It was a perfect moment on a golf course. The Curmudgeons were in their heyday.

My neighbors, Keith Macumber, Randy Prescott, and Spud Mumby had joined our original bunch of Navy guys met during my career and, of course, the legendary Army Artillery Major Marty Linville.

Our foursome that day consisted of Marty, Spud, Rod, and myself, were on the eighteenth tee. Spud hit a nasty duck hook that curved into the parking lot and struck the side of a white car stupidly parked where an errant tee shot could strike your car. Spud was contrite. After hitting a second tee shot, he walked over to where his errant ball had landed.

As Spud approached, an older man and his son came out of the 19th hole restaurant. The old man proceeded to read Spud the riot act, accusing him of intentionally hitting his car, demanding to see Spud’s insurance, Navy ID, license and several other things.

Spud was embarrassed but everything he said only made the old man more irate.

Marty and i had walked over to see what was happening. Marty was not known to tolerate stupid or bullies. He looked at what was going on and said to the old man:

“Fuck off and die.”

The old man stopped in his tracks, looked confused, and became contrite. We all walked away quietly…with, of course, laughing to ourselves and adding to our legend of Marty.

i wrote this in 2012. i may have posted it somewhere back then. i don’t know. For those who may not have read my previous posts about Marty, he passed on July 5 from cancers produced by his exposure during his Vietnam service. i have written several posts about his legend since then. Today, while going through and cleaning up files, i ran across this. i think it speaks volumes about the man. We spent many hours talking about the bible, our writings — he wrote a number of adventure stories for nature magazines, our beliefs in the realm of politics, and always respected each other’s opinion. In short, i miss him.

i met Marty Linville at the Naval Amphibious School, Coronado, when i arrived there for duty in 1985. Marty, an Army major in artillery, was the assistant officer in charge of Naval Gunfire and as such coordinated, directed, and pulled duty at San Clemente Island where the Navy conducted its live fire Naval Gunnery exercises and bombing runs (He was truly “purple,” the term for working with other branches of military service long before it became a career enhancing gambit. I had reported to be one of the two-man team facilitators for the one week Prospective Commanding Officer, Executive Officer Leadership, Management, Education and Training Course (whew!) or PCO/PXO LMET.

My job quickly evolved into becoming the Director of LMET and Command Equal Opportunity for the West Coast and Pacific Rim and lead facilitator for a two-day seminar on leadership for Navy senior officers.

We both played on the school’s sports teams, and we began to play golf on weekends with Rod Stark, the Director of Amphibious Training, and later the executive officer.

All three of us retired from the command. Marty went to work for a military contractor using his skills and experience in human/computer interface in weapons systems. Rod became a golf pro at the North Golf Course in Sun City, CA, and i became Mister Mom while flip-flopping around on making a career of writing, until i gave it up for organization development and business development consulting, a more lucrative post-military officer pursuit. i later returned to writing.

In 1991, Marty and i agreed to begin playing golf on Friday mornings at the three Navy courses in San Diego at the time: Sea ‘n Air at the North Island Naval Air Station, Admiral Baker, and Miramar Memorial at Miramar Naval Air Station. We had vowed to not play on the military courses on the weekend because we had been frustrated many times finding retired old farts taking up tee times on the weekend when it was the only time active duty personnel could play.

We have been playing Friday morning golf ever since. Rod has returned and joined us and our group, occasionally numbering as many as sixteen, is now down to a pretty steady seven. The group has two Navy SEAL captains, three Navy commanders, and two civilians, one of whom is a veteran. Four of us saw service in Vietnam.

We rib each other a lot, are known for being a little uncouth, tell raunchy and politically incorrect jokes, and our wives accuse us of drinking too much beer at the nineteenth hole. We call ourselves “The Curmudgeons” and last year anointed Marty as the “Grand Whiner.”

In addition to our Friday morning golf, we play together on other occasions frequently. We share a love of sports and of literature.

Marty is a devout Catholic, gruff to a fault, adores his grandchildren and supports his children in their pursuits. His wife Linda is an understanding, patient, and loving woman. She has to be.

He also is a faultless friend.

Marty was awarded the Silver Star for his action in Vietnam.

In the past, we have shared several pieces of each other’s writing. Today, i received the below in my email. I was moved to tears.

I asked Marty to allow me to share it with others because i believe it paints picture of what it was back then when our country’s appreciation of our military veteran’s sacrifices did not exist.

Jim;

Over the years I have written a lot of (poor) poetry… thought you might be interested in something that I wrote in the late Spring/ Early Summer of 1969. I was in Vietnam and we had just moved into the ashau valley with only 63 men (really boys); I was all of 22. We were about 30% understrength. In the first 48 hours 16 of us were killed and 7 wounded, including me. This is what I wrote while I was on the hospital ship….

Ashau

The deep dark canopies are hung with dew 
The darkness resounds of voices 
Out of this tangled web of life 
Comes the chilling call of death

We have felt the scorpion’s sting and 
Peered into the viper’s fangs 
Our images have been reflected in the eye of the tiger 
And we have met death face to face in the valley.

Bless you, Marty, and thank you for our time together.

One Saturday morning in late September 1967, i, as a fourth class officer candidate (OC) at the Navy’s Officer Candidate School (OCS) in Newport, Rhode Island. We had just completed our Saturday morning inspection and march on the parade grounds concluding with a pass in review. i wondered about the value of such regimen. That afternoon, i sat down and wrote this poem:

Magnificent Men Marching

magnificent men marching, marching
cadence bams the air;
regimen the compass point;
warfare learning fare.
magnificent men standing, standing
fit and pompous in your ranks;
green and growing
boys to military men,
a new dimension to your arsenal.
magnificent men tall and stately,
uniformed so proud;
don’t know where you’ll be going
yet ready for the call.

magnificent men commissioned,
saluting all the men
mother and father proudly nodding;
now you are now and they are then.
magnificent men departed
the parade ground desolate, cold and bare,
don’t look into the mirror:
you’re just you,
not magnificent at all.

This past Thursday, i was playing golf on the North Island Naval Air Station’s Sea ‘n Air course. The back nine winds around the south facing beach along the Pacific Ocean. The fourteenth and fifteenth holes looks directly at Point Loma across the channel into San Diego Bay. On the ridge of Point Loma is the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery. From my view, i could see the rows of basic headstones on the green grass sparkling in the Southwest corner sunlight.

The initial words of the following poem came into my head. i thought about how, over near sixty years, twenty-two plus years of Navy service, ten ships, and incredible time at sea, had changed my perspective:

Magnificent Men at Parade Rest

magnificent men at parade rest,
all in perfect rows in formation
on the ridge of green
looking down upon the channel
to the pacific;
they lie beneath that green
and alabaster tombstones
just like their brothers next to them
parade rest,
quiet,
at peace;
these truly magnificent men.

In the middle of my career, i spent two years as Chief Engineer, CHENG, or Engineering Officer of the USS Hollister (DD 788). It was an incredible, fun, interesting, and learning experience. It was as hard as any tour i had, and the responsibility weighed heavily upon me. It was my last destroyer tour. i split toured to an amphibious ship and never went back to the greyhounds of the sea.

The experience was invaluable.

It also had one of darkest periods during my service. It was called INSURV.

i believe the Board of Inspection and Survey (INSURV) came aboard in May. Admiral John Bulkeley had practically invented the board to inspect Navy ships to determine their fitness for full operations at sea. The inspection team was thorough and scary.

i was a brand new engineer, having spent all of my previous ship tours in weapons. My engineering department had just been designated a reserve ship when i arrived and my two master chief machinist mates, a master chief boiler tender, two senior chief machinist mates and one boiler tender senior chief had all been reassigned to other, active force ships. My engineering leadership consisted of one master chief boiler tender and first class petty officers. Shortly after i arrived in December 1973 and inspected my spaces and my equipment, i determined my goal was to get to our scheduled overhaul in September without missing a scheduled operation commitment.

The INSURV engineering team ripped me and my department apart for the maintenance and upkeep of our equipment. The scolding was deserved. There were a number of things we weren’t doing maintenance wise and one inspector took me under his wing and explained how we should be doing it.

i was devastated. It was the first real bad mark against my running a division or department. i was ashamed.

Much later in my career when i was conducting leadership seminars for senior officers, i discovered (through the help and guidance of my teammate Dave Carey) a study on outstanding leaders. The report noted those COs and XOs who didn’t quite make the grade of superlative looked upon inspections as pains, unnecessary evils. The superior bosses thought of those inspections as useful because they pointed out areas that could be improved and make their commands better.

i certainly wasn’t thinking of my INSURV making my engineering department better. i was in the survival mode. A boon was revealed when we had our first pre-overhaul planning conference. Surface Forces Pacific, our squadron material officer, and Supervisor of Shipbuilding (SUPSHIPS) attended. The INSURV had given me a perfect shopping list for all of the repairs that were required for the engineering department. It did make us better.

And it made me better as well. Over two years later, the USS Anchorage (LSD 36) experienced its INSURV inspection. i had cross-decked as first lieutenant. i was ready. The deck department past every aspect of its inspection and was given an outstanding grade.