A very surreal experience
to say the least. For the first time in 16 years, I looked
in the face of Sergio Garcia. But the last time I had
occasion to lock eyes with this Marine, that face was
in the shadow of a Smokey Bear cover and the face wore
a scowl. Although there was no cover this time, his still
ink-black flat top was the only thing that rested on his
head, atop an uncharacteristic smile that replaced that
visage of contempt so many years ago. Once again, I was
looking into the eyes of one of my Drill Instructors.
The reunion started out from a tip from SgtMaj
Wertjes, my senior Drill Instructor, who I had recently
reunited with in Quantico Virginia. He told me that Master
Sergeant Garcia retired a few years ago and that the Sergeant
Major came face to face with him unexpectedly when he
checked into a motel in Jacksonville, NC (right outside
Camp Lejeune). His former fellow-DI was behind the counter
but as a retired Top. |
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With this information in hand, I knew I had to drop
in on him on my first business trip to Lejeune. I had attempted
contact with Top Garcia 6 years ago when I became an Officer,
but he was deployed to Peru and I never followed up. Now I had
my chance and I wasn't going to let it slip by this time.
My first attempt was at 1730 the night we got into
Jacksonville. Since Top was the manager, I didn’t know
if he’d still be there but I had to give it a try. As
I got out of the car and walked toward the door, I felt a familiar
giddiness that I had felt just weeks ago when I was inbound
to meet SgtMaj Wertjes. These men were oblivious architects
of my entire Marine career and unbeknownst to them, they were
responsible for a majority of the success in both my personal
and professional life. The moments before facing these personal
legends was a source of an indescribable mixture of excitement,
nostalgia, and yes, a tinge of deep-seated stress. After all,
they were, and always will be, my Drill Instructors.
I walked up to the counter and asked the desk clerk,
“Does a Mr. Garcia work here?”
It left a taste of bile in my mouth to even refer to
him as “Mr.” Plus, in this era of hypersensitive
security, I couldn’t help but feel like I would be setting
off some alarms for even asking, much less sharing my unlikely
explanation of who I was and why I was here.
While holding my breath, I heard the answer,
“Yes, but he left about 2 hours ago.”
Joy and disappointment at the exact same moment. I
decided to let my excitement overflow and with a smile, I said,
“You know he was a Marine, right.”
With a smile, she said, “Yes.”
“You also know he was a Drill Instructor,
right?”
Another smile but with a long hesitation and a sideways
glance this time. Reluctantly, she said,
“Well… we assumed.”
This made me laugh out loud and I told her he was MY
Drill Instructor and hadn’t seen him in 16 years. It surprised
me how fiercely proud I was of this to a total stranger. I told
her I’d come back the next day but not to tell him. I
wanted to surprise him and I left without being able to shake
the feeling that I sounded like some kind of private investigator.
Would she tell him?
The next day worked out better than I could have ever
planned because my friend, Mark, who I was supposed to meet
midday, got caught up in work and bagged out until 1615. This
gave me most of the day to potentially spend with Top Garcia
if he could spare me the time. The Top I had come from Quantico
with, Top Garvey, had some business to take care of so the plan
was to drop me off at the motel and after I made contact, I
would give Top Garvey the thumbs up and he could take the rental
to do his business, picking me up later.
As we pulled up, two people were moving a mattress
from outside through the entrance. I could see they were both
Hispanic people and I squinted to see if my heart was racing
for a good reason. I didn’t get a good look before Top
Garvey asked if that was him but after he said it, I got a clear
shot and sure enough, I saw the face that had lived in my memory
for over a decade and a half. As I digested the moment, Top
Garvey exclaimed,
“Hey, I know him! I used to work with him
at the FSSG!”
Top Garcia had made it inside by now and an idea flashed
in my head like a bolt of lightning.
“Top, here’s what we’ll do.
We’ll pretend that you came to visit him and I’ll
just be your friend. He’ll never recognize me in a million
years and we’ll see what he does!”
Now things were getting weird. We got out and Top took
the lead while I followed in trace. As we got closer, Top Garcia
recognized Top Garvey and they locked hands with smiles.
“What you doing here?” came the
thick-accented voice that echoed through the chambers of my
deepest memories. Top Garvey made up a story about tracking
him down and Top Garcia shook my hand in the obligatory way
that common courtesy dictates. He gave me a smile and a nod
which I couldn’t decipher. Did he know me? No way in ten
hells!!!!
For the next few minutes, I felt a confusing swirl
of emotions. I was standing there as the third wheel, perpetrating
like I was a stranger and watching the familiar mannerisms of
my Drill Instructor. It was unfair to him that I was fooling
him like that but I was riveted to the spot, unable to carry
out the plan I was making up as I went along.
Top Garvey made small talk and I wondered how I was
going to let the cat out of the bag. Suddenly, Top Garcia said
he had to take care of something real fast and he disappeared
into his office. Top Garvey and I swapped smiles and it gave
me a moment to think.
When Top Garcia got back, I finally decided to expose
the truth.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
He looked in my face with a big, uncertain smile.
“Somewhere… you look familiar….”
“Maybe this will refresh your memory…”
I walked over to a counter top and slapped the top
hard, three times. Before I could continue, he laughed and reactively
barked “Speak!”
“SIR, PRIVATE GROSE REQUESTS
PERMISSION TO SPEAK TO DRILL INSTRUCTOR STAFF SERGEANT GARCIA,
SIR!!!”
I stood there with a matching grin, ear to ear, as
the realization washed over the man.
“Yes, Top, you were one of my Drill Instructors
for Platoon 3075 in 1987. I tracked you down after 16 years.”
Top was elated. He smiled, laughed, and showed genuine
excitement at my little display and we immediately began trading
stories, updating each other on everything that had happened
since 1987. At first, I was the one babbling story after story
about everything from how I found him to my career path. I recounted
memories I had of him and how those lessons had been the basis
for the webpage I’ve created. It was very important to
me to convey my appreciation and deference to his efforts those
three months of bootcamp and how they still deeply navigate
my personal and professional life.
Top Garvey left and Top Garcia had some work to take
care of before we could grab something to eat so I grabbed my
book and waited in the reception area. It was impossible to
read the words in my book, knowing that Top was on the other
side of the wall in front of me. So I was thankful when he came
out and continued talking to me while we waited for the receptionist
to come back from her lunch.
It was trivial that she even came back because we never
stopped our conversation. Instead, we just moved it to a Mexican
restaurant for lunch and when we headed out the door toward
his car, I got one of those eerie feelings. For a clear moment,
I had the sudden realization that I was getting into a car with
my DI. I don’t mean to harp on this but you must understand
the role a DI plays in the life of a Marine. The thought slapped
me on the grape that I was entering a vehicle, that I was garnering
the full attention of a man who, for three months (and forevermore)
represented the apex of military perfection to me. I felt unworthy.
I found out that his son is also a Marine and there
was a story written about father
and son. I could tell the Top was extremely proud of his
son and rightfully so. Top recounted his retirement ceremony
when he presented his own son with his NCO Sword and how he
looked his son in the eyes when it looked like the younger Garcia
would be going to Afghanistan and told him that no matter what
happened, and however he came back, he would be Top’s
hero. From a man whose face was permanently contorted in a mask
of hardcore Drill Instructor rage in my memory, the honest tears
that welled up in his now-gentle face required identical mistiness
of my own.
For years, I had no idea what Top’s nationality
was. I knew he was Hispanic but I never knew exactly what kind.
I knew he had trouble saying a few of the recruits’ names
(like Schmidt, Schlegelmilch, etc.) and that his cadence rendition
of “Tiny Bubbles” was confusing if not impossible
to return cadence to. So I finally had to ask about his ancestral
lineage. The answer: Honduras (I guess that makes him Hondurian?)
from New York. Why had I never guessed that?
Another surprise I had was that the towering Drill
Instructor in my memory turns out to be about 5’7”
tall. If you would have asked me during the last 16 years, I
would have said a strapping 6 feet, at least, with rippling
muscles. Top looked like he had even lost a little weight (something
I threw the “no fair” flag on since I had
gained about 70 lbs since our last meeting) and not a gray hair
topping a face that hadn’t changed a bit except it didn’t
look like my existence caused it great fury.
I babbled like a teenage girl, recounting all of my
successes on the chance that I might convey even a fraction
of my feelings for him. I bragged unashamedly, not for my ego
but to give credit to his teachings. He could not have known
his effect and before this day, I was not even a faint memory
in his head; a fact that I used to drive home a point. I was
one of 75 recruits in one platoon out of 7 he pushed though
bootcamp. Therefore there are about 375 people out there that
he has no idea exactly how much life-effect he had on them.
I was determined to lower that number by one.
Top seemed interested in my webpage and I showed him
around it, concentrating on the bootcamp stories he played a
large part in creating. I showed him the Semper
Flashback cartoon and he was amazed that the voice was dead
on, asking who did it. I told him that voice echoed through
my head for so many years that I had no problem recreating it
for the cartoon.
I recounted my career and he filled me in on his. I
felt honored to sit there over lunch and hear about how he spent
time in Peru and how he lived the ideals he preached to me in
San Diego. It was so important to me to explain to him my decisions,
opportunities, and blessings over the years and how my deep
feelings for the Marine Corps were embodied in my deep respect
for the men who helped me along, starting with him.
Like all of these type of encounters, the end came
too soon. We both truly seemed to connect and promised to keep
in touch via email and visits. I have a tendency to follow up
on such promises and I told him I wanted to bring my family
by the next time so they could meet the man I had talked about
for so many years. I like to think that he walked away from
the experience with joy in his heart, knowing he had a huge
part in making a Marine who, by most people’s measurement,
succeeded in the Corps.
If that’s the case, I did it just like I was
taught from the start: I just did what you told me to do, Top.
Semper Fi.
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"Yeah, dat's right, Boy,
go ahead, close you nasty freakin' eyeballs. Tuck in you
blouse like I taught you, Boy. Tell you what, der you, just
PUSH..." |
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