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Posted on: Oct 28, 2025 at 2:30 PM

If I am over whelming or if anyone is feeling uncomfortable with these posts, please let me know.
For me, this was challenging. Why will probably be clear if you read it. I hope you had a great October and that November will be even better.

A Marine’s promise is forever.

But what happens when the nation that sent him to fight doesn’t keep its promise in return?

This is Marine: The Broken Covenant — a reflection on loyalty, leadership, and the sacred bond between a Marine and the country he defends.

Marine: The Broken Covenant
By Roger Watson, Vietnam Veteran (E5, 0311)
Bound by Courage. Bound by Blood. Semper Fi.
________________________________________
Opening Salvo: The Promise Made
When a Marine raises his right hand, he makes a promise to serve the nation, to defend it, and if necessary, to die for it. That promise is sacred. It is not one-sided. The government, in turn, makes a promise of its own: to never forget, never abandon, and never turn its back on those who placed their lives in its hands.
This exchange is more than an oath. It is a covenant, a bond of trust sealed in blood, not ink.
It means that when the fighting stops, the obligation continues. On the battlefield, Marines leave no one behind. When a Marine returns home, he should not be left to fight his next battle alone.
Too often, that is exactly what has happened.
________________________________________
A Broken Covenant
The covenant, once forged in loyalty and sacrifice, began to crack. Those cracks widened until the bond shattered.
The same government that swore to care for its defenders exposed them to burn pits, Agent Orange, and contaminated water at Camp Lejeune.
Marines came home, but brought the war with them.
Marines came home to waiting lists, denied claims, and bureaucratic neglect.
No Marine should be ordered to take a hill not worth dying on.
That moral obligation, a duty of leadership and a duty of government, is part of the covenant.
It has been broken far too often.
________________________________________
The Cost of Neglect: The Silent War
For every Marine who fell in combat, four have died by suicide.*
That is not fate. It is failure.
This Silent War is a slow, relentless enemy. The government attempts to confront it with broken systems and unkept promises. The wounds are often invisible, yet they are real and devastating to those who answered the call.
________________________________________
Organizations Standing in the Gap
Where the system falters, others step forward.
Patriots and organizations like Semper Fi & America’s Fund, the Gary Sinise Foundation, and Fisher House carry the torch. They stand in the gap and lift the burden that government has dropped. They keep the covenant alive through action and honor, not words and paperwork.
A Marine’s role is clear: stand the watch, guard the gates, and be first to confront the enemy. The Marine Corps has always kept its promise.
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea,
First to fight for right and freedom,
And to keep our honor clean.
This is our portion of the covenant. We honor it not because we are ordered to, but because it defines who we are.
________________________________________
Final Orders: Repairing the Covenant
The government made promises to its Marines. We kept ours.
It is time for those in power to take steps to repair and honor their promises. Too often, self-interest, pet projects, overseas aid, elections and re-elections are more important than the Marines they send to fight.
The covenant must be repaired, not for pity, not for politics, but because Marines honor theirs, always.
It is time for our leaders to do the same. Because loyalty is not conditional. Because duty does not end when the gunfire stops.
The words “I’ve got your back” mean something to a Marine. In combat, if that promise is not kept, someone may die. Those words should mean something to our government, and to our nation.
The promise to “never turn its back on those who put their lives in its hands” must be honored, not when it is convenient, not temporarily, but for as long as this nation stands.
Right now, those words are not being honored. Marines are hurting. Marines are dying.
The covenant needs to be fixed, now.
Semper Fi is not just a motto. It is a covenant kept.
________________________________________
Bound by Courage. Bound by Blood. Always Faithful.
Semper Fi
Roger Watson



Bound by Courage. Bound by Blood. Semper Fi.

— Roger Watson, Vietnam Veteran (E5, 0311)

Posted on: Oct 20, 2025 at 7:03 AM

I recognize that this post and the previous one are not for everyone. I hope you're okay with that. I have at least another one, perhaps two. The Marine Corps' birthday is November 10th. It is the 250th year of the Marine Corps. I wanted to do something special for it. These articles are it.

I know you're not 250, and no, I am not going to write articles about you on your birthday. That doesn't minimize the importance you have had in my life. You're likely not my best friend. I didn't have many in high school. You probably didn't share a class with me (count yourself lucky), we may have passed each other by on our way to class. As big as our high school class was, we may not have even seen each other. But we shared a pretty big event in both of our lives. I want to thank you for being there with me. I also want to wish you a Happy Birthday. Now, if you are turning 250, don't fret, I will write one or two articles about you. Have a great rest of your life.

Marine – Death Before Dishonor
A Foxhole View of the Marine Corps at 250

Opening Salvo: The Ash Beneath Their Boots
February 19, 1945. The volcanic sands of Iwo Jima were black as death and hot as hell. Thirty thousand Marines landed into a storm of steel—no cover, no mercy, no retreat. The beach offered nothing but chaos. The only way forward was through.

The Marine wasn't famous. He didn't earn any medals. He didn't make any speeches. He was simply a rifleman from Anywhere USA. He may have quit his job, left school, lied about his age; he did what he had to do to become a Marine. He hit the beach with a pack too heavy and a heart too full. Around him, the world exploded. He crawled, he fired, he prayed. And when the order came to move, he moved. He didn't raise the flag. He didn't make the papers. But he made the difference.

This is the Marine Corps at 250—not just the legends, but the legions. Not just the names we remember, but the names we never knew. The ones who held the line, who charged the hill, who whispered "Semper Fi" with their last breath.
The Creed in Action: Death Before Dishonor

They landed expecting resistance. What they found was silence. The volcanic ash swallowed their boots, the airfields loomed ahead, the enemy waited—not broken, but buried. Then the mountains erupted.
The Marines didn't retreat. They adapted. They advanced. They fought not for glory, but for each other. In the chaos of Iwo Jima, Death Before Dishonor wasn't a slogan—it was a decision made a thousand times a day.
Some held positions for hours under relentless fire. Others dragged wounded brothers through ash and blood. Many never made it off the beach. Few were named. Fewer were remembered. But all were Marines.
"He didn't fight for a medal. He fought for the man beside him."
This was the creed in action. No speeches. No ceremony. Just grit, loyalty, and the refusal to break.

The Cost of Courage
Courage isn't free. It's paid in blood, in silence, in the weight carried long after the battle ends. On Iwo Jima, over 6,800 Americans—most of them Marines—never came home. Thousands more were wounded, physically and emotionally, in ways that would never fully heal.

But the cost wasn't just in lives lost. It was in lives changed. The Marine who returned with scars beneath his uniform. The one who couldn't sleep without hearing mortars. The one who never spoke of what he saw, but carried it in his eyes.
"He survived the war, but the war never left him." This is the price of valor. Not just the moment of heroism, but the lifetime that follows. And yet, they bore it. Quietly. Faithfully. Because that's what Marines do.

Legacy Carried Forward
From the Marine Corps' first battle in Nassau, Bahamas, the battle cry Death Before Dishonor was heard — not as a slogan, but as a way of life. It has echoed through every generation of Marines since. And nowhere was it more loudly proclaimed, more fiercely lived, than on the volcanic sands of Iwo Jima. Wherever Marines have fought — Belleau Wood, Chosin Reservoir, Khe Sanh, Fallujah — that cry has been their creed.

From Nassau to Iwo Jima, and every battlefield in between, Death Before Dishonor has been more than a motto — it has been the Marines' measure. It is the quiet promise made in the foxhole, the last breath on the battlefield, the unspoken bond between brothers. It lives not in words, but in action. And it will live on — in every Marine who steps forward when others step back.

In spirit and in deed, they may wear different gear. Fought in various wars. But the creed is unchanged. Courage is inherited. The legacy is alive. "Every Marine carries the weight of those who came before — and the hope of those who will follow."

This is how the Corps endures. One Marine at a time.

Bound by courage. Bound by blood.

Semper Fi

I'm so sorry to tell you that Arthur Shaffman passed away on September 13th. Art bravely battled Parkinson's for years and even "ran" a 1K fundraiser for his hometown Meals on Wheels about two months before he died. He was extraordinarily brave, creative and a constant friend.

Posted on: Sep 29, 2025 at 12:37 PM

Roger's intent was to commemorate the 250th Anniversary of the Marine Corps. He certainly did that with sincerity and skill. More importantly to you, our classmates, this is a description of Roger. Combine these paragraphs with his unflagging devotion to his Christian faith, and we have an exceptional classmate whom we would all be the better for knowing. Roger is a trip worth taking.No, not a trip, a journey. He is a formidable and sincere person of exceptional integrity.

Posted on: Sep 28, 2025 at 10:12 AM

Marine: A 250-Year Legacy

Bound by Courage, Bound by Blood

We are not born Marines. We become them. Since 1775, more than two million men and women have earned the title United States Marine. Each has given something of themselves to our country and our Corps that can never be returned. We call that sacrifice.

The Marine Corps was born in a time of necessity. It has grown forged in tradition, tempered by duty, and bound by a legacy that began in 1775 and echoes still. That legacy has grown one Marine at a time.

There are no heroes in the Marine Corps. Yes, many Marines have received medals, but like all Marines, they were just doing their jobs. Marines support each other. A rifleman in a foxhole is supplied by another Marine with bullets and rations. A pilot provides cover or evacuates the wounded. Cooks, clerks, and mechanics keep the machine running. Marines taking care of their own.

The Marine Corps, 250 years after its beginning, is what it is because of two million men and women—not heroes, but Marines just doing their jobs.

Marines are those who go first, who stand last, who never ask for or seek glory. We carry the burden of our country, of our citizens, and of each other. Rank or ribbons do not define a Marine. We are defined by sacrifice. By the moments no one sees—the letter home never sent, the brother lost in battle, the weight of command when lives hang in the balance.

We are the memory keepers of Belleau Wood, Iwo Jima, Chosin Reservoir, Khe Sanh, and Fallujah. We carry the names of the fallen not on paper, but in our hearts. We are one Corps. We are one Marine in our soul. We honor them all, for without them, we are incomplete.

We are the past, the present, and the promise of every Marine yet to earn the title. Of every family who waits. Of every citizen who sleeps in peace because we stood the watch.

We are not heroes.
We are Marines.
And that is enough

Semper Fi

Both R I ch and I were saddened to hear of Gails passing. Her beautiful smile will be remembered by all. She certainly lit up a room when she enterred. RIP dear Gail...

Posted on: Jun 13, 2025 at 1:36 PM

Mike, nothing will replace Gail or your sense of loss. I don't know the last words you spoke to her, but I bet those words you wrote for her birthday, she took with her. I want you to know that you and Gail gave us a life lesson in what it means to love someone.

She was special.

Hi Gail. Happy birthday.
Thanks for introducing yourself to me in home room where you sat behind me.
Thanks for visiting me at the hospital after you saw me break my leg at the gymnastic meet.
Thanks for talking with me on my way home after I left Fort Devens after returning from Vietnam.
Thanks for sailing with me on my sailboat to visit my sister in New Hampshire.
Thanks for getting me a job where you worked for a job at a Norwegian company in Bedford which led me to further jobs I loved.
Thanks for being my wife.
Thanks,I love you.

You are certainly one person I have found well worth listening to. Your message of love and attention echoes that of our class's official philosopher, Roger Watson. You are always a good listener and a brave friend. Hang in there.

Posted on: Jun 02, 2025 at 1:53 PM

It has been a while since I have posted here, but all is well, and I hope it is with you as well.

I posted this on LinkedIn, but I thought you might like to read it. It is not just for Memorial Day; it is for every day.

Oh, did I mention that, surprise, this might be a bit lengthy?


No matter how long we have left, our presence can still make the world a better place.

Be strong.

I received the following from a Marine brother. Some of you may have already seen it and read it. This brief "article" touches on sacrifice, a sacrifice that is too frequently ignored or not recognized. Who in this article would you like to share a foxhole with, and who would you rather go it alone than have in your foxhole? You may be on active or non-active duty, but we will always face the question of who we want to share a foxhole with, or who would like to share with us?

Stand ready, you never know when there will be a foxhole in our lives.



Appreciation

As I came out of the supermarket that sunny day, pushing my cart of groceries towards my car, I saw an old man with the hood of his car up and a lady sitting inside the car, with the door open.

The old man was looking at the engine. I put my groceries away in my car, and continued to watch the old gentleman from about twenty five feet away.

I saw a young man in his early twenties with a grocery bag in his arm walking towards the old man. The old gentleman saw him coming too, and took a few steps towards him.

I saw the old gentleman point to his open hood and say something. The young man put his grocery bag into what looked like a brand new Cadillac Escalade. He then turned back to the old man. I heard him yell at the old gentleman saying:

'You shouldn't even be allowed to drive a car at your age.' And then with a wave of his hand, he got in his car and peeled rubber out of the parking lot.

I saw the old gentleman pull out his handkerchief, and mop his brow as he went back to his car and again looked at the engine.

He then went to his wife and spoke with her; he appeared to tell her it would be okay. I had seen enough, and I approached the old man. He saw me coming and stood straight, and as I got near him I said, 'Looks like you're having a problem.'

He smiled sheepishly, and quietly nodded his head. I looked under the hood myself, and knew that whatever the problem was, it was beyond me. Looking around, I saw a gas station up the road, and I told the old man that I would be right back. I drove to the station and went inside. I saw three attendants working on cars. I approached one of them, and related the problem the old man had with his car. I offered to pay them if they could follow me back down and help him.

The old man had pushed the heavy car under the shade of a tree and appeared to be comforting his wife. When he saw us he straightened up and thanked me for my help. As the mechanics diagnosed the problem (overheated engine), I spoke with the old gentleman.

When I shook hands with him earlier, he had noticed my Marine Corps ring and had commented about it, telling me that he had been a Marine too. I nodded and asked the usual question, 'What outfit did you serve with?'

He had mentioned that he served with the first Marine Division at Tarawa, Saipan, Iwo Jima and Guadalcanal .

He had hit all the big ones and retired from the Corps after the war was over. As we talked we heard the car engine come on and saw the mechanics lower the hood. They came over to us as the old man reached for his wallet, but was stopped by me. I told him I would just put the bill on my AAA card.

He still reached for the wallet and handed me a card that I assumed had his name and address on it and I stuck it in my pocket. We all shook hands all around again, and I said my goodbye's to his wife.

I then told the two mechanics that I would follow them back up to the station. Once at the station, I told them that they had interrupted their own jobs to come along with me and help the old man. I said I wanted to pay for the help, but they refused to charge me.

One of them pulled out a card from his pocket, looking exactly like the card the old man had given to me. Both of the men told me then that they were Marine Corps Reserves. Once again we shook hands all around and as I was leaving, one of them told me I should look at the card the old man had given to me. I said I would and drove off.

For some reason I had gone about two blocks, when I pulled over and took the card out of my pocket and looked at it for a long, long time. The name of the old gentleman was on the card in golden leaf and under his name was written: 'Congressional Medal of Honor Society.'

I sat there motionless, looking at the card and reading it over and over. I looked up from the card and smiled to no one but myself and marveled that on this day, four Marines had all come together because one of us needed help. He was an old man all right, but it felt good to have stood next to greatness and courage, and an honor to have been in his presence. Remember, OLD men like him gave you FREEDOM for America . Thanks to those who served and still serve, and to all of those who supported them, and who continue to support them.

America is not at war. The U.S. Military is at war. America is at the Mall. If you don't stand behind our troops, PLEASE feel free to stand in front of them! Remember, Freedom isn't Free. Thousands have paid the price, so that you can enjoy what you have today.

LET'S DO THIS: JUST 19 WORDS:

GOD OUR FATHER, WALK THROUGH MY HOUSE AND TAKE AWAY ALL MY WORRIES; AND PLEASE WATCH OVER AND HEAL MY FAMILY; AND PLEASE PROTECT OUR FREEDOMS, AND WATCH OVER OUR TROOPS, WHO ARE DEFENDING THOSE FREEDOMS.

Posted on: Jan 13, 2025 at 1:31 PM

Happy Birthday. I started intending that wish for Bob Biederman. Then I thought better of it. It works for Bob on January 14, 2025, when he turns 79. The more I thought about it, the more it dawned on me that for most of the class of NHS 1964, a Happy Birthday wish in 2025 would be in order. For all of you, Happy Birthday!

Many of you know the story about Bob and me—there really wasn't a story until we met on this website, I think, about ten years ago. A lot has happened in the passing years—some good things, some not so much, but we supported each other.

Bob and I haven't spent any physical time together during the last ten years except for the time we spent with Dave Bliss in San Diego. (As a passing note, Dave Bliss's birthday is on January 22.) Yet even though Bob and I communicate almost solely via email, we have grown closer together. Like many of us, we have had some thoughts and ideas that have not materialized. We regret that a few of those ideas didn't work out.

Hopefully, there are people in our lives who have stood by us when we need them most. Bob Biederman has been my leaning post. I have been blessed with people who have come into my life at just the right time, bringing with them exactly what I needed. Bob Biederman is one of those people.

A Jewish Rabbi, Jonathan Sacks, titles one of his voluminous writings (well worth your time to read any of his writings), "Count your blessings and begin to change your life." Bob has been a blessing to me and has been a key contributor to many of the changes in my life over the passing years. We have challenged each other on many fronts, but two stand out—religion and politics. Shocked? Me too. We may not have always agreed, but it did not diminish our respect for each other or our friendship. To many of you who knew Bob, myself, or both of us, could you see that coming? Not me.

Bob, I wish you a happy birthday, but perhaps more importantly, I want our classmates to know how much our friendship has meant to me. You have put the friend back into friendship. It has taken fifty-plus years of fundamental ignorance of each other to come to a point today where I can call you my friend, my best friend. Bob, if I had to describe our relationship - "Iron sharpens Iron." Thanks for those 79 years that got you here, but be forewarned, I am not sure I could do another 79 years being friends with a Bigelow graduate!

Posted on: Nov 27, 2024 at 3:28 PM

Happy Thanksgiving to all our classmates and families. Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season.

Looking forward to coming reunion in May. We will b staying in Hamden Inn . Marlboro.Hope others are making plans.

Posted on: Dec 18, 2023 at 2:34 PM

A Christmas Story

December 7, 1941, marks a day when the people in this country awoke to a tragedy that was multiple times greater than the tragedy of September 11, 2001. Both of those tragedies impacted us as a nation. Most of us felt the pain of those attacks collectively as a people, but not personally.

December 7, 2023, marked another day of tragedy. This day, it was a bit closer to home. At 10.04 a.m., a 15-month-old boy was struck by a train as he ran across the railroad tracks trying to catch a kitten.

This tragedy happened in the small community of Walnut Bottom, Pennsylvania. I live about 10 miles from where the accident occurred. One of my daughters lives next door to this young man and his family. The family is part of a large community of Mennonites living in the area. I have not witnessed anything like the support for this family, as shown by the Mennonite community.

You don't need to live here long to realize they are a close, tight-knit community. I cannot help but think this was what it must have been years ago in our country. I wish I could have lived then. Throughout our 34 years in this area, we have been fortunate to make many close friends and companions while being warmly welcomed into this community. It is something special.

You may be wondering where the Christmas or Festival of Lights is in this story. Eight days after this tragedy, on December 15, 2023, at approximately 6:30 p.m. on a chilly Friday night, there were more than 30 visitors from the church of the family who had so recently lost their son in our front yard. They were singing Christmas Carols, they were caroling. I cannot remember in my 77 years having anyone sing Christmas Carols to me or my family. It was even more extraordinary given the circumstances of their church and community.

I learned and felt the love of others shown to me and my family, even amid their suffering, grieving, and loss. What kind of strength does a person, a family, or a community possess that enables them to reach out to others, giving them something of themselves when they are in pain and grieving?

I question my strength and character to put others before myself when I am suffering from my losses. Yes, Christmas will be memorable for me this year. I saw and experienced what it means to put your pain aside and reach out to lift others up. The only thing better than this Christmas would be one where I had the strength to lift others up.

May you have a Merry Christmas, a Festival of Lights, and a great 2024.