Memoirs of an Outlaw: Life in the Sandbox

Chapter 20: Outlaw Memorial

Since the first deaths in the Outlaws, the song “Taps” has had a new meaning to me. As a new Marine, I just thought of it as an old traditional song that was played at the end of the day on base. I had heard it in movies, but it never held any meaning. Now, every time I hear it, it brings tears to my eyes because it means so much. In fact, I hope they play Taps when I am laid to rest.

The week that Vincent and Wilfong passed away, twelve other Marines died too. The battalion that we were attached to held a memorial service for their fallen Marines, and ours were included. For something put together in the middle of the desert with little resources, it was a nicely held service.

We were all brought out to the front of the camp chapel. In total, there were about three hundred Marines, each in his individual company formation. In front of the formation were the battle memorials dedicated to those fallen Marines. A rifle with a bayonet attached stood vertically atop the desert boots, with the helmet over the stock of the rifle and the dog tags of the fallen hanging from the handle or trigger guard. They were lined up side by side in perfect alignment.

Standing at attention, in a column to the side of the formation, was one friend of each fallen Marine. Sergeant Alfonso Nava was in the formation to say farewell to Wilfong, and Sergeant Leuba was there for Vincent. The small detachment began marching toward the memorials until they came to a halt in front of their respective comrades.

The battalion commander said a few words, as did the chaplain. "Taps" was played, and each Marine placed a second pair of dog tags around his friend's rifle and completed the ceremony with a farewell salute.

When the detachment completed their farewells, they moved off to the sidelines, and the rest of the battalion, along with our company, formed a line and walked past each Marine’s memorial. When a Marine approached the first memorial, he saluted and held his salute until he passed the last memorial. It was a very touching event.

After the ceremony was over, we were allowed to approach individual memorials and say whatever last words we wanted to say. Some took pictures. I stood by each one, said a few last words, and then walked away, hoping no more would have to die.

A couple days later, a few Marines and Sailors had a great idea. They were going to erect a permanent memorial for the Outlaws' fallen Marines. They built a wooden cross and stood it up on a slab of concrete in front of the base chapel. On the stand for the cross, they placed squares of marble to cover the base. On two of the marble tiles were the names of Vincent and Wilfong, with their birth and death dates and their platoon. A flag rested up against the cross, a couple of nonalcoholic beer cans were placed on each side of the memorial, and a few other tokens of remembrance were placed there. Someone painted a colorful drawing of an angel on a piece of plywood and stood it up behind the memorial. Everyone from the Outlaws would go over to the memorial from time to time to wish them and their families well or maybe just have a few words with them. For the next month, every night, someone would go out and light two candles next to the cross in memory of them. The family bond was beginning to grow; unfortunately, it took two lives to do so.

Throughout our deployment, that memorial would continue to grow with the names of the fallen. Sadly, six more names would be added to the base—six brothers; six sons; six fathers; six Outlaws who will never be forgotten.

All of the ceremonies we had and the Outlaw memorial will forever be embedded in my mind, and I will never forget my friends. I hope they rest in peace wherever they may be.