Jim Spiri in Iraq

My neighbor across the street is a man whose sons I grew up with down in southern New Mexico. It's a long story but I ended up living right here in Albuquerque across the street from Jack. I've known him for 42-years and he considers me his son, and I have always looked to him as a father. We have lots in common.

While awaiting the return of my wife from Kuwait, I found myself talking to Jack over morning coffee almost every day. He's 78-years-old now, but in very good shape. He has battled some health issues such as leukemia, but so far has come out on the winning end of the stick. The other day, I volunteered to take him to do some errands which included going to some doctors offices and some other places around town. I enjoyed doing it and we had lunch at an old school Mexican restaurant which are diminishing rapidly these days. We sat down and ordered two good plates of the hot and spicy delights which we both enjoyed. It was like old times.

Jack is a Korean War veteran. He is one of the people on the planet who has followed my escapades around the globe and has enjoyed hearing of my adventures. On this day however, I found myself listening to Jack open up to me about the days of his youth on the front lines in Korea, in 1953. As he spoke I noticed a youthful glow in his eyes that I had not seen for some time. The more he spoke the more I listened and soon realized that where he had been over 50-years ago was as fresh today as we shared the bowl of tortilla chips and hot sauce.

Each sentence he conveyed the days of fighting the Red Chinese and North Koreans in conditions that were quite rough. I was now used to the vocabulary and could relate to some things that I had recently observed in Iraq. Jack kept telling me story after story and each one seemed more interesting than the last. I realized that Jack was telling me history from half a century ago and it sounded like all the things I had just experienced, although in a different setting with another generation. The more he spoke the more I thought about General Douglas MacArthur's statement to Congress, "Old soldiers never die, they just fade away..."

I now knew what I had suspected. My conversations from now on would be among a group of people that understand. Not among people that have no clue. It was Jack who had introduced me forty years ago to how the political world works. I remember as a child wrangling with him about politics over and over until late hours of the night. He had sparked a light in me that taught me from an early age to learn how things work in the world of politics and war. Over the decades I watched as Jack became more like me and I became more like Jack. And then our two paths have met on the same street in the twilight of his life.

I am glad to have Jack as my neighbor. It was good to take him to town in my truck. It was like a father and son caring for one another. We were done by late afternoon. I took him home and parked my truck across the street in my driveway. I love my neighbor.

A couple days later, I had to go to the post office and mail off some documents that required some special services. I had arrived there early so as to avoid crowds. While standing in line a man came up behind me. He was older than me, Hispanic, and was wearing a hat that had "Viet Nam Vet" written on it. He was also wearing a USMC shirt with the words, "Semper Fi"
on it. I looked at him and could not help but ask, "former Marine?". And he said, "Yes, are you too?" I replied, "No, but I just finished spending time with Golf 2/6 in Fallujah, Iraq".

And then he opened up.

His name is "Chez", which he told me was short for Sanchez. He asked me how the boys are doing and I relayed the experiences that I had with the Marines.

I told him how much I missed being there with them and how I don't like to come out into town and stand in lines doing mundane things. He laughed and began telling me about his time spent in Con Thien, Viet Nam. We now were in deep conversation and we spent the next twenty minutes laughing and reminiscing and then we talked about times that were hard for him to recall. But he wanted to talk. And I had nothing better to do but listen. I asked Chez how old he was.

He told me to guess. I assumed about 59, and he smiled and told me 66. Then we both said how much we really never grow up and we laughed some more as we walked out the door of the post office and continued sharing stories.

This man of 66-years, a former Marine, told me many things. As his eyes got that glow in them, I once again realized I was talking with another warrior who never forgets where he had been. It was the one year in his life that shaped the rest of his life. Chez asked me for my phone number and where we could meet again. He told me he wants to invite me as a guest to his VFW meeting and introduce me to more of his friends who would love to talk with me about today's Marines in Iraq. I gave him my number. He gave me his. He gave me a handshake that was sincere and begged me to stay in touch. He told me he would tell his wife about me and that his running into me was great thing for him this day. He has had rough days, months, years and decades. But today he was found smiling.

When I came home I told my wife whom I had met this morning. A short while later I received a phone call and it was Chez. He was calling to tell me that going to the post office today and running into me made his day and he insisted that I come to meet more of his comrades next Tuesday. I told him I'd be here and we would for sure get together. Another neighbor from another war who wanted to talk of years past with me.

What both of these men don't know is what they have done for me. For I no longer can just stand in lines doing mundane things or answer calls from idiot telemarketers who keep trying to rip me off. In a sense, I'm a changed man, but in a broader sense, I've found more real people in my own backyard. I knew the journey would not end, I just did not know where it would lead next. I never know. But I'm always open.

It's all such an adventure.

Tonight, it's late and I could not seem to sleep. I told my wife I think I'd better try and write something and she knew I had a stirring going on inside my being. I checked the emails and see that the readers still want more. And there is more to give. For the time being, I do not have to go 15,000 miles away to the other side of the world. For in my own "perimeter" there is plenty of good folks.

Amazingly enough, they are hidden, but somehow they keep coming across my path. The brotherhood of warriors is all about me.

It is quite simple these days, "To Love Thy Neighbor", who also happen to be soldiers who have not faded away yet.

Jim Spiri
Albuquerque, NM
jimspiri@yahoo.com