Be… All You Can Be…

“What were your motivations to join the military?”

Ft. Jackson, South Carolina… Early 1996:

The Basic Training Company Commander went slowly down the bay, asking each new soldier why they joined the Army.

“For college money, sir!” was the reply from pretty much everyone before me. Hey, at least they were being honest.

I was 22 and had lived on my own for four years. I knew why I was there didn’t care to hide it. “To fly helicopters, sir!”

Nothing could phase me in Basic because 1995 sucked. The year started out breaking up with my girlfriend because there was very little in the way of compatibility. In April, I received a phone call from my Mom telling me to call her; it was message I saved as long as I could – when I returned her call, she told me she was diagnosed with a glioblastoma. My subsequent research was depressing as hell and yielded very little in the way of hope. Stupidly, I listened to her firm demand and stayed where I was living, rather than drop everything and move back home.

“There’s nothing you can do, Mike… and you have a life there.”

Yeah. Hindsight has a tendency to highlight some of the worst decisions of one’s life.

I was working several jobs at the time – lifeguard, swimming instructor, photographer, and a brief stint as a plumber’s assistant. None of them really held a lot of promise for me… In fact, staying in Virginia Beach seemed to have a vague horizon of more unfulfilling employment and possible alcoholism.

Despite my lifelong interest, I never really wanted to join any branch of the military – especially the Navy. Many of my friends had left for the Navy, there were Navy guys all over the place, and the risk of finding out the focus of your affection has a really… really… huge husband who can seemingly eclipse street lights and had recently returned from a cruise was far too real for me.

A customer wandered into the photo studio shortly after Memorial Day, and being the polite and naturally inquisitive photographer, I asked what he did for a living.

“I’m an Apache pilot in the Army.”

I knew that the Army was the only branch which didn’t require a college degree for those seeking to go to flight school. A series of questions was asked and the seed was planted. By best friend at the time was shocked because the decision came out of the blue; when he asked, my answer was simple:

“Dude. We’re 21, but we are not getting any younger. Matter of fact, there’s no guarantee that we’re going to live long enough to be old. If I stay here, I will probably spend the rest of my life drunk and wondering if I could have done something better with it. I have to get the hell out of here and try something… anything.”

By August, I was part of the Delayed Entry Program – the next earliest slot for 67T Advanced Individual Training (AIT) was the beginning of February. I coasted until late November when I got the phone call telling me that I need to come home by my step-father. December 3rd, Mom was gone – she slipped away peacefully in the night after 7 months of chemotherapy and a determined battle against a very aggressive cancer.

Two months later, I started the beginning of a path that was my own in both execution and goal. Knees pushed too hard when injured prevented me from going on to flight school, but I flew nearly 4,000 hours as a crew chief on Blackhawks in the 20 years I served. I went to places I never thought I would see – Thailand, Iraq, Afghanistan; for a total of 14 years, I lived in a state I never thought I would visit – Hawaii. I’ve fired door guns at night until the barrel glowed a deep cherry red, fought wildfires under night-vision goggles (NVGs), slung HMMVW’s out of chest-deep mud, landed on green sand beaches, orbited over lava flows, been pissed beyond patience, performed CPR on several patients, nearly died several times due to pilot stupidity/environmental factors… Most importantly, I served with some of the finest people I have ever been fortunate enough to meet.

Good motivation for what turned out to be a pretty amazing time spent in the Army.