Fifteen Minutes with A USMC Corporal: Battle Ground, Washington, 11/2/25

Mike recently lost his wife, Patty. He keeps a squared away house and wooded property in the forest of southwest Washington. He is a hunter, shooter, outdoorsman and home improvement man. He has squirrel feeders, discourages raccoons with a pellet rifle and lets the black tail deer feed on his property. His lap dog is Tommy. He is just under six feet, well knit, fit, with a head of silver hair and a light trimmed beard of white. His few tattoos are old military style arm markings.

“I was going to see [a friend] but would rather avoid the political conversation with his wife. These people, protesting no kings or no abortion, they accomplish nothing aside from the waste of effort. Protesting crime just takes police onto overtime to redirect traffic. I tried to walk by these pro-life people, protesting. They would not let me go. I was just getting lunch. The lady said, “Aren’t you pro-life?”

“I said, ‘This is against abortion, correct?’

“‘Yes, its terrible.’

“‘How many of these unwanted children have you adopted?’

“That shut her up.

“So, I joined the singles poker. Then we had to let couples in, because that would be discrimination—so now its Pairs and Spares. There is a weekly potluck, a monthly dinner with speakers; chief of police, fire chief, etc. Most, I’m not interested in. This coming week, though, is the anniversary of The Corp.

“Nam, Okinawa, San Diego, Pendelton. I was in for four years with an extra four months of base duty to serve rotation purposes. Second Marine Division. I was all set to do another tour. The bonus was substantial. I had been promised a Med Tour. Then, I was talking to a Gunny Sergeant I was buddies with and told him. He said, ‘That will be the quickest Med tour in history. You will be there for a week and your ass will be right back in Nam!’

“So, I did not re-up. I lost a stripe over it. The Sergeant Major of the Division has A LOT OF POWER. He took a stripe and gave me the sergeant of police detail in San Diego. You cannot have seventeen year olds in combat. Yet, we had many seventeen year olds, kids, in process, inducted, waiting to go to combat when they turn eighteen. I have forty of them to babysit. They’re kids! I say, ‘Keep me out of hot water, and everything is easy peasy. Get me in trouble, that’s different.’

“The Sergeant Major comes to me and takes me to the General’s office. There, one of these kids is in the General’s chair, his boots ON the General’s desk, smoking the General’s cigar! I get that taken care of.”

“Then, we are headed back to the NCO’s club and these kids, I have them cutting grass. But they are chasing each other with the lawnmowers! So, I have to assign a punishment detail. It’s simple, we called it Junk on the Bunk. Each man empties all of his personal items on the bunk, clothes, what have you, in a certain order, for inspection. I suppose, under the eye of a squared-away Drill Instructor, this results in some theater. But I went back to the NCO’s club, and.. well, got to drinking and forgot. Half drunk, I hurry back and most of them are asleep.

“Since they did such a good job with that detail, I gave them weekend liberty and said, “Do not go to Tiajuanna, and if you do, go with someone that has been there. They all wanted me to take them. No. Of course, Monday morning roll call finds a few missing bunks. So I have to go down to Tiajuanna and get some of them out of jail—that is not a jail you want to be in.”

…

Barb

Later this Sunday night, back in Portland, Tom and Barb stopped into the bar with another widower, who recently lost Terry, Barb’s best friend since childhood. Barb is tiny and has a hard time climbing up on the bar stool. Her hair is red, her eyes a big, glassy, beautiful blue. She is fast friends with My Eskimo Wife and looks up at my short person, “You have a nice beard. Most men who have a beard like that, its nasty, scraggly, but yours is nice.”

The widower wants to see the barmaid’s tits and Barb says, “He is an asshole. But he was Terry’s asshole. There must be something redeeming about him if the best woman in the world stuck it out for over fifty years.”

She then looks up at me, “Terry was very important to me. I didn’t know that my mom wasn’t my mom. I always called her Mom. I found out when I was a teen that my mother died when I was two and that my father took my brother and gave me to my grandmother. That was in Chicago. We moved to Oregon. [The rural area at the foot of Grant’s Pass: Eugene, Oakridge, Corvalis.]

“I always wondered what it would be like to have a father. When I found out, as a teenager, I wrote to Chicago and he wouldn’t answer. My grandmother assured him I was not looking for money. I eventually visited as an adult, when I had my own kids, and a husband who never wanted kids, was an asshole and treated me badly. It was so strange, like being with strangers, no talking, no curiosity. I eventually met Tom and we have been together ever since. He is so kind to me, protects me. Sherry protected me when we were little. When I hear that you [wife] lived with your parents and took care of them, and [the barmaid] has had her parents with her for thirty-one years, that is amazing! To have a Dad, a father, to protect you, that must be so nice for a girl. I’m sorry for bringing this up, if this upset you. I don’t know why. I don’t do this. We just met and I bring this sad story up.”

Her eyes wandered about, glinted twice, and she smiled weakly, “This is such a nice place. People are so friendly here.”