Executive Editor’s note:The following selection was taken from the newly released book, “Ortiz’s War: The Allies’ Secret Weapon Against the Nazis in France.” Col Peter Ortiz, twice the recipient of the Navy Cross, is among the most colorful, swashbuckling characters in Marine Corps history. Before becoming a Marine and being assigned to the Office of Strategic Services during World War II, he served with the French Foreign Legion. This excerpt, from chapter 4 of the book, opens with Ortiz’s return to America and enlistment in the Marine Corps. For more about the book and the incredible life of Peter Ortiz, you can listen to a conversation with the book’s authors on episode 257 of the Marine Corps Association’s Scuttlebutt podcast.
On Dec. 7, 1941, as American sailors were getting ready to sound morning colors and salute the Stars and Stripes, Japanese fighters and bombers unleashed their surprise attack on the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor. They put five battleships and hundreds of airplanes out of commission, killing about 2,400 Sailors, Marines, and soldiers. That made Dec. 7 “a date which will live in infamy” in President Roosevelt’s immortal words, spoken when he called for Congress to declare war against Japan. The motion sailed through both houses of Congress with only one vote against. The United States was finally at war, at first with Japan and then a few days later with Germany and Italy too.
When the Japanese attacked, Pierre Ortiz was at sea on the steamship Exeter. From France, he had made his way to Lisbon, passing over the rugged Pyrenees Mountains and through fascist Spain. The Portuguese capital was one of the few neutral ports in Europe where travelers could board a seaplane or a boat for America—and find a hot mix of spies and proxies from both sides, Allied and Axis. Ortiz talked to one of de Gaulle’s Free French officers as well as a British representative. Both offered to take him on as a captain, a promotion from his last rank of acting lieutenant. His mind made up, he declined their offers. He was going to America, more confident than ever that the country was approaching active participation in the conflict. A week after Thanksgiving, Ortiz talked his way onto the crew of the American Export Lines steamer about to depart for New York. Rather than pay for comfort, he would earn his passage across as a deckhand.
As Exeter steamed into New York harbor on Dec. 8, Ortiz leaned nonchalantly on the ship’s railing in a double-breasted navy-blue pinstripe suit, smoking a cigarette. A ribbon sewn into his lapel marked him as a military man. A signet ring on his pinky finger and a stylish watch on his wrist hinted he was no ordinary deckhand.
Ortiz could see the signs that the country was shifting from peacetime to wartime. Military and naval intelligence officers scurried up the gangplank to interview the passengers before they disembarked. Intrigued by the story Ortiz told, they invited him to Washington, D.C., for a thorough debriefing. Before leaving New York, he registered for the draft at 331 Madison Avenue, a block from Manhattan’s Grand Central Station. His status was “unemployed,” and his last place of employment was “Foreign Legion.” The registrar noted his ruddy complexion and the scars on thigh, hip, and shoulder, where the wars in Morocco and France had left their marks.
Once in Washington, Ortiz appeared at the Munitions Building, the white concrete World War I “temporary” that took up most of the space between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall, along with its equally ungainly twin, Main Navy. Inside the Army headquarters, Ortiz answered the military intelligence officers’ questions, amazed at how little they knew about the war in Europe. Then he told them his goal was to join the American military and get back into the war. One intelligence officer suggested he might make a good aerial observer. But progress toward a commission in the U.S. Army Air Forces quickly foundered. He seemed too thin and weak after a year of “semi-starvation,” not to mention his recent bout of pneumonia. The doctors’ advice was for him to go to his mother’s place and put on some weight before reapplying.
Ortiz immersed in study. His deep fascination with French military history, the Resistance and the realities of European conflicts shaped his actions in WW II.(Courtesy of The Ortiz Family)
A young Peter Ortiz on camelback during his early days as a Legionnaire in the deserts of North Africa. (Courtesy of the Ortiz Family)
Three months later, Ortiz tried again. He filled out a never-ending series of forms and wrote letters, reciting his military résumé, his tone polite but insistent. At 28, he had a lot of experience in small wars and one major campaign, having held every rank from private to first lieutenant and earned a host of awards. A bureaucrat found an obscure regulation that blocked his way forward. Ortiz’s service was for France, overseas; “a person [who] had been out of the country for a certain length of time was not eligible to become an officer.” An increasingly exasperated Ortiz did not care whether he started out as an officer; he could once again earn a commission on the battlefield. What he wanted now was action: “I, who have been a professional soldier practically all my adult years, am not content to sit back and watch others fight when, at last, I have an opportunity to serve my country.”
When the military bureaucrats failed to oblige him, Ortiz decided “to hell with all that.” He would simply enlist, picking the Marines because an old Legionnaire who had served in both outfits told him that their merits were about equal. This was true enough. They had been about the same size; the strength of the Corps in 1939 was about 19,000. They were both tough military elites with fighting traditions going back over 100 years.
Just as the infantry was the backbone of the Legion, every Marine was a rifleman first. Both services included loyalty in their mottos. Each had a training program celebrated for turning troubled youths, including those who might have run afoul of the law, into disciplined men. It was as good a fit as Ortiz was likely to find in the United States.
Saying nothing about his background, Ortiz signed the papers at a recruiting station in Baltimore like any other recruit and, being east of the Mississippi, soon found himself at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at Parris Island, S.C.
Parris Island was nowhere near a city. Isolated on the coast, it lacked the reflected glory of Sidi-Bel-Abbès. Sandy, hot, and humid most of the year, it was just a place to make Marines. Recruits lived in Quonset huts—rudimentary half circles of corrugated steel with doors and windows. They learned to tolerate the ubiquitous sand fleas and obey their drill instructors, who had up to eight weeks
A massive air drop of supplies on Aug. 1, 1944, supporting Ortiz’s mission behind the German-occupied lines. (Photo by Raymond Bertrand, Courtesy of Risler family)
Ortiz’s official French veteran identity card (Carte du Combattant).
to turn a civilian into a Marine. Basic indoctrination, physical conditioning, and marksmanship were on the training schedule. To graduate, recruits had to absorb the ways of this branch of the sea service, especially its strict discipline and loyalty to each other and to the Corps. That the country was now at war helped motivate the young men, who were homogeneous compared to the Legion’s recruits. With the right attitude, everything else became easier.
Ten years older than the average recruit, Ortiz was not the oldest, a distinction earned by the 50-year-old college professor Paul H. Douglas, who enlisted in May 1942. With waivers for his eyesight and his teeth, Douglas had to put in a little extra effort to graduate. Not so Ortiz. He had already met many of the requirements. The Corps insisted that a man abandon his previous identity and embrace a new set of stories and priorities, things Ortiz had literally done in the Legion even before the physical toughening had begun; each service wanted to possess “the souls of its personnel as earnestly as it strive[d] to condition their bodies.” Ortiz concluded that Marine boot camp was “not as hard as Legion training,” which was usually twice as long.
Word spread about this amazing recruit. On July 1, Ortiz applied for a commission; Headquarters Marine Corps inquired about him; Colonel H. L. Smith of Parris Island replied that “we spotted him shortly after his arrival,” adding, “The Marine Corps would be unbeatable if all our men were like him.” After deciding to see for himself what Ortiz was like, the chief of staff of the recruit depot placed Ortiz above the level not only of the trainees, but also of the trainers. On July 14, Col Louis R. Jones wrote to the Commandant of the Marine Corps that the young man’s “knowledge of military matters is far beyond that of the normal recruit instructor.”
That assessment made the process flow smoothly. Less bureaucratic than its sister services, the Corps proved downright nimble. Ortiz went to Washington to meet with the Commandant, then-Lieutenant General Thomas Holcomb, the stern-looking gentleman who was presiding over the expansion of the Corps from 17,000 to 385,000 Marines. Holcomb saw a future intelligence officer in Ortiz. When Ortiz asked about the regulation that had barred his way, Holcomb laid down the law: He was “head of the Marines,” and if he said Ortiz would be a Marine officer, Ortiz would be a Marine officer.
When he finished boot camp, Ortiz went from being Private Pierre J. Ortiz, former Legionnaire, to Second Lieutenant Peter J. Ortiz, USMCR. But that did not settle his future in this war. Since he did not fit any of their existing molds, it took the Marines a few months to figure out what to do with Ortiz. Giving him a commission was the right step after boot camp. But where exactly should this unique officer serve and in what capacity?
From left to right: Jack Risler, Robert LaSalle, Peter Ortiz and John Bodnar—the surviving members of the Union II mission, minus Francis Coolidge—in Washington, D.C., in 1945. (Courtesy of the Risler Family)
The Marines were planning campaigns in the Pacific; Ortiz wanted to get back to Europe, where they were a rarity. In August, he echoed Commandant Holcomb’s suggestion that he belonged in intelligence. He spoke foreign languages and could thrive in odd corners of the globe, especially French North Africa. He did not need many comforts and had a lot of stamina. “I have had unlimited experience in swimming, alpinism, and rugby,” he reminded everyone.
But the Marine Corps did not have a robust intelligence branch; if he became an intelligence officer, he would have to serve outside the Corps to realize his full potential. He suggested another, even better possibility: becoming a Paramarine, a specialty that sprang to life after the Germans showed what a few paratroopers could do in May 1940. In a surprise attack from above, a handful of Fallschirmjäger had disabled the supposedly invincible forts guarding the Belgian frontier. For a while, that seemed the wave of the future. Within a week, LtGen Holcomb had decreed that the Marine Corps, which had no paratroopers, would enter the field. The Marines had moved fast, setting up jump schools on the East and West Coasts. Two years later, the Corps approved Ortiz’s request to become a Paramarine after he messaged headquarters to lay out his qualifications and interest in this new kind of warfare.
A photo Ortiz may have used for false documents.(Courtesy of UK National Archives, KEW)
In the fall of 1942, Ortiz moved up from South to North Carolina, where the Marines had been building a vast base that would be called Camp Lejeune. Beautiful beaches were ideal for rehearsing amphibious landings, the Marines’ evolving specialty. The base also had the dubious distinction of having more swampland and insects and reptiles than Parris Island, making it a good place to train for fighting in the jungle on Pacific Islands, but less so for European climes. On a part of the base known as Hadnot Point, the Marines built the East Coast parachute school on sandy soil among pine trees.
Americans qualified with just five jumps. No one cared that Ortiz had already jumped well over 100 times in the Legion. He needed to learn the Marine Corps way at Hadnot Point. He was among the first students in the summer of 1942. It was like going to boot camp again, only with more, and harder, physical training: practice jumps and landings at ground level followed by jumping from a tower and finally jumping from old cargo planes. It was a school where officers and enlisted trained together, and where he met other Paramarines of all ranks. When he graduated, Ortiz was again a member of an elite within an elite. Along with the title “reconnaissance officer,” the Marine Corps rewarded him with a promotion to captain in December.
Ortiz was in North Carolina waiting for jump school to start on Nov. 8, 1942, when 110,000 Allied soldiers landed in French Morocco and Algeria. Commanded by U.S. Army LTG Dwight D. Eisenhower, Operation Torch was part of a campaign to drive the Axis from the African continent and set the stage for a return to the European continent. But Ortiz would not miss the campaign for which he was so well prepared. The fighting in North Africa would drag on into the spring of 1943 as Eisenhower advanced east from Morocco and Algeria toward Tunisia, and British Gen Bernard L. Montgomery kept at the monthslong task of pushing the Afrika Korps west from Egypt to Tunisia.
Ortiz received orders to report to the U.S. Naval attaché in Tangier, Morocco, then to observe operations and logistics to glean anything of interest to the Marine Corps. He found that the Naval attaché was not another military bureaucrat but, like himself, an exceptional reservist who knew his way around the Arab world. As the intelligence officer for the 6th Marine Regiment in World War I, William A. Eddy crawled out into no-man’s-land between the trench lines on his belly to find out what the Germans were up to. The tall, once athletic man had returned home with a long row of decorations and a permanent limp. Between the wars, Eddy earned a Ph.D. from Princeton, taught at the American University in Cairo, and wrote the first guidebook to baseball in Arabic. For a while he was president of Hobart College in New York. In 1941, Eddy had volunteered to return to active duty despite his injury because, he said, he would rather be among Marines than put up with bickering professors. The reserve lieutenant colonel appeared to work for the Office of Naval Intelligence, but his primary allegiance was to the Office of Strategic Services, abbreviated OSS, America’s brand-new intelligence outfit. Tasked with preparing for Operation Torch, Eddy had gathered practical and political information that made a difference: everything from the topography of the beaches to the allegiances of the local chieftains.
LtCol William A. Eddy, USMC (Leatherneck File Photo)
For all his accomplishments, Eddy was soft-spoken and approachable. Upon arriving in Morocco, it was not hard for Ortiz to get his permission “to roam about at will, attaching myself to and serving with units of my choice.” To be on familiar turf with a nearly blank check was a dream assignment. He knew he “was for excellent personal reasons and as a representative of the Marine Corps, particularly desirous of … taking part in action against the Germans.” After experiencing defeat in 1940 and being held as a prisoner of war for 15 months, he was ready to hit back even though his primary mission was to observe.
Ortiz proceeded to the Tunisian high desert in time for the Battle of Kasserine Pass in February 1943. This extension of the Atlas Mountains was barren country, little more than rocky plains and sand that looked like the American Southwest. In winter, troops had to endure snowstorms as well as sandstorms; they slept cold and could not escape the sand that got into everything: the weapons, the food, the sleeping bags. It made for a tough proving ground.
tiz watched the U.S. Army fail its first test of arms against the Wehrmacht. News that the famed Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, victor of countless desert bat-tles, was coming their way was enough for many American soldiers. Others waited until German artillery shells started to burst around them, or until they could hear and see German tanks and infantry. Battalions of green troops abandoned their gear and fled 50 miles west. Ortiz saw an anticipatory evacua-tion order spark panic. A few Messer-schmitt BF-109 fighters and Junkers Ju-88 light bombers came out of nowhere at dusk and destroyed the truck carrying his bedroll, a loss that he simply shrugged off. For an experienced soldier, it was nothing to worry about.
The decorated array of U.S. Marine Corps and foreign medals earned by Col Peter Ortiz.(Courtesy of National Museum of the Marine Corps)
Ortiz mustered “a group of Arabs … to find out what the Germans were doing” and help the Allies fight back. Since his time in Morocco in the 1930s, he had known the ways of the tribesmen and was comfortable working with them. “My Arab boys and I wandered around the [Tunisian] desert and had a pretty good time,” he noted. He provided headquarters with “a good deal of useful information.”
Once, they were “captured” by U.S. Army troops who doubted Ortiz’s story. By then he and the Arabs looked alike—deeply tanned, windburned, sharing bits of clothing, perhaps checkered headscarves. Having never heard of any U.S. Marines operating in North Africa, let alone an American officer leading a camel train, the soldiers suspected him of being a spy. “If this fellow is a Nazi, we can shoot him,” one soldier mused. “On the other hand, if he is a Marine, we should shoot him.” It was a dangerous joke. The interservice rivalry ended when a higher headquarters confirmed they were all on the same side.
Continuing his tour of the battlefield, Ortiz was delighted to encounter a comrade from the Legion, a captain who was busy reinforcing the almost completely encircled remnants of the 3rd Foreign Infantry Regiment, which had served alongside Ortiz’s 2nd Regiment in Morocco. Ortiz could not resist riding to the sound of the guns with the 3rd. He was there as the Legion forced the Germans to pay “a high price for every inch of terrain.” If true to form, he fired a few rounds himself. He left the Regiment only when it was withdrawn to rest and refit. The lesson he recorded was that old-fashioned military virtues still made a difference: These Legionnaires had “demonstrated conclusively that seasoned and determined troops can, albeit with very inferior equipment and armament, hold out against a numerically superior and better armed enemy.”
Every so often, Ortiz remembered he was not entirely a free agent and reported back to Eddy in Algiers, who had proven remarkably tolerant of his wandering observer. No longer a young daredevil himself, Eddy was now ready to pull in the reins—while Ortiz wanted more rein. Ortiz had heard about an unusual opportunity. Eddy was collaborating with the British on an operation codenamed “Brandon” to support Eisenhower’s forces. Under Brandon, small teams of commandos operated behind and between the lines. The mission was “reconnaissance patrolling,” which meant keeping an eye out for the enemy on unguarded flanks, reporting back to the nearest Allied command, and, not least, harassing the Germans by conducting hit-and-run attacks, laying mines, or blowing bridges.
The officers were largely British and from the Special Operations Executive, or SOE. The men were a mix of nationalities, including Spaniards and Frenchmen who hated fascism. Rounding out the picture was a sprinkling of Americans from OSS—among the first OSS officers and men to face the enemy in battle. They included Carleton Coon, the 42-year-old Harvard anthropologist who, like Eddy, was a seasoned Arabist. He spoke the language and had excellent rapport with the tribesmen he was now trying to harness for the Allied cause. (He wanted to go down in history like the multitalented British guerrilla leader T.E. Lawrence of World War I fame.) Coon thought highly of Marines and particularly of Ortiz, who knew the region and knew how to fight.
Col Brian Russell and LtCol Pete Ortiz Jr., USMC (Ret), son of Col Peter Ortiz, cut the ribbon on June 30, 2022, officially dedicating building WC504 as Ortiz Hall at Camp Lejeune, N.C.(Photo by Cpl Kyle Jia, USMC)
After journalist Katie S. Sanders discovered that her late grandfather—a Jewish-American pilot shot down over France—was rescued by Peter Ortiz, she teamed up with Marine veteran Dr. Nick Reynolds to co-author “Ortiz’s War: The Allies’ Secret Weapon Against the Nazis in France.”(Photo by Makarov)
Ortiz learned that one of Eddy’s officers detailed to Brandon, Captain Elmer “Pinky” Harris, also a Marine, had been wounded by a mine that morning. Ortiz argued he was just the man to take Harris’ place. It would be like for like. But Eddy had his doubts about letting Ortiz go on the assignment. Strictly speaking, he was supposed to be a pseudo-diplomat, more of an observer, less of a combatant. He even had a bona fide diplomatic passport that conferred protected status. The middle-aged Eddy did not want to abuse the privilege. But Ortiz was so eager that Eddy gave in.
In early March 1943, Ortiz took charge of five Spanish commandos and a British radio operator and ventured into the unknown. He made it his personal goal not only to find the enemy but also to bag “a German tank or two” himself.
By now, the American and British armies were facing off against the German and Italian armies in the eastern third of Tunisia, a battleground stretching 300 miles north to south and 50 miles east to west. The terrain ran the gamut from high desert to rocky foothills to valleys fertile enough for olive trees. On March 17, Ortiz presented himself to U.S. Army Brigadier General Paul M. Robinett, commander of an armored task force known as Combat Command B. The 48-year-old was an unusual career officer—5 foot 4 inches of swagger, aggression, and intelligence. He and Ortiz had some common ground. Robinett had studied at the University of Paris, attended the French cavalry school, and competed at the Paris Olympics in 1924 on the U.S. equestrian team. The general explained his plan to Ortiz and asked him to help guard his exposed left flank. He wanted advance notice of any Germans coming at him from the east.
That evening, Ortiz set up a lookout post on a small mountain called Garet Hadid—about 2,000 feet at the summit—that overlooked one of the few roads in the area. But he himself did not stay put. Leaving his second-in-command in charge, he set out by himself to reconnoiter places that might harbor tanks, to get close enough to do “a little something” to the enemy.
The night was inky black. Rain had been falling steadily for three days and showed no signs of abating. It reduced visibility to a few yards. A seasoned infantryman will tell you that this was good weather for reconnaissance, the enemy being less likely to expect a probe when it makes more sense to stay in your tent. He will also tell you that going alone, especially without a radio, is seldom the best plan.
Loaded with grenades, Ortiz inched his way forward for hours, looking and listening. When he crossed a low-lying valley, he sank into mud up to his knees, slowing him down even more. Well past midnight, he spotted tank tracks but no tanks. He neither saw nor heard any other sign of the enemy. Then, without warning, machine-gun fire blazed through the darkness at him from the front and the right. A bullet went through his right hand, near the thumb and forefinger. Another bullet grazed his right leg.
Ortiz fell to the ground and rolled to the left, looking for cover. There was not much. Some 30 yards to the front, he could now make out the dim silhouette of a vehicle. He aimed and threw a Mills bomb—a standard British hand grenade—that fell short. Making a supreme effort, he aimed again, launching a petard. He watched it explode “with a terrific blast,” stopping the automatic fire from that direction. For a man who had just been hit in his throwing hand, it was a remarkable pitch, half again the maximum range of 20 yards for the British antiarmor grenade. The “sticky bomb” designed to latch on to metal until it exploded must have hit home. Ortiz heard men crying out in pain. “With extreme caution,” he crawled one hundred yards to the rear while dodging fire from the right. Then he stood up and walked, bleeding and in shock, slowly back to his men at the lookout post on Garet Hadid.
It took until 8 a.m. to cover the few miles back to Robinett’s command post. The general was delighted with the team’s performance. In his own way, Ortiz had located the enemy. Robinett put Ortiz’s information on the wire and awarded him a Purple Heart on the spot for being wounded in combat, before personally escorting him to a well-equipped aid station. The doctors put Ortiz under and operated immediately. When he came to, he was upset to discover that Robinett had reassigned his scouts. Even worse, the doctors planned to send him to a better equipped field hospital over the border in Algeria. He protested, but to no avail. The surgeon at Tébessa proposed another operation and foresaw months of convalescence.
The war might be over before Ortiz could return to the front, a prospect he could not accept. Ortiz messaged a friend at the nearby French airfield outside Youk-les-Bains to get him quietly out of the hospital and onto a plane to Algiers. On March 22, he reported to Eddy, who let Washington know that the captain had been wounded while engaged “in a personal encounter” with a German patrol that he dispersed with grenades.
Col Peter J. Ortiz’s behind the enemy line missions in France made him the ultimate secret weapon against the Nazis.(Courtesy of the Ortiz Family)
The colonel barely resisted saying, “I told you so.” Against his better judgment, he had allowed Ortiz to go into battle. Now there was concrete proof that he had violated the rules for “observers.” It would be best to get him out of the country until things quieted down. Ortiz protested. He wanted to stay and fight. But this time he could not sway the colonel and was soon on his way to Washington by air, reporting to Headquarters Marine Corps on April 28.
Featured Photo (Top):Col Pierre J. “Peter” Ortiz receives the first of his two Navy Crosses, awarded for extraordinary heroism during WorldWar II after a career that took him from the French Foreign Legion to the U.S. Marine Corps and the Office of Strategic Services (OSS).
Surrounded by pines and oak trees on a range in Quantico, Va., a Marine crouches in the underbrush. Beneath his flak vest and atop his helmet, he wears a digital Marine Pattern (MARPAT) utility uniform. Tucked into proper concealment, he blends into his surroundings—an onlooker would see a distorted shape from a distance, nothing that would catch the untrained eye. As hand and arm signals silently flash from a squad leader yards away, several Marines morph from unassuming shapes into a rifle squad advancing on a patrol.
Like the generations preceding them, these Marines rely on the splotchy, multicolored camouflage to provide them with a slight edge within their surroundings. The earliest examples of camouflage in the U.S. military were products of artists who used colors and patterns to adapt to environments. Modern interpretations of camouflage take a scientific approach, with defined processes and methods to create specific patterns to blend colors and break up the distinctive outlines of a warfighter. In his article “Colour and Camouflage: Design Issues in Military Clothing,” Johannes Baumbach writes that camouflage should decrease the probability of detection, identify friend from foe and provide a corporate image.
From Blues to Drabs
At the turn of the 20th century, as the linear warfare practiced by Napoleon and General Grant faded away to be replaced by multidimensional modern war, Marine Corps uniforms adapted with it. Gone were the flashy shakos and bright brass buttons. Marines retained these for garrison and parade functions but entered combat with drab colors designed to blend into their surroundings.
Fighting from mud trenches and dugouts, Marines in France during World War I wore forest green and olive drab uniforms. These uniforms were much better suited for combat than the blues that Marines previously wore. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
The Marines of the Spanish-American War and World War I started the drab color trend. During campaigns in Cuba and the Philippines beginning in 1898, Marines replaced their white linen with a light brown “campaign suit,” a precursor to the khaki summer service uniforms. In 1912, the Corps went a step further by introducing a wool forest-green uniform to replace the navy-blue jacket and sky-blue trousers. Up until this change, what modern Marines recognize as dress blues served as everyday wear, and they were frequently worn into combat.
The distinction between dress and combat clothing became more pronounced with the first utility uniform introduced in 1941, just prior to the United States’ entry into World War II. These sage green, herringbone twill (HBT) uniforms were designed to be worn over the khaki ones during manual labor and working parties but soon formed the foundation for all future Marine combat uniforms.
Members of the USMC Historical Company demonstrate the changes in Marine Corps uniforms in the early 1900s. On the left, the undress blues with campaign cover were worn in combat during the Boxer Rebellion in 1900. To the right, the Marines wore brown linen campaign suits and their undress blues cover when landing at Guantanamo Bay in 1898.(Courtesy of USMC Historical Company)
Marines Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller and William Lee pose for a photo with members of the Nicaraguan National Guard, Carlos Gutierrez and Carmen Torrez, circa 1931. They are wearing the khaki blouses and trousers that had been the combat uniform of Marines since the Spanish-American War. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
World War II
At the beginning of WW II, the Army beat the Marine Corps to the punch in the development of camouflage uniforms. Taking note of the Japanese jungle camouflage, the Army pioneered a one-piece green coverall covered in irregular green and brown splotches. Besides limited instances in the Solomon Islands, it proved unpopular and saw little use.
The Marines took inspiration from the development of these coveralls and released their own camouflage pattern that came to symbolize the Marine Corps in the Pacific. The first camouflage uniform was cut and fashioned similarly to the HBT utilities but was made to be reversible. One side featured splotches of brown, ranging in shade from sand tan to dark brown, to be worn on the beaches of Pacific islands. The reverse side was patterned primarily with shades of green, interspersed with mud brown, to blend into the jungle terrain. Reminiscent of a frog’s natural camouflage, these utilities were dubbed “frogskins.”
Frogskins made their widespread combat debut during the Bougainville campaign in November 1943. Many of the Marines in the 3rd Marine Division, with attached Raiders and Paramarines, trudged ashore wearing newly issued frogskin uniforms. Weeks after the invasion, 2nd Marine Division entered Tarawa nearly entirely uniformed in the utilities, with the “brown side” facing out.
Marines and a Sailor load a wounded Marine onto an LCVP during the Bougainville campaign, 1943. The Marines are wearing the new camouflage utility uniform with the green side out to blend into the dense jungles of the Solomon Islands. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
Despite the modern association of frogskin camouflage with Marines in the Pacific, the Tarawa operation was the first, and only, campaign in which nearly every Marine was issued the uniform. Operationally, the “brown side” provided little concealment against the white, sandy Pacific beaches. Further experience revealed that the “green side” was equally ill-suited to the terrain of the Central Pacific islands. The only component to survive the war was the helmet cover, made with the same frogskin patterns as the utility uniforms.
From the Mariana Islands to Okinawa, nearly every Marine’s helmet was covered with camouflage. While it offered little concealment in the surrounding environment, it effectively broke up the obvious silhouette of the American M1 steel helmet. This practice continued throughout the Korean War a decade later. With little technological development between the two wars, Marines were still fighting in sage green utilities and frogskin helmets in Korea.
The Marines of the 2nd Marine Division wore the camouflage “frogskin” utility uniform while fighting on the Tarawa Atoll in 1943. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
Vietnam
The development of a new pattern was once again spearheaded by the Army in the 1950s. Their Mitchell pattern camouflage was designed to be reversible; however, both sides were significantly different than those seen during WW II. The green side of the Mitchell camouflage had varying leaf shapes in shades of green with brown sticks interspersed throughout. The brown side resembled clusters of brown and tan dots.
Continuing the previous practice, the only pieces of gear issued with Mitchell camouflage were the helmet cover and shelter halves. As Marines began to arrive in Vietnam in increasing numbers in the 1960s, each wore the iconic Mitchell camouflage helmet cover. At the same time, the Army’s Engineer Research and Development Laboratory (ERDL) resurrected a pattern it had designed in 1948 to meet the operational camouflage requirements of the Vietnamese jungles. Known as the ERDL pattern, it was first used by Marine recon and combined action platoons. By 1969, ERDL camouflage, patterned with dark green, light green, brown and black splotches, was widely issued to every Marine in Vietnam. This formed the foundation of the woodland camouflage worn by all branches of the Armed Forces in the latter half of the 20th century.
When he was the Assistant Commandant, Gen Paul X. Kelley, the 28th Commandant of the Marine Corps, visited Okinawa in 1982. Two different camouflage patterns are shown here, with Gen Kelley wearing the newer woodland camouflage of the Battle Dress Uniform, while the Marine with the clipboard wears the older ERDL woodland camouflage uniform. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
Sgt Ron Trayer wears his sage green utility uniform and a helmet with “frogskin” cover in Korea, circa 1953. This combination of utility uniform and camouflage helmet cover was standardized during World War II. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
The ERDL camouflage was mass issued to Marines in Vietnam in 1969. This scout dog handler is wearing the ERDL jungle fatigues at the 1st MP Battalion kennels in Da Nang. (Photo courtesy of USMC History Division)
The tiger-stripe camouflage pattern was never officially adopted by the Marine Corps during Vietnam; however, several Marines, such as this member of 1st Force Recon Company, wore this pattern. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
During the Beirut peacekeeping mission in 1983, most Marines wore the woodland camouflage Battle Dress Uniform. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Into the Desert
With conflicts erupting in the Middle East during the 1960s and 1970s, the Army pursued desert camouflage patterns as well. As a result of a series of trials in California, the six-color “chocolate chip” desert pattern was introduced. This pattern utilized four shades of brown and tan interspersed with specks of black and white “rocks.” The largest utilization of the chocolate chips was with I Marine Expeditionary Force during Operation Desert Storm and the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit during Operation Restore Hope.
Several deficiencies were identified with the chocolate chip camouflage, however, leading to the development of the tri-color desert pattern. This was similar to its predecessor but eliminated the black and white “chips” and simplified the color palette to brown and two shades of tan. The goal of this change was to create a camouflage that was more adaptable to environments with both sand and vegetation.
Marines wearing the six-color “chocolate chip” desert camouflage climb a berm in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Storm. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
Marine John Courtenay wearing the “chocolate chip” desert camouflage during Operation Desert Storm. (Courtesy of USMC History Division)
Leading the Digital Age
Since the 1950s, the Marine Corps had not fielded a truly proprietary camouflage uniform. In 2000, still clad in the classic woodlands, Marines began pioneering a new pattern. Marine Corps Systems Command led the effort to develop a new utility uniform that was not only practical in combat and reduced detection but, above all, represented the Corps’ unique identity.
After exhaustive research, two patterns of camouflage were pitted against each other in final field testing. The first option was a tiger-stripe pattern, favored by the 32nd Commandant of the Marine Corps, General James Jones, and was based on the Republic of South Korea Marine pattern and the camouflage used by a few American units in Vietnam. The second pattern was a digital one, heavily influenced by the recently developed Canadian Disruptive Pattern. Departing from traditional designs of camouflage, the digital pattern featured straight lines and edges with no blurred transitions between colors.
As the patterns were tested, the Marines at Systems Command identified three color palettes. A set of woodland, desert and urban variants were selected, although the urban color scheme was ultimately abandoned. A progressive feature of the color choice was the inclusion of coyote brown in both woodland and desert palettes. Marine packs, boots, flaks and field gear could be manufactured in coyote brown and still remain compatible with both sets of colors.
Early in Operation Iraqi Freedom, Marines wore the tri-color desert camouflage. One of the shortcomings with the use of this desert pattern was the lack of matching field gear, seen here with the heavy use of woodland camouflage flak vests and packs. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
The disparity over the lack of proper camouflage was noted among Marines. Pictured here are Marines from Company C, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines, fighting their way into Baghdad, Iraq, with desert camouflage utilities and woodland field gear. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
The digital pattern emerged as the superior camouflage following field testing. Dubbed Marine Pattern, or MARPAT, the new design was patented by the Marine Corps in 2001. Marines, regardless of clime or place, finally had a distinctive camouflage of their own. On Jan. 17, 2002, the new MARPAT uniform was officially adopted by the Marine Corps.
Although nearly a year passed before the uniform was issued to the Fleet Marine Force, its popularity had already spread throughout the Department of Defense, igniting the interservice digital camouflage war. Soon after the adoption of MARPAT, the Army, Navy and Air Force began searching for their own distinctive camouflage. Despite contrary results during field testing, the Army implemented the Universal Camouflage Pattern in 2005. It used the same digital pattern as MARPAT but with a tan, gray and green palette intended for use in all field environments.
Despite fighting in urban environments, Marines made do with their desert MARPAT camouflage while patrolling through urban areas like Fallujah, Iraq. (Courtesy of National Archives)
The Next Generation
In the last decade and a half, Congress became involved and called for an end to “force-specific” uniforms. Both the Army and Air Force subsequently adopted the new Operational Camouflage Pattern in 2014 and 2018, respectively. The Navy embraced their woodland camouflage and a traditional coverall while at sea.
The Marine Corps recently began exploring a next-generation uniform garment aimed at countering emerging threats, particularly the proliferation of drones and sensors. The Marine Corps has not indicated a desire to replace their MARPAT utilities but rather augment them with overgarments designed to reduce detection across multiple spectrums. This decision is likely influenced by the Ukrainian conflict’s saturation of drones with advanced sensors on the modern battlefield. As has been the case for centuries, technological developments will continue to drive innovation in warfare.
One thing is certain: Marines have proudly worn their uniforms across the globe, whenever and wherever the nation calls for them. From the decks of USS Constitution to the fields of Soissons, France, to the dusty streets of Ramadi, Iraq, Marines have worn their uniforms, emblazoned with insignia, with pride. The MARPAT uniform will not last forever, yet the Marines of the next generation will continue to serve and uphold the legacy of the Marine Corps, no matter their camouflage.
Executive Editor’s note: The International Spy Museum in Washington, D.C., currently has an exhibit called “Camouflage: Designed to Deceive.” The museum published an illustrated book by the same name to accompany the exhibit. It is available at the museum’s bookstore and through the publisher’s website, casematepublishers.com.
Featured Photo (Top): Marines conduct a field exercise with newly issued weapons and equipment. They wear the woodland MARPAT camouflage, which has served the Marines for nearly two decades. (Photo courtesy of Chris Kuhns)
About the Author
Chris Kuhns, a former Marine infantryman, separated from the Marine Corps to pursue his passion for military history, specializing in the history of the Marine Corps. He serves as the director of the Pennsylvania Military Museum in Boalsburg, Pa., and as the deputy director of the U.S. Marine Corps Historical Company, a nonprofit organization. He calls Gettysburg, Pa., home.
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The marathon has always been more than just a race. As the saying goes, attributed to the great Olympic long-distance running champion Emil Zatopek, “If you want to win something, run 100 meters. If you want to experience something, run a marathon.” The origins of the marathon go back to ancient Greece, when in 490 B.C., a messenger named Pheidippides raced from the plains of Marathon, where the Athenians had just miraculously defeated a much larger Persian army, to Athens, about 25 miles away, to deliver the news of the victory. Pheidippides, already exhausted from racing to Sparta to plead with them to fight alongside the Athenians, shouted “Nike!”—“We are victorious!”—and died. So the legends say.
Fast-forward to 1896, when the organizers of the first modern Olympics were looking for an epic event to close out the Games, which were being held, appropriately, in Athens. In a flash of inspiration, they decided to create a 25-mile long-distance race, retracing the steps of Pheidippides. They called their new race the marathon.
Since then, the now 26.2-mile run has become a true phenomenon, with over 2,500 official marathons held every year around the globe, attracting millions of athletes of all abilities and ages.
To finish a marathon, these runners have to overcome doubt and exhaustion and find a willpower that they might not have known they possessed. Through their challenges, they learn something profound about their own strength and ability.
Among the United States’ most popular and beloved marathons is the Marine Corps Marathon. This year marks the 51st Marine Corps Marathon. It was first held in 1976, spearheaded by Colonel Jim Fowler as a way to boost Marine Corps recruitment, but Fowler wasn’t sure that anyone would even show up. He needn’t have worried; since its inception, more than 700,000 runners have crossed the race’s finish line, helping it grow into a world-class event.
But the Marine Corps Marathon has always been more than just a race; it is inseparable from the Corps itself. It is an event created, organized and staged by Marines. Upon crossing the finish line, every runner is greeted by an active-duty Marine, who places a medal around their neck and congratulates them on an outstanding run. Marines run the race, too, as do the sons and daughters of Marines, to honor the service and sacrifice of their parents.
There is only one Marine Corps Marathon, and there is no other race like it in the world.
This year’s Marine Corps Marathon will be held on Oct. 25, and to honor the crucial role that the Corps has played in the 250 years of our nation’s history, its organizers have created a way for participants to engage with the past while taking on the challenges of the course.
On the official race app, participants and fans can find a history of the Marine Corps in seven significant engagements, which are linked with seven iconic moments on the race course. These Points Of Remembrance will serve to both remind runners of and educate them on the debt of gratitude that we all owe to the Corps—and offer them an opportunity to draw inspiration from those battles as they face their own challenges on race day.
(Photo by: LCpl Harleigh Faulk, USMC)
Battle of Derna, Libya, 1805
In the early 19th century, the United States faced the challenges of piracy, the kidnapping of sailors and protecting its interests abroad. It was uncertain whether the newborn United States would be able to rise to the moment and establish itself on the world stage.
In 1804, President Thomas Jefferson decided to take action. He hoped to solve all of those problems by taking sides in a power struggle for the throne of Tripoli, located in modern-day Libya. He dispatched a small U.S. squadron of fighting ships to support a force of 400 Arab and Greek mercenaries, under the command of First Lieutenant Presley O’Bannon and seven U.S. Marines.
O’Bannon and the naval agent for the Barbary Regencies, William Eaton, landed their force in Alexandria, Egypt, and marched 521 grueling miles through the desert to attack the city of Derna. Along the way, O’Bannon had to quell mutinies and maintain order in his force. Despite his limited resources and facing heavy enemy fire, he captured Derna, arranged the release of the Sailors being held prisoner and restored a former ruler to the throne.
When, on April 27, O’Bannon personally raised the flag over the harbor fortress, it marked not just the end of the first U.S. battle on foreign territory but also the first U.S. foreign military victory. This early engagement established the Marines’ reputation for resilience and tenacity and is immortalized in “The Marines’ Hymn” with the reference to “the shores of Tripoli.”
Courtesy of the Colonel Charles H. Waterhouse Estate, Art Collection of the National Museum of the Marine Corps
Langston Boulevard, MCM Mile 2
After crossing the marathon start line adjacent to Arlington National Cemetery, runners head north on Route 110 and then west on Langston Boulevard. Approaching mile 2 of the race, they have to climb a series of rolling hills. Runners can use this challenge to test their resolve and grit and set a precedent for what is to come, remembering those Marines centuries before them who paved the way for the future Corps.
Battle of Chapultepec, Mexico, 1847
In March of 1845, the United States annexed the territory of Texas. In December of that year, it became the 28th state. A border dispute quickly developed between the United States and Mexico, with Mexico maintaining that the boundary between the two countries was at the Nueces River, while the United States claimed that it was farther south, along the Rio Grande.
Over the following year, the countries tried to settle their differences through negotiation, with President James Polk offering to buy the territory. Mexico refused the offer. In response, President Polk ordered General Zachary Taylor to move his forces south of the Nueces River. Mexican cavalry attacked Taylor, killing 11 U.S. soldiers and capturing 52. On May 13, 1846, the United States declared war on Mexico.
A force of some 7,200, including about 400 Marines, landed in Mexico and moved inland to attack Mexico City. Both sides knew that the key to the city was Chapultepec Castle. It was the site of a military academy, sitting on top of a 200-foot tall hill and surrounded by a wall. It was defended by a force of about 832 soldiers and seven cannons.
On Sept. 13, 1847, a segment of the U.S. force, including 40 Marines, fought their way up the hill and attacked the castle walls. They suffered 90% casualties—among the dead was Major Levi Twiggs, who led the Marine assault. Nevertheless, they took the castle. It was a turning point in the war, as the Americans then quickly captured Mexico City. The war ended in February of 1848 with Mexico ceding territory in exchange for $15 million.
The valor of the Marines who fought at Chapultepec became a template for the Marines to follow, and their actions were also immortalized in “The Marines’ Hymn,” in the line, “From the Halls of Montezuma.”
Illustration by James Walker
George Washington Parkway, Mile 3
This is one of the most beautiful miles in all of racing, rolling mostly downhill on a tree-lined roadway adjacent to the Potomac River, in view of the historic campus of Georgetown University. Runners here can reflect on the Marines who fought uphill toward Chapultepec and take a moment of gratitude for those memorialized in the Hymn.
Battle of Belleau Wood, France, 1918
Arriving in Belleau two years into World War I, the Marines faced a fierce struggle against an entrenched German army. Taking the lead in a mixed force including British and French elements, the Marines fought back against repeated German assaults and held their ground as the fighting devolved into brutal close-range combat. The bravery and resolve of the Marines in the thickly wooded forest earned them the respect of the Germans, who nicknamed them “teufelshunde”—the Devil Dogs—a nickname that the Marines proudly adopted.
By halting the German advance to Paris, the Marines shifted the tide of the war and earned their reputation as fierce warriors. Afterwards, the French would call Belleau Wood “Bois de la Brigade de Marine”—the Wood of the Marine Brigade.
USMC
George Washington Parkway Exit Ramp, Mile 4
The climb from the George Washington Parkway up to Key Bridge marks the first major challenge of the race. It’s a short but steep hill, testing the mettle and resolve of every runner. Here is where every would-be marathoner must channel their inner Devil Dog and fight for every inch, keeping in mind the Marines of the past who bestowed on them that name.
Battle For Guadacanal, Solomon Islands, 1942
After suffering devastating losses in the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, American forces lost island after island in the Pacific, as the Japanese war machine ground relentlessly forward. By 1942, however, the Americans pushed back, beginning their Pacific offensive.
Key to their plan was the establishment of a base on the island of Guadalcanal. The achievement of that objective was only the beginning of the challenge, however, as the Japanese launched a series of counterattacks, including assaults at Matanikau River, the airfield and Koi Point. Over the course of six months, the Marines suffered heavy casualties but held firm. Their tenacity, courage and sacrifice was key to the eventual U.S. victory in the Pacific.
USMC
“The Blue Mile,” Mile 12
At this point in the race, runners loop Hains Point, a peninsula whose tip marks the confluence of the Anacostia and Potomac Rivers. On race day, this quiet stretch of roadway will be lined with “Faces of the Fallen” posters, each of which displays the photograph, name and background of a fallen Marine. Volunteers man the Blue Mile holding full-sized American flags to honor our American heroes. Here, runners can contemplate those who sacrificed their lives for our nation at Guadalcanal and elsewhere, and find the strength and will to go on.
Robert Fry Sr. saluting the Faces of the Fallen tributes while riding a handcycle through the Blue Mile in Washington, D.C., during the 50th annual Marine Corps Marathon, Oct. 26, 2025. (Photo by Cpl Braydon Rogers, USMC)
Battle of Chosin Reservoir, Korea, 1950
Surrounded and outnumbered by the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army in the middle of a bitterly cold winter, the 1st Marine Division faced a devastating defeat. Fighting against these obstacles and overwhelming odds, the Marines suffered heavy losses but fought their way out of the encirclement and escaped the trap.
USMC
Legendary Marine Colonel Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller received his fifth Navy Cross for his actions in this battle. Reviewing the situation, he said, “We’ve been looking for the enemy for several days now. We’ve finally found them. We’re surrounded. That simplifies our problem of finding these people and killing them.” Perhaps nothing better sums up the Marine Corps’ determination to see every challenge as an opportunity to succeed, no matter the odds.
The 14th Street Bridge, Mile 20
In every marathon, runners risk hitting the legendary “wall.” It’s the point at which energy reserves are drained and legs seem to turn to cement. This usually occurs somewhere around mile 20. Dedicated training in the months before the race and careful adherence to a sound plan on race day can help runners avoid falling victim to the wall. However, even elite athletes feel the mental and physical strain of the race by this point.
Runners in the Marine Corps Marathon face more than just the dreaded wall at mile 20; it is here that they cross a bridge from Washington, D.C., back to Virginia. This bridge is not just a hill; it’s also a wide-open roadway. They can be lashed by rain and wind, or baked by a blazing sun. For this reason, veteran marathoners have been known to refer to this bridge as “The Anvil of God.”
This is the point in the race when runners should find a way to fight on, even as their bodies beg them to stop. Here, they can recall the winter at Chosin Reservoir and be reminded of the body’s capabilities. If those Marines could persevere through true suffering, how much more can a runner press on.
A Marine shares a moment of encouragement, high-fiving a participant along the course. (Courtesy of Marine Corps Marathon Organization)Participants in the 48th Marine Corps Marathon power past the U.S. Capitol building on Oct. 29, 2023.(LCpl Kayla LeClaire, USMC)
Battle of Hue City, Vietnam, 1968
Perhaps nothing in the history of the Marine Corps showcases their adaptability more than the month-long siege of this Vietnamese city. Instead of a pitched battle against an opposing army, the Marines faced an entrenched enemy in an urban battlefield. They had to shift from jungle warfare to a new kind of urban fighting. They overcame booby traps and a fortified enemy in house-to-house combat. Although they suffered heavy losses, the Marines captured the city.
USMC
Route 110, Mile 25
This is the moment for which no amount of training can adequately prepare the runners. They have now gone farther than they ever did in training. They have conquered the hills and the bridges and crashed through the “wall.” They are only a mile away from glory. And yet their legs may be shot and their energy gone. Many runners move forward on willpower alone, going step to step, and can remember the Marines in Hue City who fought house to house, certain that victory would follow if they just kept moving forward.
Battle of Iwo Jima, Japan, 1945
So far, we’ve listed these key Marine Corps engagements in chronological order, but here we reach back to World War II. There is perhaps no image more identified in the public’s mind with the Marine Corps than the famous photograph showing the raising of the American flag at the summit of Iwo Jima’s Mount Suribachi.
Iwo Jima is a small volcanic island located just 660 miles south of Tokyo. Its proximity to the Japanese capital raised the stakes of the battle for both sides and led to some of the fiercest fighting of the war.
USMC
Facing a Japanese strategy that employed a web of tunnels and fortified positions, thousands of Marines were killed or wounded, but they upheld their tradition of resourcefulness and determination and pressed forward through over a month of close-quarter combat until they captured the island. As Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz said afterwards, “Among the men who fought on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue.”
Marine Corps Marathon Finish Line, Mile 26.2
Upon crossing the finish line, runners receive their medal and are congratulated, then make their way toward the Marine Corps War Memorial, where the photograph of the Marines planting the American flag at Iwo Jima has been immortalized in a sculpture. For the runners, their journey is now complete, and they have shown the same virtues that embody the Marine Corps ethos: resiliency, determination, courage, resourcefulness and grit. They have fought against the challenges of the race course, and the negative voices in their own minds, and have persevered.
As the runners gaze up at the larger-than-life Marines frozen in place at the memorial, perhaps they can appreciate that while the marathon challenge was a sporting one, the sacrifices made by Marines to secure and defend our freedom was a life-and-death struggle, one that continues long after the last runner has completed the race.
Runners make their final push toward the finish line of the 50th annual Marine Corps Marathon in 2025.(LCpl Harleigh Faulk, USMC)The U.S. Marine Corps War Memorial in Arlington, Va., serves as a powerful backdrop and final stretch for participants of the marathon.(Courtesy of Marine Corps Marathon Organization)MGySgt Antwaun Gibson receives a medal after crossing the finish line during the 50th annual Marine Corps Marathon in 2025. (Photo by LCpl Harleigh Faulk, USMC)
Featured Photo (Top): Marine Corps Commandant Gen Eric M. Smith celebrating with the top three male and female finishers, (left), and welcoming overall winner, Maj Kyle King, across the finish line during the 50th Marine Corps Marathon in Arlington, Va., Oct. 26, 2025. Maj King has been the first to cross the finish line in Arlington three times. For an in-depth conversation with King, listen to the Marine Corps Association’s Scuttlebutt podcast, available on podcast platforms and at www.mca-marines.org/scuttlebutt/. (Photo by Sgt Rowdy Vanskike, USMC)
About the Author
Jeff Horowitz ran his first marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon, in 1987, and fell in love with running. Since then, he’s completed 205 marathons, including 16 MCMs, and has completed at least one marathon in every state and on six continents, including Antarctica. Formerly a practicing attorney, Jeff quit law to share his passion for fitness. He is a certified personal trainer, endurance coach, and author. He lives with his wife and son in Washington, D.C.
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It was Thanksgiving in 1972, and the Quantico football team was flying back from Cincinnati, Ohio, after trouncing the Xavier Musketeers 34-0.
While approaching the runway at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Va., the flight crew of another aircraft in the airspace began to sing “The Marines’ Hymn” on the shared radio frequency. The Quantico team’s coach, Ron Eckert, believes that they had been listening to a broadcast of what turned out to be the team’s final game due to Department of Defense budget cuts. It was a bittersweet welcome home for a team that would never again take the field at Butler Stadium.
Fifty-four years later, the Quantico football team is mostly a distant memory, a once competitive program, only spoken about by previous generations of Marines. But even as the program was winding down, Quantico was the home to future NFL coaches and college stars, winning eight games in its final season under Eckert. Some of these players and coaches recently shared what it meant to don shoulder pads and helmets at the “Crossroads of the Corps.”
In the 1950s, Ron Eckert’s father was a chief petty officer stationed at Bainbridge Naval Training Center in Maryland. But it was the Marine Corps, not the Navy, which captured much of his son’s attention. During one of his dad’s particularly long workdays, Eckert took a shuttle bus to watch the Bainbridge football team practice. In the foyer, he saw they had a night game against a Marine squad from Parris Island. He attended the contest and walked away impressed.
“It was a helluva game,” Eckert said.
Eckert’s next encounter with leatherneck football came during college in 1958. He was playing for Upsala College in East Orange, N.J., and noticed that Quantico was scheduled to play the 11th ranked Rutgers Scarlet Knights in New Brunswick, N.J. He decided to hitchhike from East Orange to New Brunswick to watch the game. Quantico upset the highly touted Rutgers squad and the next day, Eckert got on the bus for New York City to visit his officer selection officer.
Eckert went through Officer Candidates School before playing for Quantico in 1963 and 1964. His first year in uniform, the team went 10-1 and won the Marines’ last of its five national service championships—a 13-10 victory over the San Diego Marines in the Missile Bowl in Orlando, Fla.
In 1970, Eckert was stationed in Quantico at the Development Center (precursor to Marine Corps Systems Command) when he ran into Ed Heuring, a Marine friend and the Quantico head football coach at the time. Heuring convinced him to join his staff as an assistant coach that fall. A year later, he took over head coaching duties.
Under Eckert, the coaching staff worked tirelessly to find diamonds in the rough that could compete against the likes of NCAA Division I-A teams like Syracuse, which was due to play Quantico in 1973. At the time, the Quantico team was the equivalent of a NCAA Division I-AA school, said Eckert.
In the two years that Eckert coached, approximately 51 percent of his squad was made up of enlisted Marines. Many of those Marine-turned-Quantico footballers earned scholarships from other schools after playing for their country. One such player—Mike Jay—led Texas A&M to a 10-0 start in 1975 after leading the last-ever Quantico team to an 8-4 mark in 1972.
“Thanks to the unfaltering support I got from the Marine Corps, we found some really good football players who were enlisted guys,” Eckert said. “It was brought to my attention that it was the highest influx of enlisted players [at Quantico] since 1951.
A game-day program illustration featuring the co-captains of the 1972 Quantico football team. (Courtesy of Joe Belasco)
Even at the end of the program amid the backdrop of the Vietnam War, the Quantico footballers were a popular draw for opposing teams’ fans and the local communities. The team would typically fly into the opposing team’s city on a military cargo plane, impeccably attired in their Marine uniforms. Former captain Joe Belasco remembers a road trip where he team was able to take some time when not on the gridiron to visit sick children at the Shriners Children’s Hospital in Kentucky.
“We made an impression on them, and the kids were excited to see us. We did some stuff that was … appreciated by the public.”
Eckert recalled a trip to Philadelphia where an injured Belasco was mobbed by local reporters eager to speak to the former Villanova star after he led Quantico to a 13-7 win over his former team. Hampered by a severe injury to his throwing shoulder, the Quantico team captain had to “shotput” the ball short distances to his receivers, said Eckert.
Co-captain and former Villanova standout Joe Belasco, No. 14, was a leader on the field for head coach Ron Eckert in the team’s final season. (Courtesy of Joe Belasco)
The same camaraderie that existed between Belasco’s teammates at Villanova also existed on the Quantico football team.
“The nice thing about our team was that it didn’t matter whether you were first lieutenant, second lieutenant,” said Belasco, who left the Corps as a first lieutenant. “It didn’t matter if you were a private or a corporal, everybody just blended in. There was no rank involved, there were just teammates.”
Joe Belasco hands the ball off to Gary Capehart during the team’s final game at Butler Stadium, a 24-21 loss to South Dakota State. (Courtesy of Joe Belasco)
Tom O’Brien, a standout defensive end on the 1972 squad, was a three-year starter for the Naval Academy and went on to a highly successful 40-year collegiate coaching career that included stops at the Naval Academy, University of Virginia, Boston College and North Carolina State. A nine-year Marine veteran, O’Brien recalled his Quantico playing days fondly—even though he never intended on playing or coaching football after he finished The Basic School that summer.
“We had some really good coaches,” said O’Brien, who coached NFL legend Matt Ryan at Boston College. “Coach Eckert was organized, had a plan, he understood what he wanted to do. That was important. The practices were well organized. We didn’t spend hours upon hours out there, but when we were out there, we worked hard.”
Some of the memories had nothing to do with the games. Defensive coordinator and former University of Kansas standout linebacker Mike Sweatman remembers flying over the field in Baltimore that had had a peace sign blazed into it by home team fans opposing the war.
“They couldn’t exactly hide it,” said Sweatman of the scorched grass.
A future NFL special teams coach, Sweatman also recalled during a flight to Springfield College when the football team experienced a series of touch and goes because the co-pilot was being trained on the KC-130 they were on board.
“After we finally landed, I asked the pilot what the deal was, and he said, ‘I was letting my [copilot] practice,’ ” Sweatman said.
Coach Ron Eckert, center, shares a smile with defensive coordinator and eventual NFL special teams coach Mike Sweatman, left, and co-captain Joe Belasco.(Courtesy of Joe Belasco)
The National Museum of the Marine Corps has a display dedicated to the history of the Quantico football team, including a game ball (above) and a painting by artist Jason Breidenbach (below) illustrating the timeline of the storied program.(Kipp Hanley)
Tom O’Brien, right, was a star defensive end for the Naval Academy and the 1972 Quantico football team before guiding the Boston College Eagles to a school-record 75 wins in 10 seasons from 1997 to 2006.(Courtesy of Boston College Athletics)
Thanks largely to the generosity of Eckert, the Quantico football program lives on inside the National Museum of the Marine Corps.
This January, the Triangle, Va., museum opened a small exhibit on the Quantico footballers. Visitors can view, among other things, game balls, an old helmet and a beautiful portrait titled “Semper Fi on the Field,” which provides a visual timeline of the program that started in 1919. The 1971 game ball encased in the exhibit shows the game-by-game results of the 9-3 season and features a note from Eckert saying, “Best wishes Ron.”
A running back on the 1971 squad, Les Steckel called his time in Quantico one of the greatest experiences during his football career, which included stints as head coach of the 1984 Minnesota Vikings and assistant coach of the 2000 Super Bowl runner-up Tennessee Titans. Steckel served 30 years in the Marine Corps Reserve in addition to his highly successful coaching career.
“You have to let them know that you are in the trenches with the troops,” said Steckel, who keeps a copy of the Marine Corps principles of leadership in his home office. “When they know you are in the trenches, they know who you are and your leadership can carry on. I learned that in the Marine Corps and that has been with me all my life.”
Les Steckel, right, was a running back for the 1971 Quantico football team who served as the Minnesota Vikings head coach in 1984.(LCpl Alfredo V. Ferrer, USMC)
Museum curator and Leatherneck contributor Kater Miller said he learned a lot about Marine Corps football while in the process of putting the exhibit together. He also learned just how important athletics were to the Corps as both recruiting and retention tools. Butler Stadium is named in honor of leatherneck legend Smedley Butler, whose original idea was to build the largest football stadium in the nation, said Miller.
“Whether you’re a fan of sports or not, sports and athletics were a huge part of the culture of the Marine Corps from the 1920s to 1970s,” Miller said. “I think it’s nice to finally have a display in the museum that speaks to that legacy.”
Eckert still recalls a compliment that legendary Penn State football coach Joe Paterno gave his squad of Marines at a national coach’s conference, one that exemplified the Corps’ sterling reputation.
“I talked to him about scheduling and he said, ‘Listen, I just play the games they offer me. But I know this, that everybody wants to beat us.’ He said, ‘I have to recruit the finest, and everybody is going to want to beat you because you represent the finest.’ That stuck with me in my mind every time I asked for a guy [to have on our team].”
Featured Photo (Top):The 1972 football team had many standout players like quarterback Mike Jay, who went on to play for Texas A&M.(Courtesy of Joe Belasco)
About the Author
Kipp Hanley is the deputy editor for Leatherneck magazine and resident of Woodbridge, Va. The award-winning journalist has covered a variety of topics in his writing career including the military, government, education, business and sports.
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Showing Her Mettle: Olympic Hopeful Goes Full Speed As Marine, Bobsledder
For some people, Sept. 11, 2001, has become a blur of distant news footage and historical footnotes. But for the Marines who stood in the dust of the Pentagon’s west wing after the attack, it wasn’t history yet, it was simply the visceral present.
Amidst the jagged steel and the hollowed-out offices, the wreckage of the Pentagon felt like the end of the world. Yet, in that landscape of gray concrete, a splash of scarlet and gold emerged from the debris. Hanging steady on the edge of a fourth-floor office, cleaved in two by the impact of Flight 77, was a Marine Corps flag.
It shouldn’t have survived. It was perched on the precipice of a gaping hole, yet it remained completely unscathed.
A quiet, defiant pulse of color in the heart of the tragedy.
When then-Major Dan Pantaleo rushed to the Pentagon to provide aid, he retrieved the Marine
(PH1 Michael W. Pendergrass, USN)
Corps flag alongside Lieutenant Colonel M.L. “Buzz” Hefti, USMC (Ret), then-Principal Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Legislative Affairs, and fellow recovery workers. They weren’t just recovering a piece of fabric; they were reclaiming a piece of resolve. That flag had stood watch behind the desk of Peter Murphy, the Commandant’s senior legal advisor. Murphy, who was in that office when the airplane hit, had survived the blast and was back to work the very next day, determined that the law wouldn’t be intimidated by terror.<br><br>That flag didn’t just sit in a box after being pulled from the rubble; it went on to travel to Afghanistan, visited space on the shuttle Endeavour and now rests at the National Museum of the Marine Corps as a silent witness.<br><br>Looking at that image (top) you can see the exhaustion in the eyes of the Marines, the heavy weight of their yellow gloves and the stark contrast of the unblemished scarlet cloth against the carnage of the Pentagon. That moment captured a transition in our nation: the shock of the attack giving way to the steely-eyed response of the Marine Corps.<br><br>We look back now at the 25th anniversary, but that flag? It’s still standing guard. It reminds us that the ethos of the Corps and the spirit of this nation remain as unshakable as that scarlet and gold flag unfurled in the wreckage.<br>
Featured Photo (Top):John Monaccio Photographs, 2010-1089, Marine Corps Archives and Special Collections, Gray Research Center, Quantico, Va
About the Author
Kayla Workman is the editorial assistant for Leatherneck and a graduate student at the University of Alabama specializing in archival studies. She previously earned her bachelor’s degree in historic preservation from the University of Mary Washington.
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Sept. 11, 2001: A Morning Unlike Any Other
Leatherneck September 2024 By: LtCol Robert J. Darling, USMC (Ret)
It’s spring 2026 near Richmond, Va. Everyone sits around the kitchen table. Most of us coming on duty arrived before dawn, swapping our gear on the trucks with the firefighters ending their shift. Now, those coming on and those going off pour coffee and begin the day together. For the majority present, the firehouse represents more than just a job, each other more than just coworkers. For me, to be here is to be home away from home—a defining place of brotherhood and purpose I’ve lacked since leaving the Marine Corps.
The aroma of sausage and eggs drifts through the day room as our probationary firefighter (probie) whips up breakfast. It’s hardly even light outside, yet more colorful conversations spring back and forth across the table than there are people sitting around it. Our ritual is abruptly cut off. Not by the alarms signaling us away to some call for service, but by our probie slamming utensil drawers and bolting around the kitchen. Smoke begins banking down from the ceiling. The range hood exhaust whirls at warp speed, desperately evacuating the fumes. The probie sprints out the front door, smoking skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other. A lingering haze hangs in his wake. The man beside me lifts his mug to his mustache and speaks into the morning brew before savoring a sip.
“Got the cast iron too hot. Again …”
The probie returns a minute later, the empty skillet a testament to his culinary inexperience, his breakfast another snack for creatures lurking outside. His face glows like a fresh sunburn, the color rising in his cheeks outpaced only by the defense mounting in his head. Our senior man breathes a heavy sigh and breaks the pregnant silence.
“Goddamit rookie.”
“Whatever man! That stove sucks and this pan sucks worse! I walk away for two seconds …”
The table around me explodes in an uproar. I spill my coffee, doubled over in gut-wrenching laughter. Everyone bombards the probie with a proprietary blend of sarcastic, expletive-enriched heckling. He hopelessly defends himself, the skillet in his hand a futile shield against the barrage.
Through the acrid cloud, I can still see the kitchen wall behind him, covered in pictures. The wall, seen by anyone who enters our firehouse, tells a story. Some photos show vehicles or structures on fire. Some show the very men seated around the table, years earlier when they were as young as our probie. Amidst them all, two larger frames stand out. The first is one of the most iconic photographs in modern times, captured by Thomas E. Franklin on 9/11, showing three New York City firefighters raising the American flag over Ground Zero. Beside it hangs the painting “Two Minutes of Silence” by Peter O’Neill, portraying a flag-draped firefighter kneeling in solitude amidst the World Trade Center wreckage.
Even in our most lighthearted or routine moments, the photos are intentionally inescapable. They serve as a constant reminder: 25 years ago, on a sunny Tuesday in September, 343 New York City firefighters started their morning just like us—just like any other morning. On that horrific morning, though, they did not come home. Tattoos cover our skin in their honor. Vinyl stickers adorn our pickup trucks and fire helmets. This morning, nearly 400 miles away and a quarter century removed, we can never forget.
Of the men who perished, 17 wore a different uniform before donning bunker gear and air packs—17 proudly bore the dual identities as professional firefighters and United States Marines. A monument stands in their honor at the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Triangle, Va. Two beams of World Trade Center steel tower above the walkway leading through Semper Fidelis Memorial Park. One bears the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, the other the emblem of the New York City Fire Department (FDNY). The designers of this memorial understood one fundamental premise about these men: Their identities, like the twin towers, are inextricably bound.
They served their country from the 1950s through 2001. They served their city as newly minted probies to 39-year veterans on the job. Throughout their lives, the Marine Corps and the firehouse coexisted as a continuous expression of the same character. The Marine Corps does not produce men who wait to see how a situation may develop. Neither does the firehouse. These 17 men demonstrated that character over and over again.
PADDY BROWN
It’s summer 1972 in the Republic of South Vietnam. A 20-year-old Marine from Queens crawls through darkness with a flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. Dank earthen walls above, below and beside him restrict his movement. The Viet Cong somehow created this massive subterranean web. Now, it’s his job to ferret them out.
While many back home avoided the war in Vietnam, Patrick “Paddy” Brown sought to get into the fight. When the Corps told him he was too young to enlist, he convinced his father to sign the age waiver. When the Corps made him a clerk, Brown raised ever-living hell until he was reassigned as a combat engineer and shipped overseas. When his unit was tasked with one of the most terrifying assignments imaginable, Brown volunteered to shed his combat gear for “tunnel rat” duty and descend into the earth. He survived two tours overseas before returning home as a sergeant and leaving active duty in 1973.
The war affected him deeply. Brown turned to alcohol to ease the memories. Before it consumed him, though, Brown shifted his escape efforts into boxing. He excelled, eventually competing in the Golden Gloves tournament. His connection to the bottle endured in a markedly different fashion. Brown became a sponsor for Alcoholics Anonymous, helping others through their addictions and setting them on a new path.
Brown joined the New York Fire Patrol, an insurance-supported salvage company, upon his exit from the Marines. He had tested for a spot with FDNY before he left for Vietnam and continued working toward that goal upon his return. Finally, in 1977, FDNY appointed Brown as a probationary firefighter.
Within the first 10 years of his career, Brown established himself as one of the most decorated firefighters in the department. FDNY awarded him numerous citations or medals for individual valor, including five Medal Day medals—specifically named valor medals, with individual criteria, presented annually at a department-wide ceremony to an elite few. By the time he was promoted to lieutenant, the entire fire department knew Paddy Brown.
Somehow, his fame had yet to peak.
At the age of 17, Patrick “Paddy” Brown enlisted in the USMC. He survived two tours in Vietnam as a combat engineer.(Courtesy of Carolyn Shorthouse)
The entire nation knew Paddy Brown after May 14, 1991. That morning, Brown was the lieutenant riding in charge of Rescue 1. A fire broke out on the top floor of a 12-story building on Times Square. When he arrived on scene, Brown sized up the building. Thick black smoke pulsed out of numerous 12th-floor windows. Two civilians were trapped in separate rooms on different sides of the building, both seated precariously in the windowsills as smoke poured out over their heads. Ladder trucks on the street shot their aerials as high as they could up each building side, but they fell several stories short. Brown and his company grabbed their tools and sprinted inside. Above the shouting, whistling and clamor of the trucks, a commanding voice boomed through a loudspeaker.
“We’re on our way up. Just stay there!”
While other firefighters forced entry into the fire floor and attempted to reach the victims, Brown’s crew doffed their gear on the roof. Brown leaned over the parapet wall. Ten feet below, one of the victims stood on the windowsill, barely holding on. Fire encroached on his room. Toxic smoke enveloped him. Whether he burned, inhaled the lethal fumes or jumped, certain death threatened only seconds away. Down on the street, 150 feet below, a host of cameras recorded every angle while a growing crowd held its breath.
Brown evaluated the options and ordered his team to execute a rope rescue. While firefighter Patrick Barr slid his legs through a makeshift harness on the end of a rescue rope, firefighter Kevin Shea tied the rope through his own harness to control Barr’s descent. Due to the unique construction of the roof, there was not a single anchor point anywhere for the firemen to securely tie the rope. Shea braced his feet against the base of the parapet and leaned back against another firefighter, who wrapped his arms and legs around him. A third man lay his full body on top of Shea’s torso. With three of his men acting as a human anchor, Brown lay on top of the parapet guiding the team as they slowly lowered Barr down to the victim.
As soon as Barr dropped into view, the victim fell out of the window into his arms. The crowd below went wild, like a grand slam at Yankee Stadium. The sudden weight increase lifted all three men of the human anchor into a half-standing position. Brown kept his men steady and directed the lowering to the next floor down. Firefighters within busted out windows, hooked the rope and pulled the men inside.
“It’s like in a movie! It’s exactly like a movie! They got him!” someone can be heard exclaiming in one video of the rescue, amidst the cheering and applause.
Brown’s momentary elation ended the second after Barr disappeared inside the window. The team sprinted to the other side of the building where the remaining victim waited. Shea moved up and assumed the role as the man on the end of the rope. Again without anchor points, three firefighters created the human anchor. Brown straddled the parapet once more, feeding the rope down over the edge, now frayed from rubbing the edge on the previous rescue. The team lowered Shea to the victim. He intertwined his arms and legs with the victim and pushed out of the smoke-filled opening. Firefighters on the floor below again pulled the pair safely inside.
Ambulances rushed both victims to the hospital. The Rescue 1 crew descended to the street. For another hour, more than 100 firefighters battled the blaze. Not a single life was lost.
For their actions in the spectacular rescue, famously remembered as “hope on a rope,” Barr and Shea received medals for valor. President George H.W. Bush sent Brown a personal letter of recognition for his decisive leadership through the event.
Patrick Brown’s 3rd Plt, Charlie Co, 3rd Combat Engineer Bn. Brown is seated in the front row behind the guidon staff, fifth from the left. (Courtesy of Carolyn Shorthouse)
The 38-year-old fire lieutenant proved the same man as the 20-year-old Marine clearing enemy tunnels in Vietnam. The problems, situations and dangers he faced changed wildly throughout the years. His instinct did not. Another decade later, as a 48-year-old captain in charge of Ladder 3, he remained exactly the same.
Ladder 3 arrived at the World Trade Center on 9/11 shortly after the first airplane struck the north tower. Brown entered the building without waiting for an assignment and headed toward the stairs. At 9:21 a.m., Brown located a working telephone and dialed fire dispatch.
“Dispatch, Captain Brown Ladder 3, I’m at the World Trade Center. I’m on the 35th floor, OK? Just relay to the command post we’re trying to get up. There’s numerous civilians at all stairwells, numerous burn injuries are coming down. I’m trying to send them down first. Apparently, it’s above the 75th floor. I don’t know if they got there yet, OK? Three Truck and we are still heading up. OK? Thank you.”
At 9:59 a.m., the south tower collapsed. All firefighters remaining in the north tower were ordered to evacuate. Those near the command post outside overheard the radio exchange with Brown.
“This is the officer of Ladder Company 3. I refuse the order! I am on the 44th floor and we have too many burned people with me. I am not leaving them!”
Less than 30 minutes later, the north tower fell. Brown and 11 other members of Ladder 3 remained inside.
On Nov. 10, 2001—the Marine Corps Birthday and just one day after what would have been Brown’s own 49th birthday—Brown’s family held his memorial service. In his locker at the firehouse, he left a note to be opened in the event of his death. The note included a map of Central Park with an “X” marking a spot along his favorite jogging path. His remains were recovered on Dec. 14, and later that month, his ashes were spread near the area he indicated on the map. The remains of Brown’s firetruck were also recovered from the World Trade Center. Today, Ladder 3 lives as a sobering and jarring addition to the permanent display of the 9/11 Museum in New York City.
New York City firefighters flow water on the smoldering wreckage of the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001. Captain Patrick Brown’s firetruck, Ladder 3, remains where he and the crew parked it prior to entering the north tower. It was partially crushed in the collapse. Ladder 3 was recovered from Ground Zero and stands today in the condition it was found as part of the permanent collection of the 9/11 Museum in New York City.(Courtesy of Library of Congress)
CHIP CHIPURA
It’s fall 1983 in Beirut, Lebanon. A 21-year-old Marine from Staten Island walks toward his battalion headquarters to begin his shift as a radio operator. It’s only 6:15 a.m.—an early start for a Sunday by anyone’s standard. Most of his buddies are still sound asleep in the four-story building looming ahead. By chance, one of those Marines exits the building. They pause to chat as their paths cross barely 50 yards from the barracks. Without warning, at 6:22 a.m., the entire building explodes.
The headquarters and barracks of Battalion Landing Team, 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, was instantly reduced into a pile of rubble with hundreds of men trapped inside. John “Chip” Chipura, standing so close outside the structure, miraculously survived. The explosion threw Chipura off his feet and knocked him unconscious. The Marine he stopped to speak with was killed. When he came to, Chipura awoke to a scene of unfathomable carnage. He did not seek treatment or run away from the danger. He ran toward it. Chipura battled a choking dust cloud and a chaotic maze of concrete, searching for survivors. Hundreds more joined him in the race against the clock to exhume the living, their cries a dreadful chorus rising from the wreckage.
Back in Staten Island, Chipura’s family spent three days without any information. Seeing the destruction broadcast on national TV, they were sure he was lost. It was not until their congressman traveled to Beirut to assess the situation that they heard anything. “I’m in Beirut right now,” the politician stated triumphantly to Chipura’s distraught mother over the phone. “I have your son here, and he’s safe.”
Chipura left active duty the following year. Oct. 23, 1983, left an indelible scar. How could anything ever be worse than what he witnessed in Beirut? Two hundred and forty-one of his fellow servicemembers died all around him. A chance conversation was all that spared him from the death toll. If he’d held that Marine outside the building in conversation just one minute longer, might his life have been spared too? Never again would Chipura allow an opportunity to pass for him to stop, get to know someone and try to help them out.
As soon as he returned to Staten Island, the Marine who witnessed firsthand the deadliest terrorist attack Americans had ever experienced decided to hold the line between his fellow New Yorkers and those who would seek to do them harm. Chipura joined the New York City Police Department. The job carried great personal weight, as Chipura was assigned to protect the same neighborhood in which he was born and raised. He worked for seven years before earning the gold shield of a narcotics detective. After 12 years of distinguished service, Chipura decided it was time for another career change.
“He always thought people call the police department when there’s a problem, to get somebody bad, but you call the fire department when people needed help,” recalled Chipura’s younger brother, Gerard, in the years after 9/11.
The fire service became a Chipura family tradition. John’s father, Anthony, retired from FDNY in 1971 and Gerard served with the department beginning in 1991. At the age of 37, John entered the fire academy. He graduated in 1998.
By the end of summer in 2001, Chipura found new heights of hope and happiness. He achieved his dream of becoming a firefighter. He met the girl of his dreams and set a date for their wedding that October. His 40th birthday was right around the corner.
John Chipura, left, with Guy Molinari, the U.S. Representative from Staten Island, in Beirut, Lebanon, following the barracks bombing on Oct. 23, 1983. Molinari, also a Marine Corps veteran, traveled to Beirut to assess the damage following the terrorist attack and help locate the unaccounted-for young Marine from his hometown. (Courtesy of Gerard Chipura)
On Sept. 11, Chipura arrived at the firehouse, assigned to Ladder 105 for the day. At 8:54 a.m., his company responded to the World Trade Center. Before he left the station, Chipura phoned his fiancée at her office, just five blocks from the towers. He asked if she had heard any news regarding his sister, Nancy. Nancy worked for the Port Authority on the 39th floor of the north tower—the only tower so far struck by an aircraft. By the time Chipura’s fiancée learned Nancy was safe and called back to tell him, Ladder 105 was already gone.
The ladder company responded to the south tower. Even as his sister evacuated from the adjacent tower, Chipura was last seen helping rescue civilians in the wake of the second attack. The south tower collapsed just 56 minutes later. Chipura and the five other firefighters of Ladder 105 were not heard from again.
Gerard Chipura was at home with his children on 9/11. His sister, Nancy, made it home safely. Gerard’s wife, also in Manhattan when the airplanes struck, made it off the island. John’s fiancée, too, had returned. His brother was the only one missing. September 11th became an anguished echo of Oct. 23, 1983. The Chipura family waited in agony for news. Mercifully, both of John’s parents preceded him in death. To lose him once nearly crushed them. To lose him twice would be more than they could bear. Gerard first arrived at Ground Zero on Sept. 13 and began a nightly routine of digging through the wreckage. He returned to the rubble time after time for months.
“One night I was working with one other friend of mine,” Gerard recalled recently. “Someone hung this massive banner on one of the buildings next to Ground Zero that said, ‘Never forget.’ I said to my friend, ‘You know, this is crazy. My brother did this same thing in 1983. He was digging for his friends and comrades in arms in Beirut. What are the chances we would both have this experience?’ It was surreal to me that I was doing the same thing my brother did 18 years before. I knew forgetting him would never be an option for me. I would always remember my brother and who he was.”
he twin towers on 9/11, captured moments after the second aircraft struck the south tower at 9:03 a.m.(Courtesy of Library of Congress)
Not until the spring of 2002 was the family notified that a portion of John’s remains had been identified at a landfill outside the city sifting through World Trade Center debris. John Chipura is buried at Long Island National Cemetery in East Farmingdale, N.Y. His life unfolded in chapters, depending on the uniform he wore—an Eagle Scout, a Marine, a police officer and finally a firefighter. Throughout it all, a singular defining purpose drove his every decision.
“John was always helping people, and we wanted to do the same,” said Gerard today. “We created the John G. Chipura Foundation in his memory. We tell people we’re a tiny foundation and we’re not going to change your life, but we might change your life today. Every person we can help, we do it in his memory.”
John Chipura, right, with his younger brother Gerard in their fire department dress uniforms. (Courtesy of Gerard Chipura)
Charlie Anaya
It’s January 1991 in New York City. A 24-year-old Marine from Manhattan walks into the recruiter’s office. He’s got a problem. He stood on yellow footprints years ago, the Eagle, Globe and Anchor now forever seared upon his soul. The problem, though, is one of unfortunate timing. He’s not actually in the Marine Corps anymore. After four years of peacetime service, he left active duty. Now, just a few short years later, a war is raging without him in the Persian Gulf. To him, patriotism looks a lot more like action than a T-shirt or a bumper sticker. To him, reenlisting is the answer to honor the voice inside him, compelling him to do more.
Calixto “Charlie” Anaya Jr. first enlisted as a teenager in 1984. He spent four years with 3rd Landing Support Battalion (LSB), 3rd Force Service Support Group, in Okinawa, Japan.
“Chucky, as we called him back then, was always a smiling Marine,” stated a fellow 3rd LSB veteran in an online memorial page dedicated to Anaya. “To know Chuck was to know that big smile he always had!”
Like any good Marine, Anaya wouldn’t hesitate to put himself at risk in defense of those he loved or what he thought was right. The same veteran tells a story from 1985 in which Anaya wound up in a fist fight with a Sailor where one of his front teeth was knocked out. The Marines rescued the tooth from the pavement and drove Anaya to the emergency room. Doctors managed to fix the missing chiclet and salvage his trademark smile.
He left the Marines in 1988. He met his future bride, Marie, and they married in 1990. A simple, civil ceremony wed them together at first, but Anaya was a man insistent on finishing what he started and doing things the right way. They wanted a large wedding in a grand church but could not afford to do so. The Anayas saved their money for six months before finally walking down the aisle in a formal ceremony at St. Rita’s Roman Catholic Church in Brooklyn.
In December 1990, the 6th Communication Battalion, a reserve unit headquartered out of Brooklyn, activated and deployed in support of Operation Desert Storm. Anaya felt the pull to join his hometown unit overseas. He remained on the Corps’ roster as part of the Individual Ready Reserve. He took advantage of this status and voluntarily reenlisted with the battalion. He arrived in Saudi Arabia on Feb. 13, 1991, less than two weeks before the ground offensive kicked off. He remained on active duty with the battalion until he returned home at the end of May. Anaya’s reserve obligation ended the following year. He settled with his family in Suffern, N.Y., 30 miles north of the city.
Anaya transitioned into civilian life as an employee of UPS and an active member of the community. He coached youth sports with his three young children. He served as a volunteer firefighter with Suffern Volunteer Hose Company No. 1. His patriotic fervor never waned. An American flag flew every day outside his home. Another flag traveled with him to be set up wherever the family went, whether camping in the woods or taking a trip to the beach.
After nearly a decade, Anaya sought another return to service. Working in the volunteer world gave him a taste, but he desired the camaraderie, challenge and profession of service that he loved and missed about the Marine Corps. In 2001, FDNY appointed the 35-year-old as a probationary firefighter. He began the course of instruction at the fire academy.
By that fall, Anaya and his fellow classmates were rotating through temporary assignments at operational firehouses. Anaya was assigned to Engine 4, less than half a mile away from the World Trade Center. Shortly after the first plane struck the north tower on 9/11, Engine 4 responded. As an academy probie, Anaya held no official role or responsibility within the engine company. Even so, he joined his fellow firefighters as they entered the north tower. Incredibly, photos of Anaya survived the day. They show him ascending a cramped staircase inside the tower against a descending line of civilians, heavily laden with gear and firehose. The photographer who captured these moments escaped the tower before it collapsed. Anaya and the rest of Engine 4 did not.
Less than two months later, FDNY conducted its first fire academy graduation since the terrorist attacks. More than 200 newly minted firefighters filled row after row of seating, awaiting their turn to come forward and receive their diploma. More than 2,000 spectators joined them in marking this monumental step forward in rebuilding their beloved city. Six chairs remained vacant in stark contrast to the crowd. These six most important seats were reserved for Charlie Anaya and five other probationary firefighters who died on 9/11, killed in the line of duty before completing the academy graduation requirements. During the ceremony, when his father’s name was called, 6-year-old Brandon Anaya walked to the stage to accept the posthumous diploma, dressed in his father’s oversized FDNY uniform hat.
Charlie Anaya was one of six probationary firefighters posthumously awarded an academy graduation diploma, having died in the line of duty before completing the graduation requirements. His 6-year-old son Brandon, above, accepted the award, dressed in his father’s uniform. Later, photos were discovered of Anaya ascending a north tower staircase on 9/11. Today, one of the photos, left, is on permanent display at the 9/11 Museum in New York City.
“I wasn’t really aware of what was going on or the impact it had,” Brandon reflected in a recent interview. “My father’s death didn’t really hit me until I was an adult, and I realized how much time was robbed from me that I could have spent with him.” Now 30 years old, Brandon Anaya works as an employee of Tunnel to Towers Foundation, a nonprofit founded in 2001 to benefit first responders, veterans and families of those killed on 9/11.
“I remember before my dad died, when we moved to upstate New York, before any furniture made it into the house, my dad had to put up an American flag outside. There is a video my mom recorded of him talking about it to me and my sisters. It’s tough for me to watch that video. He talks about the American dream and how to keep it alive and how to keep the legacy alive. Sometimes I wonder why am I putting myself through the emotions of working here where I am so personally connected when I could just go work another job. But at the same time, I want to be here and keep the legacy alive. I want to make my father proud.”
These images represent Marine firefighters at Ground Zero, created by Ben Cantwell, Marine veteran and professional firefighter.
FIREFIGHTERS AND MARINES
It’s Sept. 11, 2001. The sun ascends to silhouette the Manhattan skyline. The morning begins just like any other. As the clock passes 8:46 a.m., a passenger aircraft flies into the World Trade Center’s north tower and explodes. The attack immediately triggers the largest FDNY response in history. Injured, burned and terrified civilians rush down the stairs and flood the streets below as fire units arrive on scene. While a second terrorist plane strikes the south tower directly over their heads, even while dozens of civilians fall or jump to their deaths to escape the unimaginable horror inside, hundreds of New York’s bravest push into the towers and up.
Deputy Chief Raymond Downey, a Marine in the 1950s and 39-year veteran of FDNY, ran into the Marriott Hotel between the towers when the south tower collapsed. He remained inside rescuing civilians when the north tower fell.
Battalion Chief Joseph Grzelak, a Vietnam veteran and 28-year member of FDNY, brought with him to the towers a binder full of research he had conducted over the years about fighting high-rise fires. He was last seen outside the north tower, admonishing firefighters to put their helmets on before entering the structure.
Captain Michael Esposito, who enlisted in 1978 prior to his 20-year career with FDNY, rode in charge of Squad 1 to the World Trade Center. All 12 members of his company were last seen inside the south tower. Fellow Marine and firefighter Matthew Garvey was with Esposito on Squad 1. Garvey was a gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps Reserve and a veteran of Beirut and Operation Desert Storm.
Firefighter Gary Geidel served 20 years in the FDNY after his time as an active-duty aircraft mechanic. His retirement date was set for that October. He perished with 10 other members of Rescue 1.
Firefighter Gregory Sikorsky, a former rifleman and five-year FDNY veteran, worked with members of Squad 41 to rescue civilians trapped in an elevator on the 43rd floor of the south tower when the building collapsed.
Firefighter Kevin Smith was a Marine noncommissioned officer, a 23-year veteran of FDNY and a founding member of Hazardous Materials Company 1. Smith and 10 other members of HAZMAT 1 were killed.
Firefighter Ronnie Henderson served more than 10 years in the Marines and 22 years with FDNY assigned to Engine 279. Firefighter Christian Regenhard, a former Recon Marine, graduated from the fire academy in July 2001 and was a probie assigned to Ladder 131 at the same firehouse as Henderson. Both responded for the last time to the World Trade Center.
Firefighter William Krukowski, a former mortarman, served approximately three years with Ladder 21 in Manhattan. Firefighter Manuel Mojica, a former military police officer, served 11 years with Squad 18 in Manhattan. Firefighter Allan Tarasiewicz, a former shore party man, had 12 years, earning his way into Rescue 5 in Staten Island. All three perished when the towers fell.
Firefighter Sean Tallon, an active Marine reservist and assaultman, was a probie with 11 months on. He was last seen pausing in the stairwell of the north tower to help a brother firefighter having a medical emergency before continuing up with the rest of his crew deeper into the chaos.
Firefighter Ruben Correa, a former assaultman now 13 years on the job, responded to the Marriott with Engine 74. He was overheard encouraging the junior men with him before they went inside.
“Stay close to me, loosen your coat, don’t overheat,” he told them. “Look, I’m scared too. We have to put that in the back of our minds.”
Several of the 17 Marines were recovered from the rubble alongside their fallen brethren over the following weeks and months. Some were identified only through DNA testing. Others were never recovered or identified in any form. For a few, such as Ruben Correa, Gary Geidel, Ronnie Henderson and Christian Regenhard, their names etched in panels of the National September 11 Memorial serve as the closest thing to a gravestone they have today.
EPILOGUE
It’s summer 2026 in Triangle, Va. I park my truck and begin walking toward the distant tree line. At the woods’ edge, a massive concrete circle dominates the hillside above me, like a redoubt constructed to guard the entrance. Gleaming letters in polished silver around the fortification reveal its purpose, standing not to bar entry into this hallowed ground, but to safeguard the thread that unifies all those remembered here.
“ONCE A MARINE … ALWAYS A MARINE”
The endpoint of my journey lies a half mile away, deep inside the manicured forest. Golden rays of sun weave through the trees to dance along the sidewalk. Beautiful pillars of granite jut from the earth at regular intervals with names etched in mirrored stone.
Around the final corner, my destination stands. Two beams of World Trade Center steel soar above the walkway. Far from polished granite, they carry hideous scars. One bears the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, the other the emblem of FDNY. They resolutely rise in the same unmistakable fashion as the buildings from which they came. I was only 14 when I watched those towers fall, but I feel it now as tangibly as the breeze against my face. In fact, I feel it more.
Beside the rusted, cold steel sits a black granite memorial, inscribed with 17 names—17 faces staring back at me. I never knew these men. I truly wish I had. We hold each other’s gaze for a while. I turn and walk back the way I came, through the trees and dancing light and granite pillars, each shaped as uniquely as the Marines they honor.
The monument dedicated to the 17 at the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Triangle, Va.(Photo by Kyle Watts)
THE 17 A Record of Service
The following profiles honor the 17 Marines who died as members of the New York City Fire Department (FDNY) on Sept. 11, 2001. Their service is further recognized in the main story, “Once A Marine: The 17 Who Died as New York’s Bravest.” All wore two uniforms and gave everything they had to both.
Deputy Chief Raymond M. Downey Sr.
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1956 to 1959. Served as an 0141 administrative man with 2nd Battalion, 10th Marines, and left the Corps as a corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed a probationary firefighter in 1962 and rose through the ranks to battalion chief after 39 years of service. He was posthumously promoted to deputy chief. Downey was widely regarded as a legend within the department. He was a founding member of the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s Urban Search and Rescue (USAR) Teams. Throughout his career, he responded with USAR to the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, the 1996 Atlanta Olympics bombing and six hurricanes. He was a member of the presidential committee on terrorism response known as the Gilmore Commission and received individual valor medals for previous rescues. At the time of his death, Downey served as the chief of all FDNY Special Operations Command.
Additional: Downey joined FDNY alongside two of his brothers. Two of his sons also became FDNY chiefs. Even in his 60s, Downey ran several miles every day around his home in Deer Park, Long Island. He served as the FDNY hockey team’s first captain.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Downey was coordinating evacuations at the Marriott Hotel between the towers when the south tower collapsed. He was last seen pushing deeper into the hotel wreckage to rescue civilians when the north tower collapsed. His remains were recovered and identified by DNA eight months later. He is buried at St. Charles Cemetery, East Farmingdale, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-9 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 63 years old.
Battalion Chief Joseph Grzelak
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1966 to 1970. Served as a 6212 aircraft mechanic. Deployed to Vietnam with Marine Observation Squadron 6 from 1968 to 1969, where he earned five Air Medals and the USMC Combat Aircrew insignia with three gold stars. He left the Marines as a sergeant.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1973 and served for 28 years. He received two individual citations for life-saving actions while off duty. At the time of his death, he served in command of Battalion 48 in Brooklyn.
Additional: Grzelak’s nickname at the firehouse was “Joe Knows,” due to his extra-ordinary appetite for information and ability to retain it. He consumed multiple newspapers daily, completed crossword puzzles and read all sorts of books. His family encouraged him to try out for Jeopardy. He was known as “a firefighter’s chief,” always looking out for his subordinates. He was a sports enthusiast, fervently cheering on the New York Yankees and Giants, playing weekly in bowling and softball leagues and coaching both his daughters’ softball teams as they grew up.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, On Sept. 11, Grzelak brought with him to the World Trade Center a binder of research he had compiled over years about fighting high-rise fires. It was later discovered inside of his crushed command vehicle. He was last seen instructing firefighters outside the north tower to put their helmets on before going inside. His remains were recovered in March 2002. He is buried at Cemetery of the Resurrection, Pleasant Plains, Staten Island, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-19 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 52 years old.
Captain Patrick J. Brown
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1969 to 1973. Initially assigned as an administrative clerk, then changed to 1371 combat engineer to go to Vietnam. Deployed twice to combat with 3rd Combat Engineer Battalion, where he operated as a “tunnel rat.” Earned the Combat Action Ribbon, meritorious promotion to corporal and meritorious promotion to sergeant before leaving the Marines.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1977 and served for nearly 25 years. Brown was one of the most decorated firefighters in the department. His long list of individual awards include five prestigious FDNY Medal Day decorations, awarded in 1981, 1985, 1986 and two in 1988. He gained national recognition for his role in the improvised rope rescue in Times Square on May 14, 1991, featured on the CBS TV series “Rescue 911.” He was promoted to captain in 1993 and assumed his final role in charge of Ladder 3 in 2000.
Additional: Brown’s brother, Michael, also served as a FDNY firefighter before becoming a medical doctor. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, while all flights were grounded, Michael drove 2,500 miles from Las Vegas, Nev., to Ground Zero in New York. He spent weeks searching for his brother. Michael later developed cancer directly attributed to his time in the rubble and died in 2020.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Brown responded with Ladder 3 to the north tower. At 9:21 a.m., he placed a now-famous phone call from the 35th floor: “Three truck and we are still heading up.” His final words heard over the radio came from the 44th floor, where he refused to evacuate the tower and leave the injured and burned civilians with him. His remains were recovered in December 2001. He is remembered on panel S-8 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 48 years old.
Captain Michael A. Esposito
Marine Corps Service: Enlisted in 1978. Honorably discharged as a private, 9900 basic Marine, from MCRD Parris Island, S.C.
FDNY Career: Served approximately 20 years with FDNY. He served as the lieutenant in charge of Squad 1 at the time of his death and was posthumously promoted to captain. Esposito was a member of FDNY’s Urban Search and Rescue Team. He deployed in support of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing. He also deployed to upstate New York during the January 1998 ice storm.
Additional: Esposito is remembered as a “regular guy” who led men, helped people and asked for nothing in return. His cousin, firefighter Frank Esposito of Engine 235, also died on Sept. 11. His brother, Joseph, was a firefighter with Rescue 5 who spent months working in the recovery operation at Ground Zero. His two sons also later became FDNY firefighters.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Esposito arrived to the World Trade Center in charge of 11 firefighters on Squad 1. They were last seen inside the south tower. All 12 were killed. One of the cab doors from Squad 1 was recovered from the rubble at Ground Zero. It is now part of the permanent display at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History in Washington, D.C. Esposito’s remains were recovered and buried at Cemetery of the Resurrection, Pleasant Plains, Staten Island, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-7 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 41 years old.
Firefighter Kevin J. Smith
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1972 to 1974. Served as a 3531 motor vehicle operator with the 6th Marine Regiment and left the Marines as a corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed in approximately 1978 and served 23 years. In 1984, he served as a founding member of Hazardous Materials Company 1, still today the department’s only dedicated HAZMAT unit. He remained with the company throughout his career, responding to many of the worst disasters in the city.
Additional: Smith and his wife, Jerri, had eight children. The entire family, including all eight children, volunteered with local fire and EMS companies. Smith’s daughter, Josephine, was 21 when her father was killed. She followed in her father’s footsteps and joined FDNY in 2014. One son, Brian, served as a fire department EMS officer at the World Trade Center on 9/11 and survived when the towers fell.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Smith responded to the World Trade Center with HAZMAT 1. Eleven members of the company entered the south tower and were killed when it collapsed. Squad 288, stationed at the same firehouse as HAZMAT 1, suffered eight members killed. The combined total, 19 lives lost, represented the largest loss from a single firehouse on 9/11. The loss of these men alone left 51 fatherless children. Smith’s remains were not recovered. He is remembered on panel S-9 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 47 years old.
Firefighter Ronnie L. Henderson
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1971 to 1973. Served as a 3531 motor vehicle operator with 9th Motor Transport Battalion and left active duty as a corporal. Continued his service in the Marine Corps Reserve for more than 10 years.
FDNY Career: Appointed in approximately 1979 and served for more than 22 years. He spent his entire career with Engine 279 and Ladder 131 in Red Hook, Brooklyn.
Additional: Henderson was an avid student of personal finances and financial responsibility. He and his wife of 18 years, Shirley, raised four children. He also helped raise five siblings from an early age. He was active in his home community and a member of the Church of God by Faith in Newburgh, N.Y.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Henderson responded to the north tower with Engine 279. Only one of the six firefighters in the company survived when the tower collapsed. His remains were never recovered. He is remembered on panel S-23 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 52 years old.
Firefighter Gary P. Geidel
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1975 to 1979. Served as a 6064 flight equipment man with Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron 361 at Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS) El Toro, Calif. He left the Marines as a corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1981 and served approximately 20 years. His final assignment was with Rescue 1. He earned seven citations for valor over his career, including one during his response to the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. At the time of his death, his retirement date was set just weeks away in October 2001.
Additional: Geidel came from a family history of FDNY service. His father, Paul, a U.S. Air Force veteran who flew in 43 combat missions during the Korean War, was a retired lieutenant at Rescue 1. He had two brothers, Ralph and Michael, who also served in the department. He was survived by his wife, Mathilda, and daughter, Tillie, 6 years old at the time of his death.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Geidel came to work on overtime. He responded to the north tower with Rescue 1. All 11 members of the crew were killed. His father Paul and brother Ralph spent months scouring the World Trade Center wreckage, but no trace of him was ever found. Ralph Geidel, also a Marine Corps veteran, died from 9/11-related illness in 2014. Paul Geidel died from 9/11-related cancer in 2017. Gary Geidel is remembered on panel S-10 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 44 years old.
Firefighter Ruben D. Correa
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1974 to 1978. Served as an 0351 assaultman and left the Marines as a lance corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed 1988 and served approximately 13 years. He spent his entire career with Engine 74, on the upper west side of Manhattan, becoming one of the senior firefighters in the company.
Additional: Correa lived in Staten Island with his wife of 21 years and their three daughters. He loved mountain biking, fishing and cooking for his fellow firemen. He played catcher for the firehouse softball team, earning his nickname “Yogi,” after the Yankees’ all-star catcher Yogi Berra. After 9/11, the firehouse’s Dalmatian mascot was named Yogi in his honor.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Correa arrived to the World Trade Center with Engine 74. A fellow firefighter remembered his final admonition to the crew before they went inside: “Stay close to me, loosen your coat, don’t overheat. … Look, I’m scared too. We have to put that in the back of our minds.” Correa entered the Marriott Hotel between the towers to aid in evacuating civilians. He remained inside when the towers collapsed. He was the only member of Engine 74 killed. His remains were never recovered. He is remembered on panel S-9 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 44 years old.
Firefighter Allan Tarasiewicz
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1974 to 1977. Served as a 1381 shore party man with Landing Support Company, Headquarters and Service Battalion, 1st Direct Support Group. He left the Marines as a lance corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1989 and served approximately 12 years. He served with various companies over the years, earning his way to an assignment with Rescue 5 on Staten Island.
Additional: Tarasiewicz joined FDNY at the age of 33. He met his wife of 24 years, Patricia, while serving as an 18-year-old lance corporal in Italy. Before returning to his native Staten Island, he was also a sheet metal worker in California and a coal miner in Colorado. He and Patricia bought a 100-year-old home on Staten Island, just a block away from his firehouse, and were in the process of restoring it when he was killed. They had two children, Melissa and Allan Jr.
In Memoriam: On the evening of Sept. 10, Tarasiewicz received a phone call that he would be required to report for mandatory overtime on the morning of Sept. 11. He and his wife had planned a vacation beginning Sept. 12 to celebrate her birthday. Tarasiewicz reported for duty, assigned to Rescue 4 for the day. Eight firefighters responded to the World Trade Center on Rescue 4. All were killed. Ten of Tarasiewicz’s fellow firefighters from his home station at Rescue 5 died. His remains were not recovered. He is remembered on panel S-7 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 45 years old.
Firefighter Manuel Mojica Jr.
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1983 to 1987. Served as a 5811 military police officer with Marine Wing Support Squadron 274 at MCAS Cherry Point, N.C. He left the Marines as a lance corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed 1990 and served approximately 11 years assigned to Squad 18 in West Village, Manhattan.
Additional: Mojica was large and muscular, known for his tattoos, his Harley and his impressive mustache. One of his firehouse rituals included a bedtime snack of milk and cookies at the end of every day, no matter the hour he finally got to hit the rack. He was also known for his astounding whistle. While dating his wife, he could stand at the front door of her apartment complex and whistle so forcefully that she knew he had arrived, even from her sixth-floor apartment. They were married for 10 years and had two children. Mojica’s son, “Little Manny,” followed in his father’s footsteps and joined FDNY in 2019.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Mojica responded to the World Trade Center with Squad 18. He was one of seven members of the company killed. His remains were recovered and buried at the Cemetery of the Holy Rood, Westbury, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-21 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 37 years old.
Firefighter Matthew D. Garvey
Marine Corps Service: Active and reserve service from 1981 to 2001. Enlisted as a 2531 field radio operator and served 10 years on active duty. Deployed in support of combat in Beirut and Kuwait. Remained an active Marine reservist until his death, assigned to Alpha Company, 6th Communications Battalion. He attained the rank of gunnery sergeant.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1995 and served six years, earning his way into a special operations role with Squad 1 in 1999. He served as an instructor at the FDNY Fire Academy Rescue School.
Additional: During his time in the Marines, Garvey earned three Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medals, the Southwest Asia Medal, the Kuwait Liberation Medal and the Navy Arctic Service Ribbon. He was a certified jump master. He studied kung fu, played guitar and had just been accepted to law school at the time of his death.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Garvey responded to the World Trade Center as a member of fellow Marine veteran Michael Esposito’s company on Squad 1. He entered the south tower and was killed with his entire company in the collapse. His remains were recovered and buried at Long Island National Cemetery, East Farmingdale, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-6 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 37 years old.
Firefighter Gregory R. Sikorsky
Marine Corps Service: In the Marine Corps Reserve from 1990 to 1994. Served as an 0311 rifleman. He left the Marines as a corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1996 and served five years. In 2000, Sikorsky earned an assignment with Squad 41, part of FDNY’s Special Operations Command.
Additional: Sikorsky was an avid sportsman and thrill seeker. He also served as a volunteer firefighter with Hillcrest Fire Department in Rockland Coun-ty, N.Y., for 16 years. He was a licensed pilot, tractor trailer driver and auto mechanic. He owned a 1939 Mack firetruck and was in the process of completely restoring it. He was survived by his wife, Marie, and 3-year-old son Steven.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Sikorsky responded to the World Trade Center with Squad 41. Six members of the company ascended to the 43rd floor of the south tower and were attempting to rescue civilians trapped in an elevator when the tower collapsed. Sikorsky’s beloved Dalmatian, Dominic, was brought to Ground Zero and searched the wreckage for his master, refusing to stop even when his paws bled from scouring the debris. Sikorsky and other members of Squad 41 were finally located in March 2002. His local community completed the restoration of his Mack firetruck and used the truck to carry Sikorsky’s flag-draped casket to the church for his funeral. He is buried at Ascension Cemetery, Airmont, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-12 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 34 years old.
Firefighter William E. Krukowski
Marine Corps Service: In the Marine Corps Reserve from 1984 to 1989. Served as an 0341 mortarman with Weapons Company, 2nd Battalion, 25th Marines.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1998 and served three years. Krukowski had just completed his probationary period and was serving with Ladder 21.
Additional: Known as “Super Probie” by his crew. He gave up his motorcycle and skydiving when he became a father and regularly rode his bicycle from his home in Queens to the firehouse in Manhattan—a 17-mile trip one way. His son was 10 years old at the time of his death.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Krukowski responded to the north tower with Ladder 21. He and three other members of his crew died in the collapse. His remains were not recovered. He is remembered on panel S-11 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 36 years old.
Firefighter John G. Chipura
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1980 to 1984. Served in Beirut, Lebanon, as a 2531 field radio operator with Battalion Landing Team 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, 24th Marine Amphibious Unit. He was a survivor of the Oct. 23, 1983, Beirut barracks bombing and a member of the Beirut Veterans Memorial Association. He received the Combat Action Ribbon. He left the Marines as a corporal.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 1998 and served three years. Chipura had just completed his probationary period and was serving with Engine 219.
Additional: Prior to joining FDNY, Chipura served 12 years as a police officer and detective with the New York Police Department. He earned the rank of Eagle Scout as a youth. His wedding was scheduled for October 2001. His brother, Gerard, also served with FDNY and responded to the terrorist attacks after 9/11 to comb the wreckage in search of his brother.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Chipura responded to the World Trade Center assigned to Ladder 105 for the day. He was last seen helping rescue civilians from the south tower. His remains were identified in spring 2002. He is buried at Long Island National Cemetery, East Farmingdale, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-21 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 39 years old.
Firefighter Sean P. Tallon
Marine Corps Service: In the Marine Corps Reserve from 1996 to 2001. Served as an 0351 assaultman with Weapons Company, 2nd Battalion, 25th Marines. He remained an active Marine reservist at the time of his death.
FDNY Career: Appointed in 2000 and served approximately 11 months as a probationary firefighter assigned to Ladder 10 at “Ten House,” 124 Liberty Street—directly across the street from the World Trade Center.
Additional: Tallon was a first-generation American, whose parents emigrated from Ireland. He earned a degree in criminology before joining the Marines and worked as an EMT for FDNY EMS before becoming a firefighter. He enjoyed playing traditional Irish music on a button accordion and would practice many evenings at the firehouse.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Tallon and the firefighters from Ten House were among the first to respond to the World Trade Center. While climbing the stairs of the north tower, Tallon was seen stopping to aid a fellow firefighter experiencing a medical emergency as they ascended. He helped care for the firefighter before continuing up with the rest of his crew. They remained inside when the building collapsed. His remains were recovered and buried at St. Mary’s Cemetery in Yonkers, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-5 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 26 years old.
Firefighter Christian Michael Otto Regenhard
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1992 to 1997. Enlisted as a 2531 field radio operator before earning the elite designation as an 0321 reconnaissance Marine. He was a qualified USMC parachutist and combatant diver. He left active duty as a sergeant.
FDNY Career: Appointed in January 2001 and graduated the fire academy in July 2001. He had just begun his probationary period assigned to Ladder 131 in Red Hook, Brooklyn.
Additional: During his time in the Marines, and afterward, Regenhard traveled extensively. He visited 22 countries around the world and lived in San Francisco while attending college. He eventually returned to New York to be with his family and pursue appointment as a New York City firefighter.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Regenhard responded to the World Trade Center with Ladder 131. He was killed in the collapse along with four other firefighters from his firehouse, including fellow Marine veteran firefighter Ronnie Henderson. His remains were never recovered. He is remembered on panel S-23 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 28 years old.
Firefighter Calixto Anaya Jr.
Marine Corps Service: On active duty from 1984 to 1988. Served as an 0481 landing support specialist with 3rd Landing Support Battalion, 3rd Force Service Support Group, at Camp Kinser, Okinawa, Japan. Reenlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve from February to May 1991 with 6th Communications Battalion to deploy in support of Operation Desert Storm.
FDNY Career: Appointed a probationary fire-fighter and entered the fire academy in summer 2001. On Sept. 11, Anaya was serving on a temporary assign-ment at an operational firehouse. He died in the line of duty before completing the academy’s graduation requirements.
Additional: Anaya was widely known for his fervent patriotism. Prior to joining FDNY, he worked for UPS while also serving as a volunteer firefighter in Suffern, N.Y. He coached little league baseball and flag football. He voluntarily reenlisted to serve during Operation Desert Storm and pursued appointment with FDNY a decade later as a second return to full-time service.
In Memoriam: On Sept. 11, Anaya responded to the World Trade Center with Engine 4. The company was last seen inside the north tower when it collapsed. On Nov. 2, 2001, Anaya was one of six probationary firefighters posthumously awarded a fire acad-emy diploma. His 6-year-old son, Brandon, accepted the diploma on his behalf. Anaya was recovered and is buried at Frederick Loescher Veterans Memorial Cemetery, New Hempstead, N.Y. He is remembered on panel S-21 of the 9/11 Memorial. He was 35 years old.
Featured Photo (Top): Memorial Collage of The 17. (Photos courtesy of FDNY Marine Corps Association)
About the Author
Kyle Watts is the staff writer for Leatherneck. He served on active duty in the Marine Corps as a communications officer from 2009-13. He is the 2019 winner of the Colonel Robert Debs Heinl Jr. Award for Marine Corps History. He lives in Richmond, Va., with his wife and three children.
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Leatherneck September 2024 By: LtCol Robert J. Darling, USMC (Ret)
Lieutenant General Len “Loni” Anderson IV has served in top-tier Marine Corps units and key leadership positions throughout his career. He is the current Commander, Marine Forces Reserve (MARFORRES) and Marine Corps Forces South, as of March 21, 2024.
Anderson joined the Corps in 1993 and was designated a naval aviator in 1995. As an F/A-18 Hornet pilot he worked with a number of different operational units, including the Blue Angels. He then transferred to the Reserve in 2006, joining the 4th Marine Air Wing as the assistant wing commander and deploying in joint service in support of Operation Inherent Resolve. In his civilian career, he has been a pilot for FedEx and an actor. He was inspired by the original “Top Gun” to become a fighter pilot and has acted in movies such as “Captain Phillips” and “13 Hours.”
In a recent interview with Leatherneck magazine, LtGen Anderson covered the upcoming 110th anniversary of the Marine Corps Reserve and the current status of the Reserve.
What is the significance of the USMCR celebrating its 110th anniversary this year?
I was in the Reserve for the 90th, I was in for the 100th [and] I’m still here for the 110th. Just to imagine that … over a century’s worth of Marine Reserve service to our Corps, and where it’s come from that time until today, all the cycles that we’ve gone through. I would say we are at a time now in the Reserve that not only do we have the most opportunity but [it’s] the most exciting and dynamic time to be a Marine reservist. There [are] multiple domains that have changed for … your average Marine, whether active or reserve … from the time we started, [a Marine] has to think in many more domains … today than we did back then.
Can you discuss the importance of Marine Forces Reserve, what you’re doing presently and its future relevance?
We are fortunate at a time right now, under Commandant General Smith, who is focused on maximizing the potential of the Reserve. … We are no longer just a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ type of formation. We’re part of a Total Force that’s planned in; we have planned rotations [and] rotate on schedule. Some of this is not only due to efficient Marine Corps planning, but it’s also what I was trying to drive home, to get to reservists being able to plan their life, have predictable, repeatable deployments, and then for the Marine Corps’ side, have them budgeted. It’s not a surprise bill that happens in the middle of a budget cycle. It’s something that we’ve looked at for years on end. Reservists can see the horizon when they join a unit, and it keeps us much more efficient that way in a much more ready Marine Corps when we are deploying. It’s not a state of emergency; it is normal ops. …
I could foresee a Marine Corps Reserve that is even more in demand, as our active component continues to modernize, as we continue to move ahead with Force Design [and] through our learning experiences of what we need in combat. Our Reserve formations fall right in there. … My goal is to modernize and equip concurrently with the active component for those units that are heading forward, whether it’s in the first island chain or in another combatant commander’s AO [area of operation]. That might be cyber, that might be space as well. … My goal as a leader for the years going forward is to set the Marine Forces Reserve up to be part of that equation. …
Over the last five years or so, as we’ve really grown the force on the tech side with a Marine Innovation Unit, or as we stand up VMU-4 [Unmanned Aerial Vehicle Squadron 4] again. We’re going to get back into the unmanned business, we’re [going to] get back into the low-altitude air defense business. There is a lot coming toward MARFORRES in the next five years as we grow the force. … We finished a little bit over 1% over our goal last year. We’re on tap to do the same this year. It’s a whole team effort. …
We have been given millions of dollars, over $20 million last year alone in bonuses and incentives to keep enlisted Marines reenlisting, having them choose where they would want to serve in the Reserve. We’re providing them [with] that option. And I think that whole team of effort across the service is really what’s got us to the health that we are today. There’s no magic number to it. … I’d be remiss if I didn’t include the Marine Corps Recruiting Command. They have not only grown in size but understand our challenges recruiting in the Reserve, as they are out with recruiting stations and finding those new, young Marine reservists that need to come into our formations. And they’ve done an excellent job, organized across the nation, you know, growing our forces that are getting ready to deploy. …
Next year, we’ll be approaching 10% of our reserve force that will be forward deployed, and that’s the most significant amount that we’ve had forward deployed since 2013. And the demands will still continue to grow. … When I talk present, my focus as a commander is saying yes to whatever I can take off of the active component’s plate, or assist the Commandant in balancing out where we’re going to conduct our missions. Some of those might be the southern border. Some of that might be down in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and all these things are great opportunities for the Reserve. Whether or not it’s engineers, logisticians or our Marine Wing Support Squadron Marines, it’s a great opportunity for us to become a better force. …
The Marine Corps Reserve aims to cultivate and retain top-tier talent as it marks its 110th anniversary.( Photo by LCpl Edward Spears, USMC)Marines conduct riot control training during Exercise Balikatan 2026, illustrating the high-tempo, real-world missions that now define the modern Marine Corps Reserve. (Photo by Sgt Iyer Ramakrishna, USMC) Marines with the Marine Innovation Unit and the Marine Corps Software Factory debug code in Austin, Texas, in April, integrating technical expertise into the Corps’ modernization efforts.(Photo by Cpl Orion St. Pierre, USMC)
We are conducting all those missions and will be here for the foreseeable future. … As we look to the future and … some of these bespoke critical capabilities that we have, whether or not it’s our personnel recovery platoons or it’s our advisor companies that are across the globe with our partners and allies right now, today [we’re] learning how to defeat the adversary. As an example, maybe a couple of months ago, we had cyber Marines, and there was an intrusion on the network and we had [to respond] within 72 hours. Ten of our Reserve cyber operators [were] on orders on the keyboard defending networks. [It’s] something that [we] can respond to, assist and beat back the adversary. Again, in whatever domain, it’s really a great thing to see. And Marines reservists want to do this. They step forward, leave whatever tech jobs they’re in, to come on in and fight for the Marine Corps. It’s a great thing to see, and I see more of that happening in the future. … There’s a good group of these types of individuals working in and amongst our formations, and I really do believe in that model, short work for our exquisite skills, whether it’s space, cyber, even intel Marines. …
What I’m really excited about nowadays is the team that we have in New Orleans. We’ve got an AI task force that’s working on these things to try to predict what our reserve modernization and what reserve readiness looks like. … So, it’s, again, an exciting time to kind of be able to take a look at the future. … The introduction of AI and its use is certainly an exciting time for us in the headquarters, as well.
I think when you look at current operations today, I think CENTCOM [U.S. Central Command] has done a really good job in the information environment to just post truth … and they’ll put a big post just as truth, and then, you know, beat back … this false narrative that’s being driven, and we really have to learn again … how to maneuver in that space as well. I’m fascinated by the information environment. I think there’s definitely more we can do. I’m excited that we are standing up a MIG [Marine Expeditionary Force Information Group], and get[ting] that up and running … and get[ting] Marines thinking about operations in the IE. … I’ve seen a lot of great work with II MIG out of [Camp] Lejeune here recently, wearing my other hat as Marine Forces South [Commander] … conducting our operations in South America. II MEF has really led to the information problem set, and it’s a great thing to see.
LtGen Leonard F. Anderson IV, commander of Marine Forces Reserve, speaks to Marines with 1st Battalion, 23rd Marine Regiment, 4th Marine Division, during Integrated Training Exercise 3-25 at Twentynine Palms, Calif., June 14, 2025.(Photo by SSgt Scott Jenkins, USMC)
We have a USMCR Connect app; … we invested in it [and] we update it. There are opportunities that are listed right there for either individual augmentees or job postings for SMCR [Selected Marine Corps Reserve]. It can all be done on your phone. There are certainly a ton of other resources that are on there, too. Whether or not it’s medical, dental [or] psychiatric health, you name it. It’s kind of a one-stop shop for USMCR Connect. We’re doing the best we can to find a way to connect with our reserve force that is so dispersed. …
If there’s something that I’ve tried to share with my active component general compadres, it’s that a reservist deployment starts at mobilization or at activation. … That’s when the workup starts. They leave their home from the middle of the United States, they go out to Twentynine Palms, they’re training for two to three months and then they deploy forward. And then they don’t come back for another month until after the deployments end. So, it’s a really long time to be away from home, and we’re trying to keep that family connection going and make sure that family readiness is at the top of our priority as well. I want Marine reservists to know that we understand their life. I think that’s one of the benefits of having a reservist, even though on active duty now, as the commander of Marine Forces Reserve.
I’ve lived that life for over 20 years, and I understand what it means when you deploy away from your family, and they’re out on an island somewhere. They’re not in base housing with a big community. There might not be another Marine on their block or in their city. It’s a really kind of lonely time to be a family member when a reservist is deployed, and the importance of family, even with all the digital opportunities to connect with them. If you don’t know where your loved one is, it’s always going to weigh on your mind.
Can you describe your responsibilities as the commander of Marine Forces Reserve?
It’s a continuous education across the force on the capabilities and capacity of our Reserve. To make sure that the Reserve is in the conversation, i.e., JLTV [joint light tactical vehicle] purchases, with the next generation of plate carrier or high-cut helmets. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that we have to make, where it’s, ‘Oh yeah, it’s not just buying it for … these battalions on the West Coast. We’ve got all these reserve units that we need to mix into and modernize their formations, as well.’ So, it’s not that we’re forgotten, it’s just, as we have such limited resources in the Marine Corps, we’re using every dime we can to modernize as fast as we can while maintaining the readiness. …
LtGen Anderson addresses council members in New Orleans, La., during Military Appreciation Day. Strengthening ties with local communities remains a key priority for Marine Forces Reserve leadership, which is headquartered in New Orleans.(Photo by LCpl Claire Cheney, USMC)
How do we make it better for reservists to get to drill? That includes things just like we’ve seen with the increased travel budget, you know, up to $750 for travel for those who are living outside the 150 [mile radius of their unit]. … I do congressional visits … office calls on Capitol Hill, whether it’s staff members or actual congressional members, to let them know not only what our Marine Forces Reserve is doing, but what support they can provide. … Most everybody in Washington, D.C., wants to know how they can help. That’s what’s been a refreshing thing for me to see. It’s always good to see Congressman [Jack] Bergman [retired Marine lieutenant general and former Commander, Marine Forces Reserve] in there. We’ve got some other actual Marine reservists. As you know, Senator [Dan] Sullivan [a retired USMCR colonel] just retired from the Marine Corps Reserve not too long ago, but there’s a lot of Navy and Marine Corps synergy in the building, and I think we’re very fortunate to have that.
Marines with 4th Law Enforcement Battalion pose for a group photo during Exercise Cold Response 26 in Norway. The deployment showcased the USMCR’s role in global collective defense, training next to NATO allies to ensure rapid readiness in extreme environments. (Photo by Sgt Emily De La Torre, USMC)
The Marine Corps is first to fight, and we’ve shown that over the last year and a half. Certainly, whatever taskings have come our way, the Marine Corps has been there first. I’m going to make sure that we’re still able to support that as a Marine Corps Reserve, but alongside that, certainly from our appropriators and from our civilian oversight, the fact that we are on our third consecutive clean audit … has certainly gained us some favor in and across Congress. We know where our money’s going. We know where our stuff is. You give us a dollar, we know exactly where it’s going.
The one last thing I’d say, and it is posted on the MARFORRES website, it’s easy to access from the USMCR Connect app. My campaign plan is written there (https://www.marforres.marines.mil/About/#guidance-documents). I just ask Marines to take a look at the priorities, what we are looking to do in MARFORRES and the comprehensive resources. It’s the whole Marine. It’s the family. How are we going to be ready to go? Forecasting what that might look like, what our nation looks like in the event of a mass mobilization and being ready to have those thoughts. We need to start thinking through these procedures again to make sure that we’re ready to go.
Featured Photo (Top): LtGen Anderson and SgtMaj Edwin A. Mota meet with then-Undersecretary of the Navy Hung Cao during an Individual Ready Reserve muster in Arlington, Va., in March. These events are vital to the Reserve’s mission of maintaining a ready force capable of reinforcing the active component when needed.(Photo by Cpl Orion St. Pierre, USMC)
About the Author
LtCol Joel Searls, USMCR, is a journalist, writer and creative who serves in intelligence for the Marine Corps Reserve. He has completed the Writers Guild Foundation Veterans Writing Project, is a produced playwright, a commissioned screenwriter and an entertainment consultant. His most recent feature film-producing project is “Running with the Devil,” and his most recent TV series-producing project is “Top Combat Pilot.” He is a graduate of The Ohio State University.
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Homefront Heroes: Marines Recall Lifesaving Actions During Hurricane Katrina
The future of Marine Corps warfighting was out on display in the nation’s capital earlier this year. Held April 28-30 at the Walter E. Washington Convention Center in Washington, D.C., the annual Modern Day Marine expo was where some of the latest equipment in the Corps’ arsenal—and some still in development—saw the light of day.
Attendees explored acres of floor space filled with armored vehicles, loitering munitions and radio systems, and asked questions of the people who helped design them. Several briefing stages hosted senior leaders reporting the progress of their continuous efforts to improve the way the Corps operates. There was so much to do and see that, even arriving the moment the doors opened and staying until the lights shut off, no one person could have experienced everything the expo had to offer.
With the Marine Corps Association co-hosting the event, Leatherneck compiled a list of just a few of the highlights from this year’s show. 3D printers? Virtual reality? Attack drones? All of those, and much more, were found at Modern Day Marine.
Forterra/Oshkosh Defense
In last August’s “Modern Day Marine: The Future of Fighting Is Now,” Leatherneck covered Forterra’s AutoDrive system integrated into a small unmanned ground vehicle. This year, larger vehicles were on display, demonstrating AutoDrive’s compatibility with chassis originally designed for human occupants. Forterra and Oshkosh Defense have been in the news recently as recipients of a Marine Corps contract for Block 2 production of Remotely Operated Ground Unit for Expeditionary Fires (ROGUE-Fires).
As its name implies, ROGUE-Fires is an unmanned, highly mobile long-range missile carrier. It offers some of the capability of the existing M142 High Mobility Artillery Rocket System (HIMARS) in a much smaller package, making for easier air transportation; whereas HIMARS must be carried by a C-130 or larger, ROGUE-Fires can be sling-loaded under a CH-53. Its visual similarity to the joint light tactical vehicle (JLTV) isn’t coincidental—the vehicles share a common chassis and drivetrain, alleviating potential concerns over logistics and maintenance. The launcher can also be configured for missiles compatible with the Marine Corps’ HIMARS, the Army’s M270 Multiple Launch Rocket System and allied militaries’ comparable systems.
Freeing up enough space and mass to integrate a full-size rocket artillery system on the comparatively small JLTV chassis required removing the cab entirely, which in turn mandated replacing the crew with remote operators who control ROGUE-Fires through the AutoDrive module. In addition to its intuitive remote-controlled interface, AutoDrive gives ROGUE-Fires limited autonomy, allowing it to follow a convoy or relocate between firing positions with minimal human intervention and therefore minimal human risk from counter-battery fire. Its comparatively small size and good cross-country capability granted by the JLTV chassis make it somewhat stealthy and give it tremendous freedom of movement around the battlefield. By the time one of its missiles impacts, the vehicle will have moved elsewhere, making it difficult to target, and even if it does come under attack, enemy forces will have little way of determining its human operators’ locations. All these factors combine to make ROGUE-Fires a valuable asset to the Marine Corps and a formidable threat to its adversaries.
Although the high-tech hardware is certainly exciting, Modern Day Marine isn’t just a trade show. Throughout the three-day expo, senior Marine Corps leaders including the Commandant, Gen Eric M. Smith, deliver briefings on the state of the Corps. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
With more than 400 exhibitors and four briefing stages, there’s more to see at Modern Day Marine than there is time to see it. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
Small arms training systems are always a big draw at Modern Day Marine. InVeris (see “Modern Day Marine: The Future of Fighting is Now” in the August 2025 issue of Leatherneck for more details), a perennial favorite among attendees, supplies the Marine Corps’ Indoor Simulated Marksmanship Trainer. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
Polaris ULTV
Ever since the first automobiles went to war, ground troops have relied on small, lightweight vehicles at the tactical level. Though lacking the glamor and excitement of tanks and infantry fighting vehicles, the humble World War II-era jeep and its long line of successors have been versatile and trusted platforms. In plain language: There’s a lot you can do with a light vehicle. The JLTV is highly capable and protected from improvised explosive devices (IEDs) and small-arms fire, but tipping the scales at nearly 14,000 pounds, its “light” designation is a relative term. That weight can make the vehicle somewhat difficult to transport and cumbersome to use in certain environments. For situations requiring a much lighter general-purpose vehicle, infantry and reconnaissance units instead use the Polaris ultra-light tactical vehicle (ULTV), the successor to and descendant of the similar utility task vehicle.
Derived from Polaris’ similar civilian-market vehicles, the ULTV, referred to outside the Marine Corps as the MRZR Alpha, is essentially a military-grade, four-wheel-drive ATV. Its 1.5-liter turbocharged diesel engine produces up to 118 horsepower and 199 foot-pounds of torque, delivering twice the performance of the WW II jeep in a four-seat vehicle weighing just over 3,000 pounds empty. The ULTV is small and light enough to be carried inside a V-22 Osprey but offers enough performance to carry a 1-ton payload up to 300 miles on just 10 gallons of standard JP8 fuel. Its high ground clearance, low center of gravity and high power-to-weight ratio give it the agility to negotiate difficult terrain and up to 2 feet of water without endangering the four Marines inside.
The ULTV’s exportable power capability and parts commonality with other vehicles makes it a highly versatile platform. This variant features an extended wheelbase and replaces its two rear seats with a short-range missile system. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
Though the ULTV is a simple way to deliver people and supplies from point A to point B, much of its value for Marines in the field lies in its versatility. The vehicle comes standard with a 3-ton winch and a robust electrical system that allows it to act as a mobile generator. With three electrical sockets and 5 kilowatt of power on tap, both stationary and on the move, the ULTV can power demanding external loads such as radar arrays, a necessary capability in its role in low-altitude air defense battalions. The Marines inside the vehicle have access to electrical power for charging their own devices through three 12-volt auxiliary sockets and a pair of USB ports.
MADIS Virtual Trainer
Small unmanned aircraft systems (UAS) have changed the character of warfare as dramatically in the 2020s as machine guns and airplanes did in the 1910s. Although larger unmanned aircraft have been valuable reconnaissance and strike assets in the U.S. arsenal since at least the 1990s, the wide commercial availability of small UAS allows any threat actor to deploy what amounts to a flying IED for very little expense. It follows, then, that LAAD Marines will have their work cut out for them in the next ground war, but setting up a range to train with Marine Air Defense Integrated Systems (MADIS) can be complicated and expensive.
To ensure LAAD Marines are competent with their equipment, PEO Land Systems has developed two training systems: the MADIS Desktop Trainer and Virtual Trainer (MVT). The former, in development since 2019, is a piece of software that works very much like a computer game: Using a laptop computer and a joystick, a Marine can practice the procedures necessary to track and shoot down a variety of airborne threats, ranging from small attack drones to large tanker aircraft. The MVT is much more sophisticated, running similar software on a full-scale simulator that mimics the interior of a JLTV. Sitting in the back of the dummy vehicle, crewmembers manipulate controls identical to the real ones, working together to destroy virtual aircraft just as they would in real life. Joysticks, switches, display screens, headsets—every part of the real system is replicated on a one-to-one basis inside the MVT. The system even has speakers built in to provide realistic auditory feedback. The whooshing of missiles and thunderous report of the autocannon certainly go a long way toward enhancing immersion for the LAAD Marines who use it for training.
“They’re impressed by it,” said Major Timothy Harpe of Portfolio Acquisition Executive Marine Corps, who provided a hands-on demonstration of the MVT. A former air defense control officer, Harpe identified and tracked a virtual airplane, passed targeting data to the other console, then fired a simulated Stinger surface-to-air missile, the 30mm autocannon and bursts from the coaxial M240 machine gun as needed. In short order, I, a mild-mannered author who has no experience whatsoever operating ground-based air defense systems, was shooting down enemy aircraft.
The MADIS Virtual Trainer replicates the interior of a real MADIS vehicle, down to the buttons and switches. The system is making its way out to the fleet now, giving LAAD battalions the most realistic training tool modern technology allows. (USMC)
“Cool” scarcely begins to describe the MVT (the Marines at PEO Land Systems apparently prefer “badass”). Both training systems were developed iteratively using feedback from Marines in the fleet to improve realism and ease of use, ensuring the Corps is providing its Marines with the best training products possible. The desktop trainer is already available in the fleet, and the LAAD battalions are just beginning to receive their full-scale MVTs. Their only complaint about the systems so far, according to Harpe, is that they can’t get them quickly enough.
During the expo, SgtMaj Carlos A. Ruiz, the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, center, stopped to talk to Marines from Sergeants School, Class 4-26, Senior NCO Academy at MCB Quantico. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
This year’s Commandant’s Cup went to MAJ James O’Keefe and CPT Gregory Fitzpatrick of the U.S. Army’s 2d Cavalry Regiment. The wargaming tournament also included international teams from Canada and Poland, the latter of which placed second. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
The MCA recorded episodes of the “Scuttlebutt” podcast at Modern Day Marine. Guests included Carlos A. Ruiz, Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, left; SgtMaj Jacob Reif, Command Sergeant Major for Manpower and Reserve Affairs, second from left. Episodes of Scuttlebutt recorded at Modern Day Marine can be seen on the MCA YouTube channel, youtube.com/MarineCorpsAssoc. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
Several groups of living history presenters attended Modern Day Marine, including Mel Bloom, left, of the 3-5-0 Girls and Rick Tucker of Baker Co 1/21 Reenacted. Also in attendance with a display of historic uniforms was MSgt Jeanine Franz, USMC (Ret), of We Are Marines Collection. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
MCCS
Part of what makes Modern Day Marine so valuable is the diversity of its exhibitors. Amid acres of drones, missiles and radios, Marine Corps Community Services (MCCS) had a booth set up to show off the important work they do for servicemembers.
Marines might recognize MCCS as the entity that runs the Marine Corps Exchange, but they also operate dining halls, lodging, gyms and morale, welfare and recreation facilities—“anything [on base] with a cash register,” according to one representative. Profits from those enterprises are reinvested in programs to benefit Marines and their families, ranging from permanent change of station assistance to mental health services and everything in between. To raise morale among Marines deployed abroad, MCCS has the ability to provide them with a field unit—a CONEX box filled with all the amenities of a stateside convenience store, such as soda, beer and snacks.
MCCS also runs programs to support Marine spouses, such as employment workshops, career training and a financial grant system to help spouses obtain business licenses. Numerous Marine family members also work directly at MCCS operations; the next time you visit the movie theater or bowling alley at your duty station, there’s a decent chance the clerk behind the counter is a husband, wife, son or daughter of a fellow Marine.
GDLS Advanced Reconnaissance Vehicle
Though visually similar to the ACV, the ARV weighs barely half as much and fills a different role in the force. It is a dedicated Light Armored Reconnaissance (LAR) platform rather than as a general infantry carrier. (Photo by Sam Lichtman)
Since the 1980s, the Marine Corps’ light armored reconnaissance battalions have fielded the light armored vehicle (LAV) 25 and its derivatives as their vehicles of choice. Although the LAV-25 has proven its worth over the past four decades, the platform’s age limits its ability to be upgraded with modern sensing and electronic warfare equipment. Its replacement, the advanced reconnaissance vehicle (ARV), combines familiar characteristics with extensive improvements and a modular, extensible vehicle architecture.
At first glance, the ARV strongly resembles its predecessor—an eight-wheeled amphibious vehicle with a V-shaped hull for protection against land mines. Indeed, General Dynamics Land Systems (GDLS), the ARV’s designer and manufacturer, is the same company behind the LAV family and has applied numerous lessons learned to the new vehicle. The integration of new features and technology directly into the design, rather than adding them through upgrade packages for a legacy platform, helps keep the vehicle’s loaded mass under 37,000 pounds, ensuring a landing craft, air cushion, can still carry four Marines.
As a reconnaissance platform, the ARV needs to be as stealthy and agile as an 18 1/2 ton armored vehicle with a 30mm autocannon can be. Its sensor suite is augmented by several cameras mounted around the hull; the same technology that helps you parallel park your car on a narrow city street gives the ARV’s crew excellent situational awareness without requiring them to leave the safety of their vehicle. On water, the ARV’s maneuverability is enhanced by steerable propulsion units, allowing its driver to navigate tight waterways with ease. It is a surprisingly quiet vehicle, even compared to some civilian trucks, helping it to remain undetected while its Marines gather intelligence or patrol a dangerous area.
The General Dynamics ARV prototype underwent open-water testing at Camp Pendleton, Calif., in February. The company’s extensive experience in armored vehicle design showed through, as the Marine Corps selected it to replace the LAV in LAR battalions. (Photo by Helena Yared)
For security reasons, guests ordinarily aren’t allowed inside the combat vehicles on display at Modern Day Marine. An exception was made for Gen Smith when he visited the expo. (Photo by Cpl Juaquin Greaves, USMC)
Useful though these features are, by far the most impressive part of the ARV is its onboard computer system, connected to every one of the vehicle’s systems. Not only does the vehicle help its own crew to keep it running by diagnosing faults, but it can connect to an external computer running GDLS’ Digital Twin Sustainment Suite (DTSS) software to aid in training. DTSS is a powerful interactive application providing Marines with a three-dimensional virtual environment in which they can view every part of an ARV’s anatomy, down to the literal nuts and bolts.
“All of the products they need are in one software,” said GDLS engineer Dino Pelekanos, allowing ARV crewmen to learn everything they need to know about their vehicles before ever climbing inside. They can either practice maintenance and repair procedures on their own or participate in guided lessons when connected to an instructor’s computer, which itself can control the actual vehicle for demonstration purposes. On the MDM show floor, Pelekanos remotely started the ARV’s engine and rotated its turret to prove the point.
Printed Solid
Advertising agencies love to throw around the word “revolutionary” to describe the latest smartphone or newest model year of luxury car. Consumer-grade 3D printers, while not as visually appealing, actually warrant that descriptor. The Marine Corps continues to investigate 3D printing as a way to reduce logistical burdens and enable Marines in the fleet to create their own solutions for the unexpected problems they encounter. 3D printers from Czech company Prusa Research are highly desirable for defense-related applications due to their excellent build quality, ease of maintenance and optional security features; indeed, Prusa machines are already in use in the Marine Corps.
Delaware-based Printed Solid, Prusa Research’s U.S. affiliate, builds Prusa printers Stateside to ensure regulatory compliance for government and military use. They also supply replacement parts, guaranteeing a reliable supply for Marine Corps installations in the continental United States that can’t afford to wait weeks or months for components to be shipped from Europe.
3D printing allows Marines to turn spools of plastic filament into useful parts and tools at the press of a button. Printed Solid demonstrated the capabilities of the Prusa machines they distribute and service by manufacturing drone parts directly on the show floor. (Photo by Sam Lichtman)
At this year’s expo, Printed Solid showed off a menagerie of printers: the high-speed, grandfather-clock-sized Pro HT90, the hobbyist-oriented MK4S, the popular CORE One+ and the famous toolhead-switching XL. The company expects to soon offer the INDX multiple nozzle system, an upgrade for the CORE One line, allowing the printer to switch between up to eight nozzles, and therefore up to eight different materials, in seconds. This capability enables more complex parts to be manufactured—a rifle stock, for example, could be printed in sturdy ASA or PETG with an integrated buttpad made of rubbery TPU.
BAE Amphibious Combat Vehicle
Every year, BAE Systems brings out a different variant of the amphibious combat vehicle (ACV) to show off the platform’s adaptability; this year’s model was the ACV-Electronic Warfare (EW) demonstrator. BAE is developing the ACV-EW on its own initiative in the hopes of soliciting interest from the Marine Corps in new variants other than the four that have already been ordered. The goal is to “show … what’s within the realm of the possible to meet Marine Corps operational requirements,” according to BAE representative Chip Hall, a retired colonel and prior amtracker.
Similar to the ACV-C, the ACV-EW replaces the infantry compartment’s seats with special equipment and an array of workstations. Externally, the vehicle strongly resembles the baseline ACV-P, but with additional radio antennae and radar arrays to detect and track air and ground targets and interfere with enemy communications. With the same Integrated Combat System as the other variants, the ACW-EW variant can pass targeting data to other vehicles to create a more complete picture of the battlefield.
Although this vehicle’s intended role should keep it out of the line of fire, it retains a Kongsberg remote weapons station (RWS) for defense against infantry, UAS and light ground vehicles. The example at the show also mounted a dummy launcher to show the RWS’ ability to integrate antiarmor and antiaircraft missile systems.
With this electronic warfare variant, BAE Systems hopes to demonstrate that it can adapt the ACV platform to the needs of the Marine Corps. Apart from its specialized electronics package and counter-UAS hardware, this variant is still essentially the same vehicle and therefore shares broad parts compatibility. (Courtesy of Oshkosh Defense)
Objective 1 Wargaming
Modern Day Marine was the site of the semifinals and finals for the Commandant’s Cup Wargaming Tournament, an international competition pitting two-person teams from across the Marine Corps and other services against each other in a test of strategic thinking and mental stamina. Over the course of four days, participants competed on simulated battlefields across a variety of both digital and physical map boards under the watchful gaze of facilitators from Marine Corps University. Wargaming for professional military education has a long tradition dating back to the 1700s but has often been sidelined due to shifting strategic priorities. Now, wargaming is experiencing a resurgence in interest from senior military planners interested in learning tomorrow’s lessons today, and the Marine Corps has played a leading role.
In the span of three years, the Commandant’s Cup has evolved from a somewhat casual contest to win a bottle of whiskey to a battle of wits among serious professionals who spend months training for the occasion in addition to their regular duties. Teams are welcome from any military command and can include either officers or enlisted servicemembers. The Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Eric M. Smith, presented this year’s Cup to a team from the U.S. Army’s 2d Cavalry Regiment, who was followed in second place by a pair of cadets from the Polish Military Academy of Land Forces. Major Christopher Lowe of Marine Corps Forces Europe and Africa earned first place in the Flashpoint Campaigns Pro individual event and came out as this year’s highest-scoring Marine.
Wargaming for professional military education is experiencing a dramatic resurgence in popularity, and the Marine Corps is leading the charge. The annual Commandant’s Cup Wargaming Tournament is the most prestigious of its kind in the Western world. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
OPTIA Ammo Can Computers
250 years ago, military intelligence consisted mainly of written notes and verbal reports on enemy troop movements. In 2026, military intelligence personnel rely on data from myriad sources: radio messages, UAS camera feeds, satellite reconnaissance images and more. To collate and process all that data, 02-series Marines need portable computers built to withstand rough handling and extreme environments and still perform reliably. To fill that need, United Computer Products offers the OPTIA line of ruggedized “ammo can computers.” Marines and their logistics infrastructure are already well accustomed to moving ammo cans around, the thinking goes, so why not pack a computer into a sturdy steel chassis with a similar form factor?
The familiar size and shape is a neat trick, to be sure, but it’s by no means the OPTIA line’s only design feature suiting these machines well for field use. These computers are designed from the ground up to work well sitting on bare dirt under a folding table in a tent instead of nestled comfortably in an air-conditioned data center. To prevent fans from sucking dust into the cases, all air intakes are protected by thick filter pads, which can be removed without tools for cleaning. The rear of each case has a door to cover the exhaust holes, expansion slots and motherboard’s input/output shield (the latter two recessed for further protection) during transit.
Internally, an OPTIA system has all the features and performance of a typical high-performance server or workstation, using commodity Intel Xeon CPUs connected to Nvidia RTX PRO graphics cards via PCIe or MXM interfaces. Most configurations are available with hot-swappable solid-state storage (protected, again, by doors containing aggressive dust filters), and the higher-end models can mount dual CPUs. The use of standard components ensures that any Marine with access to parts and a modicum of technical knowledge can easily maintain these systems long into the future.
Featured Photo (Top): XR Training (see “Modern Day Marine: The Future of Fighting is Now” in the August 2025 issue of Leatherneck for more details)supplies training systems combining physical controls with virtual reality headsets, allowing the user to feel as though he or she is behind the controls of a real vehicle. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
About the Author
Sam Lichtman is a freelance writer and editor who specializes in small arms technology and military history. He has a weekly segment on Gun Owners Radio. He is a licensed pilot who lives in Virginia.
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SECOND PLACE WINNER: Leatherneck Magazine Writing Contest
Executive Editor’s note: The following article received second place in the 2026 Leatherneck Magazine Writing Contest. The award is provided through an endowment by the Colonel Charles E. Michaels Foundation and is being given in memory of Colonel William E. Barber, USMC, who fought on Iwo Jima during World War II and was the recipient of the Medal of Honor for his actions at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir during the Korean War. Upcoming issues of Leatherneck will feature the third-place winner and honorable mentions.
Under a moonless sky on Oct. 14, 1781, 400 Continental Marines and soldiers crouched silently on the coastal plains near Yorktown, Va. Before them loomed the British stronghold known as Redoubt 10. Each man understood that the coming moments could determine the fate of a fledgling nation. General George Washington’s orders were explicit: absolute silence to preserve surprise while encircling this modest yet vital position. Not a single shot could be fired until they reached the enemy.
Sappers wielding axes hacked relentlessly to clear a path through the abatis and fraises. A British sentry heard a sharp crack of wood and issued a challenge. No response came. A musket fired. The night erupted into chaos.
The Marines and soldiers formed human ladders, enabling their comrades to climb atop their shoulders and vault over the earthworks. The clash began sooner than the Americans intended, yet their discipline rivaled their British foes. By this late stage of the war, the patriots were well trained, well equipped and recently had been paid their long-overdue wages. Sites where British soldiers had slept or dined moments earlier turned into battlegrounds—and graves. With the redoubt captured, Washington secured the vantage point needed to unleash a third artillery front, dooming the main British lines.
But Morris didn’t take up battlefield command; instead he excelled in audacious financial stewardship that bolstered the American war machine.
That triumph stemmed not only from valorous combat and masterful strategy but also from leadership distant from the front lines—leaders who secured weapons, supplies and pay to enable victory. A pivotal figure in this realm was Robert Morris.
Born in Liverpool, England, Morris immigrated to the colonies as a child. He amassed wealth through success in shipping and the tobacco trade—though some of his profits derived from the abhorrent slave trade. By the Revolution’s outset, he ranked among the colonies’ richest men. He backed the patriot cause partly because he was outraged over Britain’s unjust taxes, including the notorious Stamp Act. But Morris didn’t take up battlefield command; instead he excelled in audacious financial stewardship that bolstered the American war machine.
Beyond the wartime demands of the 1781 Yorktown campaign and the Revolution writ large lay a critical, complex financial dimension. The nascent country lacked a robust economy and grappled to finance the war. Even the most devoted soldiers endured the privations of unpaid wages, fostering despair. Indeed, mere months before Yorktown—even as victory’s tide turned favorably for the American side—nearly 2,500 Pennsylvanian troops stationed in New Jersey mutinied, marching perilously close to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia, Pa., to demand back pay. A resolution averted catastrophe before the furious ranks reached the defenseless assembly. No war effort, past or present, endures without sound financial pillars. This account illuminates the “financier of the Revolution,” Robert Morris—a Founding Father embodying Marine Corps leadership traits like judgment, initiative, unselfishness and courage, while aiding the Corps’ formation.
The Birth of Old Glory,” by Percy Moran showing Robert Morris observing the first American flag. Morris’ later work as the “Financier of the Revolution” proved critical to the new nation’s survival.(Courtesy of Library of Congress)
Morris’ Financial Acumen
As a Continental Congress member, Morris chaired vital finance committees that acquired arms and provisions for the Army, Navy and Marines. Beyond procurement, he steadied finances, brokered essential loans and established the Bank of Pennsylvania to sustain supplies amid public credit’s near-collapse. His efforts forged foundations for today’s federal financial architecture. From the shadows, Morris’ altruistic labor—often tapping his personal fortune—transformed the Revolution from idle founders’ discourse into a global triumph.
In this political satire, Robert Morris is at the helm of a ship bringing the seat of government to Philadelphia, highlighting both the support and controversy surrounding his powerful position in the early Republic.(Courtesy of Library of Congress)
Discord and deadlock plagued the fledgling Congress, especially on fiscal matters. When stalemates threatened paralysis, Morris forged paths forward with resolute courage, at times acting unilaterally to overhaul institutions. He shouldered immense personal risk, pledging his own wealth to catalyze change. A stark example arose in 1781, as federal finances verged on bankruptcy. Rather than dither, Morris displayed judgment and decisiveness by issuing “Morris notes,” or currency underwritten by his personal credit, which bankrolled the Continental Army. In this endeavor, he raised more than $1.4 million—an audacious act for any citizen, then or now—securing vital supplies for Yorktown. Some of the bayonets and axes wielded so effectively by soldiers and Marines at Redoubt 10 that October night were purchased with these notes. Moreover, this funding forestalled further mutinies over unpaid dues.
A 1781 “Morris note” for $20. When the U.S. government verged on bankruptcy, Robert Morris issued these drafts backed by his own personal credit.(Courtesy of Eric P. Newman Numismatic Education Society)
Congress also appointed Morris Superintendent of Finance in 1781, formalizing his role as a visionary steward. He shrewdly insisted the position wield flexibility, insulating the role from political gridlock to ensure swift decisions. This prescience spared his office from devolving into another futile committee. Concurrently, Morris co-founded the Bank of North America—a private entity under public oversight, crafted to extend credit to Congress. It generated reliable cash flow and pioneered the institutional scaffolding of America’s federal financial system, endowing the young republic with fiscal sophistication rivaling elder powers.
No war effort, past or present, endures without sound financial pillars. This account illuminates the “financier of the Revolution,” Robert Morris—a Founding Father embodying Marine Corps leadership traits like judgment, initiative, unselfishness and courage, while aiding the Corps’ formation.
Morris grasped that vanquishing a global empire demanded equal financial might. His judgment transmuted Congress’s sluggish committee processes into a streamlined engine of resources. Though not the sole affluent patriot, Morris towered among them as a preeminent leader. Instead of choosing comfort and hiding as the war raged around him, he stood up for what he believed in. Other lenders trusted the infant nation’s bonds precisely because Morris guaranteed repayment. At peaks, his sterling reputation eclipsed Congress’ own.
Morris’ Impact on the Marine Corps
Robert Morris also led the Marine Corps’ inception. From 1781 to 1784, he led the Continental Navy as the unpaid “Agent of Marine,” overseeing all naval affairs. He swayed John Adams and Joseph Hewes to establish the Continental Navy, and, as a Congress delegate, he sat on the Marine Committee, directing Continental Marines. He further championed Captain Samuel Nicholas—now hailed as the Corps’ first Commandant—for a clandestine mission ferrying a massive French loan from Boston, Mass., to Philadelphia through British-held terrain.
Morris provided three vessels from his merchant fleet to the Continental Navy: Black Prince (renamed Alfred), Sally (renamed Columbus) and Molly (renamed Reprisal). These ships aug-mented naval strength and powered America’s pioneering amphibious assaults. Refitted as a 24-gun frigate, USS Alfred spearheaded the Battle of Nassau, the Corps’ first amphibious raid. USS Columbus, likewise a 24-gun frigate, also joined the fray. USS Reprisal, an 18-gun brig, notched victories en route to Martinique and conveyed Benjamin Franklin—newly tapped as envoy to France—across the Atlantic, marking the first Continental ship in European waters.
Depicted in this painting by W. Nowland Van Powell, USS Alfred was a pivotal asset in Robert Morris’ private fleet. Serving as the flagship of the Continental Navy, she led the first amphibious raid in Marine Corps history during the Battle of Nassau. (Illustration courtesy of Naval History and Heritage Command)
Morris the Man
Morris stands with Roger Sherman as the only two figures to sign the Declaration of Independence, Articles of Confederation and Constitution. After the war, he continued to make an impact by advancing federal fiscal reforms.
Morris epitomized action: a beacon of dedication worthy of emulation. Amid civilians, he exceeded bounds as the exemplar of unselfishness and dependability among Revolution-backing elites. He seized the moment, recognizing that even flawless strategy crumbles without prompt funding. On top of helping to create the Corps, he embodied attributes that would become pillars of the famous Marine leadership traits.
The Corps prizes teamwork in combat, understanding that war transcends tactics and involves a plethora of actors. Like myriad warriors, Morris toiled offstage, his fiscal savvy amplifying British pressure and turning the dream of the Revolution into a reality. While certainly not the most famous founding father, Robert Morris should be appreciated for his incredible commitment to the establishment of this nation.
Lessons for Readers and the Corps
There is a lot to be learned from Morris by our modern Corps and warfighters.
• Seize ownership of your role and amplify others’ roles. Morris exceeded every mandate, aiding procurement and beyond. He didn’t just do the bare minimum; he took great care to go above and beyond every role.
• Act decisively amid turmoil—reject hesitation and deliver solutions. Don’t get caught up in paralysis. Though debate and argumentation will lead to better results by bringing out the best ideas, there does come a point when deadlines will be missed because of deadlock.
• Master your craft. Morris built upon his personal financial knowledge to shape the federal financial system.
These principles will sharpen the Corps against emerging threats, sustaining lethal prowess. May this inspire all ranks to weave Morris’ traits into their command, fostering adaptability and ingenuity.
Featured Photo (Top): Portrait of Robert Morris (Courtesy of Library of Congress)
About the Author
Corporal Alistair Watson is a Chinese Mandarin linguist assigned to 1st Radio Battalion in Camp Pendleton, Calif. With no prior experience with the language, Cpl Watson graduated from the Defense Language Institute with the class’ highest award: the Commandant’s award.
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Leatherneck July 2026 By: MSgt Christopher A. Mendez
Marines are well known for our near-religious commitment to understanding our Corps’ history and for personifying our commitment to our roots. We wear that heritage on our uniforms, but more importantly, we feel it in our hearts. We bear that solemn lineage in our spirits. We live by the mantra, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.” When we step into any store, bar or social gathering anywhere across the country and see a patron wearing a cap, T-shirt or hoodie adorned with the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, there is an instant bond, bridging generations in a way that only those who have endured the crucible of Marine Corps entry-level training truly understand.
This year, we celebrate our nation’s 250th birthday. What began as the “American Experiment” was a revolutionary idea first tested in 1776: that ordinary citizens could govern themselves under a written Constitution that placed limits on government power, protected personal freedoms and derived all authority from “We the People.” The idea was dubbed an experiment because no large nation in history had ever attempted such a novel idea before, and there were doubts that the young republic would succeed.
For a quarter millennium, we have successfully navigated the American experiment and will pay homage to those who have protected our way of life. Through 12 major wars and countless smaller conflicts, Marines have paid the ultimate price. Best estimates from Congressional records reveal that more than 46,000 Marines have laid down their lives.
Celebrations across the country this July will honor the survival of our constitutional republic. Through parades, ceremonies and special events in and around the nation’s capital, this is expected to be the largest celebration of its kind in American history. Continuing a proud tradition from past national celebrations, Marines will once again be called upon to represent generations of predecessors by supporting ceremonies and events for America’s semiquincentennial on July 4, 2026. Those stationed in “every clime and place” at embassies, at sea or on forward operating bases the world over will pause, take a knee, herringbone outward and reflect upon our nation’s beginnings. They will be reminded of the heavy cost their ancestral brothers and sisters paid to preserve this beloved experiment—exactly what they’re actively risking today. Today, we stand in gratitude for their service and for the monumental sacrifices of those who walked this path before them.
We endeavor to never sully the reputation or the legacy of those who have gone before. Because of that, Marines truly are a special breed.
As the Special Purpose Marine Air-Ground Task Force 250 mobilizes for events, we look back 100 years ago, when the Marines supporting the 1926 sesquicentennial faced a struggling exposition with challenges beyond their control. They adapted to overcome every obstacle and even earned official awards for their efforts—but more importantly, they set a powerful, resilient example that will guide the Corps for generations to come.
A replica of the Tun Tavern was hosted by the 43rd Company, 5th Marines during the 1926 Sesquicentennial. The replica featured colonial furniture and historical paintings and served as the heart of Camp Samuel Nicholas. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
Marines stand in front of an oversized Eagle, Globe and Anchor at Camp Samuel Nicholas during the 1926 Sesquicentennial in Philadelphia, Pa.(USMC)
Royal Marines visit the Liberty Bell at Camp Samuel Nicholas during the sesquicentennial. (Courtesy of National Archives)
The Sesquicentennial Exposition
In 1926, Marines were heavily engaged in the Banana Wars in Haiti and Nicaragua while others protected American interests in China during the Northern Expedition. Despite no declared war, the Corps was stretched thin across the globe.
Faced with these demands, Marine Corps leaders intensified recruitment efforts. To replenish the ranks, they seized every opportunity to showcase their prowess to the American public. In November 1925, they had already generated strong support for new enlistments by hosting some of the first formal Marine Corps Birthday celebrations in Philadelphia, Pa. The Marines were once again called upon to proudly represent the nation, alongside the Army, Navy and other federal departments, at the Sesquicentennial International Exposition.
The idea for the exposition began in 1916 with merchant John Wanamaker, who envisioned Philadelphia again hosting an international gathering like it had for the 1876 Centennial Exposition. Delayed by World War I, planning resumed in 1921. On March 19, 1925, President Calvin Coolidge declared the sesqui “for the purpose of exhibiting the progress of the United States and other nations in art, science and industry, and trade and commerce, and the developments of products of the air, the soil, the mine, the forest and the seas.” He then formally invited international participation to promote peace and international unity after the Great War.
America had grown weary of war and had emerged from WW I as the preeminent Industrial Age power. Under what we now know as the “New World Order,” the League of Nations had been established to cultivate that peace and unity. So, in February 1926, Congress gave formal approval and appropriated funds to “demonstrate the nature of our institutions and their adaptation to the wants of the people and the progress of our people in the advancement of peace, arts, and industries,” according to the Congressional Committee on Industrial Arts and Expositions. The fair opened on June 1, 1926, on a 450-acre site at League Island Park along the Delaware River. Promotional materials proudly declared “America Welcomes the World.”
Visitors at the 1926 sesquicentennial stroll past the 13 columns representing the 13 signers of the Declaration of Independence, a nod to the original colonies. (Photo courtesy of Library of Congress)
The sesqui’s general plan featured a world’s fair layout, complete with Industrial Age novelties, international cultural attractions, a semicircular arena and encampments for military displays. Two trolley terminals and a parking lot sat outside the northern, main entrance, and a third terminal provided easy access to the southern end. At the main entrance, visitors were greeted by the expo’s most recognizable feature: an enormous 80-foot-tall Liberty Bell adorned with thousands of lights. This illuminated replica became the sesqui’s logo and appeared on posters, souvenirs and invitations circulated internationally.
This amazing site formed a dramatic main gateway to the grounds, supported by two colossal towers that rose up from either side of Broad Street like majestic sentinels. Each tower was built around a heavy steel framework and sheathed in sheet metal for strength and speed of construction. A smooth, bronze-colored plaster, known as staff, covered the exterior, giving the structures a rich metallic sheen. The effect
This 1926 “Handy Guide Map” provided visitors with a bird’s-eye view of the 450-acre Sesquicentennial International Exposition in Philadelphia. (Courtesy of National Archives)
projected the grandeur of permanent monuments while remaining lightweight, temporary and removable. The illuminated surface sparkled at night and transformed the entrance into a glowing beacon visible for miles.
After passing through the Liberty Bell and entering the park along Broad Street and Packer Avenue, guests received a 95-page program containing all the events for the entire six months, right down to the hours within each day that they would occur. They also received a trifold “Handy Guide Map” with a bird’s-eye view of the complex, complete with numbered and named attractions on the back. They were free to proceed via the walkway to the Forum of the Founders, which featured 13 Columns of the Signers. These Doric-style columns were capped with laurel-wreathed “skaphia”—a basin used in Ancient Greece to concentrate sun rays to ignite a flame, in the same fashion used in the Olympics today. Just above eye level were mounted bronze tablets, with each column naming a state’s signers of the Declaration of Independence. The number 13 was repeated in art and architecture throughout the exhibition, representing the 13 original colonies.
As visitors walked down Broad Street, they encountered the Tower of Light, which featured one of the largest search-lights in the country, according to E.L. Austin and Odell Hauser’s book on the event. Nearby, there were livestock and agricultural exhibits, an auditorium with six rides, two lagoons, a bandstand, a seaplane exhibit and Rumanian (spelled that way then) and Chinese villages. A dance hall was still under construction when the park opened. Down the main thoroughfare and to the left stood the Great Concrete Stadium with a 100,000-person seating capacity. This massive, horseshoe-shaped, concrete, stone and brick structure, constructed in the classic Greek amphitheater model, had an oval-shaped track reminiscent of hippodromes. To the right were the Hollywood exhibits and the High Street of 1776, featuring period displays. Other exhibits included international fares from over 30 different countries, and finally, situated along the southwestern most portion of the complex, the military encampments—at a location now bisected by Philadelphia’s I-95 corridor.
MajGen John A. Lejeune, 13th Commandant of the Marine Corps, walks through Camp Samuel Nicholas in Philadelphia during a formal inspection in 1926. Behind him is the replica of Tun Tavern. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
Military Presence
The U.S. Army’s Camp Anthony Wayne, named after the Revolutionary War hero, was nestled south of Edgewater Lake. The camp housed over 1,000 soldiers in a tent city. To the east of the camp, in a large field that is today a set of baseball diamonds, the soldiers demonstrated cavalry charges, performed drills and conducted cannon and other weapon demonstrations. South of the field, the Marine camp sat across a meandering walkway and also contained a tent city, complete with a replica of Tun Tavern. There, the Marines were within easy sprinting distance of the Navy Yard. A 10-minute walk down Broad Street and visitors could enter Building 29 for the Navy Historical Exhibit and could tour docked ships, including USS Constellation.
The Marines had robust support from the top to construct their encampment. Major General John A. Lejeune, then the Commandant of the Marine Corps, was ever cognizant of the delicate relationships between Philadelphia and Congress. He had retained Brigadier General Smedley Butler, following his two years’ serving as the city’s director of public safety, as the Commanding General of Marine Barracks in San Diego, Calif. Butler remained tethered for guidance and support.
Marines performed naval gunnery and combat drills to entertain and educate the public during the exhibition. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Gene Tunney, left, squares off with his former boxing instructor, Maj Anthony J. Drexel Biddle Sr., at Camp Samuel Nicholas, Sept. 2, 1926, Philadelphia. (Courtesy of City of Philadelphia, Dept. of Records)
In a letter dated May 11, 1926, the Commandant thanked Butler for his recommendation to detail a composite battalion of Marines for ceremonial purposes. In a follow-up letter, Butler mentioned his father, Congressman Thomas S. Butler, who remained a powerful ally to usher in support when necessary. The older Butler served as the Chair of the Committee on Naval Affairs and ensured the Marines had ample resources to develop their camp. His support, coupled with the Marines’ proximity to the Navy Yard and the USMC Depot of Supplies along Broad and Washington Streets, would come in handy for materiel procurement in the months that followed.
The official 1926 program (left) details the dedication of the Tun Tavern replica (right) and Camp Samuel Nicholas, in Philadelphia. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Marine senior leaders selected three companies to serve as a living model of Marine Corps life and history to the American public. The Scranton Tribune, dated July 6, 1926, reported that these included the 16th and the 20th Companies, quartered in the Navy Yard, and the 43rd in the tent city at the sesqui. According to muster rolls, the 43rd, the main effort, consisted of 121 men, led by WW I veterans Captain Louis E. Fagan and First Sergeant Thomas G. Bruce with the platoons commanded by Lieutenants Bayard Livingston Bell and Franklin William Ross Brown. The unit itself had a storied and decorated history from service in the war.
Originally formed from the Marine Guard of the USS Kansas (BB-21) battleship with the Atlantic fleet, the 43rd embarked for Vera Cruz in 1914, according to the “Marine Day Programme.” They had expeditionary duty in Mexico and Cuba, then returned from the West Indies and strengthened their ranks with volunteers from Philadelphia. Replenished and refitted, they then sailed to France with 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. They were among the first American infantry troops to serve in the 2nd Division, American Expeditionary Forces, and would later participate in the occupation of Germany.
During the war, their participation exacted a heavy cost. They lost 41 killed in action and suffered 261 additional casualties. Eighteen of these later died from wounds. Their uncommon valor earned them an astonishing 209 awards for extraordinary heroism, including 21 Distinguished Service Crosses and 15 Navy Crosses, according to the program. By 1926, to support the sesqui, the company consisted of the original WW I veterans as well as those from Haiti, Nicaragua and China. Their ranks included the first Marines authorized to wear the coveted French fourragère awarded to the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments, alongside those who had not yet seen combat themselves.
GySgt Thomas Bruce (USMC)
To support all three companies assigned to the sesqui, Commandant Lejeune entrusted Colonel Cyrus Sugg Radford, the officer in charge of the Depot of Supplies. Col Radford had proven himself a worthy logistics leader, running manufacturing, sustainment and materiel shipping that supported Marines both in garrison and in WW I. Throughout sesqui’s buildup and during the venue’s entire six-month event, Radford kept both BGen Butler and the Commandant well apprised of the camp’s status and all its materiel needs. This is confirmed in a letter Butler wrote to Radford on Aug. 14, 1926. These and past efforts would later secure the colonel a promotion to brigadier general, and his assignment as the Quartermaster General of the Marine Corps.
Marines of 43rd Company, 5th Marines, construct Camp Samuel Nicholas during the 1926 Sesquicentennial, transforming the grounds into a professional encampment modeled after tropical expeditionary layouts. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
Philadelphia Mayor W. Freeland Kendrick and Gene Tunney with Marines at Camp Samuel Nicholas, as Tunney prepares for the heavyweight boxing championship. (Courtesy of National Archives)
As a team, the leathernecks quickly built their tent city. The tentage, gravel walkways, a chow hall, cleansing units and a command tent with an oversized Eagle, Globe and Anchor all went up in short order. They modeled the camp after tropical layouts used on expeditions; the gravel walkways would come in handy during Pennsylvania’s rainy summer months. Appropriately enough, they named the camp after the first Marine Corps officer, Capt Samuel Nicholas. There, Marines would conduct combat demonstrations, march in formations, display uniform regalia and perform naval gunnery. They would also wear period uniforms in pageantry, complete with materiel examples used throughout Marine Corps history.
Col Cyrus Sugg Radford (USMC)
To the camp’s east, the Marines constructed their feature attraction, the Tun Tavern, the first of its kind since the original burned down in 1781, 145 years prior. The “Marine Day Programme” described the building as “a faithful replica of the original structure,” with the interior “designed to contain paintings that depict incidents of Marine Corps history,” referring to a series of 13 paint-ings contributed by Philadelphia’s own John Joseph Capolino. In part because of these efforts, Capolino would later secure a Reserve commission as a Marine Corps officer and serve as an official combat artist.
According to an Aug. 27, 1926, article in the Philadelphia Inquirer, Capolino’s artwork at the exposition depicted combat scenes throughout American history, from the Revolutionary War to WW I. His pieces included the first amphibious landing in Nassau led by Nicholas, the fight against the Seminole Indians, the Spanish-American War and Marines who fought in France under the U.S. Army’s 2nd Division. After reviewing the paintings, guests would be able to talk to live Marines who were part of the same unit depicted on the final panels. Other items displayed in the tavern included colonial period furniture and a reproduction of journal entries containing the original muster rolls of the first Marines recruited. Outside the tavern’s second level, Marines mounted Colonial, modern American and other flags.
Secretary of the Navy Curtis D. Wilbur, second from left, visits Camp Samuel Nicholas alongside Capt Louis E. Fagan, left, commander of the 43rd Company. SECNAV Wilbur was reportedly highly impressed with the soldierly virtue and professional appearance of the camp. (Photo courtesy of National Archives)
As the sesqui approached the May 31st opening, unresolved construction delays and political friction arose. In addition, the weather didn’t cooperate; rain poured relentlessly. In a private letter written to Butler, the sesqui was dubbed “The Rainy Exposition.” Expenses were higher than anticipated, and as the exposition began, the expected 200,000 guests per day slumped at 10% turnout. Having lost over $20 million in revenue, more colorful pet names for the event emerged in print: “Kendrick’s Carnival,” after the mayor of Philadelphia, and “Sucker, Simple, Sickly-Centennial.” Variety magazine later declared the sesqui “America’s Greatest Flop.”
The Marines, however, were impervious to these challenges. They opened Camp Samuel Nicholas to the world at 4 p.m. on June 29, 1926, to a spellbound crowd. Principal guests included Mayor W. Freeland Kendrick and Major General Eli Kelly Cole, USMC. A direct lineal descendant of Captain Samuel Nicholas christened the camp. On what they termed “Dedication Day” and “Marine Day,” 10 sequenced events entertained visitors. These included the 43rd’s march-on, invocation, dignitary speeches, the unveiling of bronze tablets dedicated to the Thomas Roberts Reath American Legion Post and the Sojourners Club, unfurling Colonial flags, the ceremonial relief of Continental Marines by contemporary Marines, unfurling the American flag, the formal occupation of Camp Samuel Nicholas, christening and benediction and a general inspection, followed by a reception at Tun Tavern.
Cursive notes written in the program’s margin reveal that the band played “Flourishes” during the Colonial flags’ unfurling, “Four Ruffles and Flourishes” followed by “The Star-Spangled Banner” for the national flag unfurling and “The Marines’ Hymn.” During the camp occupation, they played a second rendition of “Four Ruffles and Flourishes” and blew trumpets for “Sound Assembly” to announce the general inspection. John Philip Sousa, the “March King” himself, composed the “Sesquicentennial Exposition March” for the celebrations, capturing a patriotic pride that honored this living historical exhibit.
The Marines knew that the eyes of the world were upon them and rose to meet public expectations at every engagement. Besides manning the camp, periodic parades and demonstrations, they supported other areas around the sesqui campus. They manned an exhibit depicting life in the tropics for the Haitian Expedition, stood guard at the original Liberty Bell, kept watch over display tables in the Navy exhibit and provided personal protection for visiting dignitaries, including the Queen of Rumania and President Calvin Coolidge.
President Coolidge visited the sesqui the day after Independence Day, as July 4 had fallen on a Sunday. Coolidge, devoutly religious and sensitive to American families, chose not to conduct the visit on the Sabbath. Admission was free to the grounds for his visit and his speech, conducted at the Great Concrete Stadium across the street from the military encampments. With the 50-cent entrance fee waived, according to the Philadelphia Inquirer, attendance soared to over 35,000 visitors. Having Marines present that day, and on other days when dignitaries visited, proved invaluable, as a built-in personal protective capability stood ready.
Marines perform a ceremonial relief of leathernecks dressed as Continental Marines in front of the Tun Tavern replica. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Besides their practical utility in security matters, the evidence—found in letters, photos and 35mm film newsreels from Fox Film Corporation—shows that the Marine Corps had one of the best attractions. The Marines were well set up, led and appear to have been sharp and disciplined in both period and contemporary uniform dress. Their drill reflected precise cover and alignment, their uniforms were pressed and polished, and their encampment was clean, organized and well maintained. Both officers and enlisted men clearly had solid control of their allocated space. They truly reflected the best in soldierly virtue with the discipline and attention to detail Marines are known for.
Then, on Sept. 1, 1926, they welcomed one of their own, boxing champion Gene Tunney, to the camp. Tunney, known as the “Fighting Marine,” stopped in before his participation in the heavyweight championship. He was to challenge the reigning heavyweight world champion, Jack Dempsey, at the stadium on Sept. 23. Tunney was a WW I veteran whose service had taken him to France with the 11th Marine Regiment, and later to Germany during the 1919 Rhineland occupation. Although he did not see combat himself, he spent most of the war developing his skills on the Marine Corps boxing team and ascended to become the U.S. Expeditionary Forces champion.
Tunney’s challenge match with Dempsey was expected to draw visitors far and wide. Photographs showed Tunney and then-Maj Anthony J. Drexel Biddle, considered the father of the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, squared off at the parry with Model 1903 Springfield rifles and M1905 bayonets affixed. Maj Biddle trained Tunney in boxing during the war. For the sesqui, he’d volunteered to be mobilized from the Reserve to train boxers participating in the interservice championship bouts also conducted there. According to an article in the July 1926 issue of Leatherneck, his specialty was bayonet fighting, as he had spent a good portion of the war preparing Marines for close combat en route to the front lines. Together, he and Tunney embodied the courageous fighting spirit that all Marines sought to emulate.
By fight night on Sept. 23, there was little doubt that Tunney came with the backing of a home team advantage among his fellow Marines. Despite the friction created by heavy rains, Tunney defeated Dempsey in front of more than 120,000 spectators. Newspapers reported that Tunney landed so many left and right hooks that by the 10th round, Dempsey’s left eye was swollen shut. Dempsey’s loss was considered an upset, but a year later, he would challenge Tunney to reclaim his title only to lose a second time. Tunney would remain the heavyweight champion of the world until his retirement in 1928.
Public Reception
The fight, however, did little to tip the scales on the sesqui’s balance sheet. As the exposition approached its final months in operation, costs incurred to construct, staff and maintain the venue well exceeded the revenue coming in from ticket sales. Total admissions averaged approximately $1 million per month. Newspaper reports were brutal. The Asbury Park Press stated that the sesqui was widely discussed as “one of the greatest exposition failures this country, or the world has ever known.” The article claimed that America had “nothing to see” that “hasn’t been seen either through the medium of the movies or on auto tours over the country.” The paper further asserted Americans could tour every corner of the Earth through news and educational films or simply tune in to the radio from their own parlors to hear inaugural speeches, football games, the World Series or championship prize fights. Their feelings were commonplace.
Capt Anthony J. Drexel Biddle (Courtesy of National Archives)
In a 2025 column titled “ ‘America’s Greatest Flop’: Why the Sesquicentennial of 1926 Fell Flat,” the author cites several possible reasons for the sesqui’s failures: financial ruin, poor management and politics, unfinished construction, bad weather, location issues (considering that south Philadelphia was underdeveloped at the time and the inadequate transportation infrastructure made the venue difficult for attendees to reach), cultural misalignment where a focus on traditional displays didn’t compete well with rapid rise of movies and automobiles, and poor word-of-mouth advertising.
When the sesqui finally closed on Dec. 1, it had lost millions, and the nickname “America’s Greatest Flop” stuck. Much of the material that constituted sesqui was sold off at auction to recoup losses, according to The Encyclopedia of Greater Philadelphia. The Tun Tavern replica remained on site into January 1927 while dismantling authority was secured; Marines handled final salvaging under Depot Quartermaster direction. Yet the Marine contingent succeeded brilliantly. The International Jury of Awards of the Sesqui-Centennial awarded the leathernecks a gold medal in recognition of their professionalism and spirit. That same spirit guides us 100 years later. General Eric M. Smith, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, stated in an interview earlier this year that individual Marines would continue to lay down their lives to do miraculous things under arduous conditions. This has been the case for the last 250 years and will continue to be the case. Sergeant Major Carlos A. Ruiz, the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps agreed, saying that the discipline standards of the Corps would guarantee their service to the American people—some-thing we’ve done consistently for the last quarter millennium. As we celebrate America’s birthday, we hear the echoes of those Marines who, in highly disciplined and remarkable ways, turned a troubled fair into an enduring standard. They remind us that our greatest weapon remains the human mind, not only sharpened by modern wargaming but also honed by history, rooted in Tun Tavern spirit. Those leathernecks of 1926 live on in every Marine on watch today and will continue to shape the Corps for centuries to come.
On Sept. 23, before a record-breaking crowd of more than 120,000 spectators (below), Tunney claimed the world heavyweight title over Jack Dempsey. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Marine and heavyweight contender Gene Tunney made history during the 1926 Sesquicentennial at Philadelphia’s Municipal Stadium. (USMC)
Featured Photo (Top): A Marine Corps float passes beneath the sesquicentennial’s most iconic landmark, an 80-foot-tall replica Liberty Bell that served as the gateway into the 1926 exposition. (Courtesy of National Archives)
About the Authors
LtCol Brad Anderson, USMC (Ret), is a freelance writer and researcher for Leatherneck. Katie Cashwell is a veteran Marine and a graduate of the University of Mary Washington with a degree in historic preservation. She has spent decades providing research supporting recoveries of America’s Missing in Action and was instrumental helping to find the lost graves of Tarawa.
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Leatherneck November 2025 By: LtCol Brad Anderson, USMC (Ret), and Katie Cashwell
The first time I interviewed Marines of “The Commandant’s Own” United States Marine Drum & Bugle Corps, they carried neither drum nor bugle, but a tape measure.
Walking onto the hallowed parade deck of Marine Barracks Washington, D.C., this past spring, I discovered Marines scrutinizing the sidewalk leading to the flagpole at the center of the parade deck. They wore pristine service uniforms paired with the M65 woodland field jackets unique to “8th & I” staff. Had a monstrous spider caught their eye and interrupted the rehearsal? Perhaps a crack formed overnight in the immaculate pathway? Nope to both. The Marines crouched above the concrete, ignoring the blinding glint of mid-morning rays reflecting off their mirrored Corfams, calculating the width of the walkway down to the inch. Actually, down to the half inch.
“We call it ‘eight to five,’ ” one of them explained as I approached and asked what they were up to. “Eight 22.5-inch steps equals five yards. We’re just verifying the distance from that line there in the middle of the sidewalk to the grass. Everything we do is based on the 22.5-inch step. It’s easy to march on like a football field that’s marked every five yards, but there’s nothing like that out here on the parade deck.”
“22.5 inches, huh? So how many 23-inch steps does it take to screw everything up?”
The Marines around me snickered and smiled as one of them answered my question without hesitation.
“One.”
The men and women of the Drum & Bugle Corps (D&B) are truly THE proud professionals of their craft. Serving as the U.S. Armed Forces’ only active-duty drum and bugle corps, they dissect each performance and sharpen their skills on the parade deck every day. Catch any one of them on his or her way to the chow hall, the parking garage, exiting the head, or even sleepwalking through the barracks halls, I’d bet you a solid platinum three-valve Kanstul G series they’re gliding along at 22.5 inches per step.
Before joining this renowned organization, all D&B members first ship out to basic training to earn their Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Most are in their mid-20s through boot camp and Marine combat training, learning the mantra of “every Marine a rifleman” alongside their teenage counterparts. Their age is just one factor separating them from the herd and marking them for scrutiny. They endure boot camp as the quintessential “band nerds,” and likely the only recruits in their entire company or even battalion to know exactly where they are headed and what they will be doing after basic training. They arrive at 8th & I as privates first class and progress through rank just like their peers in any military occupational specialty (MOS).
Cpl Alejandro Gutierrez conducts a musical sequence during a parade for the Norwegian Military Tattoo at the Oslo Spektrum in Oslo, Norway on April 26, 2024.(LCpl Chloe N. McAfee, USMC)
Cpl Gage P. Kroljic, a marimba player, performs during the Drum Corps International World Championship in Indianapolis, Ind., on Aug. 9, 2025. (Photo by Cpl Brynn L. Bouchard, USMC)
“As Marine musicians, sometimes it can feel like both of those inherent parts of our identity are at odds with each other,” said Staff Sergeant Alex Liddell, a tuba player and seven-year member of the D&B. “It takes an intentional approach to buy into it and doesn’t come naturally to everyone.”
Earning the title of “Marine” most often proves just as transformative and defining for musicians as any other individual who wears the uniform. The foundation they receive through basic training enables each to excel in their craft and embrace the history and vital importance of their ceremonial mission.
The unit’s lineage traces back to 1798 when an act of Congress formally established “The President’s Own” United States Marine Band. The bill also ordered the enlistment of drum and fife majors along with 32 musicians. These early “field musics” enabled commanders to signal and coordinate dispersed forces above the din of battle. Their involvement on the front lines or aboard a warship was not ceremonial. Their music was not a performance. Their presence meant command and control.
By the early 1900s, modern communications replaced the need for standardized musical signaling. The D&B at Marine Barracks Washington formed officially in 1934 to augment the U.S. Marine Band performing ceremonial duties around the nation’s capital. For a time, separate D&B’s existed at locations around the Corps, similar to the 10 Marine Corps fleet bands in operation today. By 1956, General Randolph M. Pate, the 21st Commandant of the Marine Corps, designated the 8th & I unit as the official U.S. Marine D&B. It was not until 2006 that Gen Michael W. Hagee, the 33rd CMC, gave the D&B its moniker, “The Commandant’s Own.”
Cpl Michael R. Rosie, a bugler with“The Commandant’s Own,” plays “Taps” during a Friday evening parade at Marine Barracks Washington, D.C., on Aug. 4, 2023. (Photo by Lance Cpl. Chloe N. McAfee)
Snare drummers with “The Commandant’s Own” perform during an evening parade at Marine Barracks Washington, D.C., on May 1.(Photo by Cpl Christopher Prelle, USMC)
Capt Courtney Lawrence, executive officer of “The Commandant’s Own,” marches on center walk of the parade deck at Marine Barracks Washington, D.C., on March 27. (Photo by Cpl. Brynn L. Bouchard)
In 1967, Truman W. Crawford joined the D&B as chief musical arranger. His passion for music and unique ability to instruct did not simply raise the bar. He redrew the standard entirely. He was promoted to the role of commanding officer and eventually eliminated the disaggregated D&Bs around the Corps, consolidating them into the single unit existing today. Crawford served as the D&B CO from 1973 until his retirement in 1998. He left the Corps as a colonel, and at the time, was the oldest Marine on active duty. His singular, enduring impact on the organization is rightfully likened to John Philip Sousa’s contribution to the Marine Band. The headquarters building of the D&B at Marine Barracks Washington is named in his honor.
Crawford forged the D&B from a small group of Marines who were handed instruments and ordered to play into an institution of ceremonial excellence. Today, more than 85 Marines compose the D&B. The operational tempo they maintain rivals many Fleet Marine Force units. They perform nearly 500 events every year, traveling more than 50,000 miles to represent the Marine Corps and the nation. As “The Commandant’s Own,” the D&B primarily supports the ceremonial mission at 8th & I or around Washington, D.C., but is held in reserve to deploy wherever the Commandant orders them to perform.
D&B performances range from formal ceremonies to presidential honors to local parades to backyard barbecues. Every day at 8th & I, Marines perform live bugle calls, from morning colors, to chow call, to taps at 2200. For each event type, the D&B tailors the ensemble size and music selection, carrying every piece from memory. A constant stream of information batters each Marine, vying for attention while they move and play. Each must flawlessly perform his or her part of the music while tracking and adjusting to the movements of other Marines crisscrossing in every direction. Operating as a cohesive whole, any mis-step or off-tune note is easily picked out.
“The Commandant’s Own” performs for more than 22,000 guests at the Drum Corps International World Championships in Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis on Aug. 12, 2023.(Photo by LCpl Iyer Ramakrishna, USMC)
Though seemingly similar to “The President’s Own,” and with a common historical origin, the D&B operates as a distinct musical entity in every way. While the band performs more like a traditional orchestra, D&B focuses on precision marching while playing. Many D&B members have extensive education and experience post-college before competing for an open spot and shipping out to basic training. Similarly credentialed musicians join the Marine Band without attending boot camp and enter at the rank of staff sergeant. The Marine Band’s dedicated musical position is signified by a lyre beneath the chevrons of their rank insignia rather than the Corps’ standard crossed rifles.
The uniform adopted by D&B offers a further clear distinction from the Marine Band, not to mention the rest of the Marine Corps. While both Marine Band and D&B Marines wear scarlet blouses with no rank insignia, band members wear decorated black piping across the chest, rows of brass buttons, white braided epaulettes on each shoulder and other ornamental features. D&B Marines likwise wear the iconic scarlet blouse, in the tradition of their “field music” predecessors, but in a more simple and unadorned fashion. The earliest battlefield signalers wore uniforms largely the reverse color scheme of their infantry counterparts—a stark visual flag to allies and enemies alike that these men were noncombatants. The D&B uniform remains true to that history, nearly an exact reversal of the enlisted Marine dress blue coat. The glaring lack of rank insignia endures as another nod to history. Many of the earliest drum and fife players were young boys or old men—too young or too old to enlist. They wore no rank because they had no rank. In keeping with that tradition, D&B officers and drum majors are the only Marines wear-ing rank in parade uniform.
Though they can be seen all around the world, the D&B is primarily recognized for their iconic performances during the summer parade season in D.C. Every Friday night, they wow the packed stands at 8th & I during evening parades. Every Tuesday night, they bring Marine Corps history to life beneath the towering Marine Corps War Memorial in Arlington, Va., during sunset parades. Each performance shares a story and reveals a glimpse of the Marine Corps to onlookers. The responsibility they bear is certainly not lost on any D&B Marine—they represent not just “The Commandant’s Own,” but all Marines, past and present.
Capt Courtney Lawrence, executive officer of the D&B, conducts the band during the Drum Corps International World Championships in Indianapolis on Aug. 9, 2025. (Photo by Cpl Brynn L. Bouchard, USMC)
MGySgt Joshua Dannemiller, drum major of “The Commandant’s Own,” conducts the band during NightBEAT at Truist Stadium, Wake Forest University, Winston-Salem, N.C., on July 30, 2023.(Sgt Brandon Salas, USMC)
Earning a spot with the only paid, professional military drum and bugle corps naturally requires a daunting audition process and competition at the highest skill level. A dedicated D&B recruiter projects, advertises and fills vacancies within the unit every year. Most prospective applicants come from participating bands within Drum Corps International, an organization governing civilian drum and bugle corps. D&B puts on an exhibition performance at the Drum Corps International World Championships in Indianapolis, Ind., every summer. This single event sparks a significant portion of the interest and applications needed to fill vacancies.
Those who succeed through the audition process are expected to complete basic training and arrive in Washington, D.C., ready to step onto the parade deck with instrument in hand. The D&B joins other 8th & I Marines in Yuma, Ariz., for several weeks of “spring training” at the beginning of every year where they perfect the performance they will repeat throughout the summer parade season. The goal of D&B recruiting efforts is to identify openings, collect applicants, conduct auditions, finalize selections and get new enlistees through basic training, all throughout the year prior so new joins can attend the Yuma training.
Any number of things can go wrong with this process. D&B recruits sometimes suffer injuries in boot camp that delay their starting date, or worse, permanently affect their ability to play and march at the professional level required and ruin their prospective career. For various reasons, new musicians frequently arrive in D.C. after spring training is already over. Even so, they are expected to rapidly absorb the routine and join in the performance. I witnessed this firsthand during my spring visit to the barracks. As I stood on the parade deck observing rehearsal, a brand new private first class who had just arrived, having missed Yuma by only a few weeks, played his snare drum alongside staff sergeants and master sergeants who’d been performing for decades. For D&B, there is no bench or second string. Each member marches and contributes, regardless of rank or tenure.
Their job as a 5512, Member U.S. Marine Drum and Bugle Corps, in many ways is similar to any MOS within the Corps. Despite their demanding ceremonial duties and travel schedule, every Marine assigned to the D&B is a Marine first. They are expected to maintain proficient rifle qualifications, exemplary scores on the annual physical and combat fitness tests and embody our core values. They must pass leadership and career courses required to progress in rank. Drums and bugles replace rifles in daily life, but each remains a piece of serialized equipment placed in the care of an individual Marine to love, master and befriend. The creed may not formally exist, but the Marine mindset is the same.
“This is my contrabass bugle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.”
Even in times of war, members of the D&B have not been exempted from combat. While the unit as a whole remains non-deployable, individuals have shipped overseas throughout its history.
SSgt Patrick McCreary, from “The Commandant’s Own,” competes in the Marine Corps Marksmanship Competition at MCB Quantico, Va., on Nov. 4, 2021.(Photo by Lance Cpl. D’Angelo Yanez)
(Photo by PFC James Bourgeois, USMC)
(Photo by Cpl Christopher Prelle, USMC)
At the beginning of every year, “The Commandant’s Own” joins other units from Marine Barracks Washington, D.C., including the Silent Drill Platoon and the Marine Corps Color Guard, in Yuma, Ariz., for annual training in preparation for the summer parade season.
Cpl Michael R. Rosie, a bugler with “The Commandant’s Own,” flips a tire during a field meet at Marine Barracks Washington, D.C., on June 12, 2024.(Photo by Lance Cpl. Chloe N. McAfee)
During Vietnam, members of the D&B wore Combat Action Ribbons and Purple Hearts on their blouses. A few had the opportunity to deploy most recently in support of the Iraq War.
Major Nathan D. Morris is a 19-year member of the D&B, currently serving as the unit’s commanding officer. Like all officers within the unit, Morris started as a PFC and was promoted from within. As a young corporal in 2008, he and one other D&B Marine volunteered to join a provisional rifle company formed in the National Capital Region (NCR). He deployed to Iraq and spent his time in country patrolling as a squad leader, returning home to a promotion to sergeant. Another provisional rifle company deployed from the NCR the following year, including two more D&B Marines.
The opportunity of a professional musician’s paycheck might represent the initial pull toward D&B, but it is the dual identity as a Marine that keeps members reenlisting.
“All are top-tier musicians, but the ones who buy into the Marine Corps culture are the most successful,” Morris explained. “Just like any MOS, we have Marines who do four years and get out, but overall, we have good retention. At some point, the Marine Corps gets a hold of you, and it becomes about being a Marine. If you don’t have that spirit and mindset in this organization, you are not going to do well. We are still like any other Marine Corps unit, operating off of Marine Corps doctrine like ‘MCDP-1.’ ” Warfighting doctrine dictates why they do what they do and the way they do it. The Corps’ values drive them to be the best of the best, and perhaps are the reason they have endured as the only active-duty D&B. While representing the Corps on the most visible of stages, D&B Marines possess the rare opportunity to connect with Marine Corps history firsthand. Not just by embodying its visual representation, but physically experiencing it, more fully illuminating for them the importance of who they are.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Joshua Dannemiller has felt these moments, deeply connected to Marines who have gone before, at numerous points throughout his long career. Now the D&B Drum Major, Dannemiller enlisted in 2003. In 2010, he joined the D&B on an “island hopping” tour around the Pacific. During one stop, they helped commemorate the 65th anniversary of the Battle of Iwo Jima, performing at a ceremony attended by survivors from both sides of the conflict. During the visit, the Marines ran along the beaches where their predecessors landed under fire, the same black sand beneath their feet, the waves lapping against the same shoreline where so many lost their lives. Dannemiller was promoted to staff sergeant standing on top of Mount Suribachi. The scenes remain vividly etched in his memory now, more than 15 years later. Additionally, he has joined the D&B on tour for joint performances with the French at Belleau Wood.
SSgt Alex Liddell, left, and Sgt Colton Garrett, tubists with “The Commandant’s Own” United States Marine Drum & Bugle Corps, play music during a dress rehearsal for performances in Australia and New Zealand at Marine Corps Air Station Yuma, Ariz., on Feb. 1. During the tour, the D&B traveled to Brisbane, Australia and Auckland, New Zealand in support of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. (Photo by Cpl. Christopher Prelle)
From left to right, MGySgt Joshua Dannemiller, drum major with “The Commandant’s Own”; Andrew Powell, Minister for the Environment and Tourism for Queensland; and Maj Nathan Morris, the commanding officer of “The Commandant’s Own,” at Suncorp Stadium in Brisbane, Australia, on Feb. 11.(U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Christopher Prelle)
“Seeing these battlefields and what the Marines actually overcame is a very humbling experience,” he reflected. “Part of our mission is storytelling, and that history is part of our story. It’s important for us today to see where we came from and what was learned from their sacrifice.”
From the Pacific islands to Atlantic Europe, Norway to New Zealand, or Indianapolis to Washington D.C., wherever “The Commandant’s Own” performs, their message is clear: Marines are the proud professionals of their craft, steeped in tradition, inspired by their history. They endure as one of the oldest continuous expressions of what it means to serve in the Corps.
“The Commandant’s Own” performs on the South Lawn of the White House in Washington, D.C., on April 28 as part of a state arrival ceremony for Their Majesties of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, King Charles III and Queen Camilla.(Photo by Cpl Brynn L. Bouchard, USMC)
Featured Photo (Top): The “Commandant’s Own” performs during a sunset parade at the Marine Corps War Memorial, Arlington, Va., on July 25, 2017.(Photo by Cpl Cristian L. Bestul, USMC)
About the Author
Kyle Watts is the staff writer for Leatherneck. He served on active duty in the Marine Corps as a communications officer from 2009-13. He is the 2019 winner of the Colonel Robert Debs Heinl Jr. Award for Marine Corps History. He lives in Richmond, Va., with his wife and three children.
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