Recently, Robert Jensen of Peachtree City summed up my July 4th weekend

column with these words: "I love America. I hate terrorists. Did

I tell you I used to be a Marine? I tell everyone that I used to be a

Marine every other week and, dagnabit, I can't recall if I reminded you

folks last week or not."

I don't actually hate terrorists, but he got the rest of it pretty much

right. In fact, when I read his letter to the editor, I laughed all the

way from Fayetteville to Riverdale. Okay, maybe I've overdone the Marine

thing just a bit. But, there's a story behind why I share about my experience

with the United States Marine Corps.

I was first assigned to serve as a pastor of a church when I was 23

years old. I was married with one child and another on the way. I had

served my time in the Marines and, upon separation from active duty,

had returned to college. I was in my senior year at the university when

I was asked if I would be willing to take an assignment as a student

pastor for a small congregation. I jumped at the opportunity and threw

myself into the task. I didn't own a suit, but I did have a dark blue

sports coat, which I wore along with a shirt and tie whenever I was involved

in ministry activities.

Frankly, I never talked to anybody about my service with the Marine

Corps. I was raised in a working class neighborhood where every young

man who was healthy either enlisted or reported for duty when drafted.

My lottery number came up, so I joined the Marines rather than be drafted

into the Army, served my time honorably, and went back home. As far as

I was concerned, service in the military was just what one did, so it

didn't occur to me to speak about it all that much. Most of my fellow

students had no idea I was prior military.

Although I had no pastoral experience and very little skills, the congregation,

for the most part, treated me kindly and some even granted me a measure

of respect. Except for these two brothers. For some reason, there were

two brothers, both in the early 30s, who treated me with extreme disdain.

Later, I would learn that these two men felt that any man who wore a

coat and tie and didn't have calluses on his hands really didn't qualify

as a "real man." So, in their eyes, this new pastor, who wore

a coat and tie and didn't have calluses, wasn't worth spit. But, at that

time, I didn't know all this and set about trying to win them over.

One day, I decided to go out to the job site where these men, who owned

a business, were working. Of course, I wore a coat and tie. They mostly

ignored me for half an hour or so and finally decided that they should

come over and see me as that was likely the only way they would be rid

of me. Sweaty and dirty, the two brothers wiped their hands on a rag

and each bit off a mouthful of tobacco from a plug one of them kept in

his shirt pocket.

Somehow, the conversation turned to their stint in the Army. The oldest

looked me over disapprovingly and said, "I don't reckon you'd know

anything about the Army wouldja, preacher?" as he spat tobacco juice

near my shoes.

"Not very much," I responded.

"I didn't think so," he replied with the slightest hint of

a sneer.

I answered, "I only spent six months on an Army base when I was

in the Marines, but that's not enough time to know much about the Army."

Both brothers fell silent. "What did you say?" one brother

asked.

"I don't know much about the Army," I repeated.

"Naw," the brother said, "I thought I heard you say you

were in the Marine Corps."

"I was," I said.

After a long pause, the eldest brother said, "Well, I'll be a son

of a ... " Well, you get the idea. "Hey, boys!" he called

out to the eight or so men who made up his work crew. "Come over

here! Boys, I want you to meet my new preacher. Guess what? He's a (expletive

deleted) Marine!"

And, all of a sudden, I was in, accepted fully into their world.

As I drove away from the job site half an hour later, I realized, for

the first time, that my service with the Marine Corps was as good as

currency with some people, especially men, or at least with those that

I came to think of as "real men." Over the years, my mentioning

my military service has resulted in an instant bond being formed with

other military men, police officers, fire fighters, and others who understand

that type of life.

And, truthfully, it has resulted in quite a bit of good-natured kidding

with men (and women) who served their nation in the other branches of

service. The Navy guys, especially, are always looking for the latest

Marine joke and the Air Force people like to remind me that one has to

have at least a normal I.Q.�to get into the Air Force, a requirement,

they say, Marines need not meet. The Army vets throw their share of verbal

punches too. But it's all done in mutual respect and admiration.

Anyway, that's the story behind my talking about my time in the Corps.

And, I admit, I may have overdone it a bit; okay, maybe more that a bit.

But, I'm not likely to quit anytime soon because, dagnabit, even though

I'm not so lean and not as mean, I'm still a (expletive deleted) Marine.

Semper Fi!

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