He then talked about recovery at a hospital in Guam. Two-hundred Japanese paratroopers were dropped and were kii**ng friendlies around the area. He was given 2 choices. Stay and take his chances, or run and hide. He said he took out all the needles attached to his body out, put tape over his wounds, and hid for 24 days. After he was rescued, on a flight back to the US, another Marine handed him a Lucky Strike cigarette. He went to light it, and the doctor saw him. The doctor told him “what the hell is wrong with you? You only have one lung.” They then injected him with so much mor**hine, he passed out and woke in an American hospital.
He eventually recovered and tried to re-enlist, but he was medically retired. I helped him stand up and walked him to his vehicle, which is a golf cart on ster**ids. As he got in his vehicle, I shook his hand one last time and told him he was the saltiest Marine I have ever met in my life. He said “all my friends are saltier than I am. I’ve lived an amazing life, and I don’t have any regrets. I wouldn’t change a thing, it was the time of my life.” He then told me, I hope I see you around again young man, so we can bul***hit.

This man made my year. This is a living piece of history, and he told the stories raw. I listened to him talk for an hour and a half, even though I had so much to do today. He made it a point to tell me about the bravest man he had ever known, that deserved to be remembered. He spoke of the Raider community doing great things. The last thing he said to me was “Semper Fi, Raiders never die.”