Tag Archives: Officer

The Military Officer’s Association of America

Posted by Mike Grice on

Here is my latest column in the North County Times:

A Cause Worth Carrying

This past weekend I was honored to be able to break bread with a great group of men and women who asked me to join them for their monthly gathering. All of them had either served in the military’s officer corps or were spouses of those who had.

Present were men like Clint, who fought against Rommel in North Africa, and Pat, who began his naval career preparing to invade Japan and ended it after serving in Vietnam. Others in the room had served in Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War.

In addition to their military service, they all shared a strong desire to help others, and despite the length of time since they had worn a uniform they continued to serve their country by advocating for active duty, veterans and retirees.

They are all members of the Military Officer’s Association of America, or MOAA. Originally called The Retired Officer’s Association or TROA, the organization was formed in 1929 as an advisory board of sorts for the active military, and with the exponential increase in the numbers of servicemen and women in World War II they shifted their focus to ensuring that those who wore the cloth of the nation were not forgotten. Now numbering more than 370,000, MOAA has become one of the most powerful and influential lobbying organizations in Washington.

Some of the services that they provide for all ranks, not just officers, include career transition assistance, benefits counseling, education assistance for children of military families, and engagement with Congress about issues that face active, retired and veterans of the armed forces.

Although you may not know it, MOAA has been actively engaging the government at all levels to ensure that the promises made to servicemen and women are honored.

MOAA fills a gap that cannot be filled by those in uniform. While actively serving, the members of the military must, by tradition and regulation, distance themselves from the political process. They are prohibited from using their status in uniform to influence the electorate or directly lobby governmental decision makers —- but organizations like MOAA have taken on the responsibility to ensure that their voices are heard. With the specter of sequestration and an austere fiscal future ahead for all branches of the government, it is particularly important for the needs of the armed forces to be heard —- and MOAA is front and center with Congress.

Some of the issues that the organization is currently addressing include the effect of new healthcare legislation on Tricare premiums (which would see an annual increase in premiums of 345 percent for many retirees), changes to the retirement system, the effects of military force reductions while the nation is still at war, and myriad other issues that directly impact serving members of the military, veterans, retirees, and their families.

MOAA is doing great work, but they are also facing an existential challenge: Their membership consists largely of older veterans who served 20, 30 or more years ago. As with all representatives of the Greatest Generation, they are literally passing on much faster than they are being replaced by younger veterans.

In the group I lunched with I the youngest attendee was half the age of the oldest veteran in the room. The rest of the group was in their 60, 70 and 80s. All are greatly concerned that the work that they have done and the important work that has yet to be accomplished will disappear if there are not new members of the organization to continue the fight.

They, and thousands like them, have selflessly given their all for their country and their fellow servicemembers. Many of the military and veterans benefits that we enjoy today are a direct result of MOAA’s efforts, so I am sounding the call for those eligible to join up and not let their efforts fade away.

If not MOAA, then find some other organization, such as the Veterans of Foreign Wars or the American Legion. Join, help, and continue to serve. I have.

 

http://www.nctimes.com/news/local/military/columnists/grice/grice-a-cause-worth-carrying/article_8fd78c67-c0a8-5f04-838e-8f67000b713d.html

A fascinating education opportunity: Fidelis

Posted by Mike Grice on

SgtMaj (Retired) Frank Pulley, a good friend of mine who is actively involved with military transition while representing the Marine Corps Association and Foundation recently introduced me to a remarkably innovative organization that offers a variety of opportunities for veterans and active duty folks to pursue higher education.  Promising education in and of itself is not particularly innovative – there are plenty of companies and schools in that business – but what makes this venture noteworthy is how it provides a comprehensive path from prospective student to employed graduate by working closely with colleges, universities, governmental agencies, and prospective employers.

The name of this great organization is Fidelis.  Named the Fast Company magazine’s #7 Most Innovative Company in early 2012, it was created by former Marine Captain and Iraq combat veteran Gunnar Counselman.  The company’s mission is to build a scalable solution to the military-to-civilian career transition in partnership with leading universities, military organizations, and great companies.

The idea for the company arose from Gunnar’s experience as he transitioned from active duty to the private sector.  As a veteran fresh from the fight in Iraq he entered the Harvard Business School, and upon graduation started a very successful career in the civilian world with a top-tier consulting firm.  During his graduate studies and his entry into corporate life he was startled by the differences between active service in the Marine Corps and life in the civilian environment and how difficult it was to make the transition between the two.  He mulled it over for several years, and with the conviction of someone willing to take the plunge he started Fidelis in order to not just help military folks make it through the transition by pursuing higher education but also to partner with corporations and business to employ them upon graduation.

Fidelis is much more than just a college and job placement firm.  It goes much deeper than that; each student works with a transitional coach and a network of mentors who help determine long term objectives, interests, and goals.  Once these are established, the coach and mentors guide the student through a tailored educational process that links their objectives with a personalized educational program that meets their educational needs.  With Fidelis’s help, the student enters college and obtains their degree – but the company’s commitment to the student does not end there.  The new graduate works with his or her coach, mentors, and the corporate sector to find the best employment fit.  The commitment does not end on the first day at work, either.  Fidelis is there for months afterwards to ensure that the transition process is successful.

The company has a broad array of colleges, universities, corporations, and business who all work through Fidelis to create the bridge from uniformed member of the armed forces to successful business professional.  They offer several programs that transitioning military people can pursue:

-2+2Plus: This program is for active duty personnel who know that they will be transitioning in the next year or two and don’t have a degree.  They can take general education classes using the company’s innovative social learning platform that marries courses from the  University of California with Fidelis’s learning program.  Designed to get the student back up to speed educationally and prepare them for enrollment in a full-time college or university while still on active duty, the technology used is flexible, intuitive, and supportive of the demanding requirements that are part and parcel of being in the military.  Once they leave active duty, the program continues as mentors and coaches guide the veteran to a college or university where they enroll in a program that meets their objectives and ultimately ends with placement in the private sector.

-Pre-MBA Bootcamp:  This program is for veterans who already have a college degree and are pursuing an MBA in one of the top 30 programs nationwide.  In conjunction with UCLA the program prepares the student with courses in finance, accounting, and quantitative analysis as well as providing an opportunity to socialize and network with other students.

-Silicon Valley Concentration:  Designed for veterans who already have a four year degree and are interested in the technology sector, this program is focused on a specific degree or discipline.  The program begins with a six week long course that introduces the technologies and companies that are the hub of Silicon Valley technology.  The mentors and counselors then work with the student to determine which aspects of the tech world that they want to pursue, and collectively they create a pathway to get there through focused training that results in technical certifications that bring the student to the cutting edge of ever-changing technology.  As with the other programs the mentorship and coaching does not end with a diploma, but instead follows the new employee as they pursue their new career.

All of this is done with little or no cost to the student other than the costs associated with enrolling in school.  The costs are borne by the companies that are investing in quality future employees and by colleges and universities who help educate veteran students.  Fidelis provides a remarkable opportunity for transitioning military people who want to pursue higher education and find a new career.  Take a look at what they offer- I am certain you will be as intrigued as I was!

GI Bill part 2: Transferring benefits from the MGIB to the Post 9/11 GI Bill

Posted by Mike Grice on

I wrote in my last post about the GI Bill.  It is a great benefit that really helps veterans like myself obtain an education or get vocational training that will provide the tools we all need to enter the civilian workforce. I am using the Post 9/11 GI Bill to help defray the costs as I pursue my MBA.  Having served before the attacks on the twin towers, however, made me eligible for two GI Bill programs: the  Montgomery GI Bill  (MGIB) and the Post 9/11 GI Bill.

There are advantages and disadvantages to both bills, and it is important to do your homework and fully understand the nuances of each.   GI Bill comparison  is a great side by side comparison of the two bills, so click on over and take a look.

In my case, I transitioned from the MGIB to the new bill because it resulted in me being entitled to an additional 12 months of benefits that I otherwise would not have been able to utilize.  While it was a good idea for me, it may not be good idea for everyone.  Here is why:

The MGIB has many provisions, but for the sake of this post I will talk about the two major parts of the bill: the Active Duty benefit (aka MGIB-AD or “Chapter 30”) and the Selected Reserve benefit (aka MGIB-SR or “Chapter 1606”).  As the titles indicate, there were different programs for active duty personnel and those in the reserves.

In my case I was in the Organized Marine Corps Reserve when I was working on my undergraduate studies.  During that time I used all but about two months of benefits from the MGIB-SR, meaning that I received about 34 months of benefits and had about two months worth left over.  Since a vet can only use 36 months of benefits under that program I initially thought I was out of luck.  Fortunately, there is a provision that allows for vets like me to transfer between programs and take advantage of an additional 12 months of benefits.

A veteran is eligible for a total of 48 months of benefits.  That said, the individual programs may offer shorter benefit periods, and in the case of the MGIB and the Post 9/11 bill this is the case because they are both 36 month programs.  A vet can get the additional 12 months only if he or she is eligible for the both the MGIB and the Post 9/11 bills because the only way to get the extra time is to convert from the MGIB to the Post 9/11.  There is no bill for the Post 9/11 to convert to, so there are only 36 months of benefits available.

There are two scenarios for transferring from the MGIB to the Post 9/11, and they have enormously different ramifications, so PAY ATTENTION TO THE NEXT TWO PARAGRAPHS IF YOU WANT TO TRANSFER OVER!!!

First, the MGIB-SR (Chapter 1606).  This was my situation.  I used up about 34 months of benefits as a reserve Marine and had about two months left.  The VA simply added my remaining balance of about two months to the 12 additional months of Post 9/11 eligibility and presto!  I had 14ish months of eligibility under the new bill to use towards my education.  All I had to do was complete the Veterans On Line Application (click here: VONAPP) and indicate that I wanted to apply for the new GI Bill.  Once my application was approved I received my updated entitlement.

For the MGIB-AD eligible veterans the situation is VERY DIFFERENT!  In their case, their 36 months of benefits is really 36 months of benefits.  If they have never used their MGIB-AD and they switch over, they will receive 36 months under the new bill.  If they use 35 months under the MGIB-AD and apply for the new GI Bill they will receive only one month under the new GI bill.  Here is the key: in order to get the additional 12 months you must completely exhaust your MGIB-AD benefits, and I mean completely- use up every day because if you have only one day of eligibility left and you apply for a transfer you will get one day of benefits under the new bill, and the decision is irrevocable!  Once you have used up the MGIB-AD you can then re-apply for benefits under the Post 9/11 GI Bill using  VONAPP and receive 12 months under the new bill.  Make sure that you do it right because as I said, once you apply and are accepted for a transfer there is no going back.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

It is easy to see how much of your MGIB you have used.  All you need to do is call the VA at 1-888-442-4551 and ask the counselor which program you currently fall under and how much eligibility you have left.  Once you have that information, you can decide if you want to transfer over or not.

Good luck!

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  The old and new GI Bills are different, and there are a lot of ins and outs that you need to consider before you pull the trigger on a conversion.  Make sure to do some research and find out what works best for your situation.

2.  Once you do pull the trigger on a conversion from the MGIB to the Post 9/22 GI Bill it is irrevocable and final.  There are no “do-overs”.  Make sure you are committed to the decision you make!

3.  If you are uncomfortable with completing an online application, you can download the fillable .pdf document here – http://www.vba.va.gov/pubs/forms/vba-22-1990-are.pdf. All you need to do is complete it and mail it in to the address listed on the form.

4.  If you have any questions, call the VA.  You will be on hold for a while, but they have a nice callback service which you can use; the counselor will call you back so you don’t have to listen to cheesy ’70s disco cover tunes while on hold.  I recommend calling early in the morning as my wait times went from an hour to a few minutes when I called as soon as they opened the lines.  Here is their contact information:

Telephone number:  1-888-GIBILL-1 (1-888-442-4551).

Be advised this line only accepts calls from 7:00 AM – 7:00 PM central time Monday – Friday and you may experience long hold times.

Final (?) Physical Exam. Or is it? Part 2.

Posted by Mike Grice on

A little while ago I wrote about the importance of lists.  Rather naively I thought that I was pretty much done with them as I approached the completion of my checkout sheet.  As usual, I was wrong.

The mighty checkout sheet, about which I wrote several posts, is the administrative key to the other side of transition.  To my dismay, however, I found that the checkout sheet alone wasn’t mighty enough to set me free.  That required that I complete my final physical examination, and just like everything else involved with transition there was so much more to it than meets the eye.

My last post about the final physical left us at the Regimental Surgeon’s office, where I learned about the complexities of the mother of all physical exams: the vaunted Final Physical.  It is the mother of all examinations because it is no simple or cursory survey, but instead an inexorably thorough inquisition of one’s bodily health and mental condition that left nothing uninspected.

It is for good reason, as I learned from the good surgeon.  My final physical serves as the last chance for me, the soon to be departed from the Marine Corps, to avail myself of military medicine and fix those things that had heretofore been unfixed or ignored in typical macho tough-guy fashion.  While the thought of military medicine may make the reader shudder, it really isn’t bad- in fact it is very good, because military health care providers are well resourced and have had a lot of real world practice over the last decade of war.  The perceived problem with it stems from poor management and care several decades ago- problems that have long been corrected.  The point to the physical was to get me into the best shape possible  before showing me the door, whereupon the Veteran’s Administration would take up the responsibility for my health and wellbeing.  I will write more about the VA later, but suffice it to say that the surgeon’s description of the process made me a believer in the process.

“It’s up to you, sir,” he said, “but you’d be foolish not to take advantage of everything you can.  It’s free, and you have the time to take care of anything that may crop up.”

A wise man, that surgeon.

“You would be smart to contact every [health care] provider that you have seen in the last few years.  They will re-evaluate your condition and record it in your health records.  That will help you in the long run, especially with your disability claim,” he continued.

Disability claim?

Visions of walking canes, wheelchairs, and blue parking spaces rocketed through my head.

He saw my look of horror and chuckled.

“You’ve been in for a long time,” he said as he flipped through my medical record, “your knees are bad, your ankle is bad, your feet are a mess….”  He trailed off as he continued to review my case.  “You are going to be rated with some disabilities, and it is important that the ratings are done correctly.  Don’t worry about it.  It’s a rough life being a Marine, and you are going to be evaluated to make sure that you are taken care of.  Here’s my number.  If you have any problems, have them give me a call.”

As Indiana Jones said to Marion in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”:  It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.

With a firm handshake, I left his office with my records in one hand and a newly printed checklist in the other.

The checklist was very thorough.  It ranged from lab work (shots anyone?  A vial or two or seven of blood for testing?) to audiograms for my artillery-assaulted ears (What? What did you say?) to an EKG to make sure my ticker still ticked and a chest x-ray to look at my ribs or something else that is equally important.  How was I going to get any of this stuff taken care of?

In true Navy fashion, I had not walked ten feet before a motivated and professional Petty Officer took pity on me and beckoned me to the counter.  “Hi, sir!  Lemme see that,” he said as he pointed to my checklist, “we’ll get you squared away.”

And he did.  With the dexterity of the queen of the typing pool and the suavity of a Tiffany Jewelry salesman he typed, called, cajoled, and printed appointment after appointment for me.  Within ten minutes he had teed up meetings with specialists and medical providers across the base.  Not only did he hit the basic requirements, but also those specialty clinics and providers that I had seen over the last few years- orthopedics for my feet, physical therapy for my knees, optical for my eyes, audiology for my ears….and so on.  With a smile and a cheery “here you go, sir!” he handed me a sheaf of appointment reminders and turned back to his duties.

That’s why Navy medicine is great- they really bent over backwards to make sure I was taken care of.  I have never seen anything like that at a civilian HMO, that’s for sure!  I looked over the appointment reminders and was surprised at just how long it was going to take to knock this final physical out- all told it was going to take over three months to hit all of my appointments.  Three months!  Yikes.  Navy medicine may be helpful, but it isn’t particularly speedy I guess- especially for those of us getting our outprocessing physicals.  Oh well.  Fortunately I had the time.

So, with a feeling of great relief (and a little trepidation, to be sure!) I walked out of the Regimental Aid Station and set out on the journey that would be my final physical.

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Start EARLY.  I began my outprocessing physical about four months before I went on terminal leave with the naive expectation that it would be a quick and easy thing to do.  Not so much!

2.  Plan ahead.  Take the time to write a list of all the things that are bothering you or that you have been treated for over the past few years.  Most Marines just “suck it up” and refuse to show weakness by getting medical care, which is good when the Taliban are chucking hand grenades at you but not so good when you are about to get out.  If you do not have your problems recorded in your record then they do not exist.  Simple as that.  And if they do not exist, they cannot be evaluated for disability purposes or for future care in case they get worse.  And they always get worse….

3.  Go into your initial final physical appointment with your notes and with your complete medical record.  You will get out of it what you put into it.  If you blow it off then you will get a rubber stamp with nothing behind it, and possibly lose out on medical benefits or monetary compensation in the future.  The time to be the big tough Marine ends at the hatch to the aid station!

4.  Take notes as you go.  This is important, because you will ultimately have a second set of physicals with the Veteran’s Administration to determine your disability rating.  If you forget what the doctors tell you during their examination you can’t pass that information to the VA, which will weaken your claim for benefits.

Closure

Posted by Mike Grice on

Closure can mean a lot of things depending on your circumstance, but it mostly means the end of a relationship.  For me, I had a date with closure at about one o’clock in the morning this past Saturday.  That was when over a hundred of my closest friends came home from Afghanistan, and I was able to be standing in the parking lot as they got off the buses and reunited with their families and friends.  It is one of the rarest things in existence: a timeless moment of pure and unadulterated joy.

It was tremendously emotional as these post-deployment reunions always are.  Fathers met their infant children for the first time.  Lovers embraced after hundreds of days apart and children jumped up and down in exuberant delight as the first sight of their father.  Parents and grandparents hugged their sons and grandsons, thinking of the little boys within who grew up to be the Marines and Sailors who traded their boyhood clothes for the cloth of the nation.  Mothers wiped eyes grown damp with joy.  Hundreds of faces lit up in the darkness of that cold morning with delight in that moment; the blissful radiance of pure happiness erased the months of separation, the sleepless nights, and the loneliness that only those separated by wartime can understand.

The jocundity engulfed everyone there, and for me it held an even more special meaning.  As I wrote a few paragraphs back, the chilly morning held for me the last bit of closure that I needed before truly closing the door on my military career.

It was closure because not long ago the busloads of Marines and Sailors who returned from combat had all been under my charge and their training and preparation for their trip to fight the Taliban was my responsibility.  I had been their Commanding Officer for the two years or so leading up to their deployment, and had led them in Afghanistan the year before.  Although the leaders of the unit worked together to make sure that every Marine and Sailor was ready to fight, it was my duty as the CO to ensure that they were ready.  It was also my burden each and every day that they were in harm’s way: even though I was no longer a member of the command, their ability to fight and their readiness to survive the rigors of combat was my final duty.

We had trained together, and we trained hard.  From the bleak and blistering Mojave desert to the the windy plains of Oklahoma to the frigid tip of northern Scotland we had run through the gamut of challenges that prepare a man to fight.  We ran countless miles and hiked under staggering loads.  We practiced airstrikes, artillery fire missions, and hand to hand combat.  We planned and executed missions aboard attack helicopters and prepared to put tourniquets on shattered limbs.  Month after month of aggressive training made the unit keenly ready to fight, and three weeks before they left I handed the mantle of command to my successor.

It wasn’t because of anything more than my time in command was up.  My successor, appointed as I was by the Commandant of the Marine Corps, eagerly took hold of the reins of command with a level of enthusiasm that countered my reticence to hand them over.  All good things come to an end, and in my case it was the demise of the best job that I had ever been fortunate to have.

The change of command and my subsequent transition did not bring my emotional tie to the unit to an end, however.  The seven months that they were in combat were seven long months for me as I checked the news every day to see what was going on in Afghanistan, read casualty lists hoping not to see a familiar name, and listened in on conversations to hear how thing were going “in Theater”.

This past Saturday morning untied the knot that had been lying in the pit of my gut since they left in the summertime.  Although not everyone made it to the reunion in the parking lot, they all came home alive- and with their return my duty was complete.  For each Marine and Sailor and for every father, mother, wife, child, and friend their home brought closure to their absence.  As for me, it brought an immense feeling of satisfaction, relief, and closure too- closure for the time I was honored to stand with them as their leader and closure for my career as well.

Saturday, December 10th marked the end of 1st Air Naval Gunfire Liaison Company’s deployment.  December 10th is particularly significant for me personally as well because 27 years before on that very day I enlisted in the Marine Corps.  I had no inkling on 10 December 1984 that I would be standing on a cold parking lot watching such a joyous reunion exactly 27 years later, but I am glad that I was there.  It brought me something priceless: a satisfying sense of closure to my life as a Marine.

Why I write

Posted by Mike Grice on

Today’s post is a little different.  It really doesn’t have much to do with transition but rather with something else, namely why I write.  Writing has become a significant part of my life even though I never really intended it to become so important.  Oddly, I have found writing to be a metaphor of sorts for life in general and it has become interwoven with my shift from one life to another, so I take it back.  This post is about transition after all.

I am often asked why I write.  It is a good question, because I had never really considered myself to be a “writer”.  Instead, I considered writing as an adjunct to whatever I happen to be doing; writing efficiency reports on subordinates, preparing awards to recognize the deserving, or as a necessary evil that is part and parcel of staff work.  Writing was part of being an officer of Marines.

All officers, by their very status, are required to write.  The Marine Corps’ system of performance evaluation centers around the concept that officers write reports about their subordinates, with those reports requiring a concise articulation of what is expected of them as well as how they perform.  The rules for writing such reports are stringent in an effort to limit excessive hyperbole or damnation by faint praise.  It is a pretty good system, which a decade ago replaced a longstanding Fitness Reporting scheme that had become hopelessly inflated and largely useless.

A key component of writing reports and awards and such is the ability to do the simple things that my elementary school-aged kids are learning now; things like grammar, spelling, and format.  As a junior officer I never really paid much attention to my writing; it was a necessary evil and part of my profession.  I did the best I could to produce something good enough to get the job done and survive the red-penned review of the XO (the unit’s second in command — usually a crotchety senior officer with a perennially bad attitude whose sole joy in life is torturing young officers who would rather guess at the spelling of an arcane word than actually consult a dictionary).

After many pointed and painful one sided conversations in which the XO pithily acquainted me with spell check and a thesaurus I learned to write reasonably well.  Good thing, too, because I wrote a lot.  Between the administration of leadership (fitness reports, or “fitreps”, awards, formal counseling statements and the like) and the military orders compiled for training exercises I often wondered if I had joined the Marine Corps or a typing pool.  I produced reams of paper with which I suppose I could bury the enemy if I met him in battle, and if it came to hand-to-hand combat I could inflict the agonizing death of a thousand paper cuts.  Maybe I could drown him in printer ink or blind him with a cloud of toner?  Dunno.

Anyhow, I learned to write.  Over time I learned the importance of good writing and the impact it can have on a Marine’s career.  A well written evaluation may well mean a promotion for a subordinate, and a poorly scribed eval may likewise cost him or her a chance at advancement.  Better writing also meant less work in the long run as quality documents require a lot less editing and painful revision at the behest of the angry XO.

So I became pretty good at the administrivia of the Marine Corps; my fitreps and awards would stack up with the best of them.  It wasn’t until I attended Amphibious Warfare School (“AWS”-a year long Marine Professional Military Education school) that I was introduced to writing beyond the requirements of my job.

As a student in AWS we were required, among other things, to write.  Not just operational orders, but essays and research papers as well.  It was in many ways like being back in college, except that we occasionally got to go the field and blow things up.  We became ardent students of our craft, and a big part of our studies was to write about it.

My Faculty Advisor (the den daddy for a dozen or so of us know-it-all captains) was then Major Bryan P. McCoy, who was one of the most professional and knowledgeable officers I have ever known.  He was a taskmaster and accepted nothing that wasn’t done to the fullest extent, and that included the papers that we wrote.  He was a good writer to boot, and he mentored us all on how to become better.  By the end of the year we had written and submitted countless revisions of numerous papers, and with each transaction I learned more and more about writing.  By the end of the school year I had produced a half-dozen or so academic writings, and to my surprise Major McCoy and other members of the school staff recommended that I try to get a few of them published in our professional military journals.

That was pretty heady stuff!  I was (and still am) an avid reader of military periodicals such as the Marine Corps Gazette and the Naval Institute’s Proceedings, but I always considered those articles to be written by intellectuals who lived in an ivory tower who were somehow anointed with the privilege of publication.  How wrong I was.  I submitted an article about logistics to the Gazette and another about the organization of the Marine Corps to Proceedings.  Lo and behold — a month or so later I received letters from both journals accepting my submissions for publication.  I couldn’t believe it!  A few months later my first article appeared, and with the first sight of my name in the byline I became a writer.  (I also became more acquainted with the process that is publication, as  one of those first articles was accepted for publication but never actually went to press.)

Fast forward over a decade and I have been published in a half dozen magazines and journals and even churned out a book.  I found that I enjoy writing, and it has become a part of my life.  What began as a part of my job has fully transcended my occupation to become not just a hobby that I enjoy doing but also a big part of my life.  I find myself pondering work and life and family and then writing about it.  The best part is that I enjoy writing immensely, and the fact that so many people read what I have written is very rewarding.

So that’s why I write.  It helps to have something to say, and fortunately I do.  Thanks for reading!

Checking out (4), or doing my best Captain Jack Sparrow impression

Posted by Mike Grice on

So what do Captain Jack Sparrow and a Marine checking out of his unit have in common?  They both want the same thing: to follow the map all the way to the end and uncover the treasure that lies waiting there.  The treasure is different, but the goal is the same.  Jack Sparrow wants what his heart most desires (usually accompanied by rum) and a Marine wants something equally as important; the final signature on his checkout sheet.

Just as the “X” that marks the spot where pirate treasure always seems to be buried the final signature on the checkout sheet marks the spot where a Marine can officially take the form to his administrative section and turn it in.  Once turned in, the Marine receives that most special and treasured document- his official set of orders that will take him into retirement.

But before you can go ashore for the last time you must first obtain that last and most important signature.  Before the holder of the sacred pen will scribe his or her mark on your sheet you must get all of the other signatures first….and therein lies the rub.  Just as Jack Sparrow must endure adventure after adventure to find the buried chest-o-gold, so must a Marine follow the twists and turns of the map that is the checkout sheet.

My case turned out to be a little unusual.  Most Marines check out of the unit they have served in for a few years on their way out the door, which makes sense.  For me, though, things were different.  I had turned over command at the start of the summer, and had several months between leaving the best job I ever had and departing active duty.  While in charge there was no time to start my transition, so I put off all of the things that I needed to do until I had passed the mantle of command to my successor.  Immediately after turning things over I left the building (much like Elvis, I suppose) and headed out to the higher headquarters unit where I would perform my outprocessing.

The difference between the two is pretty astounding.  Being the commanding officer of a Marine Corps unit is undoubtably the greatest honor an officer can be entrusted with, and it comes with some pretty nice perks.  One perk in particular makes the whole business of checking in and checking out pretty simple- the Marines in the unit bend over backwards to make sure that everything the CO could possibly need is done as quickly and efficiently as possible.  In a previous post I lamented about the drudgery of turning in my equipment- that drudgery was a function of no longer being in command.  As a commander I had only to mention something and it would magically happen.  Take my unit issued equipment for example.  One of the mounds of gear I used overseas was specific to the unit that I commanded- we were fire supporters, so we had special binoculars, laser range finders, infrared target designators, and a host of other neat widgets that we got to lug around the battlefield and use on the Taliban.  Anyhow, as the CO I had only to mention that I needed to turn the stuff back in and within an hour a couple of Marines showed up at my office and took it all away.  No lines to stand it, no annoying paperwork to get signed, no arduous accounting for each item- it just happened.  Kind of the opposite of Christmas, with the jolly Marines of the Supply and Armory sections taking away my mountains of gear and leaving me with a lot less to worry about.

Contrast that with being warehoused in the headquarters unit.  Nobody knew who I was, and nobody really cared.  I was just another Marine with a checkout sheet, and the fact that I was a senior officer was interesting but largely irrelevant.  There were rules to follow, places to go, and specific hours to go there.  No jolly elves here.

I did, however, have the tool to get me through the checkout process- my checkout sheet.  So, just as intently as Captain Jack Sparrow followed his chart I turned to and started working my way down the list.

There are some low hanging fruit on the list as well as some annoyingly difficult places to go as well.  Being a creature of habit (and in no particularly huge rush) I started with the fruit that was hanging lowest and closest; that fruit being the various offices and buildings around the in and around the headquarters.  A quick gander at the checkout sheet revealed about a half dozen offices just down the hall and up the stairs from where I was standing, so off I went.  The operations section ensured that all of my required training was complete (not that I need anything special on the way out the door) and to my great relief the legal section confirmed that I wan’t pending a court martial.  The Substance Abuse Control Officer (SACO) confirmed that my most recent urinalysis was clear of drugs (good thing they don’t check for gin and tonic) and the Family Readiness Officer happily stamped my sheet after a nice chat.  Things were progressing nicely!

So much for low hanging fruit.  Time to work my way up the tree.

I tracked down the Uniform Victim Advocate.  I don’t know what that person does, really, but without obtaining the red squiggle from the official pen of the UVA office I would be stuck.  So, after a quick “Hello- can I get your autograph?” followed by the scratch of a pen on my sheet and a  “Sure, have a nice day!” I left none the wiser as to the purpose of that particular office.  I wandered across the camp to the armory and supply sections, where I waited until the time listed on the signs for checking out (at lunch until 1300!), and upon their return from the chowhall (or Subway) I queued up and after a few minutes racked up a few more stamps and squiggles on my sheet from the largely bored Marines who were the keepers of the sacred stamps and pens.

Higher up the tree I climbed.  Jack Sparrow had nothing on me!  I chased security specialists down to turn in my “secret” access badge and get them to ink my paper.  I snuck into the Commanding General’s wing to garner the mark of the Chief of Staff.  I drove across base to turn in the gas mask that I had (thankfully!!!!) never used outside of annual training.  I sat in the dentist’s chair for my final checkup and was poked and prodded next door at the Group Aid Station for my final physical.  I met with the system administrator and turned off my email accounts.  I met the mail clerk and completed a forwarding address card even though I had never received any mail there  and I knew that I never would, but a checklist must be followed and the mail clerk to his credit was adamant.

On and on it went.  Days turned into weeks, but before the weeks could turn into a month I finally obtained each and every stamp, mark, and squiggle needed to complete my quest.  Were I Captain Jack Sparrow I would be chortling over a chest of gold with a bottle of rum in each fist- but I was more gleeful than he could possibly be at that moment because I had done it!  My checkout sheet was complete!  With a happy heart and a smile on my face I drove down to the Installation Personnel Administrative Center (IPAC for you acronym connoiseurs) and met with the holder of the pen that would scribe the final signature on my checkout sheet: my retirement counselor.  More on that soon.

__________

Lessons learned:

1.  Checking out takes time.  A lot of time, and the time is not yours but instead belongs to the people on the other side of the checkout counter.  Unless you are a General or a CO you must get in line with everyone else.  That isn’t bad, though, because you meet a lot of great people along the way.

2.  Make sure that all of the prep work is done.  Bring everything you need to turn in and make sure that any required documentation is done ahead of time so that you don’t have to go back several times to get the stamp.

3.  Be nice!  The Marines and Sailors that are on the others side of the counter are doing their jobs.  They will be much more friendly and forthcoming if you are friendly to them first.  The golden rule surely applies!

4.  Follow the rules.  Show up during the times listed for checking out because the Marines and Sailors who man the checkout counter only do so during those times, and if you show up and throw your rank around then you are taking them away from their other duties.  And you will look like an arrogant jerk.

Completing the arc

Posted by Mike Grice on

Stories have arcs.  Good stories do, anyway.  Looking at my career as a story, it certainly seems to fits the mold.

The arc started when I was in high school.  I really wanted to join the military, and after watching every war movie ever made and talking to recruiter after recruiter, I made my decision and committed to the Marine Corps.  At the ripe old age of 17 (and with my mother signing the consent form!) I raised my right hand and swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, and with that pledge I began my new life.

I didn’t immediately ship out for bootcamp, however.  I was still in my senior year of high school, so I spent six months or so in the Delayed Entry Program, which meant that I had signed on the dotted line and was waiting until graduation for my very first set of orders sending me off to recruit training.  The arc started with me raising my hand, and was very slowly rising in anticipation of the big day when I would be introduced to my newest and bestest friends in the world- my Drill Instructors.

Time passed and the big day arrived.  It was June 24th, 1985, and my recruiter picked me up for my ride to the airport.  It was early and dark that Monday morning, and I was trepidatious, to say the least.  With a lump in my throat, I hugged my mom goodbye and headed off in pursuit of my destiny, I suppose, or at least for a shot at seeing if I had what it took to become a United States Marine.

After a plane ride to San Diego and a bus ride to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot I learned that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, or so it seemed at the time.  My first indication that things were changing was watching the gate guards spit on the bus when we entered the base- not an omen of happy times ahead.  I won’t bore you with the details, but the next 13 weeks or so weren’t much better.  I did graduate that September (0n Friday the 13th, no less), so the arc of my story rose like a rocket- I was on my way!

I went to my Military Occupation Specialty school (if you are curious, I was an 0844 Field Artillery Fire Controlman, which means I was the guy who calculated the information that was used by cannoneers to point their guns and hit targets miles away- pretty interesting stuff, especially considering that back then because we used paper charts and sliderules to compute the firing data) and upon graduation joined my reserve unit.  I was there for a long time as I worked my way through college.  Ultimately, I decided that I liked this Marine Corps thing and raised my right hand again- this time to commit myself to the arduous and rigorous opportunity presented by Officer Candidate School.

In a serious case of deja vu a different recruiter picked me up before different dawn, and I was just as nervous as I had been riding the airport years earlier.  After a very familiar plane ride and introduction to a new set of newest and  bestest friends I found myself on the miserable hamster wheel that is Officer Candidate School.  I again wondered what I had gotten myself into and wondered just how I could get out of it.  Fortunately, I knuckled down and endured along with my fellow candidates.  It wasn’t any fun!  It was much more difficult than recruit training, but that is OK.  It should be, because as Thucydides, the revered ancient Greek scholar observed, “he who graduates the harshest school, succeeds.”  If pain and exhaustion are metrics of the severity of the school, then I was indeed successful!  A bit more gaunt and a lot more physically fit after an incredible ten week long experience I graduated and traded my Staff Sergeant’s chevrons for the gold bars of a second lieutenant.  Very exciting!

My arc continued to rise as I had the time of my life.  Leading Marines, learning about my profession (I chose to become an Artillery Officer because I liked my time as an enlisted gunner so much), and seeing the world was a fantastic and wonderful experience.  There were parts that were miserable, but they were far outweighed by the sheer joy of the dynamic and exciting career that I was fortunate to pursue.

That arc continued to rise through peacetime deployments all over the country and overseas, fighting in a couple of wars, divorcing, remarrying, having kids, leading Marines, and commanding numerous units and organizations.  I had joined a true brotherhood of like minded souls who were all headed in the same direction, with the same goals, aspirations, ideals, and frames of mind.  Despite a few very bad days, my arc rose higher and higher as I pursued the career that I truly loved.

As I have written before, however, all good (and great!) things come to an end.  After nearly three decades in uniform it became time to leave.  My arc, which had been rising steadily higher and higher plummeted like the proverbial man in the barrel trying his luck over Niagara falls.  My arc doesn’t look like nice symmetric bell curve, but instead is more like the first part of a rollercoaster- moving up slowly, then more steeply, then reaching a precipice before plummeting back down to where it started.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not complaining because  it was my choice to change the vector of my arc.  The ride down from the peak was disconcerting, but I have learned that life is a lot more like a rollercoaster than I had thought.  My ride down the coaster did not end in a disastrous crash of smashed cars, but instead rocketed in a new direction and is now set to rise up a completely new, exciting, and different arc.  It hasn’t quite started yet because just I spent months waiting to ship out to recruit training after signing my contract I now  have some time after my last day at work as a Marine before my terminal leave expires, which is when I will fully rejoin the world I came from.  As a wise man once said about transition, the next adventure awaits, and I am looking forward to finding the next rising arc that will take me into the exciting future that lies ahead.  The good news is that my hair is getting long enough to stream in the wind as the rollercoaster picks up speed…

I paid up front

Posted by Mike Grice on

Quite a few posts ago I wrote about what it was like to come out of the metaphorical closet and declare that I was leaving the service.  With that announcement my career, which up to that instant was a successful one and filled with opportunities, was over.  I stepped onto the platform and watched the train continue down the tracks with my peers and friends continuing to ride the rails of a dynamic career.  Some went to the Pentagon, others to the various War Colleges, and no small number headed out for places exotic or dangerous depending on which spot on the globe they ended up.

With a sigh I waved goodbye and wished them well.

Why did I do it, then?  Why did I step off the train?  My career was moving upward and I was very well respected in my field. To parapharase Marlon Brando’s Terry from On the Waterfront, I coulda been a contender for promotion and the plum assignments that lay just down the line.  Why leave?

It is a truly complicated question with an answer that I am not sure I have fully come to grasp yet.  There was no singular event or crisis that drove me out.  There was no enticement from the outside world that drew me away.  As I wrote earlier, I woke up one day to the realization that it was time to go.

Leaving, however, is not that simple.  The time I chose to depart the Marine Corps coincided with the end of the best job that I had during my career- being the Commanding Officer of a combat unit in time of war.  I had been competitively selected to lead a highly trained and specialized unit of Marines and Sailors, and to take them into combat.  It was an incredibly demanding and challenging assignment, but it was the most rewarding thing that I had done in my 27 or so years of wearing green.

It is addictive being in command.  I had been fortunate to command five different organizations at various levels during my career, and each time I handed the flag to the next guy was a significant emotional event.  My last command, however, was the most momentous because I was selected to take charge by a board of senior officers and my orders came straight from the Commandant of the Marine Corps- the top Marine himself.  I was one of the lucky few who was able to command; less than one in five officers are selected to do so at my level.  For a career Marine a successful command tour is a harbinger of things to come- promotion, top level schools like the National War College or a fellowship to a prestigious university like Harvard, and the possibility of command again in the future.  For officers who aren’t selected to command, however, those opportunities are less likely.  Being picked opens doors for your career that for others remain forever closed.

Assuming command is also assuming a debt.  A debt to the Marines and Sailors that you lead as well as to the Marine Corps writ large.  After all, if you are selected by definition you are in the top of your peer group.  The expectation of our most senior officers and no small number of my peers is that you, the one entrusted with such a critical and rewarding position, will give back to the Marine Corps and repay the debt incurred by being given the most important job there is- leading our young men (and women) in the defense of our nation.

Since I chose to depart active duty when I handed the flag to my successor, however, no small number of Marines viewed my departure with disdain.  In their minds I had taken the best job but not repaid the debt that it incurred; I had in essence eaten dessert and skipped clearing the table and doing the dishes.  In their minds I was selfish.

I agree that assuming command incurs a debt.  The trust and confidence in a commander is nearly absolute; he or she is entrusted with the lives of our youth and with the defense of our nation.  Command is also a crucible of sorts.  The commander leaves command a different officer because he or she has learned lessons only imparted by such a demanding job.  Many are positive, such as the satisfaction and pure joy you experience when your Marines do well and your unit succeeds.  Many are negative, such as when you or your unit fails.  Command means being on duty 24/7 from the day you take the flag to the day you pass it on- complete with midnight phone calls because one of your Marines is in the brig to meeting the casualty evacuation helicopter at the field hospital when your wounded Marines are brought in from the fight.  Command tempers an officer as a furnace tempers steel, and it is for this reason that the doors I wrote about earlier spring open.

A debt is indeed owed, and I am a firm believer in paying my debts.  In my case, I paid my debt up front.

The debt is one that I have not been alone in discharging.  My family has paid an enormous price throughout my career, but in particular the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have taken a disproportionate toll.

I have deployed a lot.  That isn’t unusual for a Marine particularly in time of war, but in my case the deployments were punishing.  I deployed to war four times in a five year span of time; again, that isn’t as much as some, but certainly more than most of my peers.  I have young children (currently ages 11 and 8), and the things that I missed are utterly irreplaceable.  Little things like my oldest sons 6th, 7th, 8th, and 10th birthdays.  Little things like being gone either in a combat zone or preparing for the fight for over half of my youngest son’s life by the time he hit seven years old.  Countless holidays-Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters, Halloweens- spent in a foreign country while my kids open presents or trick or treat without their father.  The worst bit was coming home from deployment when each of my kids was little, though.  It is an incredible punch to the gut when you step off the bus and your kids don’t know who you are because they were too young when you left to remember that you even exist, and in my case it happened with both of them.  My kids paid their part of my debt.

When I wasn’t deployed I was in the field training or off at some conference somewhere.  My wife, who has an incredibly demanding career of her own, held it together despite my absence.  Parent-teacher conferences, trips to the doctor, homework, sports, and everything else that parents do fell to her, and she soldiered on and made it work.  She paid her part of my debt.

So on that fateful day when I woke up and realized it was time to go I did so with a clear conscience.  The debt had been repaid by my entire family: I had spent 30 out of 60 months drawing tax-free pay for being in a combat zone and my family supported me and kept it together despite the crushing demands that deployments bring.  I do not feel that I have not repaid the Marine Corps for the privilege of command.

I paid up front.

The other side of transition

Posted by Mike Grice on

My last post was the second of three that delves into the transition educational opportunities that I was fortunate enough to take advantage of.  As many of my readers have pointed out it was another long one, so in an effort to keep things moving along without bludgeoning you, my friend the reader, with another lengthy post I present this brief missive about transition…

Transition is a nice word.  It is a genteel euphemism that we in the military use to describe the transformation from uniformed defender of freedom and the American Way of Life back to the population we all came from.  It makes you feel a little warm inside because it is such a nice word; great feelings about what lies ahead, but also feelings that belie just how nice parts of the transition really aren’t.

There are a lot of elegant synonyms for transition; words like passage, conversion, and adjustment come to mind.  Not bad!  You can read these little bits of cheerful lexicography and your blood pressure stays nice and low.  “I am transitioning.  How nice.  It’s a happy passage from my days in uniform to the rest of my life as a civilian.  The conversion should be a gentle one because of all the programs and whatnot that are out there to help me along.  I used to be a civilian, so the adjustment shouldn’t be too bad!  La de da de da…”  These happy terms are usually accompanied by images of palm trees swaying overhead as you lounge on a nice sandy beach with a mai-tai in one hand and big fat cigar in the other.

Other synonyms are not so nice.  Upheaval.  Distortion.  Revolution.  “Ahhhhhhhhh!  What am I gonna do?  What can I do for a living?  I have no idea what to do for the rest of my life!  Aaaarrrrgh!”  Not so good for your blood pressure.  Visions of a future sitting at highway offramps with a cardboard sign offering to work for food compete with a strong desire to see how fast you can make it all the way to the bottom of a bottle of brown liqour go dancing around your head as you reach for the antacids and Alka-Seltzer.

The truth of the matter is that the transitional process is often only looked at from one perspective- the perspective of “getting out” and neglecting “what’s next”.  We all tend to focus on our End of Active Service day- our EAS- because that is when our career carriages turn into pumpkins.  Woe to those of us who don’t get everything done before midnight….but all too often Marines (and Sailors and Airmen and Soldiers) don’t pay close enough attention to the morning after their last night in uniform.  What are you going to do next?  All of a sudden everything on the list is checked off and you have nobody telling you where to go, what to do, and what to wear as you do it.  It is just you, alone with your thoughts and probably a splitting headache.

There is nothing wrong with sitting around in your underwear for a week or so burning through bags of Cheetos and cases of beer, but that isn’t much of a plan for the rest of your life.  What often occurs is just that- the giddy feeling of hanging it up wears off pretty quickly and is replaced with a burgeoning feeling of dread at the uncertainty that lies ahead, not to mention an epic case of indigestion from all of the junk food and cheap beer that turned out not to be as  rewarding as you thought.  Just like a hangover, the after effects are often not quite what you expected, and then it is too late to go back in time and perform those actions that needed to be done months before.  Without a plan things can go horribly awry- just ask anyone who thought that dropping out of high school would lead to a great upper middle-class way of life these days.  You make your own luck a great man once told me, and sometimes we all need to be told what we need to do even though we don’t want to hear it.

As a commanding officer I made a point of sitting down with each and every Marine and Sailor that left my command.  Many were moving on to new duty stations, but many were also getting out.  The conversation invariably turned to what they planned to do with their lives, and the answers were sometimes surprising.

“So, John (or Bob or Bill), what are you going to do when you get out?”

“Go back to school, sir.”  This is the answer I got about 80% of the time.

“Great!  Good for you.  Where?”

There were a million different answers to this question, but they all boiled down to variations of:

“I am going to (fill in the name of college/school/apprenticeship here).”

or…..

“I dunno.”

The first answer led to a great discussion of life after the Marine Corps- the benefits available with the Post 9/11 GI Bill are quite frankly spectacular.  These Marines and Sailors were well on the way to a successful life on civvie street because they had made a plan and were ready to make it happen.

As for the second answer, well, that led to a completely different dialog, which focused on not ending up like the guy with the cardboard sign.  Some were receptive, some just looked at me with the hollow stare as they inwardly prayed that the bad man (me!) would just stop talking…..but I wouldn’t.  After torturing them for a while, I would wheedle a commitment out of them to do something, anything, but to have a plan.

I think it worked.  I still get emails and facebook hits from a lot of them.  It is very gratifying to hear that a Marine with whom I had such a conversation was now well on his way to graduating from college, and believe it or not I actually run into them from time to time.  Most memorably was a young corporal who got out years ago, and long after he hung up his uniform our paths crossed at Disneyland.  He was there with his young family, and was happy to report that he had completed an apprenticeship as and now had a great life as a locomotive mechanic for the railroad.  I also receive appeals for help from those who didn’t have a plan or who found life on the other side of the fence a lot different than they remembered it.  Where some may turn that into an “I told you so” moment, that isn’t helpful.  I do what every Marine that I ever asked for advice did for me- I see how I can help.  That’s what Marines do, and you know what?  It is just as gratifying because you know that some day down the road the person you help today will send you an email or drop you a note to let you know how things turned out.  And odds are that they will turn out just fine.