A Word About Heroes

I haven't posted recently because I was engaged in running the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. (I use the word "running" in its broadest sense, one foot planted ahead of the other at some forward pace.)

One always feels a sense of accomplishment finishing a long race, but the feelings I experienced from this event went far beyond any sense of personal victory. This race was never about me, but about heroes -- a hero whose image I proudly wore on my back, others who wore the TAPS singlets and photos of their own heroes, and the brave men and women in harm's way, present and past, who guarantee the lifestyle of freedom that we Americans enjoy every day of our lives.

The most important aspect of the finish photo is not the aging marathon runner propping himself up on the railing, but the background statue depicting Joe Rosenthal's iconic portrayal of the valor of United States Marines who took the strategic island of Iwo Jima in the waning days of World War II. If you have not read Flags of Our Fathers, or seen the Clint Eastwood movie, I urge you to do so.

When I was stationed in Japan, I had the honor to visit Iwo Jima with a group of Navy colleagues. On a brilliant and tranquil spring Pacific morning, I trudged the black sand of the landing beach, gazed up at Mount Suribachi, and imagined the chaos of hitting that beach in the face of withering enemy fire from all over the island. As I trudged back up the steep berm, my flight boots sank into the grit, an effort that labored my breathing in spite of my good physical shape. Could I have made that short trek with a load on my back and a weapon in my hand, all the time taking fire? What true heroes were the hospital corpsmen like John Bradley who rose to the task of treating the many casualties falling all around them!

After we toured the landing beach, a bus took our us up the steep road to the top of Mount Suribachi. Along the way we passed a group of U.S. Marines trekking to the top, as their forebears had done over a half-century before them.

At the top, we viewed the monument where the flag was raised, and looked down at the now tranquil black beach below. After we paid our respects to the fallen Marines who gave their lives in the assault, our bus toured us over the rest of the island.

Dog tags left by prior visitors. Landing beach below.

Japanese hospital cave

In the hospital cave, I reflected on the other side of the battle -- from the perspective of the Japanese who knew they would die on that island, never again to see their loved ones. (Eastwood's companion movie, Letters from Iwo Jima, tells their story.)








Taken in the light of history, the Marine Corps Marathon looms so much larger than a 26.2 mile run. Of course I'm proud to have completed the distance, but I am all the more humbled at having done so in the company of heroes, past and present.

Semper Fi! 

For Bob, Once More

I'm putting money on the table to support military families, and I hope my friends will join me.

A few years ago, the nation lost an outstanding naval officer and emergency physician to a tragic accident. I had huge respect for Commander Bob Goodwin as a professional colleague and friend. His dedication to freedom took him to Afghanistan in support of a dangerous mission in a hostile land. Not very long after his joyful return, when he was about to transfer to the 7th Fleet flagship, he died on one of our own nation's highways. Bob left behind a beautiful wife, two engaging young sons, loving parents and siblings, and an inspiring extended family.

Below is my original post on the day of Bob's funeral, just over two years ago.

On October 28, I will run the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, DC. To honor Bob's memory, I've established a donations webpage in support of Transition Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS). This compassionate organization sets the high bar in service to families of deceased military members.

Please consider joining me in making a donation in Bob's memory, whatever you can afford to give.

Whether or not you choose to donate, please take a moment out of your life to reflect upon and honor the memory of all deceased military members, and the faithful families who mourn them.

Click Here to Donate

FOR BOB

Original post July 8, 2010

By now anyone who has ears with which to hear or eyes with which to read knows that Bob Goodwin was a model naval officer, a stellar emergency physician, an enviable family man, and an exceptional human being. His untimely death represents a tragedy of a magnitude that defies mere human ken. Today as he is laid to rest, we all mourn the loss of him in our own way, and for our own reasons.

CDR Bob Goodwin, MC, USN (Deceased)

I had so looked forward to welcoming Bob aboard the 7^th Fleet Flagship. 


I will miss working and collaborating with him as a fellow operational physician supporting our nation's forward deployed mission. Kathy and I both will miss Bob's and Bridget's friendship. We were eager to once again enjoy the Japan experience with their young family. We will miss sharing a part of their lives, and we will surely regret not watching Christopher and Paul grow up.


But Bob's life means so much more than the collegial friendship that this fellow naval officer and his spouse will miss. I cannot begin to fathom what Bob's wife and children are feeling today. Our hearts and prayers reach out to them. No words in any language suffice to express our emotions and thoughts as we vainly try to conjure up some sense in all this grief.


Considering all the lives that Bob touched, his patients, co-workers, students, friends, and family, we should stand in awe of this one man's tremendous impact on humanity. His was an exemplary life of service and love, truly a life to celebrate, even in death. 


The Navy describes itself as "a global force for good." Bob was truly such a force. We are fortunate to have had him with us, however temporarily.


So even as we mourn the loss of that good force that was Bob Goodwin, we also optimistically anticipate his continued impact after death. Perhaps he was taken from fellow mortals early in life so that his soul could be released to an even higher calling. And perhaps we who grieve his loss still have him in our lives, only in a different and more enduring way. Perhaps he has "slipped the surly bonds of earth" to protect his beloved family and honored friends and nation in a fashion that a mere human cannot do. In that we must believe, and for that blessing we must be grateful. Thus we have hope, and in that hope we can truly celebrate his life.


I'm a better man for having known you, Bob. Fair winds and following seas, Shipmate.