Happy Birthday, Marines!

On November 10, 1775, the Continental Congress authorized the raising of two battalions of Marines. Philadelphia’s Tun Tavern—yes, a beer-serving establishment as its name suggests—was the very first recruiting location of the U.S. Marine Corps.

Thus, young men were recruited with the promise of a cold beer and an opportunity to serve in a Corps of Marines. I can only imagine the excitement those young men felt at being able to attach themselves to something with equal parts of mystery, glamour, and danger. I can only imagine the yarns that followed in Tun Tavern after they had stepped forward and signed on. I can only imagine the stories that were later told in Tun Tavern after those initial recruits had served during the Revolution and returned home to tell about it. Tavern tales have become as much a Marine tradition as the eagle, globe, and anchor symbol. Not so unexpectedly, Marines have always prided themselves on the fact that their branch of service was birthed in a tavern.

And why not?

The thread of history from Tun Tavern to Afghanistan shows that Marines have served America extraordinarily well, with dedication, professional competence, and unsurpassed valor. The Marine Corps has always stood at the cutting edge of military readiness—prepared at any moment to move into harm’s way. And, as is their habit once they find themselves committed to action, they have fought and won. An adversary on the verge of a fiery encounter with U.S. Marines would hardly be in a festive mood, and for good reason. No better friend, no worse enemy.

As is the custom on 10 November, Marines will gather far and wide to celebrate the birthday of their Corps. The larger Marine Corps bases will have well-planned, well-attended, formal birthday balls. The smaller outposts will improvise, a key Marine skill. Former Marines will take a moment to reflect back on their years of service, most likely with pride and nostalgia. The history of the Corps will be commemorated; old friendships will be renewed; the fallen will be remembered. Prayers will be lifted for those still in the fight, and for the families who anxiously await their return.

Here’s to the Corps on this 235th birthday!

And here’s to the Marines whose duty and blood and sacrifice have saturated the Corps in hard-won glory.

Here’s to an organization that is not only unique, not only elite, but without equal.

Here’s to the United States Marine Corps!

Semper Fidelis.

A Family of Heroes

A recent Wall Street Journal article told of a Scion, New York family who adopted a bomb-sniffing dog suffering from canine post-traumatic stress disorder. Gunner, who was mustered out of the Marines after service in Afghanistan, was adopted by Deb and Dan Dunham who drove from their western New York home to a South Carolina kennel to claim their newest family addition.

The skittish Gunner is adjusting to his new life with the Dunhams, albeit slowly. The dog is disabled by his wartime service, like many of his human counterparts who have experienced intense, vicious firefights and horrendous bomb blasts, sometimes over oft-repeated tours of duty. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have generated large numbers of traumatic brain-injury and PTSD cases among American troops, to include a brown-eyed Lab who at some point was pushed over the edge by the explosions and the gunfire.

Nonetheless, Gunner is fortunate to be in the care of a loving, unselfish family who is nurturing him back to health, slowly but inexorably. Each day that passes helps convince Gunner that he is safe, that he is truly out of harm’s way, that the sights and sounds that were once so terrifying and damaging to his canine psyche are no longer a part of his daily routine. Gunner may not ever forget, but again like his human counterparts, and with the help and caring of others, he can recover and live a fulfilling life.

Gunner has been given a second chance by the Dunhams.

And Gunner is helping to fill a void in the Dunhams’ lives. It should be noted here that Deb and Dan Dunham are the parents of Corporal Jason Dunham, USMC, who was awarded the Medal of Honor (posthumously) for his actions in Iraq in 2004. During a hand-to-hand encounter with an enemy insurgent, Cpl. Dunham covered a grenade with his helmet, shielding several members of his squad from the resulting deadly blast. In an act of incomprehensible bravery and soldierly love, Cpl. Dunham gave his own life to save the lives of his men. He is now, and will forever be, a legendary figure in a Marine Corps replete with legendary figures.

His parents are now sharing their lives and their love with a war dog who needs them in a big way. And for a long time.

Gunner is indeed a lucky Lab. Good luck with your new life, Gunner.

To the Dunham family: God bless you. Thank you for your inexpressible sacrifice and your incomparable decency.

And to Cpl. Jason Dunham: Semper fidelis, my brother. May you rest in peace.

Book Video Trailer

My new book trailer for Shall Never See So Much is now on YouTube. You can follow the below link to view.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OzLPJBrq0I

The Big Things

My beloved Georgia Bulldogs just lost their third straight game last weekend against a scrappy Mississippi State team in front of their giddy home crowd. The Dawgs are reeling, and for the first time in Coach Mark Richt's ten seasons, his program is under fire like never before.

The Monday-morning pundits and the ubiquitous sports bloggers seem ready to offer Richt the proverbial cigarette before covering his head and slipping the noose around his neck. Off you go, loser. Let's get a REAL coach in here. Let's win every play, every series, every game, every week. No excuses, just win, baby.

Richt's teams averaged ten wins a season before the current unpleasantness, but the accrued goodwill of such consistently high achievement evaporated after the latest loss. He has been convicted of the unpardonable sin of failing to garner a group of mostly teenagers into a collegiate football juggernaut in what is easily the most difficult conference in the (sometimes very ugly) business of college football.

To some, it's as if the end of the world is nearing. Their satisfaction in life is far too dependent upon the play of a nineteen-year-old college student in a contest that will, at its end, determine a winner and loser in a game, same as Go Fish or Horse or Dancing with the Stars.

Is it the same as a nineteen-year-old Marine dying from wounds in Afghanistan?

Of course it isn't. And those of us who get so swept up in college football games should take a deep breath and remember that the players who play, win or lose, live to play another day. It's a game, nothing more.

Back to those nineteen-year-old Marines: Does it matter that they played football on a winning or losing team? Or does it matter more that, as athletes, they were taught to give maximum effort, to never quit, to play by the rules, to stay loyal to their teammates and coaches, to get back up after being knocked down?

Keep developing young men, Mark Richt. That has a greater purpose--to them as individuals and to our society as a whole. The winning will follow eventually.

Guest Blogging

I am the guest blogger this week at my friend and fellow author CK Webb's Twisted Webb blog.

Thanks, CK!

http://twistedwebb.blogspot.com/2010/09/on-being-writer-by-gerald-gillis.html?spref=fb

And The Winner Is . . .

I was notified last month that my novel Shall Never See So Much was a finalist for a Readers Favorite award. The awards are Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Honorable Mention. There were five books as finalists in the Historical Fiction category out of all the novels entered.

Waiting a month for the final results has been a bit of a tense proposition.

With five books and four awards, one can get left out, you see. One thinks about that when considering the full range of possibilities.

Alas, not to worry.

Shall Never See So Much has been awarded the Bronze prize. It is now an "award winning" novel. I suppose by extension that makes me an "award winning" author. I confess I like the sound of both.

Now I can take a deep breath and relax. I'm sure I'll need an antacid after all this. Hmm, I wonder if the label on the antacid says "award winning"? (Oh stop it, for crying out loud!).

In any event, it's finally over. I'm grateful for the judges who chose my book. And I'm grateful for the readers who have bought it.

And I'm grateful for your reading this.

Awaiting the Award

My novel Shall Never See So Much is up for an award. It is a finalist for a Readers Favorite award in the category of Historical Fiction. There will be four winners named: Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Honorable Mention. There are five books among the finalists. That's right - four awards, five nominees.

Naturally I think I'll win. My book could very well be one of the six or seven best novels ever written. Truthfully, writing's not my only incomparable skill. I can think on my feet and handle tough interview questions. Why, let somebody dare ask me about my definition of marriage. Too, I am graceful and poised when I strut about in evening wear. Perhaps even a little coquettish. And besides, I look way better in a bathing suit than the other authors. And I can sing, too. Still. But the rumors about the sex tapes? Not a shred of truth.

Not to be boastful, but my book is a lock. When the four names are called, one will still be standing there, looking down sheepishly and trying valiantly to act like losing is no big deal. It ain't gonna be me, folks. I'll be standing there in my speedo, holding high the Gold medal and singing "Love and Marriage" in a raw masculine display of good ole American winnership.

Winners will be announced on September 1st. I will post a later blog and let you know how I finished, unless of course I lose in which case I'll quietly slink into the woods to commune with nature.

Anyway, until then, we finalists will wait in our evening gowns with our bouquets in our arms, smiling radiantly, and wait for the winners to be announced.

While I'm completely confident of victory, I do have to confess that the thought of losing, of standing there all alone and forcing a smile through the tears, does affect my ability to think and type and xmemdnrishaklcnjskanddnsbakdnfgbkssbnd