Marines: The Real Heroes of the Republic

Yet I would feel deep shame before the Trojans, and the Trojan women with trailing garments, if like a coward I were to shrink aside from the fighting. --Hector, Iliad

ALEXANDRIA One Friday in late August, I attended the United States Marine Corps Evening Parade with an unusual guest, a retired judge and combat veteran from Alexandria, La., named George M. "Judge" Foote. He is 90 but has the disposition of a 40-year-old: trim, funny, and totally aware. Sixty-five years ago, he survived the Battle of Iwo Jima. The veterans of that campaign, their number dwindling every day, assume mythic status within the Corps because their sacrifice was so much, the carnage so horrific.

Before the parade, the host, Lt. Gen. Flynn, made several opening remarks. In an era when consultants write tomes dedicated to leadership and offer business seminars to explain how to organize and execute, the general offered the Marine Corps' philosophy in three words: "Officers eat last."

I stood next to Judge Foote and tried to imagine him as a 25-yearold officer on that black sand. He earned a promotion after only a few minutes on the beach when an amphibious tractor ran over his superior officer. I tried to imagine the younger men under his care, those whose number never came up and those who never left the island. And then, a special reunion occurred.

The general referenced two Iwo veterans in attendance at the parade that night. Like a magnet to steel, they found each other. Years of civilian life had not dampened that famous Marine esprit de corps. Although they had never met, both men, slight in build and enormous in stature, talked as old friends do.

Perhaps Judge had ferried this man to the island so long ago to fight the Japanese. Perhaps he ferried him off when a mortar shell ended his stint on the battlefield. Either way, although they would never say it, they had done something extraordinary to fight there and come home. When special guest of honor Jim Brown -- of NFL fame -- was spotted, Judge asked me, "He wasn't a Marine, was he?"

The Marine Corps is countercultural. When society says fulfill your appetites now because you deserve it, the Marine Corps says officers eat last. When people slouch and look unkempt, a Marine shines shoes, polishes brass, and sticks out his chest. When conventional wisdom says you are special so do whatever you want, the Marine acknowledges that strength comes from the pack, not the individual. So when we heard the Drum and Bugle Corps' precision and the Silent Drill Platoon's unanimous clicks of rifle butt and heel, Judge and I saw what Marines inherently know: trust in one's fellow man.

Heroism comes from history, and the Marines have always paid particular attention to theirs. From the opening moments of boot camp, a young recruit is drilled on the standards set by the Marines before him, standards which directly oppose the message of 18 years of safe, American, selfish living. The recruit learns names and places certainly not taught in high school history classes: Smedley Butler and Dan Daly, Belleau Wood and Chapultepec. With each lesson, the constant refrain, "Are you going to measure up to these heroes? If not, you don't belong here."

Heroism also only occurs when there is something at stake. The veterans of Iwo Jima, or Khe Sanh, or Fallujah always credit heroism to the fallen. The military may recognize their extraordinary efforts with the Medal of Honor, Navy Cross, or Silver Star, but invariably, the recipients reluctantly accept. They understand what most do not: When the sacrifice means life, those who perish are the real heroes.

In a culture that often ignores the lessons of history and myth, it makes sense people would find heroes in the mock combat of professional sports. Announcers often cite the "on-field heroics" and the "warriors" who wage "battle" every Saturday and Sunday. At their core, people need heroes -- and if history gets shoved aside, some other medium will fill the gap. Spectators become convinced Peyton Manning's or Tiger Woods' contests really matter. The Marines don't have that problem. They know real courage happens when real bullets fly.

Our culture will survive through community, not rugged individualism. Think of Captain "Sully" Sullenberger, who landed an aircraft in the Hudson River and then moved through the sinking cabin twice to ensure no passengers were left behind, or Troy's Hector, who looked at his wife's tear-soaked face and said, "But, I must go to save the city," and you will see the best of humanity. As a gentle, retired judge from Louisiana and all other Marines know, our legends keep us safe.

Mason New, a Richmond native, is a former Marine and current chairman of the English Department at Episcopal High School in Alexandria. Contact him at .