, whom was the one learning how to skate in a skate park. I understand how the rule for wearing helmets in the skate park can be taken as being applicable for anyone in the park, but come on! Does this apply towards the city workers that have to come in and do litter abatement, or any other entity that happens across this hallowed ground? When taken to court, the judge sided with Officer Truscott (strikes fear, remember?), but suspended the ticket, which was by the way $275. This was the judges way of saying to the violator "You're right, but there's now way in HELL I'm telling him that he's wrong!"


Officer Gary Truscott, Oceanside Police Department

Ooh Rah Sergeant Major Truscott! Semper Fi!

The Ghost at Montford Point

2012-01-22T14:10:00.001-05:00

December 1995, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina . Upon completion of Marine Combat Training (MCT) at Camp Geiger we were bussed to our next destination. Being young and ignorant I went into the Marine Corps under an "open contract" meaning I would be placed where I they felt I should be. This turned out to be as an Automotive Organizational Mechanic at Marine Corps Combat Service Support School (MCCSSS), Camp Johnson. As the buses pulled into the cul-de-sac of the old squad bays and admin buildings, I saw the look on the face of McGill, who was our platoon guide in recruit training. He was shaking his head "no", answering the question of whether or not we would be able to take some form of leave prior to the start of MOS school. "Damn." I thought to myself. We had just spent a few weeks in the bitter cold woods of North Carolina and were really looking forward to some time with our families before our next step in training. It looks as though it would not be so, or so we thought. I guess enough bitching and complaining about having already purchased tickets home, and the fact that none of the schools were picking up any new classes due to the time of the year, the word was given that anyone who had purchased a ticket home would be allowed to go home, but had to be back on the 1st (or was it 3rd?) of January. I was OUTTA THERE!
Of course I made it back in time, changing into my Alphas in a bus station bathroom with 4 or 5 other Marines. but this story is not about my time in MOS school, it's moreso about the place itself, Camp Johnson, or as it was once called, Montford Point.
From 1942 until 1949 Montford Point served as a recruit training depot for the Marine Corps first black Marines. One the other side of the camp, a short walk (in Marine terms) from the baracks we would eventually be moved to were the old squad bays used back in those days. Most had been transformed into classrooms. The one my class used housed rows of old 5-ton (M923) cargo trucks. We were aware of how old the buildings were, and towards the end of our school I remarked at how I was disappointed in not seeing any ghosts during our time there.

January 1st, 2002. I find myself en-route back to North Carolina, back to Camp Lejeune, back to Camp Johnson. Six years had passed since I had last been there. This time it was for a Motor Transport Maintenance Chief Course. It was cold, very cold. Due to lack of preparation was caught completely off guard by the cold weather and had no cold weather gear to wear. My first few days there were pure freezing hell. The barracks room that I called home back in 1996 was now the duty hut, and looking through that window took me back to a time when our eyes were wide and everything Marine Corps was good.

I ended up being housed in an old squad bay towards the back of Camp Johnson. Not too far away were the squad bays where I stayed for a month awaiting pick-up to Automotive Organizational Maintenance Course 10-96 (AOMC-10). I called the place "Grandma's House". It was set back away from the rest of the buildings reminding me of the grandmother's home from "Little Red Riding Hood", a treeline as the background. Upon entering "Grandma's House" you were in the lounge. There was a television with cable, some chairs, a table, microwave, iron and ironing board. There may or may not have been a coffee pot. There were two squad bays and I believe another area past the head. I only remember going back there once, and oddly enough it had something to do with throwing away an old pair of shoes.
The Maintenance Chief's Course was comprised of corporals, sergeants, and staff sergeants. The staff sergeants were housed separately from corporals and sergeants which pretty much left us to our own devices in the squad bay. Since there were so few of us everyone managed to secure their own top and bottom racks without having to share with anyone else.
Since Camp Johnson was an MOS school the place was crawling with Privates and Privates First Class (PFC's). A couple of us sergeants walked around there like we OWNED the place (You should have seen their faces the day we graduated and were walking around in our service bravos uniform, most of the junior Marines had never seen that many sergeants together since their drill instructors in boot camp, thus the pale faces.).
Anyway, the squad bay at night was a bit creepy. Mostly empty except for the few of us there, spread out and sleeping, someone getting up at 0' dark thirty to go make a head call, and every so often a few Marines stumbling back towards their racks after a night out in Jacksonville at the bar, strip club, or some other nocturnal adventure. Silent, except for the hum of the old heating system.
One of those day I came back to my rack and sat down exhausted, flopped down and was K.O.'d. I don't remember the day's activity that lead to such a drain on my energy, but I was done. When I awoke the squad bay was dark and silent. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but it had been long enough for the day to become night. I sat up on my bunk and wearily turned my head to the left, towards the foot of the rack. I will never forget what I saw that night. There was the face of a man, right there, floating in mid-air. I rubbed my eyes with both hands to ensure that I was really awake, looked again, and it was gone. Even though it was brief it was enough for me to make out that it was a man's face illuminated by a red light, similar to the light from the red lens of the moonbeam (flashlight) issued in boot camp. Even though it was all red, I could tell that the guy was a black, his face roundish and muscular, what looked like a bald head, and one of the meanest snarls I had ever seen. The eyes were kind of bulging, but it was that snarl one his floating face that stayed with me.
I got up and went to the head, in somewhat disbelief of what I had just seen. Not afraid, just in disbelief. Later I would tell some of the other guys in the class about what I had seen and was pretty much laughed at. Although not many people believe that I saw what I said I did, I know that I was not dreaming.
Over the years I have told and retold the brief story about that night and knowing the history of Montford Point I just assumed that what I had seen had been one of the black Marines that trained there during it's time as a training depot. It was not until I had decided to finally do this blog entry (01/21/12) that I looked online for pictures of Montford Point Marines to see if I could find anything or anyone that could add validity to the face I saw those years ago. This is what I found...

Sergeant Major Gilbert H. "Hashmark" Johnson

This is the red illuminated face I saw snarling at me that night. I've seen and heard my fair share of ghost stories, and those persons who claim they saw a ghost can usually identify who they saw when presented with pictures. It all started to come together; old squad bay, the image, me being a black Marine. If no one believes me on this it is fine with me. It was my personal experience and it allowed me the opportunity to do some research into the history of Montford Point and those Marines, that are not only a part of my Marine Corps history, but my history as a black American. Now that I look back on it I see it as a great experience, and I am honored to have been graced my the Sergeant Major's presence. Ooh Rah.

Maaaad 3521 Skillz

2011-11-06T02:43:00.001-05:00

Me: Gonna knock this oil change out!
Truck: ...
Me: Got the truck jacked up, jack stands in place.
Truck: ...
Me: Drainplug removed, draining oil.
Truck: ...
Me: Now to change the oil filter. Wait, I don't have a strap wrench.
Truck: ...
Me: No problem! (As George Lopez) I GOT THIS!
Truck: ...
Me: (removing my belt) Check this out...

Round 1: Me/Belt VS Truck - Truck wins
Round 2: Me/Screwdriver and Hammer VS Truck - Truck wins
Round 3: Me/Ratchet Extension and Hammer VS Truck - Truck wins
Round 4: Me/15/16 Wrench and Hammer VS Truck - Truck wins

(45 mins - 1 hour later)

Truck: ...
Me: Hmmm... Maybe I should try turning it the OTHER WAY!
Truck: idiot.

Round 5: Me/Belt (pulling in OPPOSITE direction) VS Truck - ME WINS!...
... = automatic FAIL

Me: ... (completes task with head hung in shame...)

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

2011-09-11T15:31:00.003-04:00

It was around 6 something in the morning. I woke up with enough time to jump into my cammies and head out the door. I made it a habit to turn on the television to the news every morning as I prepared for another work day. While buttoning up my blouse I paused to watch a breaking news story about some small plane or something that crashed into a building in New York. "Damn." I said with a bit of astonishment. I left my room and headed over to the junior Marines' barracks. I was lucky enough to have my own room in the Sergeant barracks, having been promoted a few months earlier. No more community showers and people banging on doors during reveille, lance corporals and pfc's getting drunk and horse-playing in the halls, and the number one reason I loved being in the Sergeant barracks... NO DUTY, on post, that is. You still had to pull duty in the junior Marines' barracks.

So, I'm headed out the door, through the Staff NCO barracks and on to the junior barracks. I usually catch a ride to the motor pool with one of the corporals. Descending the steps to the parking lot I mention to the guys what I had just seen on t.v. "They said that a plane crashed into a building in New York." It didn't seem like something that would merit a conversation, so we just piled into the truck and rode down to work.
It was going to be another day in Motor Transport Platoon, Headquarters Company, 1st Marine Regiment, Camp Pendleton, California. I don't remember there being a morning formation. They are usually held on the Company grinder, but maybe there wasn't one that day. No sense in gathering everyone together in the morning with no news to pass. Since it was a Tuesday there was no PT (physical training). That was reserved for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Most of the time I didn't go anyway.
I don't remember if I had the keys to the tool room on me, or if I had to retrieve them from a lockbox in the MTO's (Motor Transport Officer) office. We filed through the dispatch office and onto the shop floor, some people making a left turn towards the restrooms, others stopping at their wall locker to change over into coveralls. I headed to the tool room, unlocked the door, and proceeded to pull back the large steel curtain over the tool room issue/return window. I was the tool room guy. A position that wasn't really the best, but it could have been worse. I am quite aware that I was never a "stellar' Marine. There was just something about being in the military that made me unhappy. Was it the lack of "freedom", the constant bullsh*t, or was it the *ssholes that felt as if it was their MISSION to make your time in service as miserable as possible. I liked it because it kept people out of my way, and me out of their way. There was always something to do; inventories, cleaning tools, p.m.ing (preventative maintenance), ordering tools, and of course issuing and retrieving tools. There was a small radio that I would keep on my desk so that I could listen to the radio or play CD's. I turned the radio on, which was always set to talk radio, and heard the shaken voices of newscasters speaking of the incident of which I had seen earlier. A second plane had hit a building in New York.
I turned the radio up to listen and then placed it on the counter of the tool room window. "Hey! Come listen to this!" I said. People began to gather around the radio as the broadcaster spoke of the horrible incident. Two planes have struck the World Trade Center Towers in New York. Another radio in the dispatch office turned on as well. A terrorist attack apparently. Some individuals stayed glued to the radios while others made trips back and forth while working in order to stay updated on events. A bomb or missile or somthing has exploded at The Pentagon. Things are looking bad...

This was the same day that we were being issued some new 782 gear. Everyone had to go over to Supply with their old gear and turn it in for the new stuff. I now begin to wonder if that was something that was already scheduled or were we being prepared for something big? As we left the motor pool we noticed all entrances and exits to the camp were all blocked off. There were guys with their M-16's (rifles) posted up at the only entrance/exit to the camp. You wanted to get onto Camp Horno then you would have to show ID. It wasn't just Horno, it was all the camps on Pendleton. The base had been locked down. No unauthorized persons allowed. Lock down is not a fun thing. You are basically stuck on base and if you are allowed to come or go anywhere you have to sign out yourself; Who you are, where you're going, when you left, and a number where you can be reached. With all the other day-to-day restrictions that come with being in the military, the sign out log was not a welcomed addition.
Since the supply building just happened to be adjacent to the Sergeant barracks I had enough time to stop by my room to pick up my gear and check in on the latest news on t.v. I grabbed a blank VHS tape, jammed it into the TV/VCR, (I picked it up from a guy pcs'ing -Permanent Change of Station- for $50.), hit RECORD, and left. There was something going on that I felt I should be recording. After receiving the new gear we returned to the motor pool to continue work.
By this time reports are rampant. All eyes are glued to television screens, ears glued to radios. There are people that have family and friends in New York, are from NewYork. I do a mental check to see who I may know that is currently in New York. No one came to mind, but we all felt the fear and uncertainty of what may come of this. This is around the first time these words resonated in my ears as something real, "terrorist attack". Before it was a part of the storyline to video games, or something happening in other parts of the world. Not something that happened here on U.S. soil, not of this magnitude!
The South Tower of The World Trade Center collapses. Devastation. This is not good. A "no sh*t" moment here: I remember saying that if that second tower collapses we ARE going to war. I wish I was wrong. I wish I could go back with knowledge and somehow save everyone.
A plane goes down in Pennsylvania, into a field. For anyone looking for a definition of the word "chaos" I would say "see September 11, 2001".
The North Tower of The World Trade Center collapses. "That's it." I say "We're going to war.". There were mixed emotions, not among us, more so inside each and every one of us. Anger, Sadness, Fear, Excitement, it was all there. Here we are, United States F*CKING Marines, sitting here, completely powerless to the sh*tstorm going on. They came here! The terrorist came f*cking here! Into our backyard! They came into our country and used our own resources against us! How can this be?! We are America! We take the fight to the enemy! How is this possible?! We as Marines are "The World's 9-1-1", yet here on 9/11 "the phone call is coming from inside your house!" People are dying. Innocent people are dying. "Why not hit us? COME AND DROP A COUPLE OF PLANES THIS WAY M*THAF*CKAS!" Cowards.
A name, a name! Give us a name! Who is the mastermind behind this?! I hear many responses: Afganistan, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan,... Saddam Hussein,.....Osama Bin Laden. I can only explain the feeling this way, as a parent who has a sick child. You want to help but the child cannot tell where it hurts or how it happened. You want to take all of the pain and suffering away from the child and take it upon yourself, because you're ready for it, you can take it. America was that child. Myself, and all other military service persons whom have sworn to protect this great nation, and here we are, helpless and she is dealt a most severe blow.
I don't remember much about that day after that. I do remember hearing the number of those killed rising, and rising. I do remember looking up into the night sky, and not seeing the blinking lights of commercial planes crossing the night sky. I remember wishing that it was just some long nightmare and I would wake up, back home, with the daily paper speaking of the same-old, same-old humdrum of the day; "September 11, 2001. Another day down in the books. Maybe tomorrow, September 12, will be more exciting." I wish.
The VHS tape I put into the TV/VCR combo was six hours long. It was done recording long before I got back to the room. I rewound the tape and pressed play to see if it recorded anything. I think a saw a quick flash of smoke billowing from a skyscraper before I stopped it. I ejected the tape, stuck it back into the sleeve it came in, wrote "Tuesday, September 11, 2001" on the label, and put it away.
It has been 10 years exactly and I still have not watched that tape.

The Voice

2011-08-25T20:33:00.000-04:00

Last night I went to bed immediately after blogging. My mind, still geared in recall, presented me with an open Pandora's Box of nightmares. I awoke, drenched in sweat, frightened, angry, confused. I lay there for another hour and a half trying to calm down and get back to sleep. The voice had returned. Not voices, just one voice. I cannot hear the voice, but it is not mine. It has no accent, it has no sound, as far as I can tell, meaning I can not hear anything audible, yet in my head the voice is speaking. It's like reading silently to yourself, you see the words, and you read them without the use of audible vocalization.

While attending a Cognitive Processing Therapy group for PTSD at the VA, I was able to describe "the voice" as being a creature similar to Gollum from the "Lord of the Rings" movies. He is on my back and whispers bad things into my ear, causing me to dwell on worst-case scenarios and homicidal and suicidal ideals. When he is not being negative he speaks as if he were a scholar, or a thespian, creating poems, story lines, ideas. Speaking as if he was performing at a theatre, I have felt the need many times to write down the things the says, but am usually too tired to do so. Upon awakening I tend to have forgotten what it is he said. "The voice" talks at great lengths, good or bad, it is almost non-stop. He will show me images of things in great detail, he instills doubt, misconstruing what I see and hear.
He spoke to me the entire hour and a half that I lay there awake. When I realized that going to sleep would be futile, I went to the living room and observed the darkness and silence. In that moment was calm. Turned on the television, but a burrito in the microwave, grabbed the cheese popcorn and cookies, midnight snackin'. I figured concentrating on the television would make the voice go away.
Two hours passed. Crawled back in the bed, tired. There was no voice, but the nightmares came again. Just a potpourri of me in bad situations sometimes I have to shoot my way out, other times I just run. In one reoccurring dream I look down to see the name tapes "EVANS", and "U.S. MARINES". I'm in cammies again. "Shit!" I say to myself. Somehow I managed to re-enlist... again. I promised myself that I was done after the first eight, and here I am again, in formation. Another four years. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the Marine Corps. It was one of the best choices I've ever made for myself. The parts I didn't like so much were the power-tripping assholes, ridiculous rules and regulations, lack of freedom, and of course, going to war. In one of these back in service dreams I requested to be stationed back in Okinawa. I had a subsequent dreams where I had to find the signed request, make sure the request was going to be carried out, and make sure that I get my orders stationing me in Okinawa.
When I woke up this time I was sweating, confused, and sad. I'm tired of having these awful dreams, tired of that voice in my ear, pushing me to think and do bad things. Medications can only do so much.

The PTSD Monster Part 4: Quarters

2011-08-25T20:31:00.000-04:00

We sat out in the Kuwait desert for far too fucking long. For over a month we sat there, throwing rocks and doing whatever bullshit to keep from going stir-crazy.
The convoy there was something something I won't forget. First off the ship, February 14, 2003. Managed to get half of the vehicles offloaded before the sandstorm became too intense to continue. We were stranded ashore until the storm passed. Took the time to take a few pictures. Not sure if it was that night or the following night when we did a quick convoy to where ever-the-hell-it-was tent city. We took off at night, that, I remember. I remember driving fast. The Kuwait police had all the intersections blocked off, so it was a straight shot until we veered off into the desert.
I remember thinking how beautiful the city looked at night, or was it the light being given off by the oil refineries? It may have been a little of both. Either way it was beautiful, I took several pictures, nothing came out. The cameras were pretty crappy, though. Cheap PX type that were one step up from the Funsaver. We had to put the roll of film into the camera. Compared to the technology now we might as well have been using the old tin-type camera with the drape you put over you and the flash powder. Some 1881 shit.
Two vehicles broke down and we had only one tow bar. Solution: use the tow bar on one vehicle, and use the tow bar chain on the other one. Problem solved? Not exactly. While the vehicle with the tow bar had this huge metal "V" to pull, guide, and stop it, the vehicle with just the tow chain was just being pulled. This meant whenever moving from a stop the towed vehicle would be jerked, putting stress on the chain which could lead to it breaking. Another problem, the vehicle could in about any direction it wanted to. Very dangerous. The "V" shape of the tow bar would allow the vehicle to turn with the vehicle that was towing it. The chain did little more than just pull it along. So, if the front vehicle turns left, and the towing vehicle turns right...yep. Finally, the icing on the cake: when the first vehicle would stop the second vehicle would run into it. Kind of like an involuntary game of bumper cars.
Now when a vehicle is being towed there is not supposed to be anyone in that vehicle. It is a safety issue. On this night that had to go out of the window. There was no spare tow bar and towing the vehicle with just the chain would put both vehicles in jeopardy. Solution: The Comm. (Communications) guys that were originally driving were sent to other vehicles. I volunteered myself to steer and stop the downed ride. Was I trying to be some type of hero? No. It is what needed to be done, and, I didn't like the idea of putting any of the other guys at risk. Do I want a cookie? Now, no. Then, yeah, I was a little hungry and something with sugar in it would have done me some good.
We drove for what felt like forever. Steering a HMMWV with no power steering is like steering a ship in sand. To add to that my focus had to be on the taillights of the towing vehicle. When they lit up I had to hit my brakes, not so much as to give whiplash the the driver of the front vehicle and end up snapping the chain, and not so little as to where I would ram the vehicle in front, thus giving the driver whiplash... again. No music, no scenery, just the sound of engines in the night and those dusty taillights. I can still see them to this day. I think I did well steering and braking for a while, up until the sandman began to work his magic. Those red round lights turned to quarters as I began to hallucinate and the rest of the world around me disappeared. I sat there, droopy-eyed, staring at the side profile of George Washington, suddenly, red lights, hit the brakes, BANG, too late. "Sorry 'bout that!" I yelled to the guy up front. That's gotta suck too.

The PTSD Monster Part 3: It Ain't Safe Here No More...

2011-08-25T20:30:00.000-04:00

It ain't safe here no more...

I remember being at bar / restaurant with outside entertainment in California a few years back. A place I had been to before. This time was different. Sitting outside around one of those fire pits, I remember it being cold, or what is considered cold by southern California standards. It was a fair amount of people out there. I began to feel uneasy. Annoyed. Not by someone bothering me, but by the people, the audience there to watch the music group play. They were around us and on the balconies above. They were clapping, laughing, dancing, and pissing me off. I felt the walls closing in around me.
I became that fish in the barrel. How could I allow myself to end up in such a vulnerable position, especially as close as I was to the main attraction. If someone were to detonate something there we wouldn't stand a chance. "How stupid are you to put yourself into this situation?!" I thought to myself. "DON'T YOU ALL REALIZE THE DANGER WE ARE IN?!" my mind screamed.
The music group played on. I became angry with their music. I became angry with the old white guy with the muscles and too tight shirt and black jeans as he danced with his partner on the dance floor. Half his face paralyzed from a stroke, his feet slid across the floor in cheap black sneakers that sounded as if the bottoms had been worn down to nothing but smooth plastic. I hated him and everyone else there for showing not even the slightest concern regarding the danger we may be in. It was dark, the fires burning low. Someone could drive by and start shooting, lob a grenade, detonate a package concealed somewhere. I could not wait for this to be over with.

The PTSD Monster Part 2: Shitters n' Sandbags

2011-08-25T20:29:00.000-04:00

A port-a-john. There were a few out there in Kuwait. At first there was shit-paper, then you had to provide your own. Napkins and wet wipes from MRE's. You made sure to hold onto those when you came across them. Those, and the little bottle of Tabasco sauce. You would want to get to the port-a-john shortly after it was clean. Everything all washed down and a new roll of shit-paper. There were only two drawbacks of being one of the first to use the "Officers' Quarters".
LOL! I liked calling the port-a-johns that because the brass was so full of shit. Not all of them, just enough to make you no longer question why officers are portrayed as douchebags and assholes in movies. Yeah, drawback numero uno 1) Everything was still wet. Clean or not, a wet port-a-john, you don't really want to touch anything. 2)The "Blue Water". The ammonia solution they add to the port-a-john once it's been cleaned, its vapors, really sting the brown-eye.

What's worse; when the port-a-john cleaning guy is running late, the port-a-john is full, or when the port-a-john is overfilled with a mountain of shit rising out of it? The answer: all three. You open the door to the Temple of Golgothan and the first words out of your mouth are "Aww shit." If there's more than one port-a-john, you tend to look for the lesser of the evils.
It was hot in those things. I don't remember it being an unbearable heat, just hot and stink. You had to put down your weapon and take off your gear all in this closet-sized poop shack. You don't want anything you have to touch with your hands to come in contact with anything questionable. The situation was made more difficult if you were one of the lucky few to end up in one with a urinal. I would hang my Kevlar on the front sight and barrel of my rifle. Basically, once you're in there you want to try to keep everything off the ground. Sometimes it worked sometimes it didn't. Just as long as you didn't drop anything besides a deuce down the hole. An image came to mind of the little kid on Schindler's List that hid in the outhouse shitter. A dire situation it was, to be up to his neck in human waste, along with other children, yet that not be the worse thing that could happen. That little kid and the one from Slumdog Millionaire. If it was dark you had to have a flashlight to see what you're doing. Why do I remember someone saying they dropped their flashlight into the hole? I'm sure it's happened, more than once.
A clean port-a-john was a vacation spot. You went in there and separated yourself from the world for a little while; read some letters, "entertain" yourself with porn magazine. And come out feeling refreshed. LOL, I remember walking a distance to another set of shitters (I'm just gonna call 'em shitters from now on, OK?!) that were less frequented by the masses.
We would be out and about doing our thing and you would suddenly smell the odor so wretched that you had to stop what you're doing for a moment. It was the shitter guy, cleanin' shitters. You always knew what the smell was after the first time smelling it, but you would still ask when you smelled it. The stench had a tendency to catch you completely off guard. "That job must suck (rimshot)," people would say, "but I hear the money's pretty good." You go in with that big hose and all the crap out (literally), scrub everything down, rinse it out with clean water, add the "blue water" to the waste tank, add some shit-paper, and you're done. I can't say that there is no way in hell I'd do that job. Things are tough, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to make ends meet. If the money was that good I think I'd give it a go, I doubt that you would have the same competition as most other 9 to 5's.

Evening, sun's dipping down behind the horizon. It's after evening chow and you're on your way back from the shitter. The hot desert is cooling down. Most of the "games" are done for the day. This one I'll never forget; "Fill up the sandbags and put them on the vehicles to protect driver and passenger." That was a good game. The counterpart to that one is; "Now that you've finished, we realize the sandbags are too heavy and will slow the vehicles down, so just let's just take a few of those sandbags and throw them in the back of the trucks, the other 90% you can just dump them out, back into the hole you just dug, and save the sandbags in case we need to fill them later." No more games. The top dogs are heading into their tents, so no need to put the guys to mindless work just so that they are not seen just hanging out, "shooting the shit", or "smoking and joking". Chill with the guys for a minute, passing time firing rounds at fecal matter, and inhaling carcinogen-laced tobacco products whilst exchanging humorous banter, before going to hit the rack. Roll out your mat, keep it from rolling back up, lay out you sleeping back on top. You can go with or without the outer part of the sleeping bag. It gets pretty toasty in those things. Strip down (not completely, genius), and crash the hell out. If you gotta pee during the night put on the boots, find some out of the way spot that doesn't have someone laid out there, and do your business. More bullshit to shovel when the sun comes up.

The PTSD Monster Part 1: Initial Onset

2011-08-25T20:28:00.000-04:00

This blog is not going to be going in any particular order. That's too taxing, and allows for the you to skip right to the end. Rather, E5E is going to be a hodgepodge of posts. I will post things that come to me as I remember them. This post, this one I have been holding off of for a long time. I hope it provides some insight to those who don't understand PTSD. I'll be chopping it into parts as to not have one long post, allowing you time to go to the lobby and grab yourself a snack. **WARNING: POSSIBLE TRIGGERS**

July 4th, 2003. I had been home from Iraq a month. Thank God me and my guys made it back all in one piece. I told them "Once I get all of you guys home safe and sound then I'm done." It was be a little while longer until my EAS (End of Active Service) in December, so I just need to ride these few months out, then I'm outta here. I wasn't included on any of the upcoming field ops, so that was a good thing, but, since I was in the rear (with the gear) I got my fair share of barracks duty.
Nothing to heavy, split times with the A-Duty, get some rest when you can, and ALWAYS keep the duty binder with you. Not gonna get my ass reamed and screwed over cause some asshole wants to take the duty binder when the I step away from the desk to take a leak. No, the binder stays with me. Somehow they got a t.v. with cable up and running in the lounge. One of those things to boost morale. We weren't too happy when we were uprooted back in the end of 2000 from the barracks up on the hill. They were the ones with the two man rooms and the shared bathroom. Apparently the grunts deserved them more than we did, so we ended up taking their dilapidated shithole of a barracks down by the company office. Four non-nco's to a room, two to a room for nco's (thank goodmess for the two up on my collars), and a fucking community restroom and shower. Paint peeling, furniture in disrepair, this was some serious bullshit. We made the best of it. Shit, I mean THEY made the best of it, once I hit sergeant I was outta there! Moved on in to the sergeant barracks two building over. It was like a bachelor pad. I remember walking down the hallway in just boxer, smoking a cigarette, on my way to the laundry room. It was sweet.
Anyway though, I was on duty, there was a t.v. to watch, everyone else except for a few bodies was out in the field, and not even the staff-duty or officer-of-the-day were gonna come through. Hell, they're probably in the regiment watching t.v. too. Smoke, make rounds, eat snacks from vending machine, watch some t.v., rinse, repeat.

July 4th, 2003. I had been home from Iraq a month. I felt fine. I was living off-base with my girlfriend in Carlsbad. We had a nice little one bedroom place we were renting. $1400 a month. Only now can I look back and see how ridiculously high that price is, but hey it's California, and it's off-base, giving me that bit of freedom that I felt I needed.
We had just purchased a new computer earlier that day and I was setting it up in the bedroom, right by the window. All those wires and disks seemed complicated then. Now I can do that shit with my eyes closed. I'm down on the floor hooking this thing up when all of a sudden, softly, but still loud at the same time I hear, "pop...pop....p-pop..." The hair on the back of my neck and arms stood straight up. My skin was covered in goosebumps. I'm sure I resembled one of those scared black cats that hang out on the Halloween witch's broom. Everything went into slow motion... as the carpet of the room became the harsh dirt and sands of Iraq,...then stopped.
I was standing by the sliding glass doors, my back to the wall. The vertical blinds were closed. I very carefully peeked between the slats, not touching them, and not in a position where I would be able to cast a silhouette of my location. Through the blinds I saw a ball of light explode into a hundred smaller ones, then another. Reds, yellows, blues, greens, purples, whites illuminating the night sky. I breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn't followed me home.

Everything in my mind in regards to this comes and goes. Some days I can remember a lot, other days I don't want to remember. It seems like a dream. I try to convince myself that it all was a dream. That shit never really happened. It seems so distant from where I am now. Yet, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach as my mind takes me back there. Screaming in my face "THIS IS YOU! THIS IS VERY REAL! HERE... YOU... WILL... DIE!"

Yellow Footprints

2011-07-14T20:51:00.000-04:00

August 23, 1995. Wednesday. There was no bus trip for me. My recruiter drove a handful of us down to P.I. in a van. Before hand we stopped by his apartment to make sure we were ready. My first shave came rushed in the bathroom with the recruiter's razor. My facial hair grew very slow at that time which helped me later on in boot camp.
In a shuttle on the way down to Parris Island. Nighttime. They always take you down there at night. It disorients you. Once you pass through the gates it all goes quiet. It becomes serious. It becomes real. He
dropped us off at a building where someone ushered us inside. We completely bypassed the infamous "Yellow Footsteps" that have become synonymous with introduction to Marine Corps Recruit Training. The was a room with desk, like a classroom. We sat down with our heads down. Like when you fall asleep in class. I was selected to go out and swab the deck. I thought in my head that if I did a good enough job then this would give me some advantage once this thing kicks off. This was not to be. Once finished I returned to my desk.

I awoke with the sounds of shouting. While taking a little nap, the room had managed to fill with a large number of other people who were now being rustled up like cattle, and soon to be whisked around to a whirlwind of different places in order to be checked in to "the system".
Everything was so sudden and shocking that to this day it is still a blur to me. I remember standing in line waiting to get my head shaved. One, two, three, four, sometimes five, sometimes six passes with the clippers and you were done. I remember shaking like a leaf. Reality went from 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye. From one place to another, being yelled at the entire time. That which made us individuals was being systematically dismantled. I would later find out how important this was. One of the first things we learned was that anyone not a recruit was a "sir" or a "ma'am". Recruits were called recruits. There was none of this sergeant, sarge, or private b.s. We had not yet earned the right to refer to these Marines by name. Also, we had not yet earned the right to refer to ourselves in the first person, only as "This recruit" and it's variations. There was no "I, me, us, we, them". I remember getting a shot in the arm with that metal gun looking device seen in pictures of a line of young men getting inoculated... oh wait, that was me. It made this high-pitched squeak sound and it felt like something ice-cold was being shot straight into my arm. You just took your shots and moved on. I remember getting a shot in the hip/butt area that felt like a wad of peanut butter was in there. We had to sit on the floor in these lines and rock from side to side to massage the spot, get the medicine moving, and to prevent it from leaving a big bruise.
I remember being soooooooo tired as we sat there waiting to go into an admin room as they began building our SRB's (Service Record Book). I don't remember a thing they said 'til this day. I remember going down the line getting uniforms, boots, underwear, sundries. They would "guesstimate" your size, saying things like "You look like a small-long! Lemme get a SMALL-LONG!" He would get passed the appropriate size uniform which he would then throw at you.
"What size you wear?" was another guy's question in reference to boots and shoes. I think I ended up with a pair that were one size too big. I remember having a seabag full of stuff, and having to take it to our temporary squad bay. I remember putting on the brown skivee shirt, camouflage trousers, socks, and boots. Lacing them up I suddenly felt this power. In that moment I was Guile from Capcom's "Street Fighter II". In my mind Guile's stage music played. I did a little foot sweep. "Aww yeah! This is the shyt!" I thought to myself The Drill Instructor said to us "Don't get to comfortable here." We would be picked up by our actual D.I.'s later. I made the mistake of getting comfortable. "This ain't too bad." I thought to myself. "The D.I. isn't as near as mean and hardcore as I thought he would be." How wrong I going to be? I would soon find out.
We had to bag up all our civilian clothes in these brown paper bags that we were to get back upon completion of recruit training. We were each given a small blue drawstring pouch called a "money/valuables" bag, in which we were to place any money, jewelry, or other small items that we deemed to be of value. This bag was either locked up or on your person.
It wasn't more than a few days before we were marched over to our permanent barracks. Our squad bay was on the top floor of a 3-story building overlooking a parade deck/grinder, some magnolia trees with the hanging moss (it's the south, of course), and what looked like 2 large sandboxes. 3rd Battalion, they would say "You guys were waaaay back in the woods!". "Yeah, where no one could hear you scream." would be our response. 3rd Battalion happened to have the honor of being out of range of the eyes and ears of basically all other elements. 1st and 2nd Battalions where closer to military and civilian traffic areas, so they had to be more conscious of what they did and what went on. Us on the other hand were at the mercy of our Drill Instructors. The squad bay was smaller than the temporary one we had just left. There were about 20-25 old metal bunk beds on each side of the room, port and starboard, and there were two black parallel lines running up the middle of the room the length of the squad bay between port and starboard. This was the "D.I. Highway". You learned very quickly to stay off of it. There was also an area that used to be for working out with weights and such. The exercise equipment had been removed from what I believe were reasons of outward aggression. The restroom, now referred to as the head, was spotless, I mean ABSOLUTELY spotless. How does the head remain in this condition? We would soon find out.
We stood at attention in front of our racks (beds) as we listened to this stocky little guy with piercing blue eyes told us that he was the Senior Drill Instructor, and the basics on things. Behind him stood three tall, thin, stone-faced individuals that looked like the Marines you see on the posters. I noticed the Senior Drill Instructor had on a black belt while the other three had on green belts, although their hats (covers) were the same. The Senior D.I. introduced the three Marines behind him as his Drill Instructors who would be training us to become Marines. When he announced each one by name they would stand at attention, take a step forward, then take a step back and go back to their original position once the next person was called. They all looked extremely sharp and moved with such precision that you wondered if it would be possible to become like them.
When the Senior D.I. finished his speech he turned over control to the Drill Instructors and went into his office/quarters. All hell broke loose. The D.I.s descended on us like a pack of rabid rottweilers. Everyone's running this and that way, D.I.s are about an inch away from your face screaming at you in some language that you can't understand, people are stuttering and stammering over each and every word, not to mention all the shouts of "AYE SIR!" and "YES SIR!". You'd have this D.I. with these guys over here on the quarterdeck doing push-ups because they flinched or moved in some way while the Senior D.I. was talking. Another D.I. ripping someone to shreds because their uniform is not correct (unsat), and the third D.I. just going from person to person screaming at them for no apparent reason. It was pure chaos.
We were told that if you were going to try to escape during the night (yes, escape), that you would have to make a swim for it to the mainland since there was only one way in and out of the island.... Oh, and because it was mainly swampland around, there's always the threat of alligators. There were times at night where you would lie in your rack and weigh your options.