It’s always a good thing to look up when you least expect it to see a friend’s face smiling back at you. Never more was that true for me than in late February 2005 after my first two days in Iraq.
My anxiety was up a bit, and it was beginning to sink in that I had gotten myself into… something. Whether it was something adventurous, life-changing, or just plain scary, I hadn’t yet figured out. And hell, at this particular moment I was simply setting a good example as a Marine NCO and looking for chow and a shower.
I took the notorious Al Asad shuttle bus from the airfield to Camp Ripper with my day pack full of hygiene gear, clean socks and so on. Again, kids – this was back in earlier days when there was actually a war on in Iraq AND you could carry a bag into the DFAC without having to check it at the door.
After a great meal of something I can’t even remember, I stomped off through the concrete T-Barriers (again: early days, not a HESCO barrier in sight!) and began poking around from hooch to hooch in an attempt to locate the shower trailers. After three or four attempts, each ending with a door spray-painted “SNCO/OFFICER ONLY”, I poked my head around a corner and saw a most welcome sight.
There was SSgt Tony Goodwin, alongside a couple of his compadres, each of whom was lounging in a folding camp chair in a field-expedient sun shade made of cammie netting. They had slapped together a wooden deck alongside their trailer – complete with ashtrays for their cigars – to enjoy any downtime they had while awaiting transport to their assigned AO.
We immediately remembered each other, having crossed paths a few times during the previous year or so of pre-deployment training. He set up a live-fire range involving moving vehicles, small arms, machine guns, rolling dismounts, and an EXCELLENT artillery/IED simulator at a range alongside a state highway running through Camp Lejeune. I still wonder if shutting down the highway had been authorized (along with a few other items range control would be interested in), but it was about as real-world as training can get in North Carolina. I know he bent some rules setting up that single particular training evolution, but I have no idea how the hell he remembered me – unless it was when we took the EMP (Enhanced Marksmanship Program) Instructors course together a few weeks later. I envied all the guys who had a short, handy M-4 during that course while I was stuck with my trusty (and cumbersome) M-16A4.
During our conversation, we spoke of several things, to include the non-issue 9mm pistol that a certain unnamed Sergeant had brought along in his seabag since sidearms were scarce at the time. I knew Tony was certainly NOT a by-the-book type of guy, but he always took care of his Marines. And by “his Marines”, I mean anyone of a lesser grade wearing a Bird, Ball & Hook on their pocket who stood in the same grid square.
Of all the things we laughed and joked about, at some point in the conversation, I remember looking at him and saying, “I want to be a Staff Sergeant just like you when I grow up.”
“You don’t want to be a Staff Sergeant like me.”
“That’s exactly why I want to be a Staff Sergeant like you.”
Months later, after rapidly tiring of the drudgery involved as part of a clown show that the Corps sometimes refers to as a “Headquaters Battalion”, I made a point to contact Tony through MNF-WIRAQ official email. I asked how he was doing, bitched about being stuck inside the wire this whole time, my disgust at the mindset of POGs of all ranks I was surrounded by… I came within an inch of BEGGING him to get me working for him doing anything, regardless of what or where it was at.
On May 6th, he wrote me back. He’d just come in from a mission and was within hours of rolling out on an even bigger one. He offered encouragement, asked me how the situation had panned out with that certain unnamed Sergeant, and mentioned that we should get together for a beer when we got home. His quick note was worth a lot to me, a source of strength right then and for weeks afterward.
One relatively cool August evening, I came across a care package that had (underneath the jars of sunscreen, chap stick, and baby wipes), some unmolested and fairly recent copies of Leatherneck magazine. It would be a perfect way to spend some “throne time” before heading to work.
I had been reading for a few minutes when I glanced over the “Obituaries” page.
“GOODWIN, Staff Sergeant Anthony, May 9th. Killed by hostile fire during Operation MATADOR.”
In the interest of sticking to the right story here, I’ll just say it was a bit of a setback for me.
Since that day, I have memorialized him. I have to this day never been able to find anyone who served with him in Husaybah during those last few weeks. I have been able to find out the TV version of specifically what happened. It is very fitting that he went down leading his Marines and taking care of them – saving the life of at least one. The Marine Corps had selected him for promotion to Gunnery Sergeant at the time of his death. He was later awarded the Bronze Star w/”V” for his actions that day. On Memorial Day the following year, I went to Arlington in my dress blues and was finally able to bid him farewell. I was blessed a few months later with the opportunity to walk up to his mother’s doorstep – again in my blues – and spend some quality time sharing Tony’s memory.
Even though I have many other fond memories of him, I will always remember that day at Camp Ripper. I like to think that in a lot of ways, that moment got me through the long months ahead. It definitely got me through that afternoon without smelling like dirty boots and ass.
“Go ahead and use that shower. If anyone gives you hassle, tell ‘em I said it was okay.”
“I live for this shit, Lance Corporal!!!” – Tony, May 9th, 2005
Sorry for your loss, Marine. RIP and Semper Fi.