In 1983 I was a 22-year-old U.S. Marine serving with the 24th Marine Amphibious Unit in Beirut, Lebanon. My M.O.S. was 0844 Fire Direction Controller, and I was assigned to Charlie 1/10, BLT 1/8’s artillery battery. Our position was north of the airport approximately 1 mile from the BLT Headquarters. The week prior to 23 Oct 83, I was sent to Motor –T’s Trucks Platoon, for driver training on 5-ton trucks. The driver-training program was scheduled to last one week, so I left Charlie Battery. I stayed with Trucks Platoon; they were positioned about 300 yards from the BLT Building. I was scheduled for testing on Monday 24 Oct 83, after which, I would return to my unit.On Sunday morning 23 Oct 83 I woke at 6:00 a.m. My intention was to go to the BLT’s chow hall for a good breakfast. As I dressed, I began to sweat. It was 6:00 a.m. and already hot. I put my boots on and before I laced them I looked around the tent and saw everyone was still sleeping. I decided to lie back down for a little more sleep. I had just fallen asleep when the blast occurred. Now, over 18 years latter, with a college education, I am challenged to find words accurately describing the magnitude of the incredible explosion that took place at 6:22 a.m. I was sleeping in the tent corner closest to the BLT and woke looking up from my cot no longer under the tent’s cover. The explosion’s sound was ear shattering, carrying a concussion that ripped the tent from its steel anchor, buried in asphalt, and an accompanying rush of heat that seared across my face. I looked up to a sky full of dirt, debris, paper and smoke. A particularly vivid memory is the huge smoke ring that billowed skyward from the blast. Following the explosion I quickly dressed, grabbed my gear and scrambled for the cover of a nearby bunker. As more Marines assembled in the bunker, I tried to collect my confused thoughts and understand what happened. There were several buildings between the Motor – T / Engineers area and the BLT Building, with an open space between, where trucks and equipment were parked. I peered out of the bunker toward the open space; the smoke and dirt that filled the air had not cleared making it difficult see anything. Strangely it appeared that the trucks and equipment had been hit. Some of the Marines in the bunker speculated a Syrian Launched SS-21 or a tactical nuclear weapon caused the blast. Finally word came, “ THE BLT IS GONE.” I will never forget the shocking reality of those words. Soon after the news exclaiming the BLT’s demise we fell into ranks for a head count, and were dispatched to the BLT to find survivors.The 300 yards from the Trucks Platoon area to the BLT Building Site was more then physical distance it was an evolution in coming to terms with the reality of the situation. The closer I came to the BLT the more gripping the scene became. Where once stood a four-story reinforced concrete building was now was a collapsed pile of rubble resembling a fallen house of cards. Marines and Navy Corpsmen scurried about the site searching for and rescuing survivors. I found an unconscious Marine sprawled on the ground his breathing was labored and he was bleeding from his nose mouth and ears. I grabbed the Marine, picked him up in a fireman’s carry just as Marine driving a 5 ton wrecker came down the access road on the east side of the site. The Marine Driver motioned me to bring the wounded man. We both loaded the wounded man onto his truck and the driver took off, rapidly backing the wrecker up the access road past the truck wash, where I lost track of them. It is hard to describe how your mind tries to cope with such a catastrophic and massive dose of reality, other then saying, it feels as if you are in a movie, or a dream state, because what you are seeing is too horrible, to be real.As I returned to the scene, the shear volume of human trauma hit me like a punch in the mouth. A make shift aid / triage area was assembled in front of the building site and the dead and wounded were lining up. An indelible image was etched in my mind when I saw two Marines with troubled faces carrying a stretcher. Initially my sight was drawn by the sun’s almost blinding reflection coming from the shiny anodized belt buckle cinched around the waste of the stretcher’s cargo. What makes that image so unforgettable is that there was no body above the belt buckle.On 23 Oct 83 I was thirteen days shy of completing my first full year in the Marine Corps. At age 22 I was a little older then most of my peers similar in rank and tenure, but none the less I was still a,” boot,”(or rookie Marine). One striking experience occurred when I discovered a Marine Staff Sergeant trapped between two collapsed floor slabs. The trapped man’s lower body was stuck and he was suspended above our heads. We were swinging a sledgehammer in a frantic effort to break loose the concrete and free the wedged Marine. His pained voice urged us to free him and his pleas for the comfort of his mother still stir my soul to this day. I watched, sickened by a feeling of helplessness, as he received his last rights. Our efforts to free him from the thousands of pounds of concrete and reinforcing steel were futile. I can still see his body becoming lifeless and hanging limp as he lost his struggle to survive. As a Boot Marine I looked at a Staff Sergeant as a near god like figure and his death had a profound impact on me.I joined the Marines after loosing a college football scholarship. My failure in college was due to lack of discipline. I had disappointed my family and I needed a harsh challenge to help get my life on the right track. My father, who served as a member of the 82nd Airborne in WW II, had always said all boys should serve at least two years in the service. Both my brothers were in and now it was my turn. I never imagined at the time of my enlistment, I was headed for the scarring dose of reality I received in Beirut. I still believe our mission, as Peace Keepers, was a noble one. Any anger I harbor is towards the political jockeying, of the bureaucrats, who faulted the Marine Command for what happened in Beirut. The Marines did not place themselves in a vulnerable posture nor did the Marines run from a fight when bloodied. Marines did what Marines do followed orders no matter what the mission. Our loyalties are to God, Country and Corps and that was proudly on display in Beirut.I am truly grateful for life. I left the Corps and returned to college graduating with honors. I married a beautiful wife and have three fantastic children. I have achieved success in my career and continue to strive for excellence. My life since Beirut has not been perfect and I have not always been willing to face the soul searing reality 23 Oct 83. God willing as I continue to grow and mature I will come to terms with the Beirut experience. The Beirut Veterans of America have a motto that says, “ Our First Duty Is To Remember,” and I always will. I have developed another personal motto or duty. As a Beirut Veteran my duty to those who were robbed of their lives and futures at such a young age is to work diligently to realize the maximum potential of my life, in their honor. Semper Fi! 
