Memories I Have
Marshall Adame
May 23, 2009
Itīs 2008. I am 56 years old and still married to the sixteen year old girl who stood at the alter with me when I was seventeen. I am a Vietnam veteran, a retired U.S. Marine, father of four and grandfather of twelve. After twenty-two years in the Marines I became an aviation logistics consultant to the Department of Defense and several Defense Contractors. I was a logistics specialist in the 92-93 Kuwait rebuild after Saddam had been chased back into Iraq. I was the Kaman Aerospace logistics lead for four years in Egypt and the Airport Director of Basrah international Airport Iraq in 2003. I became the V.P. of Aviation services for a U.S. Corporation in Baghdad, Iraq and later received a U.S. State Department Diplomatic Appointment in the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad in 2005 where I personally performed the first nine site surveys all over Iraq for the U.S. State Department Provincial Reconstruction Teams. I was also a U.S. Logistics Advisor to the Iraqi Minister of Interior. All told, I spent 37 months in Iraq. Today, I am a Program Manager for a Defense Contractor working on a critical logistics project for the U.S. Army overseeing a staff of over one hundred government contractors.
Although in my life, I have not cured a disease, invented something which would revolutionize modern man, or stopped hunger in the world, it is important to me that my decedents know I cared. I cared about the inequity I saw in the world and I did what I could, on a personal level, to bring dignity, respect and a sense of self worth to those less fortunate than I. I strived to improve mankindīs condition in this world and tried to be an example of compassion, understanding and tolerance.
I cannot be the judge of whether or not I have been, or am still a good father and husband, but I can say that I have tried to be the shield and armor bearer for the Adame family. My house is and has always been a home and safe harbor for any and all who came through the Adame house door, but primarily for my children and wife who always knew they could count on my being there to stand in the gap between them and anything in the world outside our door. I say all of this because things may have turned out very different for me than what has unfolded in my life. Even today, I am eternally grateful and continuously remind my self how things might have turned out for me. My childhood was not exactly a Sunday morning stroll.
I have many memories of my childhood. Many of my childhood memories gather around harrowing, fearful, lonely and dangerous occurrences which, I believe, have framed who I am today. That is to say, my memory of my childhood has reminded me to be far more careful in my life than had I not endured some of what happened to me when I was very young. I was not alone however.
My younger brother Danny suffered a great deal of abuse in his childhood as well. He lived a life of crime and drugs and was murdered when he was in his thirties. My older brother Johnny, although very abusive with me, was the one who protected me from others who could, and probably would have, harmed me had Johnny not been there. He lived a life spent in prison, on drugs and alcohol and died tragically when he was in his mid-forties. We were separated young in life, but not before we shared some tough times together. My life took me a very different direction than my brothers and although I am grateful for the fortunes which have befallen my life, I never forgot my brothers. I love them.
There are some memories which stay with me more than others. I have written a few of them here as a record of some of my life.
A Baby Crow
When I was about eight or nine years old I found a baby crow that had fallen from his treetop nest. Its mother was there too. She was frantic about her baby. I spotted the nest high in the nearby tree and after stuffing the baby into my shirt I began to climb the tree to get this baby back to his nest. The mother crow was no more than six feet away from me as I ascended. It was high, but I finally made it to the top. There were two other babies in the nest. As the mother crow jumped from branch to branch around me I removed the baby from my shirt and returned it back to its family. I climbed down from the tree and began back on my way. I remember the mother crow followed me for about a block. I have always liked to think she was grateful.
At Work With my Dad
When I was seven years old my dad worked as the sales guy in a fertilizer factory located in Pico Rivera California. He took me to work with him one day. There was a nearby baseball field where one could buy hotdogs, candy and watch the game. I wanted to go. When my dad was helping a customer, I stole five dollars from his cash box. There was no way he could not have known I was the one who took the money. I see that now. He never said a word to me about it. I believe he just did not want to think that his son would steal. My dad was a gentle and caring man. I loved him. I did not know him well, but I loved him never the less. He died almost thirty years ago. I still think about him.
The Bus Driver
When I was in sixth grade my house was on the corner where the school bus stopped to pickup and return students from school. I remember the Bus driver was a blonde haired woman. I canīt say how old she may have been because, at my age at the time, all adults looked old. She knew the corner house was where I lived. It was a "crash pad" where some very bad folks would come to sleep, do drugs and worse. Motorcycles and souped up cars always parked in the yard. She noticed that I never carried a lunch to school. She obviously knew I had no money. One morning I was getting on the bus and as I made my way up the four stairs into the bus, she stopped me. She leaned over to her side and picked up a lunch sack and handed it to me. "Hereīs your lunch Marshall" she said. " now go sit down". Every day after that, when I got on the bus, she handed me a lunch bag with a sandwich, an apple and a small carton of juice. We never talked about it. She just kept bringing my lunch every morning and always reminded me to "Make sure you eat it all". I always replied, "I will", and I would go find a seat on the bus.
An Easter Sunday and Dead Ducks
It was Easter. I was 11. I had gone to a church sponsored Easter party with a neighborhood friend, Johnny Marconi, and came home to the crash pad where my brother and I slept. I had two with two baby ducks which had been given to me at church as was their tradition. The ducks were yellow and probably not more than two, or three weeks old. Kids called them "Easter ducks". One of the biker guys who was at the crash pad that Sunday asked me if he could hold my ducks. I handed both of the tiny little ducks to him. He held them close to his face to look at them. I asked him to give them back to me. It was as though I had said the wrong thing. Without a word, he dropped my ducks to the kitchen floor, raised his large motorcycle boot into the air and brought it down solidly on top of the ducks, smashing them instantly. "There" he said. "Thereīs your ducks. Happy Easter". I remember just standing there looking at my two Easter ducks laying in the small pools of blood that had formed around them. That sight has stayed with me to this day. I try not to think about it. It still makes me sad.
Six Days to San Francisco
When I was twelve years old, my best friend Ronnie and I got caught-up in the notion that we could jump on a moving train and ride it for a few minutes and jump off. Well we did it. I mean we jumped the moving train. Jumping off the moving train became a problem and we unwittingly began a trip which would take us over seven hundred miles, from La Puente California all the way to San Francisco. We did get off the train, but instead of turning around, we began to hitchhike to San Francisco. Along the way we met a good number of adults. With the exception of two occasions, all of the people (Adults) who had offered to "help" us either took sexual liberties, or physically hurt us. One almost killed us.
I am not an authority on human nature, but I learned a great deal about the dark side of "good" people on our unintended Six days to San Francisco. It is a true story about two young boys in 1964, over one thousand miles, about 30 people and a hard lesson learned about the dark side of human nature. (I wrote the whole story. One day I will publish it).
A Christmas Morning
I was about 8 years old. There were eleven kids in my family; five brothers, five sisters. On Christmas morning everybody got presents, except me. I ran away for two days. I slept in my friend Ronnieīs shed in his backyard. When I returned home, I was beaten. To you parents. Take my advice. Never forget your children on Christmas; Even if there are eleven of them.
Saving his Little Brother
There was a time, for a while, that the only person who was taking care of me was my fourteen year old big brother Johnny. We stayed in a "crash Pad" where a lot of really bad people would come and go from. Drugs and other criminal activity was the occupation of most that frequented that house. From time to time, Johnny and I would get our clothes by stealing them off clothes lines around the neighborhood. During one of these trips, we were both in someone's back-yard in the neighborhood. We had entered by climbing a tall fence. We were after a couple of shirts on the clothes line. Suddenly a very big man came busting through the back door yelling obscenities and carrying a cane which he was swinging over his head. I froze. My brother grabbed me, with what seemed like super human strength, and hurled me over the fence. The man caught Johnny and beat him up pretty bad. My big brother sacrificed himself to protect and save me. He could have jumped the fence easily to save himself, but he didn't. In his adult life, Johnny was in and out of prison. Although we separated young I always loved my big brother. He died tragically.
One Day at La Puente High School; I Saw Her
I am sure it was soon after summer vacation had ended and school was back in session. It was warm outside and I was already cutting class. I was standing against one of the school buildings near the gym. She walked by. I couldnīt get my eyes off of her. I had never seen a girl so pretty. I did not know her. I had never seen her before, but I was struck by her presence. I donīt know what came over me to say what I did, but I needed to say something about this encounter. I look to my friend standing there next to me and said; "Do you see that girl? I am going to marry that girl". A couple of years later I did marry that girl. That was 1967. Somehow, that girl still likes me. We have been married for over 39 years; have four children and twelve grandchildren. I have grown a lot since that day in La Puente High School, but she says Iīm still the hoodlum who asked her to dance at the civic center. I remember that dance. My face touched hers for the first time. I did not think much about God back then, but at that moment, when our cheeks touched, I knew there was a God and, for some reason I will never know, God stepped in on my behalf and brought this angel to me. Ultimately I was kicked out of La Puente High for truancy, but I will always love that school and the memory of the day I saw her.
John Flores was my Sixth Grade Teacher; Thank God
He was a great big man. Of course I was a tiny sixth grader, but I clearly remember my teacher, John Flores, as a tall, heavy-set Mexican-American guy with a young face and a very strong presence. I was at Sunset Elementry School on Tonapah Ave., in La Puente California. I was a very bad kid according to everyone who knew me. I was that kid moms were talking about when they told you not to hang around with "that" kid. Mr. Flores knew that too, but he always treated me as though I was his star student. One day, at recess, when I was standing there with him (He made me stay with him at recess because...well just because), he suddenly grabed my arm and swung me around to face him. He kneeled down so he could look me in the eye. He stared in my eyes for a moment, which seemed like forever to me, because I thought he was going to smack me for something. He looked very serious and said "Marshall, I know you get into a lot of trouble and teachers and adults say you are a bad kid; But you're not. Someday Marshall Adame will be a great man of good will. Never forget that I have told you this". Then he just stood up. I never forgot what you told me Mr. Flores.
The Major and the Major General
For obvious reasons, this memory must remain stated in very general terms. When I was a young Marine corporal I was assigned to a base facility maintenance operation. My boss was a Marine Corps Major. The Major ordered me to deliver some materials to his base quarters. I arrived at his quarters with the delivery. The weather was very hot and he asked me into his quarters for a cooling drink.
I, being a corporal, was in no position to say no to an officer and I accepted. While I was in his quarters he tried to get me to have a sexual liaison with him. I declined and left his quarters. About sixteen years after that incident, I was assigned to a temporary duty mission at the Headquarters Marine Corps, located in the Naval Annex Building in Arlington, Virginia. While there, intending on reporting to the Colonel I was to serve, I mistakenly walked into an office being occupied by a Major General. I excused myself for interrupting him and told him who I was looking for. Without looking up, he said "You have the right office Marine; I was just using this desk for a moment". Then he looked up at me. He did not recognize me at first, but I did know him immediately. This Marine Corps Major General was the same man who, about 16 years earlier, had attempted to have a sexual liaison with me. I apologized again and introduced myself. I could sense his memory focusing. He looked shocked and embarrassed. He most certainly knew who I was. His face was flush. I excused myself and closed his door behind me. I never saw him again after that encounter.
My Marine Corps Retirement Party
By 1991 I had been in the United States Marine Corps for 22 years and was stationed in Okinawa Japan. Col Pat Garrett was my boss there from 1989 until 1991 when I had decided to retire. He was the stuff legends are made of. He came into the Marine Corps as a lowly private and ascended to the rank of colonel. He was a highly decorated combat Marine Officer, famous in his field and the head of the Logistics Department for the entire 1st Marine Aircraft Wing. I was the senior enlisted inspector in his office. He was mean, opinionated, rude, overbearing, rough around the edges and just one of the greatest guys I have ever known. He led his men by example and lived the ideals of Simper Fidelis (Always Faithful). Just before I was to leave Okinawa, Col. Pat Garret sponsored a surprise retirement party for me at the Camp Foster Officers Club. The place was packed with important people. (Not too many people could say no to Pat Garret). They presented me with a beautiful Japanese Officer Sword with an engraved stand. I was stunned. I cried.
It Happened in China (A Room Full of Money)
In 1994 I went to Beijing, China. I was an independent consultant invited to China by a Hong Kong Chinese interest I had met while in Kuwait in 1993. While in Kuwait, I had assisted these Chinese in drafting their international non-circumvention agreement for a scrap metal agreement between them and a Kuwaiti interest. After Kuwait I had very diligently worked on continuing my relationships with certain China principles who could assist my efforts there. Later they invited me to China. I went to China for the purpose of discussing an oil remediation project at the Shengli Oil production site outside of the city of Jinan, a chicken import deal, a car wax contract and a potential Hotel project in the City of Jinan. I dined with the governor of Jinan and the next day he personally accompanied me to the Shengli Oil town about a two hour drive from Jinan. There we talk about Oil remediation possibilities.
Later, while back in Beijing I was asked to consider a very special project of some risk. I did not promise anything, but agreed to consider whatever it was they had in mind for me to do. I was asked to assist in secretly moving approximately 500 boxes out of China. Of course I asked what the boxes contained. Without that information I could not even consider assisting them. I was also curious as to what exactly would be in this for me as a businessman. I was told that I could have 5% of what was in the boxes plus whatever expenses I incurred in the process. The men I was dealing with assured me that they were putting their very lives in my hands. I was getting a little concerned at this point and simply asked to see what was in the boxes. They agreed.
We took a long car ride. I was escorted into a very large warehouse sized room. In the middle of the room was a small mountain of boxes. Five boxes were removed from the stack and placed at my feet. One of the Chinese businessmen removed a knife from his pocket and very carefully cut the seal on the first box and opened it. The box was filled with money. United States Two dollar bills. I got real scared about what I had been exposed to. I asked if all the boxes contained U.S. Two Dollar Bills issued in 1976.
I was told that most of the boxes were American Currency although approximately two hundred million was in German marcs and French Francs. I asked again if all the U.S. currency consisted of two dollar bills issued in 1976. I was told that most of it was, but that about one hundred million was in five dollar bills. At that point I was compelled to ask just how much money we were standing in front of in that room. I was told that the whole amount was very close to two billion dollars. People do not hesitate to hurt other people for that amount of money. I was nervous, but tried not to show it.
I told my hosts that moving this merchandise would require a large aircraft, air clearance and a substantial money laundry process which would hide its origins. Actually, I never for a moment considered participating in this, but fear was beginning to take a hold of me and the more afraid I get, the better my tap dancing becomes. They assured me that any domestic concern could be taken care of. The air clearance for a private 747 landing at a remote military base could be arranged.
They wanted to remain totally anonymous from beginning to end. They wanted all the money to eventually find itīs way into eleven Swiss and Caribbean bank accounts. I told them I would have to look into all the logistic considerations, but I was sure something could be arranged to make it all happen.
Later, the closest of my Chinese associates told me that the money was part of a cash transfer to China arranged through the IMF some years prior to that time. I knew, after that incident, I could never return to China.
September 11, 2001
(I was in Egypt)
I was in Egypt, an employee of Kaman Aerospace Corporation, assigned to a U.S. Department of Defense Contract with The Egyptian Air Force.
It was early evening and I was watching CNN news. When I saw the World Trade Center being struck by the commercial aircraft I was in utter disbelief. The pain and sorrow I was feeling was overwhelming and indescribable. I felt so angry and so helpless. My first thought was that this was the work of a radical Islamic group; A thought which was shortly thereafter validated. The following days were filled with Egyptian Air Force Officers approaching my fellow Americans and me expressing their deepest regrets, but in many cases, apologies with explanations as to why we, America, deserved what we had experienced. It was very difficult for them to not express their Pro-Islamic Extremist leanings. As the weeks passed, it became very apparent to me that most Egyptians supported the very people who had carried out the attack on the World Trade Center, The Pentagon and America.
The Egyptian newspapers were rife with justifications for the attacks upon America, bringing folk hero status to Osama Bin Laden and those like him. In November 0f 2002 my wife Becky and I left Egypt and returned to our North Carolina home. In May 2003 I was driving across the boarder from Kuwait into Iraq to assume the position of Coalition Director of Basrah International Airport in Iraq.
Americans assume a lot about the Arab world and its people. We shouldnīt. Generally, the people in the Arab world think nothing like us at all, and we nothing like them. Generally speaking their ideas of freedom and liberty are far removed from ours. The restrictive Islamic thought that dominates the mindset of the Arab world has no room for "inalienable rights". Even the concept of "God given" or "natural" rights is a ridiculous notion to them. The Muslim clerics and Imams retain all of that authority for themselves. It is such a sad state of affairs for the average Muslim man and woman in the Arab world. Fear is a dominating factor in the daily lives of good and caring Muslim people. Afraid to say "yesī", and afraid to say "no". Too many spoken thoughts, contrary to, or independent of Islam, can get one banished, and even killed in Egypt, or any Arab country. So sad. So very sad.
From my extensive experience in the Middle East (8 years), the average Arabic Muslim person living in the Middle East, rich or poor, young or old, are typically friendly, personable, giving, gracious, humble and sincere. Privately they will tell you they hold no hatred for the Jews or the existence of Israel. Publicly they could never imagine speaking anything contrary to the Islamic Clerics. Entire families pay the price for dissention in the Arab World.
I love the Arab people. Living in the Middle East for eight years allowed me to know them personally. Kind hearted and family oriented far beyond our American culture generally speaking. Overwhelmingly a wonderful, gentle people trapped in a culture wherein the men who wear religious clothing are infallible and, to a great degree, themselves trapped in a mindset of hatred, revenge and power. Conciliation, forgiveness, and mercy is not their mantra.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marshall Adame served in the U.S. Marine Corps for 22 years as an Aviation Logistician. He is a Vietnam veteran. He became an Aviation Management/Logistics Consultant in 1992.
Marshall worked in the Kuwait recovery of 1992 and was an Aviation Logistics support representative in several areas throughout the United States until 1998.
He was the Senior Aviation Logistics Manager for Kaman Aerospace in their Egypt US Government Aviation programs and lived in Egypt from 1998 until late 2002.
Marshall went to Iraq in 2003 where he was the U.S. Coalition Airport Director for Basrah International Airport.
Later he was VP for Aviation development with a Commercial Services Corporation in Iraq where he lived and worked in the "Red Zone" of Baghdad.
In 2005 Marshall received a U.S. State Department Diplomatic appointment in Iraq and was a U.S. Advisor to the Iraqi Minister of Interior.
Later, as a State Department Official in Iraq, Marshall was promoted to Department of State Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRT) where he was on the staff of the National Coordination Team (NCT) in Baghdad, Iraq overseeing PRT development throughout the country.
He returned to the United States in August 2006 and became the Senior Analyst of Plans & Policy of the U.S. Army CECOM RESET program where he is now the Program Manager, overseeing Afghanistan and Iraq replenishment requirements.
Marshall attended the University of Maryland, NC State University and Carolina College. He is also a graduate of the Marine Corps Staff NCO Academy, the Navy Senior Aviation Logistics School, and the Marine Corps / State Department Embassy School.
Marshall and Becky Adame reside in Jacksonville, North Carolina where Becky is a 3rd grade teacher in a local Christian School. They have four children, Paul 37, Veronica 35, Billy 30 and Benjamin 26, and twelve grandchildren.
Billy and Benjamin are presently serving in the US Army and are both Iraq veterans. Billy was wounded in Battle about 20 miles North of Baghdad on July 2, 2006. Benjamin will return from his second 15 month tour in Iraq Next month, October 2008.
Although in my life, I have not cured a disease, invented something which would revolutionize modern man, or stopped hunger in the world, it is important to me that my decedents know I cared. I cared about the inequity I saw in the world and I did what I could, on a personal level, to bring dignity, respect and a sense of self worth to those less fortunate than I. I strived to improve mankindīs condition in this world and tried to be an example of compassion, understanding and tolerance.
I cannot be the judge of whether or not I have been, or am still a good father and husband, but I can say that I have tried to be the shield and armor bearer for the Adame family. My house is and has always been a home and safe harbor for any and all who came through the Adame house door, but primarily for my children and wife who always knew they could count on my being there to stand in the gap between them and anything in the world outside our door. I say all of this because things may have turned out very different for me than what has unfolded in my life. Even today, I am eternally grateful and continuously remind my self how things might have turned out for me. My childhood was not exactly a Sunday morning stroll.
I have many memories of my childhood. Many of my childhood memories gather around harrowing, fearful, lonely and dangerous occurrences which, I believe, have framed who I am today. That is to say, my memory of my childhood has reminded me to be far more careful in my life than had I not endured some of what happened to me when I was very young. I was not alone however.
My younger brother Danny suffered a great deal of abuse in his childhood as well. He lived a life of crime and drugs and was murdered when he was in his thirties. My older brother Johnny, although very abusive with me, was the one who protected me from others who could, and probably would have, harmed me had Johnny not been there. He lived a life spent in prison, on drugs and alcohol and died tragically when he was in his mid-forties. We were separated young in life, but not before we shared some tough times together. My life took me a very different direction than my brothers and although I am grateful for the fortunes which have befallen my life, I never forgot my brothers. I love them.
There are some memories which stay with me more than others. I have written a few of them here as a record of some of my life.
A Baby Crow
When I was about eight or nine years old I found a baby crow that had fallen from his treetop nest. Its mother was there too. She was frantic about her baby. I spotted the nest high in the nearby tree and after stuffing the baby into my shirt I began to climb the tree to get this baby back to his nest. The mother crow was no more than six feet away from me as I ascended. It was high, but I finally made it to the top. There were two other babies in the nest. As the mother crow jumped from branch to branch around me I removed the baby from my shirt and returned it back to its family. I climbed down from the tree and began back on my way. I remember the mother crow followed me for about a block. I have always liked to think she was grateful.
At Work With my Dad
When I was seven years old my dad worked as the sales guy in a fertilizer factory located in Pico Rivera California. He took me to work with him one day. There was a nearby baseball field where one could buy hotdogs, candy and watch the game. I wanted to go. When my dad was helping a customer, I stole five dollars from his cash box. There was no way he could not have known I was the one who took the money. I see that now. He never said a word to me about it. I believe he just did not want to think that his son would steal. My dad was a gentle and caring man. I loved him. I did not know him well, but I loved him never the less. He died almost thirty years ago. I still think about him.
The Bus Driver
When I was in sixth grade my house was on the corner where the school bus stopped to pickup and return students from school. I remember the Bus driver was a blonde haired woman. I canīt say how old she may have been because, at my age at the time, all adults looked old. She knew the corner house was where I lived. It was a "crash pad" where some very bad folks would come to sleep, do drugs and worse. Motorcycles and souped up cars always parked in the yard. She noticed that I never carried a lunch to school. She obviously knew I had no money. One morning I was getting on the bus and as I made my way up the four stairs into the bus, she stopped me. She leaned over to her side and picked up a lunch sack and handed it to me. "Hereīs your lunch Marshall" she said. " now go sit down". Every day after that, when I got on the bus, she handed me a lunch bag with a sandwich, an apple and a small carton of juice. We never talked about it. She just kept bringing my lunch every morning and always reminded me to "Make sure you eat it all". I always replied, "I will", and I would go find a seat on the bus.
An Easter Sunday and Dead Ducks
It was Easter. I was 11. I had gone to a church sponsored Easter party with a neighborhood friend, Johnny Marconi, and came home to the crash pad where my brother and I slept. I had two with two baby ducks which had been given to me at church as was their tradition. The ducks were yellow and probably not more than two, or three weeks old. Kids called them "Easter ducks". One of the biker guys who was at the crash pad that Sunday asked me if he could hold my ducks. I handed both of the tiny little ducks to him. He held them close to his face to look at them. I asked him to give them back to me. It was as though I had said the wrong thing. Without a word, he dropped my ducks to the kitchen floor, raised his large motorcycle boot into the air and brought it down solidly on top of the ducks, smashing them instantly. "There" he said. "Thereīs your ducks. Happy Easter". I remember just standing there looking at my two Easter ducks laying in the small pools of blood that had formed around them. That sight has stayed with me to this day. I try not to think about it. It still makes me sad.
Six Days to San Francisco
When I was twelve years old, my best friend Ronnie and I got caught-up in the notion that we could jump on a moving train and ride it for a few minutes and jump off. Well we did it. I mean we jumped the moving train. Jumping off the moving train became a problem and we unwittingly began a trip which would take us over seven hundred miles, from La Puente California all the way to San Francisco. We did get off the train, but instead of turning around, we began to hitchhike to San Francisco. Along the way we met a good number of adults. With the exception of two occasions, all of the people (Adults) who had offered to "help" us either took sexual liberties, or physically hurt us. One almost killed us.
I am not an authority on human nature, but I learned a great deal about the dark side of "good" people on our unintended Six days to San Francisco. It is a true story about two young boys in 1964, over one thousand miles, about 30 people and a hard lesson learned about the dark side of human nature. (I wrote the whole story. One day I will publish it).
A Christmas Morning
I was about 8 years old. There were eleven kids in my family; five brothers, five sisters. On Christmas morning everybody got presents, except me. I ran away for two days. I slept in my friend Ronnieīs shed in his backyard. When I returned home, I was beaten. To you parents. Take my advice. Never forget your children on Christmas; Even if there are eleven of them.
Saving his Little Brother
There was a time, for a while, that the only person who was taking care of me was my fourteen year old big brother Johnny. We stayed in a "crash Pad" where a lot of really bad people would come and go from. Drugs and other criminal activity was the occupation of most that frequented that house. From time to time, Johnny and I would get our clothes by stealing them off clothes lines around the neighborhood. During one of these trips, we were both in someone's back-yard in the neighborhood. We had entered by climbing a tall fence. We were after a couple of shirts on the clothes line. Suddenly a very big man came busting through the back door yelling obscenities and carrying a cane which he was swinging over his head. I froze. My brother grabbed me, with what seemed like super human strength, and hurled me over the fence. The man caught Johnny and beat him up pretty bad. My big brother sacrificed himself to protect and save me. He could have jumped the fence easily to save himself, but he didn't. In his adult life, Johnny was in and out of prison. Although we separated young I always loved my big brother. He died tragically.
One Day at La Puente High School; I Saw Her
I am sure it was soon after summer vacation had ended and school was back in session. It was warm outside and I was already cutting class. I was standing against one of the school buildings near the gym. She walked by. I couldnīt get my eyes off of her. I had never seen a girl so pretty. I did not know her. I had never seen her before, but I was struck by her presence. I donīt know what came over me to say what I did, but I needed to say something about this encounter. I look to my friend standing there next to me and said; "Do you see that girl? I am going to marry that girl". A couple of years later I did marry that girl. That was 1967. Somehow, that girl still likes me. We have been married for over 39 years; have four children and twelve grandchildren. I have grown a lot since that day in La Puente High School, but she says Iīm still the hoodlum who asked her to dance at the civic center. I remember that dance. My face touched hers for the first time. I did not think much about God back then, but at that moment, when our cheeks touched, I knew there was a God and, for some reason I will never know, God stepped in on my behalf and brought this angel to me. Ultimately I was kicked out of La Puente High for truancy, but I will always love that school and the memory of the day I saw her.
John Flores was my Sixth Grade Teacher; Thank God
He was a great big man. Of course I was a tiny sixth grader, but I clearly remember my teacher, John Flores, as a tall, heavy-set Mexican-American guy with a young face and a very strong presence. I was at Sunset Elementry School on Tonapah Ave., in La Puente California. I was a very bad kid according to everyone who knew me. I was that kid moms were talking about when they told you not to hang around with "that" kid. Mr. Flores knew that too, but he always treated me as though I was his star student. One day, at recess, when I was standing there with him (He made me stay with him at recess because...well just because), he suddenly grabed my arm and swung me around to face him. He kneeled down so he could look me in the eye. He stared in my eyes for a moment, which seemed like forever to me, because I thought he was going to smack me for something. He looked very serious and said "Marshall, I know you get into a lot of trouble and teachers and adults say you are a bad kid; But you're not. Someday Marshall Adame will be a great man of good will. Never forget that I have told you this". Then he just stood up. I never forgot what you told me Mr. Flores.
The Major and the Major General
For obvious reasons, this memory must remain stated in very general terms. When I was a young Marine corporal I was assigned to a base facility maintenance operation. My boss was a Marine Corps Major. The Major ordered me to deliver some materials to his base quarters. I arrived at his quarters with the delivery. The weather was very hot and he asked me into his quarters for a cooling drink.
I, being a corporal, was in no position to say no to an officer and I accepted. While I was in his quarters he tried to get me to have a sexual liaison with him. I declined and left his quarters. About sixteen years after that incident, I was assigned to a temporary duty mission at the Headquarters Marine Corps, located in the Naval Annex Building in Arlington, Virginia. While there, intending on reporting to the Colonel I was to serve, I mistakenly walked into an office being occupied by a Major General. I excused myself for interrupting him and told him who I was looking for. Without looking up, he said "You have the right office Marine; I was just using this desk for a moment". Then he looked up at me. He did not recognize me at first, but I did know him immediately. This Marine Corps Major General was the same man who, about 16 years earlier, had attempted to have a sexual liaison with me. I apologized again and introduced myself. I could sense his memory focusing. He looked shocked and embarrassed. He most certainly knew who I was. His face was flush. I excused myself and closed his door behind me. I never saw him again after that encounter.
My Marine Corps Retirement Party
By 1991 I had been in the United States Marine Corps for 22 years and was stationed in Okinawa Japan. Col Pat Garrett was my boss there from 1989 until 1991 when I had decided to retire. He was the stuff legends are made of. He came into the Marine Corps as a lowly private and ascended to the rank of colonel. He was a highly decorated combat Marine Officer, famous in his field and the head of the Logistics Department for the entire 1st Marine Aircraft Wing. I was the senior enlisted inspector in his office. He was mean, opinionated, rude, overbearing, rough around the edges and just one of the greatest guys I have ever known. He led his men by example and lived the ideals of Simper Fidelis (Always Faithful). Just before I was to leave Okinawa, Col. Pat Garret sponsored a surprise retirement party for me at the Camp Foster Officers Club. The place was packed with important people. (Not too many people could say no to Pat Garret). They presented me with a beautiful Japanese Officer Sword with an engraved stand. I was stunned. I cried.
It Happened in China (A Room Full of Money)
In 1994 I went to Beijing, China. I was an independent consultant invited to China by a Hong Kong Chinese interest I had met while in Kuwait in 1993. While in Kuwait, I had assisted these Chinese in drafting their international non-circumvention agreement for a scrap metal agreement between them and a Kuwaiti interest. After Kuwait I had very diligently worked on continuing my relationships with certain China principles who could assist my efforts there. Later they invited me to China. I went to China for the purpose of discussing an oil remediation project at the Shengli Oil production site outside of the city of Jinan, a chicken import deal, a car wax contract and a potential Hotel project in the City of Jinan. I dined with the governor of Jinan and the next day he personally accompanied me to the Shengli Oil town about a two hour drive from Jinan. There we talk about Oil remediation possibilities.
Later, while back in Beijing I was asked to consider a very special project of some risk. I did not promise anything, but agreed to consider whatever it was they had in mind for me to do. I was asked to assist in secretly moving approximately 500 boxes out of China. Of course I asked what the boxes contained. Without that information I could not even consider assisting them. I was also curious as to what exactly would be in this for me as a businessman. I was told that I could have 5% of what was in the boxes plus whatever expenses I incurred in the process. The men I was dealing with assured me that they were putting their very lives in my hands. I was getting a little concerned at this point and simply asked to see what was in the boxes. They agreed.
We took a long car ride. I was escorted into a very large warehouse sized room. In the middle of the room was a small mountain of boxes. Five boxes were removed from the stack and placed at my feet. One of the Chinese businessmen removed a knife from his pocket and very carefully cut the seal on the first box and opened it. The box was filled with money. United States Two dollar bills. I got real scared about what I had been exposed to. I asked if all the boxes contained U.S. Two Dollar Bills issued in 1976.
I was told that most of the boxes were American Currency although approximately two hundred million was in German marcs and French Francs. I asked again if all the U.S. currency consisted of two dollar bills issued in 1976. I was told that most of it was, but that about one hundred million was in five dollar bills. At that point I was compelled to ask just how much money we were standing in front of in that room. I was told that the whole amount was very close to two billion dollars. People do not hesitate to hurt other people for that amount of money. I was nervous, but tried not to show it.
I told my hosts that moving this merchandise would require a large aircraft, air clearance and a substantial money laundry process which would hide its origins. Actually, I never for a moment considered participating in this, but fear was beginning to take a hold of me and the more afraid I get, the better my tap dancing becomes. They assured me that any domestic concern could be taken care of. The air clearance for a private 747 landing at a remote military base could be arranged.
They wanted to remain totally anonymous from beginning to end. They wanted all the money to eventually find itīs way into eleven Swiss and Caribbean bank accounts. I told them I would have to look into all the logistic considerations, but I was sure something could be arranged to make it all happen.
Later, the closest of my Chinese associates told me that the money was part of a cash transfer to China arranged through the IMF some years prior to that time. I knew, after that incident, I could never return to China.
September 11, 2001
(I was in Egypt)
I was in Egypt, an employee of Kaman Aerospace Corporation, assigned to a U.S. Department of Defense Contract with The Egyptian Air Force.
It was early evening and I was watching CNN news. When I saw the World Trade Center being struck by the commercial aircraft I was in utter disbelief. The pain and sorrow I was feeling was overwhelming and indescribable. I felt so angry and so helpless. My first thought was that this was the work of a radical Islamic group; A thought which was shortly thereafter validated. The following days were filled with Egyptian Air Force Officers approaching my fellow Americans and me expressing their deepest regrets, but in many cases, apologies with explanations as to why we, America, deserved what we had experienced. It was very difficult for them to not express their Pro-Islamic Extremist leanings. As the weeks passed, it became very apparent to me that most Egyptians supported the very people who had carried out the attack on the World Trade Center, The Pentagon and America.
The Egyptian newspapers were rife with justifications for the attacks upon America, bringing folk hero status to Osama Bin Laden and those like him. In November 0f 2002 my wife Becky and I left Egypt and returned to our North Carolina home. In May 2003 I was driving across the boarder from Kuwait into Iraq to assume the position of Coalition Director of Basrah International Airport in Iraq.
Americans assume a lot about the Arab world and its people. We shouldnīt. Generally, the people in the Arab world think nothing like us at all, and we nothing like them. Generally speaking their ideas of freedom and liberty are far removed from ours. The restrictive Islamic thought that dominates the mindset of the Arab world has no room for "inalienable rights". Even the concept of "God given" or "natural" rights is a ridiculous notion to them. The Muslim clerics and Imams retain all of that authority for themselves. It is such a sad state of affairs for the average Muslim man and woman in the Arab world. Fear is a dominating factor in the daily lives of good and caring Muslim people. Afraid to say "yesī", and afraid to say "no". Too many spoken thoughts, contrary to, or independent of Islam, can get one banished, and even killed in Egypt, or any Arab country. So sad. So very sad.
From my extensive experience in the Middle East (8 years), the average Arabic Muslim person living in the Middle East, rich or poor, young or old, are typically friendly, personable, giving, gracious, humble and sincere. Privately they will tell you they hold no hatred for the Jews or the existence of Israel. Publicly they could never imagine speaking anything contrary to the Islamic Clerics. Entire families pay the price for dissention in the Arab World.
I love the Arab people. Living in the Middle East for eight years allowed me to know them personally. Kind hearted and family oriented far beyond our American culture generally speaking. Overwhelmingly a wonderful, gentle people trapped in a culture wherein the men who wear religious clothing are infallible and, to a great degree, themselves trapped in a mindset of hatred, revenge and power. Conciliation, forgiveness, and mercy is not their mantra.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marshall Adame served in the U.S. Marine Corps for 22 years as an Aviation Logistician. He is a Vietnam veteran. He became an Aviation Management/Logistics Consultant in 1992.
Marshall worked in the Kuwait recovery of 1992 and was an Aviation Logistics support representative in several areas throughout the United States until 1998.
He was the Senior Aviation Logistics Manager for Kaman Aerospace in their Egypt US Government Aviation programs and lived in Egypt from 1998 until late 2002.
Marshall went to Iraq in 2003 where he was the U.S. Coalition Airport Director for Basrah International Airport.
Later he was VP for Aviation development with a Commercial Services Corporation in Iraq where he lived and worked in the "Red Zone" of Baghdad.
In 2005 Marshall received a U.S. State Department Diplomatic appointment in Iraq and was a U.S. Advisor to the Iraqi Minister of Interior.
Later, as a State Department Official in Iraq, Marshall was promoted to Department of State Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRT) where he was on the staff of the National Coordination Team (NCT) in Baghdad, Iraq overseeing PRT development throughout the country.
He returned to the United States in August 2006 and became the Senior Analyst of Plans & Policy of the U.S. Army CECOM RESET program where he is now the Program Manager, overseeing Afghanistan and Iraq replenishment requirements.
Marshall attended the University of Maryland, NC State University and Carolina College. He is also a graduate of the Marine Corps Staff NCO Academy, the Navy Senior Aviation Logistics School, and the Marine Corps / State Department Embassy School.
Marshall and Becky Adame reside in Jacksonville, North Carolina where Becky is a 3rd grade teacher in a local Christian School. They have four children, Paul 37, Veronica 35, Billy 30 and Benjamin 26, and twelve grandchildren.
Billy and Benjamin are presently serving in the US Army and are both Iraq veterans. Billy was wounded in Battle about 20 miles North of Baghdad on July 2, 2006. Benjamin will return from his second 15 month tour in Iraq Next month, October 2008.
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