Nobody ever called him Anthony. He was always known as Tony. He and I were part of a tight group of friends in high school. So tight, in fact, that four of us enlisted in the Marine Corps together. We joined on the Buddy System, a program designed to make that initial shock of Boot Camp somewhat manageable because you are not alone; you got your buddy with you.
Tony and I went to Basic Training with Scott Hopkins and John Farvour. We got off the bus in San Diego and stood on those infamous Yellow Footprints outside the Receiving Building together. Then we got our heads shaved and I remember standing outside, feeling the night chill on my newly bald head, when Tony came out of the barbershop and gave me a double take.
"Otte? Is that you?"
"Yeah, man. Where's John?"
"I think that's him over there. Hey, Farvour, what the hell did you get us into?!"
We got formed up into our training platoons, eventually graduated as Marines, and headed off to our schools to learn our jobs in the Corps. I never saw my buddy again.
When we were discharged in 1985, I learned of Tony's death from my supervisor at work. I remember feeling such a sense of loss. You may have heard the expression, "Once a Marine, always a Marine". There is a kinship among us; we are brothers in arms. So not only did I lose a friend, I lost a brother.
Tony is buried in Calvary Cemetery where he worked as a grounds keeper during high school. He recieved full military honors with the flag draped coffin, honor guard, the 21-gun salute, taps, the folded flag presented to his mother, the whole nine yards. John Farvour and I were proud to serve as two of his pall-bearers in our dress blue uniform.
You may not be aware of it but there are three verses to the Marine Corps Hymn. The last part of verse three goes...
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.
Rest In Peace, Tony. I will see you again when I relieve you on guard duty. Semper Fi, my friend.
Kevin Otte
Nobody ever called him Anthony. He was always known as Tony. He and I were part of a tight group of friends in high school. So tight, in fact, that four of us enlisted in the Marine Corps together. We joined on the Buddy System, a program designed to make that initial shock of Boot Camp somewhat manageable because you are not alone; you got your buddy with you.
Tony and I went to Basic Training with Scott Hopkins and John Farvour. We got off the bus in San Diego and stood on those infamous Yellow Footprints outside the Receiving Building together. Then we got our heads shaved and I remember standing outside, feeling the night chill on my newly bald head, when Tony came out of the barbershop and gave me a double take.
"Otte? Is that you?"
"Yeah, man. Where's John?"
"I think that's him over there. Hey, Farvour, what the hell did you get us into?!"
We got formed up into our training platoons, eventually graduated as Marines, and headed off to our schools to learn our jobs in the Corps. I never saw my buddy again.
When we were discharged in 1985, I learned of Tony's death from my supervisor at work. I remember feeling such a sense of loss. You may have heard the expression, "Once a Marine, always a Marine". There is a kinship among us; we are brothers in arms. So not only did I lose a friend, I lost a brother.
Tony is buried in Calvary Cemetery where he worked as a grounds keeper during high school. He recieved full military honors with the flag draped coffin, honor guard, the 21-gun salute, taps, the folded flag presented to his mother, the whole nine yards. John Farvour and I were proud to serve as two of his pall-bearers in our dress blue uniform.
You may not be aware of it but there are three verses to the Marine Corps Hymn. The last part of verse three goes...
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.
Rest In Peace, Tony. I will see you again when I relieve you on guard duty. Semper Fi, my friend.