A while back I mentioned another very talented Marine, Max Uriarte. Max has recently joined the proud ranks of former jarheads, but he's also managed to create a unique contribution to Marine Corps lore and culture. Back in January Max started a witty and biting little web cartoon called Terminal Lance. Terminal Lance has since gone viral with well over three and a half MILLION hits. Max asked me to contribute to his site and my first cartoon is up today.
This cartoon is a commentary on the Corps I first encountered in the 70s and the one Max is exiting in 2010. While the fighting elan of Marines is as constant as the Northern Star, there have been significant changes in, shall we say, the quality of recruits and the moral fiber of the Corps over the last 40 years. The days of morning formations where a quarter of your fellow devildogs are UA (unauthorized absence) and barracks hallways fragrant with the smell of pot are long gone, but senior enlisted and officers still seem to find ways to keep non-judicial punishment charge sheets coming. Like recruiting duty, there must be quotas.
At anyrate, check out my cartoon scribblings over at TERMINAL LANCE.
Showing posts with label war artist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label war artist. Show all posts
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Finally Found
Corporal Leon Salisbury, Fire Team Leader, November 2005
Back in November of 2005 I took a photo of a Marine fire team leader with 2nd Platoon, Fox Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment. I had just joined this platoon for Operation Steel Curtain. I always try my best to get all the information possible from each of my portrait subjects. Many of the photos I took would be turned into drawings. There was one drawing/photo where I failed to find out who the Marine was. Thanks, in large part to Facebook, I finally know who the subject of this drawing is . . . Corporal Leon Salisbury.
A few days after photographing Leon he was severely wounded and medevaced to Germany. He, along with 11 other members of his platoon, were wounded the morning of November 16, 2005. 5 others lost their lives in a hellacious firefight in and around a "hell house". On that morning Leon's squad, led by Corporal Javier Alvarez, were assigned to two tanks supporting Fox Company for the final push through the last 100 acre pocket of Ubaydi, Iraq. When the shit hit the fan Alvarez led his squad to the aid of the squad caught in the initial contact. Dashing into the confines of a farmyard they immediately came under fire and Alvarez, in the lead, went down after being shot in both legs by a hidden mujh. Leon, and another Marine, LCpl Justin Mayfield, quickly located and closed with the insurgent who had shot Alvarez. No sooner had they eliminated that threat, a hail of hand grenades started to fall around them. Alvarez picked the one closest to them and tried to toss it back through a window, but no luck. It exploded just as he got it over the sill and into the window opening. His right hand disappeared in a red haze, but the majority of the blast was deflected away from his squad. Alvarez would get the Silver Star for his quick selfless thinking. Leon, although severely wounded by the same blast, dashed to his wounded squad leader and tried to apply a tourniquet. Leon's a little hazy as to what happened next, other than he got dinged again, and although his helmet absorbed most of whatever hit him, it pretty much knocked him out. The next thing he knew he was in Germany. He underwent 6 surgeries for his multiple wounds.
Leon shared with me how his squad leader, Alvarez, even though he himself was recovering from multiple gunshot wounds and the loss of his hand, was bringing his wounded buddies "pogey bait" from the hospital snack bar. And this was mere days after they had been medevaced to Germany.
For his actions that day Corporal Leon Salisbury was recognized with the Purple Heart and a Bronze Star with Combat "V". Leon also endured 6 surgeries to deal with his wounds.
Yesterday Leon came to Fredericksburg to visit and showed me his shattered helmet and bloody flak vest. Leon's platoon sergeant, GySgt Robert Homer, made sure his Marine would have these mementos of his heroics. Homer was recognized with a Silver Star for his actions that fateful morning. Leon was on his way from Harrisonburg to Manassas, Virginia to spend the weekend with his Mom. He's currently a junior at James Madison University majoring in international relations and Arabic.
Corporal Salisbury with his shrapnel damaged helmet and helmet coverFriday, May 26, 2006
Go to War. Do Art.
A while back I mentioned an opportunity to write for the New York Times TimesSelect website. Over the next week I will share with you the pieces written for them from March to May.
This article appeared in The New York Times on March 8, 2006 and is copyrighted by Michael Fay and The New York Times.
I’m a warrant officer-1 in the United States Marine Corps Reserve. Warrant officers are hybrids, not fully commissioned officers, and although drawn exclusively from the non-commissioned officer ranks, no longer enlisted Marines. We are by and large the duty experts in a particular field; think of us as consultants. I am a combat artist for the Marines; a Winslow Homer in camouflage. I work directly for the Historical Division of the Marine Corps University and my orders from them are simple. Go to war. Do art. My output goes into The Marine Corps Combat Art Collection, which houses over 8,000 works of art. I think I’ve got the best job in the military.
I now live in Fredericksburg, Va., but was born and raised in Allentown, Pa. The lyrics in Billy Joel’s song “Allentown” tell it all: “Our fathers fought the Second World War, spent their weekends at the Jersey Shore.” Myself and two younger brothers grew up when there were only three television channels, milk and bread were delivered to your doorstep and all adults were addressed as Mr. or Mrs. Delivering the afternoon paper, belonging to the Boy Scouts, wanting to have long hair and pout like Jim Morrison, lusting after Patti Merkle and watching the anxiety grow on my Dad’s face with each year the Vietnam War continued as I approached 18 — these things define those years. My high school class, 1971, was last to get draft cards and have our numbers drawn, mine was 123. The only constant from then until now is art. Most of the cells in my body have probably been replaced since then, relationships and jobs have come and gone with regularity, but the doing of art remains. Oh, and Patti Merkle is still around … she says she’ll be in from California late this spring and wants to visit.
I’m now taking a couple weeks leave after returning home from Iraq on Feb. 15. There are plenty of reasons to take time off. This particular trip has been hard on my family. Not only was I over there, but a nephew, a Marine lieutenant, was with me in the Sunni Triangle. They — meaning my daughter, mom and extended family of brothers and their broods — have endured months of intense anxiety. I think separations during war are hardest on those back home.
We, those out in the war, are intensely focused on something we’re very proficient at. We’re in our element. There is truth in the phrase “time flies when you’re having fun.” Not that war can be described as “fun”, but it is at very least a competitor to elaborate meditation techniques. The mundane dross and noise of life drops away and the only place that matters is the proverbial now. I find that the deployments — this was my fourth in the war on terrorism — fly by. My days are filled with doing what I love. But for those at home there are daily scenes of death and destruction flashing urgently across TV screens and newspaper front pages followed by imagining the worse while waiting for reassuring word. I have the luxury of knowing I’m O.K. and intimately aware, despite the violence, that there are so many positive and engaging things going on all around me.
At this moment, I miss it. I wonder if this is what it’s like for a tightrope walker who’s come down off the wire.
This article appeared in The New York Times on March 8, 2006 and is copyrighted by Michael Fay and The New York Times.
I’m a warrant officer-1 in the United States Marine Corps Reserve. Warrant officers are hybrids, not fully commissioned officers, and although drawn exclusively from the non-commissioned officer ranks, no longer enlisted Marines. We are by and large the duty experts in a particular field; think of us as consultants. I am a combat artist for the Marines; a Winslow Homer in camouflage. I work directly for the Historical Division of the Marine Corps University and my orders from them are simple. Go to war. Do art. My output goes into The Marine Corps Combat Art Collection, which houses over 8,000 works of art. I think I’ve got the best job in the military.
I now live in Fredericksburg, Va., but was born and raised in Allentown, Pa. The lyrics in Billy Joel’s song “Allentown” tell it all: “Our fathers fought the Second World War, spent their weekends at the Jersey Shore.” Myself and two younger brothers grew up when there were only three television channels, milk and bread were delivered to your doorstep and all adults were addressed as Mr. or Mrs. Delivering the afternoon paper, belonging to the Boy Scouts, wanting to have long hair and pout like Jim Morrison, lusting after Patti Merkle and watching the anxiety grow on my Dad’s face with each year the Vietnam War continued as I approached 18 — these things define those years. My high school class, 1971, was last to get draft cards and have our numbers drawn, mine was 123. The only constant from then until now is art. Most of the cells in my body have probably been replaced since then, relationships and jobs have come and gone with regularity, but the doing of art remains. Oh, and Patti Merkle is still around … she says she’ll be in from California late this spring and wants to visit.
I’m now taking a couple weeks leave after returning home from Iraq on Feb. 15. There are plenty of reasons to take time off. This particular trip has been hard on my family. Not only was I over there, but a nephew, a Marine lieutenant, was with me in the Sunni Triangle. They — meaning my daughter, mom and extended family of brothers and their broods — have endured months of intense anxiety. I think separations during war are hardest on those back home.
We, those out in the war, are intensely focused on something we’re very proficient at. We’re in our element. There is truth in the phrase “time flies when you’re having fun.” Not that war can be described as “fun”, but it is at very least a competitor to elaborate meditation techniques. The mundane dross and noise of life drops away and the only place that matters is the proverbial now. I find that the deployments — this was my fourth in the war on terrorism — fly by. My days are filled with doing what I love. But for those at home there are daily scenes of death and destruction flashing urgently across TV screens and newspaper front pages followed by imagining the worse while waiting for reassuring word. I have the luxury of knowing I’m O.K. and intimately aware, despite the violence, that there are so many positive and engaging things going on all around me.
At this moment, I miss it. I wonder if this is what it’s like for a tightrope walker who’s come down off the wire.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Example of Field Work
Here's a pencil drawing of a Marine with an Iraqi soldier. The Marine is wearing the new digital cammies while the Iraqi sports the old style "chocolate chip" desert uniform. The Marines in Haditha conducting Operation River Gate were teamed up with a contingent of Iraqi soldiers straight out of their boot camp. These soldiers are almost entirely Shia, and range in age from mid-twenties to mid-thirties. One of the most remarkable things I witnessed while patrolling with them happened at the tail-end of the long referendum voting day. The Sunni owner of the home who's roof we used as an observation post directed his youngest son to spread out a prayer rug for the Shia soldiers who were with us.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Guardian Angel
I wish this image was sharper. The title of this pencil drawing is "Guardian Angel". Guardian Angel is a term coined by Major General James Mattis when he was the commanding general of the 1st Marine Division during Operation Iraqi Freedom I, otherwise known as the initial invasion of Iraq. General Mattis knew that his Marines were going to have to adapt to a new kind of asymmetrical warfare as the period of reconstruction got underway. The mindset of the "guardian angel" required that the Marines be "no better friend, no worse enemy". It asked of them then, as it continues to ask, to consciously walk the thin line between assisting with the most generous of attitude, while being aggressively vigilant. This image shows a SAW (squad automatic weapon) gunner standing watch in 130 degree plus heat at high noon while fellow Marines work to gather up and destroy hundreds of unexploded mortar rounds in a residential area teeming with curious kids. For those of you who've never experienced these kind of temperatures, I invite you next time you take cookies out of the oven to stay there with your face at the open ovendoor for an hour. And do it while the kids are acting up.
Monday, October 24, 2005
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