Timothy Ciciora
Command Master Chief, United States Army, Retired
Atlantic Beach Florida
My ship, the USS John L. Hall, a guided-missile frigate, had just returned from Desert Storm to her base in Mayport, Florida. As my fellow sailors and I walked along the pier, the first thing I saw was a 500-foot inflatable Budweiser beer can.
What the hell is this? I thought of myself. We had no idea what was going on in America while we were abroad, no idea what kind of reception was in store for us. Suddenly, it seemed like we were the flavor of the month.
A giant crowd of families and supporters was there to greet us, but this didn’t lift my spirits. He didn’t want praise or honors, he just wanted to get home. My master chief noticed my attitude.
“This reception is much better than the one I got when I came back from Vietnam,” he snapped. “So keep it to yourself.”
But after 12 years of service, he was fed up with the Navy and was thinking of leaving. I enlisted right after high school. In Chicago, I hadn’t been the best student, and I knew there was more to it than my own backyard. I wanted to see the world and get a different kind of education. I wanted to be someone. I wanted to do something good. Also, McDonald’s did not offer a retirement plan.
But now he was at a crossroads. The last nine months had been long. We were sitting in Haifa, Israel, waiting for our six-month tour to end when the problem in Kuwait arose. Suddenly we were on our way to the Gulf. We escorted the first aircraft carrier in years through the Suez Canal, directly into the Red Sea, and then into the Persian Gulf for a three-month extension.
On the way home, however, I began to think about my career in the Navy and soon became distraught. Although I was a chief petty officer, I was having trouble getting ahead. I wanted higher rank, more power, more prestige, but I had been passed over twice for promotion. So I was arrogant. If I couldn’t move on, what was I staying for? On top of all that, I was tired of leaving my family. I was not going to be able to see my three children grow up. I even missed the birth of my second child. This would definitely be my last cruise.
Back at the pier, the carnival atmosphere continued. Along with those who welcomed our arrival were swarms of merchants, some with an arm slung around a sailor, all of them trying to make money. Banners reading We Support Desert Storm flew above the crowd.
I went through the circus and headed for the parking lot. Finally, I saw my wife, Terri, standing by our car and grinning from ear to ear. I immediately felt a sense of calm.
My three children, ages 11, 9, and 7, were in the back seat, their faces glued to the rear window. The moment they saw me, they jumped out of the car and accosted me on the track. I barely recognized them, they had grown so fast! We shared big hugs, although my youngest was a little hesitant. Like, who is this guy?
As I slid into the driver’s seat, Terri announced, “We’re going to your mom and dad’s house in Indiana.” It was good to hear this. I hadn’t seen my parents in eight years, and spending time with my three brothers would be great too. Besides, he needed to go somewhere inland, away from the water, away from those gigantic gray ships.
Although I felt good about making the trip to Indiana, I struggled for most of the trip. As Terri and the kids slept through the night, I had a lot of time to think. What kind of job could I get abroad? The last civilian job I had was as a delivery man at a medical supply store. I didn’t even know how to write a resume. But if he stayed in the Navy, didn’t he run the real risk of being killed in action? One look at my sleeping children in the rearview mirror made me realize this horrible thought.
My mind was buzzing, I didn’t stop driving until we got to Chattanooga the next morning. Thinking this would be a good breakfast place, I went into a Burger King. It felt good to see the big orange and red sign. It was like a mecca for me. Overseas, they have American-style restaurants, but let’s face it, the food doesn’t taste the same.
As my wife and children dazedly adjusted to the daylight, I went inside and made my way to the counter. A teenage girl came up to the cash register. She was petite, with short brown hair, she had probably just finished high school. She took my order and a few minutes later she returned with my food. Just as she was reaching for my money, she spoke to me.
“Excuse me,” he said sheepishly. “Did you just come back from the war?”
I was still wearing my uniform. My hat was on the back of my head, my tie was undone, and I had a five o’clock shadow: but despite my disheveled appearance, my medal-strewn dress was obvious.
“Yeah,” I complained, tossing him a twenty. He knew he was being a jerk, but he’d heard this routine before. Civilians always ask the same questions: “Are you a Navy Sea!?” “You killed someone?” “Did you blow something up?” She didn’t want to listen to him, nor was she in the mood for small talk. I wanted to get my food, get out of there, and go home.
The young lady was not offended by my rudeness. Instead, she gently rolled my fingers around the twenty dollar bill in her hand. Leaning across the counter and planting a small kiss on my knuckle, she looked up at me and stared for a second, like she was memorizing my face. Then she uttered a word.
“Thank you.”
Have you ever felt like you suddenly owed the world an apology? That’s how I felt at that moment. Here was this guy who had no ulterior motives, no agenda, and no business deal to offer me. And yet he bought me breakfast anyway. His record would probably fall short for that turn, and she would have to make up for it out of his own pocket. But that didn’t seem to matter to him. Unlike that at the base, everyone jumping on the bandwagon, as if supporting the war was some kind of fad, this young lady’s gesture had come from her heart. She was letting me know that she felt safe, that she knew that someone was taking care of her. When she said that word, I didn’t see just a girl expressing gratitude. I saw an entire nation saying “Thank you.”
I suddenly felt like the Grinch feels when he finds out what Christmas is all about. For the first time in a long time, I felt like he had a purpose in being in the Navy. It was not about money, rank or prestige. It was about raising the flag. We do what we do because no one else can or will. We fight so others can sleep at night. And he had forgotten about that. So this sudden and unexpected expression of thanks from a complete stranger hit me like a bolt of lightning. She had received many decorations over the years, but nothing could compare to the simple tribute she had given me. She made me remember why she was here. She renewed my faith, not only in my military career, but in life as well.
I was too choked to answer him. With a lump in my throat and fighting like hell to get out of there before she started crying like a baby, I quickly headed for the door. When I got back to the car, I found that the tears that I thought I had been holding back were now running down my cheeks.
“What happened?” Terri asked. “Are you OK?”
“You know,” I replied after a moment. “It really is true what they say.”
“What is it?” Terri asked, confused.
I then planted a soft kiss on my wife’s forehead.
“Roasting is better than frying,” I said.
There was no way he could have talked about it right then and there. So I just pulled out of the parking lot. A single word from someone I didn’t even know had transformed me. It changed my life and that of my family. I knew I would be wearing my Navy uniform for a long time.
As he searched for signs to get back on the highway, the road ahead seemed crystal clear.
Copyright © 2006 Marlo Thomas
