
It was THE best duty I ever had, bar none. When we weren’t protecting the grounds and people of the embassy, my fellow marine guards and I spent most of our time socializing and going to dinner parties. I’ve got lots of good memories from those days working for the State Department, including…
… when the U.S.S. Iwo Jima made a port call. (I only just now learned that this impressive combat ship is now long gone, reduced to scrap about ten years ago – what a pity). Whenever a large navy ship comes to any town, things can get interesting, and it was no different when the Iwo Jima showed up. The streets filled with young American marines and sailors, paying t

For a week, we half-dozen “local” marines found ourselves overwhelmed and outnumbered. It was strange to find myself amongst hundreds of similar looking fellow American citizens, where as before their arrival I had felt isolated and deliciously “singular.” I had already learned that being white in an African country can make one feel quite self-conscious and exposed, but once I got used to being in a fishbowl, I felt pleasantly distinctive, and yes, even special. Truthfully, I came to enjoy it. It’s not like I was treated poorly for being American; actually, I sort of got deferential treatment.

Before talking of those things however, I will tell you how my Liberian friends conducted their many parades, really more procession than parade. These West African folk love pageantry, and so of course they love parades. For the most part though, they sucked at it, although they didn’t realize it. I observed several of these home-grown street spectacles and they were… well, . . . interestingly pathetic, and actually quite absurd to watch; but fascinating just the same, like watching a slow motion train wreck filled with Keystone Cops.
One of the absurd parts of the parades was the “get up” of some of the marchers – the “Americos,” as they call themselves, who wore Lincolnesque toweringly tall black top hats and 1800s-style black suits. Here’s a little history on these particular parade marchers: The founding “fathers” of Liberia were freed slaves from America. They were brought over from The States over several decades starting in the 1820s, continuing their “reverse migration” through the mid 1800s. In fact, the capital city is named after the American president, James Monroe, thus the name Monrovia. The country’s title, Liberia, was derived supposedly in honor of the immigrant ex-slaves’ newfound liberty.

As a marine, schooled in marching and on the importance of looking good while doing so, I was amazed that these people would do what they did, which to me seemed to be nothing more than public self-humiliation. Their uniforms were mis-matched and sloppy; they didn’t try to maintain order, much less straight lines and even ranks. They looked around, talked in formation, scratched, and waved to friends. I shook my head in amused amazement. What exactly did they think they were doing?
They usually had a sort of a military band that attempted to play their ancient and ill-working instruments, always strolling along as a rabble and utterly out of step. It seems that marching for these pitiful performers was out of the question, and it was virtually impossible to pick out what song titles they were playing. As for melody, at rare moments I could pick out something that sounded vaguely familiar, but not for long. What added to my amusement was the fact that these folk, both paraders and parade watchers, were quite pleased with themselves. Looking back at it now, I guess watching them made me feel superior, but that seems to be typical of youth, and especially true of arrogant young marines.
Then, as I said earlier, the U.S. Marine Corps came to town on a huge floating warship called The Iwo Jima. Upon their arrival, the marines were invited to take part in a local parade. No way was I going to miss that! But, before the parade, a heliborne assault demonstration was scheduled to take place on the outskirts of town at an army-training base. Of the seven marine embassy guards stationed there with me, five of us went out to the demo site in a large van we checked out of the consulate motor pool. We took two full trashcans loaded to the rims with iced beer meant for our brother ship-borne marines; so we could all slake ourselves after the conclusion of their little combat show.
Several hundred Liberian Army troopers already waited in two large sets of bleachers on the edge of a large open grassy field. These guys looked to be of a higher caliber of soldier than the ones I had seen around their national training center not far from the Presidential Palace just down the road from the embassy. I’m sure these fellows had been selected to watch because they were of better quality, or perhaps they were part of a “crack” Liberian combat unit. Whatever the reason, they wore U.S. Army style olive drab uniforms, probably American surplus, and all had on soft baseball-type green uniform caps.
My marine guard comrades and I wore our everyday civilian “uniforms,” as we called them. As embassy guards we were not supposed to wear shorts, jeans, t-shirts or any casual wear in public, unless we were doing physical training of course. Slacks, short-sleeve button-down shirts and leather shoes were our required dress. All of us waited expectantly for the Iwo Jima marines to “attack.” We knew it was going to be a great performance.

I found it tremendously exhilarating, but the Liberians were visibly shaken and green around the gills. Many jabbered excitedly, some standing up, while others broke from their seated ranks and jumped to the ground cowering low. I don’t think they’d ever seen military helicopters before, especially none like these angry-looking aggressive flying war machines. As soon as the Cobras flashed around our flanks, the wasp-like birds broke in opposite directions, swooping back out over the field toward the rest of the attack force to continue their simulated fire support.
They had done their job, because as our

In unison, the half-dozen CH-46s flared and landed on staggered line about 150 meters to our front. Each helo disgorged a dozen combat marines, all sporting fierce-looking black and green face paint. They followed procedure – sprinting out the lowered back ramps, six on each side one behind the other. The dual lines of troops split around opposite sides of their respective copters to form a protective perimeter around the entire attack force. As each marine reached his designated position, he threw himself to the ground facing outward.
While all this action was going on, the door gunners continued to fire. Once all attackers were set, the pilots took their “birds” vertical, allowing the door gunners to fire with even greater effect. This was the signal for all the marines to rise up and charge directly at us, some firing from one knee or prone, while others sprinted forward. Back and forth they stormed our position in this leapfrogging manner, all in perfectly choreographed, super fast motion.

It took more than a few seconds before the firing stopped completely. Believe me, firing blanks just a few inches from one’s ears induces temporary hearing loss, so not all the marines could immediately make out the order to cease and desist. Eventually we were able to convince the stampeded Africans that their lives weren’t in danger, and they drifted back like a flock of uncertain sheep; and indeed, the look on their faces was VERY sheepish. A tall lean black marine, a captain, was in charge of the attack force. He became ambassador and statesman as he greeted the ranking Liberian officer, who although hadn’t run completely away like most of his subordinates, he HAD taken a position of cover behind the stands.
On command, the ferocious marines reversed gears and became amiable in an effort to encourage the skittish Liberians to come out on the field and mingle with their American allies. All the helos had finally shut down, and with the return of relative silence, the gun-shy Africans began to laugh at themselves, realizing how foolish they had acted. Truthfully, I can’t really blame them. Marines on the attack are something dreadful to behold. If I had thought they might be for real, I would have made a run for it too; but dang, it sure was hilarious! We drank our iced beers in the hot African sun and continued to chuckle and shake our heads over the memory of it. We always used to claim that a company of Marines could take over most any African country – after that exhibition; I think there might be a grain of truth in that bit of blustering hyperbole.


The Monrovians around me watching this sublime display of martial perfection were obviously astounded and fascinated by what they saw. None of them had ever dreamed that human beings could look and act so impeccably precise. I heard one old African woman remark breathlessly, “My God, look at them; they are perfect!” And so they were.
8 comments:
Phil:
Nostalgic about those old de-commissioned warships? Click on the link below:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/telstar/15231976/in/set-56935/
And view several pictures of where they are now. Might even recognize the USS Iwo Jima among them.
On every trip we take from SF to Sacramento, we pass through this area, Suisun Bay, where all these "mothballed" ships are kept tied together. Very nostalgic and sad, too. But at times, they are taken out and given new commissions.
Several of my co-workers in the last hotel I worked for were Liberian émigrés, so I had to brush up a bit on my history, over and above the basic info I knew of the country, that it was established to relocate the freed slaves in the US who wanted to go back to Africa.
It was good experience interacting with them, without needing to travel out and visit their country in faraway Africa. They of course speak with accented English but basically humble and soft-spoken, and quite glad to be in the US. The San Francisco area has such a cosmopolitan feel in its population. Asians, Africans, Hispanics, etc. Even when one speaks only about Africans or African-Americans, one has to be cautious not to offend since one could be talking to a Nigerian, an Ethiopian, a Liberian, a Somali, or even one coming from the very deep south with the very difficult to understand heavy accent.
But you did one step better because you had the opportunity to actually visit and stay with them for a while.
What was the old cliché? Join the navy, and see the world.
Hey Amadeo, a marine would say, "join the marines and conquer the world!" Do they really feel that way? Absolutely! and without apology.
The Iwo Jima commissioned in 1960 was not mothballed, it was scrapped. It was an East Coast ship and did not end up at Vallejo. The bridge was removed and is on display in Houston.
I loved most of the Liberians I met. I was not so impressed with the arrogant well-to-do ones; just like the rich folk here, the rich Liberians looked down their noses at everyone. I suppose its the curse of money and power. Many of them got "theirs" in '79 when an indiginous Liberian Army Sgt led a coup and murdered the Americo President Tolbert.
Liberians definitely have their own inflection and even a sort of light brogue. I ran into many during my last tour on the East Coast. I'd hear them speak and recognized them immediately. I would love to pack up the entire nation of the "average" Liberian and bring them to the US. They make wonderful Americans and they work their butts off to make it. They don't whine and moan, they WORK!
reading your work (especially bits like this) is always a joy.
Thanks Jonathan, glad you enjoyed it. AND there's MORE where that came from! (chuckle)
Phil:
The USS Iwo Jima LPH-2 was my boat! I was on her from 1987 to 1991. I was a machinist mate down the engineroom. There is new one, the LHD-7. The same name
Just a little additional trivia on old warships, since we Filipinos are quite familiar with some of them.
They were the liberty ships that were used during WWII that became the workhorses of the nascent shipping industry in the Philippines. Many of us who did any traveling inter-island rode in one of them since they were scattered throughout the islands, hopping from one island to another. We used to call them the FS boats. There may still be some of them still plying those short routes.
Thus, a visit to San Francisco will bring old childhood memories, because there is one still seaworthy Liberty Ship, the SS Jeremiah O’Brien, maintained by old veterans and permanently docked in SF. Certain times during the year, one can sail on it for a small fee, for a cruise around the bay.
Yet another fantastic piece of writing. This post has no pictures attached, but I could "see" everything you were writing about. Very entertaining and informative. There is a best-selling novel in you somewhere, it just hasn't come out yet.
Hey anonymous...I took the nickel tour of your ship in Monrovia. I was very impressed. The Liberians were "incrediblefied" by it. Those folk are crazy in love with the USA by the way, or they were when I lived there.
Amadeo, interesting about the Liberty ships in the Phils. I'd never heard that. Too bad they didn't keep one around for display purposes...too expensive I guess.
Kev, hey there brother. Thanks for the kind words. I don't know about a novel, but I'll think about that. Hmmmm.
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