The burden of this war is being fought by less than 1% of our population that has served in Iraq, and by their families.

Nathaniel C. Fick
Former Marine Captain,
Afghanistan & Iraq Veteran
Testimony before the U.S. Senate
Democratic Policy Committee Hearing
12 October, 2006

This is not a pro-war article. This is not an anti-war article. It is a simple and, admittedly, insufficient tribute to one of the nearly 3,850 service men and women who have died in Iraq since the spring of 2003, and the more than 400 Americans who have died in the Afghanistan campaign. It is a tribute to one American – one small portion of the less than 1% of America’s 300 million citizens who have volunteered to fight, and possibly die, in the “War on Terror” far from their own native country1. It is a tribute to a young man, Rogelio Ramirez, who transcended adversity in order to become something special, and dedicate his life to something far greater than himself. (Alas, I am one of those old fashioned, un-hip individuals who believe that to be a U.S. Marine is to be special.)

We’ve lost a lot of people overseas since 9/11/01. After a while (for those who truly care) the sheer numbers of our killed and wounded produce a kind of numbness, a resigned acceptance of these daily tragedies. Often I must force myself to look at the casualty page when I read the Army Times . . . portrait pictures of our weekly KIA service personnel are always shown there. But I must look. I don’t want to remember these men and women as faceless statistics, mere numbers. Even then, I often have to pull on the aegis of callousness, lest I be overly distracted from my immediate responsibilities. (Later, when this war – God willing – is over, there will be more time to grieve.) But once in a while, one of these deaths gets to you more than others, stays with you . . . even though they’re not family members or friends.

One such casualty was Adam Rosema, a graduate of Arcadia High School, where I often substitute teach. Last spring, Specialist-Four Rosema was killed by an IED while serving with 3rd Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division south of Baqubah, Diyala Province, Iraq.

As I ruminated on this young GI’s passing, another incident came to mind, one related by a late friend of mine, an ex-sailor who had served with River Patrol Force (TF-116) in the Mekong Delta of Vietnam, before being transferred to the U.S. Naval Headquarters in Saigon. While in Saigon, Chris was temporarily detailed to serve on the honor guard that loaded the Navy’s KIAs onto aircraft at Tan Son Nhut airport for the flight home. One day he noticed the name of one of the dead he was assigned to escort on a manifest – a shipmate from his days aboard the oiler U.S.S. Ponchatoula, a friend and fellow Texan.

Though Chris had seen men killed in the Delta, had viewed the sanguine results of combat during the ’68 Tet Battle for Saigon, and had lost other comrades, this particular death hung over him like a dark pall for a long time afterwards (perhaps until his own death). The story of Rogelio Ramirez, as related in articles in the Pasadena Star-News on August 29 and June 5 of this year, has had a similar effect on me.

On Sunday, August 26, PFC Rogelio Ramirez, U.S. Marine Corps, age 21, a machine gunner with the 1st Battalion of the 1st Marine Regiment, was killed in a roadside bomb attack in al-Anbar Province, Iraq. He had been in-country less than five weeks when he was killed.

Ramirez’s early life was spent in Oceanside, California in the shadow of Camp Pendleton, the home base of the storied 1st Marine Division. As a young boy he idolized the Marines from the nearby base. Later, his family moved to Pasadena where he attended local schools. Short of stature (5’5”), Ramirez became a frequent target for abuse, and eventually lost interest in school, dropping out of Pasadena High.

Rogelio, for a time, found himself in a dark place, and could have very well gone down the same negative (possibly criminal) path as so many young people in Southern California had before him. However, his dream of becoming a U.S. Marine never completely died, and in his late teens he embarked on a journey to fulfill that goal. In keeping with their old adage that “the Marine Corps builds men,” his recruiters told him that he had to go back to school and graduate, complete some college credits, take care of some truancy issues – and get rid of some tattoos.

Ramirez fulfilled all these requirements. His sister related to the Star-News that he wanted to be “an American hero” and that he had more heart than many men much larger than himself. How odd, and at the same time anachronistically refreshing, that in this self-centered day and age when the media and the citizenry-at-large are so often obsessed with the erratic, frequently irresponsible, and often alcoholic/drugged-out behavior of celebrities (the “Beautiful People”), individuals who are held up as icons, that we find a young man of humble origin striving to overcome his personal demons and become heoric – and truly noble. The story of

Rogelio Ramirez is in keeping with the guidelines laid down by Joseph Campbell in his Hero With a Thousand Faces (regarding the “hero’s journey”). He, and the other young men and women, who have traveled so far away – farther, in heart, than Acre or Jerusalem2, farther in heart than the Achaians before Ilium – to fight and die (or be maimed) in our behalf are the modern day equivalents of Homer’s hero Patroclus . . . But this is only this humble writer’s opinion.

One of the more revealing insights into Rogelio Ramirez’s character relates to one of the quasi-gang tattoos he had to get rid of. Said tattoo was on Ramirez’s side. Rather than have it removed, he had it covered over by another tattoo, in this case a quotation by the English empiricist philosopher and social reformer, John Stuart Mill (1806-1873). The quote read:

War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things . . . The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.

Rogelio Ramirez’s funeral service was held at St. Andrew’s Catholic Church in Pasadena on Tuesday, September 4. His casket was carried by an honor guard of Marine NCO’s, while American flag-carrying “bikers” (including, no doubt, a number of Vietnam Veterans) stood in attendance. Lance Corporal Ramirez (posthumously promoted) was laid to rest to rest at Altadena Cemetery and Mortuary in Altadena, California with full military honors. In reading of this young man’s story I was somehow reminded of some last pages in former Marine Captain (and current U.S. senator from Virginia) James Webb’s novel Fields of Fire (arguably the best novel ever written about the Vietnam War) . . .

“Then why did he die in Vietnam? Hitoshi did not know Vietnam. “He was a warrior there. These men – these Americans you see. They are warriors. They fight in many places.” . . . The boy was sombered and slightly drained from the story. “Is it good to be so brave? To fight for your country like that? Was it a good thing my father did?” She squeezed his shoulders, anxious to fan this first spark of identity. “Yes! It was a very good thing your father did.” He smiled then, grateful to discover such a key, and spoke with hushed determination and a fierceness that surprised her. “Then I too will be a warrior.”3

The ancient Greeks believed that as long as a man was not forgotten he was immortal. I, for one, will not forget this young man who gave up his life so willingly for us, for me. As long as there is a Marine Corps he will not be forgotten as well; part of him will live on. Semper Fi, Rogelio. Requiescat in pace, commilito.

1 far from their own native country – from line 162, Book II, The Iliad of Homer; translation by Richmond Lattimore, © 1951.

2 farther, in heart, than Acre or Jerusalem – from the Epilogue of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, © 1944, 1945.

3 Webb, James. Fields of Fire. New York: Bantam, 1978. Pages 387, 389.