Jim Stroup: Where are the Heroes?

Sitting before me was a company of Marines freshly graduated from boot camp, just beginning their training for the infantry. I had shown them a documentary describing how even a century ago the special esprit de corps of the Marines was somehow forged from Americans of backgrounds so diverse as to be almost mutually incomprehensible.

Afterward, I talked with them about the meaning of that special martial brotherhood, and the unique spirit of Semper Fidelis – “Always Faithful” – of the Corps. I told them stories of the heroes that helped build the heritage they were now taking upon their own, young shoulders.

Men of every generation, every war. Men who led Marines through withering fire to take desperately defended islands in the Pacific during World War II, who rallied their units to hold off swarming Chinese units 7 or more times their number during the bitter cold of the Chosin Campaign in the Korean War. Others who created legends in every struggle from the Vietnam War back to the Spanish-American War and beyond. We talked of one of our Commandants who was so dedicated and who served in that position for so long, that he willed the Commandant's residence – a public building – to his daughter.

We talked, wondered, and even smiled about these great Marines, who had helped create the peerless combat record of our Corps, its rich traditions, and its inspiring heritage that these men before me had come, in their turn, to carry, to share.

And then one of them asked me:

“Sir, where are the heroes like that, today?"

"Where will Marines like that, who can do what they did, where will they come from?”

Well, I suppose I should have seen that coming, but I was caught flat-footed for the moment. All the Marines regarded me intently. They never doubted that I would have an answer to this question, as I had to all the others. I tried to maintain an outward appearance of gimlet-eyed certainty, but inwardly I desperately glanced around for clues, ideas, anything that would get me out of this predicament with some honor, some respect for them.

Because the truth is, they were a young, awkward, incompletely-trained and -tested bunch, and they looked it.

They were eager to prove their mettle, but equally fearful that they might stumble, letting each other down, as well as these mighty legends who had preceded them. They wanted to know: will we measure up? Are we really Marines – Marines like those we have been talking about?

I scanned the loose school-circle of men sitting before me. What a jumble! Lanky boys from the hills, sharp-eyed denizens of simmering city streets, quiet types from the plains, stalwart bravos from the sea towns, others from the mountains, tireless and strong – as well as a good number from privileged backgrounds, at once cocky and unsure of themselves. These Marines – what combination of patriotism, altruism, and even, it might be ventured, creative deal-making from the justice-system, had brought them together before me, asking this question, waiting intently but patiently for the answer?

Still searching for that, I looked more closely, trying to find a way out. They leaned forward, eagerly awaiting my judgment. A sea of faces – for all their diversity and even today, to some degree, plain ignorance of the lives, the worlds, each had come here from – blurred into a relentless focus on the question, and on their investment in the answer.

And that's where I saw it: in their eyes; in the hopes, fears, aspirations – in the insistent pride brimming there. I knew that some of these fellows would serve whole careers in the Corps. Some might move on to specialize in other fields – some might even eventually enter a commissioning program and become officers. Others would get out after their initial enlistment expired and return to the civilian world.

But for all the varied experiences that had brought them here, and for all the multitude of paths they would soon follow, one thing had happened that would forever divide their futures from their pasts. They had become Marines. It was there, in their eyes, in their anticipation of my answer, in their fear and eagerness to hear it. It was in that – their deep instinct and need to believe – individually and as a new generation of Marines – that they would prove equal to the traditions of the Corps.

And so that's what I told them, and it was the truth: the heroes they sought to discover were sitting among them, looking back at me. We could not know who they would be at the moment when they were called upon to appear, but they were there in the dynamics of their pride and faith in the Corps and each other.

I told them that each generation of Americans produced its own Marines, each new generation of Marines wove its own story into the history and traditions of the Corps, and that in so doing each new generation produced its own heroes, its own legends. I told them that those waiting to hear my response were themselves the answer.

When I finished, there was a deep silence. No cheering, no smiling faces, no back-slapping celebration. Just a sea of eyes looking at me, but without seeing, nodding slowly, almost imperceptibly, quite unconsciously. They sat straight, and absorbed it. Yes, I could see them thinking, we will take these colors of the Corps, and we will carry them forward. We will do the job; we will not falter. Our contributions will be woven into the greater traditions of the Corps. We will pass them along to our successors, and we will be proud – they will be proud – of what we have added to the heritage.

And where we need heroes, we – like our fellow Marines before us – will produce them.

I felt it: the quiet, irresistible, immeasurably gradual but implacable shifting of the present and future of the U.S. Marine Corps onto the shoulders of these young men before me, these new heroes.

And so we bequest our values, our beliefs, and our culture to those who follow. They are different than we, and they will live the story in their own way. But the story itself – its moral, its heroes – well, we will always share, and ever renew, those across all the generations. - Jim Stroup

Jim Stroup served as both a noncommissioned and commissioned officer in the infantry of the United States Marine Corps, where he later moved into the Foreign Area Officer program. He now works as a management consultant and spends most of his time in Istanbul, Turkey. He blogs regularly at Managing Leadership and has written a book by the same name.

Comments

[Trish]

Amazing! I was on the edge of my seat waiting to know what Jim was going to tell those young Marines. Beautifully told.