prose

Alan Walker, SSgt (1975 - 2004)

Eulogy of a fallen soldier...

Eulogy of a fallen brother...

He said he wanted to be a writer, and he drank Tullamore Dew in his barracks room. His favorite pair of shoes has been high-top Chuck Taylor's for as long as I can remember. He loved The Templar's, Pennywise, Bad Religion, and Dropkick Murphy's. Allan was the only person I think I'll ever meet who was able to sleep through the fire alarms in any of the squad bays on MCRDSD, or up at WFTBN. (Forgive me if I break into military acronyms from time to time, but it wouldn't be Allan's story without them.) He would quote such random authors on such random subjects, that I often wondered what the hell he actually preferred. He always drove home from the bar, and occasionally didn't remember where his car was parked the next morning. He never told any of us when his birthday was, but he always seemed to know it was ours. The posters on his wall always fell down, were ripped beyond repair, and were borderline pornographic at times, but he kept putting them back up, as if changing them, or throwing them away would somehow lessen his worth. ( I'm apologizing now for run-on sentences, and grammatical errors.) He never expected to get paid back, and he'd spend his last $7.50 to buy the two of you Irish Car Bombs, or pints of Guinness. He always sent his hats home early, and never missed a series duty. His laundry was always on his couch,a^?|a^?|.always. Who the hell owns a 13" TV? His driving skills left much to be desired, in fact, I have never felt more in danger than when he was driving, drunk or sober, the guy was no Fittipaldi.

If you say that you knew Allan, you're a liar. I can't even say that I knew him. Leonard didn't know him, and neither did Leo, April, Stephanie, Zeke, Andy, or anyone else who's heart he touched. It would be selfish of me to even suggest that I knew Allan. You see, Allan was SO MUCH MORE than any of us could ever imagine. His heart and his soul were larger than a^?|a^?|a^?|.I can't even think of what they're bigger than. He was always the first one to back you up, or say he'd back you up, or stand by your side when you thought you might need back-up, or lurk somewhere near when it was possible that there might arise the occasion for back-up to be necessary. His love for his "Friends" (those of you who allowed him into you heart, and likewise yourself into his vast love) seemed to be unending. Every time he allowed himself into our lives, he allowed us to truly live. ( I have to say now that I don't write. I never have, and I don't really have plans to after this. I'm not sure why I'm saying this. Maybe it's the wine. But this is an alien thing for me to do, but I have to do it, and I have to share some things with you all.)

I'll never forget the first time that I saw Allan. It was the first day of DI school, and we were sitting in the classroom waiting while the instructors were hazing us, and pretty much bringing us back to boot camp all over again. An hour late, who should walk through the door. Enter our man Allan. From that point on, he never seemed to disappoint me with some sort of painful situation. Whether it was falling asleep in DI School, and going to 1st SGT Vines office, or before my time at Bravo Nation, when Allan somehow took the keys to the armory home with him. It could've been the time that he broke his fourth finger on his right hand, (I think it was the right one) and just left it all friggin crooked. Or the times that he thought Ruiz was actually pissed at him, and he 'd stay up all night to fix every last Alpha belt .through it all though, Allan was always the first one to throw down what he was doing, and focus on what was going on with us.

He came to my apartment all the time, and now, even though it's only been one day, I've looked at my back gate, where he used to wait for me to let him in at, and can't help but start to cry. I drive in my car, and every cd that I listen to is a cd WE listened to. I bbq'd chicken last night, and cried because I bbq'd chicken for me and him all the time. We drank beer on my balcony, and played Cranium with my wife and her friend. I hummed a song, and he guessed it right. We smoked them,a^?|..bad. He never slept on my couch. I don't know why, but he never did.

I always talked to him about my problems at home. Laurie (my wife) hated that I shared our problems with someone. Maybe hate is a bad word to use for this, but it fits for now. Allan never was judgmental, and he was such a voice of reason, that my problems paled in comparison to the bigger picture only he could see.

Fast-forward When I walked into the Locker Room ( MCRD's bar), the first person I saw was Zeke. For those of you who don't know Zeke, he's definitely not the person you 'd expect the following to come from. He wrapped his arms around me, and held me in an embrace that leveled me. And there we stood, two Marines. Two warriors, DI's, Men, whatever you want to categorize us as. But we stood there, and didn't say a damn word, and we cried in each others arms. Two men crying in each others arms. And our wives watched us, and our friends watched us, and strangers watched us, but we didn't care. Screw you for judging me. (That's a line from Adam Sandler. Alan and I watched many movies, and were too damn unoriginal to come up with our own quotes.)

Rewind I only went to base to use Mapquest. I never expected the day to turn out the way that it did, but it did. I was planning on calling Laurie ( my wife, remember?) and telling her that our kittie was a little slut who rubs all over me when she's gone. On a side note, Allan never did win kittie's affection, but he never did stop trying. Back to the matter at hand though. Where was Ia^?|a^?| (sorry for the clichA?) I was planning on cute newlywed conversation. How wrong I was though. As I was driving by the base theatre, I saw Harris and Rendon walking from RTR ( another acronym), and only slowed to say hi. In the next 7 seconds (a great band by the way), my life was rocked, and I know that I'll never be the same again. I don't need to tell any of you who read this what I was told. It's the same thing that all of you heard at some point, and wish you never knew. I actually told Laurie that I wish I never knew that Allan died. I wish that I never knew, and I just thought that he forgot me somehow, and went on with his life, and contrary to what he always told me, got married, had babies, and touched more lives. (There's that run-on sentence, again.) I wish I could imagine him making someone happy when his bald head should have been gray. I wish I could have imagined Allan sitting in his garage listening to Pennywise on a vintage cd player at a time when music is beamed into you head through radio waves. Or seeing a book in B. Dalton with his name on it. Or reading in a newspaper, when my eyes are not to good anymore, that Allan Walker, who was born on April 9th 1975, died from complications of something or other, in such or such a place, and was survived by so many grandkids, and started such or such company, or was the recipient of such or such award, or was killed while attempting to stop such or such this, or such or such that. You know, I really don't care anymore. I miss him damnit. I'm sitting here trying to help myself deal with this by writing this to all of you, and sharing my life with Allan, however short is was.

I can hear The Apprentice in the background, but it's an episode he'll never see. Does that matter?

He said yes when I asked him. It's kind of funny that I did too. I always imagined that my friends from childhood would be my groomsmen, but here I was, asking him. I didn't even give it a second thought. Somehow I just knew it would be right. Somehow I just knew that he was right. And on the big day, even though he wore the disco outfit the night before, Allan was an hour late to the suite to get ready. It was classic Allan though. He was late the day that my life with him started, and he was late the day my new life would start. I could only laugh and give him a hard time about it. He felt really bad though, and you could tell. That's how he was though, he held himself responsible for everything, whether big or small.

April just told me his birthday was tomorrow. What the hell is that about. He would've been 29 tomorrow. Well, it's his B-Day there already as I write this. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROTHER. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROTHER. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

I'm staring at the cursor blinking, and I'm suddenly grasped by the thought that somehow my life will be that of the cursor. Forever blinking. Waitinga^?|a^?|a^?| .. For him silly. I know that's what you were wondering.

We went to Plum Crazy in PB, and got really drunk. I put about 2 hours of songs in the jukebox, and NOFX and Van Halen played forever. Alan and I played pool, poorly, and gave each other play punches in the arm when we'd make or miss a shot. It really didn't matter. I think it was just the contact of two friends that drove us on.

I can hear my wife in the other room talking to a friend about it. She said, "Out of all the marines, it was him." I'm not trying to eavesdrop, but I tune into things. I'm sorry. She's too damn smart. Women do that to you. Allan knew it too.

"No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it'll always be the ones I love who will pay." The new Spiderman trailer just premiered. Allan and I watched that movie all the damn time our last cycle as seniors. Well the old one at least.

Is this going to get any easier?

"And I know,a^?|a^?|a^?|.. I'm Indestructible!" Tim Armstrong said it, and it became our anthem. Rancid was on permanent play list in my car. In the a^??stang. Our conveyance of choice. How odd that it was in my car playing as I heard the news the first time. We listened to Too Legit For the Pit when he drove me to get the body kit I'm never going to use on my car. We listened to Bad Religion as well. NOFX, NWA, and he loved my band from college. ( no selfless plugs here) He remembered me from 29 palms when I worked at The Stump's doing karaoke, but I never could say I remembered him.

Mack's Ally. Look for it. It combined my last name/ nickname- Mack, with his first name/ hybrid Ally, and it was supposed to be the bar we were going to open when we retired. We even mapped out the floor plan outside his barracks room. Johnny Cash, NOFX, and Pennywise were going to be the first cd's on the jukebox, and no Will Smith was allowed. We had plans man. We had plans. How in the hell do you expect me to go on. You never said goodbye.

The news is talking about tragedy this, and conflict that. Laurie's crying on the couch, and I'm holding tears back as I type.

I never did get to know him. Neither did you. I could keep going with my little tales and memories. My concentration just got broken because Condoleeza Rice ( spellcheck please) is testifying about 911, as Laurie sobs on the couch, about things apparently more important and newsworthy than America's finest, our country's hope, who were slaughtered by cowards and devils. 911, 911, Sept. 11th. It's old news damnit. Osama did it. No friggin diggity. It's over, let 's mourn the victims then. Who cares. I'm trying to respect my brother's memory, and all everyone in the news community is concerned with is 911 and PETCO park's opening. I really hope it was a good game, because while the ball bounced foul, my friend was leaking from a bullet hole, alone somewhere that I can't be.

I am a selfish bastard. I am more concerned with how Allan's death will affect me, than I am with how his loss will affect the rest of the world. He had so much to give, and so much to contribute, and ( would someone please shut the news people on the TV up?) so much kindness, and understanding, and wisdom, and love, and heart, and friendship, and laughter, and a^?|.. I just saw that one of my recruits died with Allan. Isn't that something. Maybe Allan died trying to save him. Maybe I failed somewhere. But that's just me being selfish again.

Allan Walker went with his friend Leonard to the Army recruiting office, but it was closed, so he went to the Marine's, and he touched us all either before or after this event occurred. I am not a writer, and I didn't know Allan, but I was his friend , and he was mine, and indirectly I am yours and you are mine. The cursor still blinks on my screen, and as hands shake over the keyboard, the news keeps spewing unimportant crap, and Allan is still 28, forever.

I'm 29, and one day I'll be 70. Allan is 28. Every April 9th, he'll be 28.

I miss you brother. We had plans, we had plans. Happy Birthday Brother, Happy Birthday.

By Scott McLaughlan