On Friday evening, April 17, 2009, Kerrie and I attended the Philadelphia Ball of the 34th Annual U.S. Marine Corps Scholarship Foundation. The foundation provides academic scholarships to the sons and daughters of Marines, and Navy Corpsmen serving with Marines, with particular attention given to children whose parent was killed or wounded in action.
The event is a black tie affair that honors Marines who have further excelled after their service. This year's Sportsman's Award honoree was Dan Staffieri, long-time coach at the University of Pennsylvania. Coach Staffieri had so motivated his players over the last 33 years at UPenn, spiriting them to a total of 12 championships (including one for me), that a respectful showing of past players was in attendance to support and cheer him. Coach Staffieri has the strongest arms I know, from having to constantly lift his championship ring-laden hands.
What made the event even more special for me was that I was also lucky enough to attend with two Marines as my guests; Kerrie's dad and one of his work colleagues, Bill Gahagan. Pete brought Sue, but unfortunately Bill's wife had another commitment...with Steve Forbes. Dammit if that's not the second time I got stood up for Steve Forbes! What does he have that I don't have? Oh, $430 million dollars.
Now, unfortunately there are laws about leaving your children home alone for an extended period of time (at the ages of 3, 6, and 7 that period of time happens to be "zero") so we packed them up with our Bichon Frise, Lila, and headed to the Loew's hotel in downtown Philadelphia, where the event was being held.
What made the event even more special for me was that I was also lucky enough to attend with two Marines as my guests; Kerrie's dad and one of his work colleagues, Bill Gahagan. Pete brought Sue, but unfortunately Bill's wife had another commitment...with Steve Forbes. Dammit if that's not the second time I got stood up for Steve Forbes! What does he have that I don't have? Oh, $430 million dollars.
Now, unfortunately there are laws about leaving your children home alone for an extended period of time (at the ages of 3, 6, and 7 that period of time happens to be "zero") so we packed them up with our Bichon Frise, Lila, and headed to the Loew's hotel in downtown Philadelphia, where the event was being held.
Before checking in, we went to the Please Touch Museum in Fairmont Park in Philadelphia where the kids got to shake out their sillies and, of course, touch everything.
We raced back across town to Center City, checked in to our two adjoining rooms, and raced through showers, primping, and dressing. I was wearing a tuxedo that I bought about 15 years ago and it still fit me like a glove; the glove O.J. tried to fit into during his trial. As long as I didn't try to employ those silly little devices on the jacket called "buttons", I would be O.K.
Kerrie put on her first new dress since her wedding day. I don't want to say she looked fabulous, but the following was overheard during the event: "That's Steven Rubin's wife."
The baby sitter arrived at 5:30 and all we really had to tell her was their bed time, our phone numbers, and how many kids we expected to have in the beds when we returned. They were so engrossed in the intricate plotting of Scooby-Doo on the DVDs we brought with us that they had not even realized a baby-sitter arrived.
We went downstairs for the event and looked for Pete and Bill among countless Marines in military dress or tuxedos, an assortment of large Pennsylvania football players (some strangely larger than when they played 25 years ago), and attendees of a lesser category called "civilians". Kerrie and I made bets on where we would find them: food or bar. I won with "bar".
Within about 15 minutes Pete and Bill took to stealing a set of American and Marine flags that were placed on each table. I must have shown my embarrassment at being associated with these hooligans when Pete assured me the Marines would not only approve, but would be insulted if they hadn't done something mischievous. My threat to him of KP duty also fell on deaf ears when he assured me he had already "been there, done that".
Chow call came next, literally with a trumpet.
Chow call came next, literally with a trumpet.
The Evening
Skipping talk of cocktails, dinner, catching up with old players, and other trivialities, the night's events, to me, had several meaningful memorable parts.
The Marine Drum and Bugle Corps paraded in and played the national anthem. It was the first time I had ever heard the playing of the anthem without it being followed by a loud, continuous cheer, as all 300 guests looked on in silent awe at the Corpsmen peering out from under the black brims of their white covers, framed in brilliant red jackets, and supported above the whitest dress pants your eyes could absorb. Their instruments were as sharply polished as their shoes and each of their physical movements was as precise as their playing. They returned later for several military hymns and the entire performance can be summed up by something Bill Gahagan said to me later that night; "Music can override a rational thought." He went on to elaborate on how it can drive men out of foxholes knowing the only thing awaiting them is a bullet.
We later heard a speech given by a college-aged recipient of scholarship money that spoke with poorly constrained emotion, but with as much maturity as the people he was addressing. His father had been a test-pilot for the V-22 Offsprey who had lost his life and he was there for people to see the valuable fruits of the Foundation's generosity. As he walked off the stage I felt oddly incomplete as I was not able to absorb the full meaning of what I had just heard before the MC stepped on stage to continue the program. They just didn't give me the several hours I think I needed.
Other honorees, Scott Donnelly (President and COO of Textron, Inc.) and Roy & Gretchen Jackson (Owners of the Kentucky Derby Winner Barbaro) gave unremarkable speeches. But Coach Staffieri never even took the stage. He stood in front with microphone in hand and did what he did best...led cheers to the Penn Football contingent that came to support him. One side of the room rose into football stances and barked obedient and coordinated responses while the other side wondered, "who was this guy?"
This is Coach's typical performance whenever being recognized or awarded. I often find it unfortunate that he will not speak for himself and generally no one will speak for him to provide those thoughtful, insprirational words that comprise a meaningful speech. Then we could learn he served in the Marines from 1943 to 1946; a tour that included a short vacation on a lovely Pacific isle paradise known as Iwo Jima. He played football for the University of Maryland and played in two Orange Bowls, a Gator Bowl, and a Sugar Bowl where he won a National Championship. Oh, how can he not want to vomit while watching today's commercially-minded Bowl games, like the Federal Express Bowl, or the way this Obama administration is heading, soon to be the Federal Government Bowl.
But he did his thing and sat down, satisfied he had earned all he needed in his life; the respect of so many young men.
It was just about this time that my phone rang. Now if you have to ask yourself who would be calling me at this time during this event, late on a Friday night, then you have not been paying attention. It was the babysitter! Apparently, my oldest child (who shall remain nameless) decided it was a good idea to be excessively rude to the babysitter at a later-than-usual bedtime, in a foreign city, in a hotel that made us pay for two rooms for the five of us, while Daddy was enjoying a beautifully cooked filet mignon. You cannot imagine his shock to find that I was in front of him within two minutes of the baby sitter making the call. The good news is that he will always and forever now think that whenever he is being babysat that I am only ever two minutes away.
But now Lila was jumping at my heels and I was the only one that could walk her. Now if you have never seen a man in a tuxedo walking a Bichon Frise in the middle of Philadelphia late at night looking for a non-existent patch of grass, let me assure you that it has now been done.
The Stack
When I returned, the Commandant of the U.S. Marine Corps was speaking. The Commandant is THE highest ranking Marine. He is a four star general that walks hunched over from carrying so many ribbons and medals on his chest. Apparently, these events are typically attended by a lower ranking colonel but for some reason we had the privelege of getting to hear him speak. Pete and Bill were particularly excited to hear him.
When I returned, the Commandant of the U.S. Marine Corps was speaking. The Commandant is THE highest ranking Marine. He is a four star general that walks hunched over from carrying so many ribbons and medals on his chest. Apparently, these events are typically attended by a lower ranking colonel but for some reason we had the privelege of getting to hear him speak. Pete and Bill were particularly excited to hear him.
He is a very casual speaking gentleman who spoke of the proverbial sacrifices and sense of honor and duty that Marines abide by. But he also shared with us some anecdotal evidence, not stories, but evidence, of the respect that Marines have earned during our current wartime engagements. (Do not forget that we are a country at war.)
He spoke of a recorded communication that went something like this:
Iranian Air Command: Attention aircraft. You are in Iranian air space and must turn back immediately.
Marine Aircraft: This is a United States Marine aircraft and we are not in Iranian air space.
Iranian Air Command: You are in Iranian Airspace. If you do not leave immediately we will send up interceptors.
Marine Aircraft: Come on up. I'll wait.
Iranian Air Command: silence
And this directive from a jihadist leader to his terrorist cell: But do not attack if they are Marines. They will leave the truck, hunt you down, and kill you.
But his most memorable words were his description of how Marines during a typical engagement when entering a hostile building would line up in what is known as The Stack. The first Marine would enter and cover his strong side (if he was right-handed, he would turn to his left), the second Marine would enter behind him and cover the opposite side. The third Marine would come in high, and the fourth Marine would enter and sweep the room. Each member of The Stack knew that if he was wounded then his team would be there for him, but that if he died then organizations like the Foundation would be there for his family. "You are like the fifth man in The Stack," he said to a silent room of 300 gaping jaws.
And here we were, a collection of tiny little ex-football players who thought we were bigger than we were and that we might have done something useful with our lives, trying to give the appearance that we belonged in the same room as these people, who risk, if not give, their very lives in hostile foreign lands so we can buy iPhones or TiVo a baseball game.
