Wigwam Jones

It was cold and rainy when the Wigster shook loose from the arms of Morpheus this morning, and the weatherman said it was likely to snow, followed by sleet, followed by rain. Groovy. Just the thing for a Veterans Day Parade, don't you think?

I admit that I debated the wisdom of gathering my camera gear together and heading to downtown Detroit in such weather. But then I thought - they'll be there, whether I am there or not. So if they can take it, I guess I can take it. I grabbed a cuppa joe and headed out, though it was a blustery day.

The Wigster served a long time ago, in the space between wars, too young for Vietnam and too old for Desert Storm. From 1979 to 1985, not much was going on, except Lebanon, Grenada, and Panama - and I was too far away or in the wrong unit each time - I never got sent. But all of us knew fear from time to time - we got rousted in the middle of the night, told to grab our gear, trucked to distant landing zones, fed a box of c-rations, and given live ammo. We would sit on those landing pads, waiting for the sounds of the helicopters that would take us to our ships, and thence to the shores of some distant land, where we would fulfill our primary purpose - to rain death and destruction on enemies of the United States, to protect and defend our Constitution, our nation, our countrymen. In my case, the helicopters never came. For others - too many others - they have. In my case, after hours of sitting, we'd be told it had been a drill, and we'd be trucked back to our barracks, still untested, still safe.

Being a Marine has been a major part of my life, even though it was only for six years, and nearly 25 years ago. It leaves a mark, whether you served during wartime or peacetime. Some may call it brainwashing, but I have to doubt that. If we were brainwashed, we'd all be alike, and the truth is, we're all so very, very, different.

Some of us joined to get a college education. Some to find a career. Some for adventure, and some to mark time or for lack of anything better to do. We came from the country and the city, we were high school jocks and nerds and cowboys and rappers. We listed to Judas Priest and The Sugerhill Gang and Tom T. Hall. We were of every race, creed, and color. We voted Republican and Democrat and probably some commies as well. We were Protestant and Catholic and Jewish and even a Wiccan or two (I don't recall any Muslims at the time, but who knows, there must have been). We were men and women, and despite the hype, yes, there were gays and straights, even then. The only thing that made us all alike was that we were all Marines.

So there are a couple of dates every year that your old buddy tries not to forget. Veterans Day, Memorial Day, and the Marine Corps Birthday (November 10th, my little droogies, feel free to buy me a birthday card). Besides Mrs. Wiggy's birthday and our anniversary, these are the most important days to me, the ones worth remembering.

I like a parade, probably more than most, and that's kind of sappy and weird, but I don't care. But military parades are my favorite of all. I love to see veterans marching down the street, because I don't see old men in mothball-smelling antique uniforms, I see heroes.

Here are some heroes I saw today. Hope you enjoy them.

Semper Fidelis,

Wiggy