For years -- forty-one years and eleven months, to be exact -- the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda has complained bitterly about the Colonel's snoring.
She's a very sensitive soul, so the Colonel never really took her seriously.
Besides, the Colonel never heard himself snoring.
A few years ago, the Colonel began to detect that the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was becoming even more sensitive. Her nocturnal activities were becoming more pronounced and increasingly directed at the Colonel.
He was starting to lose sleep.
Where a gentle midnightly nudge had heretofore roused the Colonel from the depths of slumber just enough to cause him to adjust his sleep position to a supposedly snore-safe modified prone position, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was now resorting to an ever so-slightly increased physical pressure...
Whooomp! "Breath!!!"
"Wha..! Sweetie! Why did you just punch me in the chest?"
"You weren't breathing!"
"Whaddaya mean the Colonel wasn't breathing? He'll die if he stops breathing!"
"I know!" The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was clearly concerned with the Colonel's health and welfare.
"Look, Honey, the Colonel appreciates your clear concern for his health and welfare, but let him explain to you how respiration works. Involuntary muscle contractions expand and compress the chest cavity, forcing air in and out of the lungs. There's a slight pause between exhalation and inhalation -- that doesn't mean the Colonel has 'stopped breathing'."
"I know how breathing works, knucklehead! Remember, I'm the one in the family with the real education. You had stopped breathing for a longer time than just a slight pause!"
"Dear, a business degree from Mississippi University for Women hardly qualifies you to make medical judgments."
"Well, a Master of Science in Human Resource Management from Troy State doesn't make you a scientist!" The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was adding educational insult to sleep injury.
"Okay, Babe," the Colonel recognized that the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was clearly not sleeping well and her mood was suffering as a result.
"The Colonel can tell that you aren't sleeping well and it's making you a bit cranky..."
"Cranky! Why, you old goat! You stop breathing for almost a minute and then you make this loud snort and gasp, and it wakes me up thinking the roof is collapsing!"
"Dear, you needn't fear for the structural integrity of the Big House..."
"Knucklehead, a BA in Poli Sci from Ole Miss hardly makes you qualified to make engineering judgments!"
The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's sleep-deprivation driven agitation was elevating the animus in the room and making it hard for the Colonel to keep the discussion focused on the facts. He switched to his tried and true method of marital conflict resolution.
"Yes, ma'am. What do you want the Colonel to do?"
"I want you to go have a sleep study done."
"Yes, ma'am."
A month ago the Colonel spent the night at a sleep clinic in town. The sleep study specialist wired up the Colonel with more leads than an ANTIFA riot investigation. The Colonel quickly fell into a deep sleep -- old infantry habits die hard -- and he was soon dreaming the dreams of a clear conscience...
Okay. His dreams are actually quite disturbing, but that's not important right now...
Suddenly, bright lights and a strident voice disturbed the Colonel's disturbing dreams... "Mr. Gregory! Wake up!"
"It's Colonel!"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Never mind. Man, that was a quick night..."
"Oh, no sir, you've only been asleep for two hours. You have severe sleep apnea, Mr. Gregory, and we need to..."
"Colonel. Colonel Gregory."
"Okay, that's cute Mr. Gregory." The sleep study specialist was clearly in need of some remedial training in military customs and courtesies. "You stop breathing for extended periods of time. We need to put you on a CPAP machine."
"A cee, what?"
"CPAP." The military customs and courtesies challenged sleep study specialist was struggling to pull a velcro-strapped contraption over the Colonel's head. The Colonel was not cooperating.
"What is this velcro-strapped contraption you're trying to put on the Colonel? Just go away and let him get back to sleep -- the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda ain't here punching him in the chest every hour..."
"Mr. Gregory, why are referring to yourself in the third person?" The question was just enough of a distraction that while the Colonel paused his physical resistance to formulate a witty, yet educational, response, the military customs and courtesies challenged sleep specialist was able to slide the velcro-strapped contraption over the Colonel's lead-covered noggin and position a soft plastic cup over the Colonel's nose.
High pressure air was pumping from the soft plastic cup over the Colonel's nose. He opened his mouth to tell the military customs and courtesies challenged sleep specialist that there was a high pressure air leak somewhere in the system...
"Gaaaaaaahhhh! Aaaaraaagh!" The Colonel's open pie hole provided an escape route for the high volume air pushing into his nose and he felt like he was recreating a scene from "The Exorcist." "Aaaooogaaahaarrr! Maaagoorafff!"
"Try to keep your mouth closed, Mr. Gregory, and breath normally through your nose." The military customs and courtesies challenged sleep specialist's calm voice told the Colonel that not only had she not yet grasped the fine points of addressing a senior, if retired, Marine officer; but, she was still completely unaware of the high pressure air leak in the system.
"Iaat's Caaawnuull! Caaawnull Graaawgaawwry!" The Colonel was beginning to gain control over the high pressure air demon possessing his respiratory passages. "Yooovv gaaawtaa haaah praaasssa aaar leaaak aain yooorrr saassstiiim!"
"Try to relax, Mr. Gregory. The CPAP machine's positive airflow will help keep your air passages open so that you won't snore and won't stop breathing. Go back to sleep, now."
"Oawwkayy. Bahhtha waayy, iaaht's 'Cawwnull'."
"Good night, Mr. Gregory."
Funny thing, the Colonel is not only waking up each morning far more rested than before, but his chest isn't sore and bruised anymore.
The other day, the Colonel and his bride -- the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda -- took their evening stroll down to the dock on Lake Brenda to feed the fish. As the Colonel watched his best friend ladle handfuls of fish food pellets into lazy catfish mouths, he was struck by a enormous inspiration...
"Owww!"
"What are you whining about now, knucklehead?" The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is always closely and carefully attuned to the Colonel's health and welfare.
"The Colonel was just struck by an enormous inspiration!"
"Greeaat. Another project. You haven't finished the last forty-six projects you've started over the last ten years."
"What are you talking about? The Colonel has mostly finished most of his projects. Besides, if he completely finishes a project, you'll just start adding your projects to his list, and..."
"Watchit, there, Marine. The things I ask you to do are not 'projects.' They are requirements to keep the house from falling down around our ears."
"The Colonel would hardly call setting up your quilting frame a requirement related to the structural integrity of the Big House."
"Careful there, knucklehead... And, why must you always refer to our modest abode as the 'Big House'."
"To differentiate it from there other dwellings on the property, dear."
"What other dwellings?"
"Well, the cabin, for one."
"Cabin? What cabin?"
"The cabin the Colonel is gonna build down here next to the dock on Lake Brenda."
"Forty-seven."
"Huh?"
"That makes forty-seven projects."
The Colonel paused for a minute, allowed his lower jaw to relax in the slack position favorable to mental calculations, and began counting his projects.
"Are you having a seizure, knucklehead?!?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Your pie hole was hanging open, your tongue was hanging out, and your eyes were rolled back in your head! That's why!" The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was clearly concerned. "You looked goofier than a Mississippi State fan with a traumatic brain injury from too much cowbell."
"The Colonel was counting..."
"Well stop! It's getting dark and I don't want to be out here all night. Besides, what was this great inspiration you were babbling about."
"Huh? Great insp...? Oh! You mean the Colonel's enormous inspiration. Well, it occurs to the Colonel that one of the things missing the most here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere is a family oriented animal attraction theme park. You know, with the price of gas and restaurant groceries climbing through the roof, folks hereabout just can't afford to drive all the way to Orlando to watch Shamu and his siblings and cousins leaping and splashing."
"Wrap up the preamble ramble, Marine. The mosquitos are starting to bite."
"Well it occurs to the Colonel that we have the makings of a first class family oriented animal attraction theme park right here on the shores of Lake Brenda."
"Why must you persist in using my name in reference to this scummy mud puddle?"
The Colonel ignored the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's shade thrown on what will soon become the central aquatic feature in the region's newest family oriented animal attraction theme park and held forth with his vision for economic development of his vast holdings at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.
"So, the Colonel is thinking it is about time these catfish start earning their keep around here. We've been shoveling tons of fish food pellets down their lazy gullets, and..."
"Yeah, about that, knucklehead. How much does this stuff cost?"
"You don't wanna know. Anyway, the Colonel is thinking we've already got these fish trained to achieve vertical orientation in the water column, with mouths protruding above ALL..."
"A L L?"
"Above Lake Level. We got 'em trained to do that to have food poured into their mouths. Seems to the Colonel that we ought to next be able to train them to leap out of the water to get their food. Then we can train them to do flips and spins and tail walks..."
"They're catfish, knucklehead! Nobody's ever trained a catfish to do that!
"Exactly! We're gonna be rich!"
"Not if the fish food bill gets out of hand, we won't. Besides, isn't a catfish brain kinda small? We aren't talking about dolphin or killer whale level intelligence here."
"Seems to the Colonel that's an advantage for us -- they won't know they are being exploited. And, conditioned response is a much stronger stimulus than reasoned intelligence."
"You just made that last part up! Your degree was in political science -- not psychology. Besides, you didn't even go to college. You went to Ole Miss, instead."
The Colonel ignored the rapidly darkening shade thrown and finished with a flourish, "We shall call it... 'Punctatus Park!"
"Punky what!?"
"Punctatus. Ictalurus Punctatus -- the scientific name for the channel catfish."
"You just made that up, too, didnya knucklehead?"
"Nope. Look it up.
"Welp, knucklehead, if you don't get me back up to the big house before dark, you can look up the legal name for spousal abuse."
"Why, my dear, the Colonel would never lay a hand on you!"
"Yep. I know that, knucklehead. But I am not so constrained."
The Colonel has an appointment Monday morning with a patent attorney -- this is gonna be huge!
The Colonel's vast holdings at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere -- known to him and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda as Egeebeegee -- ain't an easy place to find. As the Colonel told a sub-contractor working on renovations to the big house who remarked about the location, "You've got to be wanting to come here. You aren't going to just drive by this place."
Everyone who pulls off of the road through the middle of nowhere and up the long drive that curls around Lake Brenda, climbs out of their vehicle with nearly the same comment:
"Beautiful place you got here."
And then, "Any deer in these woods?"
The Colonel has taken to replying to that query with, "Nope. The elk keep 'em run off."
The response is always a variation on the same theme, "Elk? Did you say you got elk out here? Didn't know we had any elk in Mississippi. Least wise I ain't never seen one."
The Colonel twitches the lure enticingly, "Been watching a herd down by Lake Brenda all morning. You musta drove right by 'em."
"Lake Brenda? Oh, you mean that there little pond between here and the road."
"It's not a pond! It's a lake! Lake Brenda!
"Uh, okay. Whatever, mister.
"Colonel."
"Whut?"
"Not a mister. Colonel. Call me Colonel."
"Huh? Oh.., heh, heh. You mean like Colonel Reb. I'm a State fan muhself. Hayul State!"
"Figured as much, with your diesel pickup all painted up maroon and white..."
"Purdy ain't it. Hayul State!"
"Musta been the diesel smoke that spooked the elk"
"Seriously? Didn't see 'em."
The Colonel reels up the slack in the line and sets the hook, "My elk are really hard to spot. Imported a special breed from Colorado a few years back. Game ranch out there does gene splicing and crossed an especially elusive elk with a hyperactive chameleon..."
"They crossed a eyulk with one of them little fellas from the insurance commercial?
"Gecko."
"Tha's whut ah sayed. Gecko insurance."
Or..., "Any fish in yore pond?"
"Lake. It's a lake. Ponds don't have names. That's Lake Brenda."
"Uh..., okay, mister..."
"It's Colonel..."
"You mean like Colonel Reb? I'm a 'Bama fan, muhself. Roll tide!"
"Never would have guessed, what with the great big A on the hood of your pick-up..."
"Purdy ain't it? Roll Tide! Hunnert and fifty-two Nachnul Champ'ships!"
"You ever even been to Tuscaloosa?"
"Nope, but it's on muh buckit list! Hey, you got enny fish in that there pond? I'd like to bring the younguns out and let 'em fish..."
"No fish in Lake Brenda -- the gator ate 'em all."
"Gator! You got a gator in yore pond?!?"
"Yep. Big one. Seen it pull an elk down..."
"A eyulk! You got elk out here!"
Don't even get the Colonel started on the black panthers and sasquatches...
To the west of the French city of Chateau Thierry, just north of the Marne River, a patch of woods, formerly part of a private hunting preserve, bears the name of the village of Belleau just to its north.
Belleau Wood.
The words conjure, in the minds of those who know anything of the events there 100 years ago this week, images of heroism and horror, symbolism and sacrifice.
Beginning on the 6th of June 1918, and raging for the next three weeks, the battle for the key ground of Belleau Wood -- astride a major avenue of approach for the German army advancing on Paris -- would see horrific fighting, even by the standards of a war already known for its horrors. By the battle's end -- when the commander of the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, Major Maurice E. Shearer, signalled "Woods now U.S. Marine Corps entirely" -- the Marine brigade, composed of the 5th and 6th Marine regiments, had suffered over half its initial strength in casualties, including over 1800 killed in action.
After the battle, the French government renamed Belleau Wood. Today it is known as Bois de la Brigade de Marine.
But this battle, one of the most famed in the history of the Marine Corps, almost didn't happen. In fact, that there was a United States Marine Corps at all in 1918 was in itself a bit of a wonder.
Two battalions of American Marines were raised in late 1775, pursuant to a resolution of the Continental Congress, for service with the fledgling American Navy. Although they conducted an amphibious raid or two during the Revolution, the role of Marines was primarily modeled after that of the Royal Marines -- maintaining order and discipline on ships crewed by very competent sailors, but men somewhat lacking in the order and discipline department. As such they were hated by the Navy.
The Army wasn't all that fond of Marines either. Their existence was viewed as duplicative and competition for scant resources. At the conclusion of the War for Independence, all Marine units were disbanded and mustered out. As a matter of fact, the Continental navy by and large ceased to exist as well.
But, then, in 1796, the "Quasi War" (an undeclared war -- much like those of the last 70 years) with France broke out over U.S. refusal to repay war debts owed France. The Quasi War was fought almost entirely at sea and primarily along the U.S. seaboard and in and around French possessions in the West Indies. During the first year of hostilities the French navy decimated the U.S. commercial fleet. The U.S. Congress finally got around to funding rearmament of an American Navy in 1798 and on 11 July 1798, Congress authorized the funding of a corps of Marines (a little over 800 officers and men) to man the to-be-built frigates and for other duties ashore "as the President, at his discretion, may direct."
The Marines had a new toehold on existence -- one they would hang onto, precariously at times, for the next century. The naval expeditionary nature of the, albeit miniscule, U. S. Marine Corps meant that whenever a scrap broke out anywhere around the globe, Marines were nearby and often "first to fight" -- a unofficial motto that, rightfully, rankled the Army.
When war broke out in Europe in 1914, the Commandant of the Marines Corps, Major General George Barnett, sent several officers to France as observers. As American entrance into the Great War became more and more likely, Barnett seized on the rush to expand the entire U.S. military (from less than 200 thousand to more than 3 million) and conducted a brilliant and aggressive recruiting campaign to expand the Marine Corps, the chief inducement being voluntary service with an elite formation rather than waiting to be drafted by the Army. When General John J. Pershing sailed to France with the lead elements of his American Expeditionary Force, a regiment of Marines sailed with him.
Pershing was not a fan of the Marine Corps, however. He insisted that the Marines wear Army uniforms, and instead of training them for combat used them initially in support roles in the French port facilities unloading ships, and as military police. As more U.S. support troops arrived, that first Marine regiment in France -- the 5th Marines -- and the newly arrived 6th Marine Regiment, were formed into the 4th Marine Brigade and assigned to the U.S. Army's 2d Division. Pershing's low regard for his Marines was made manifest by his placement of an Army brigadier general, James Harbord, from his staff as the commander of the 4th Marine Brigade. So, the officers and men of the 4th Marine Brigade were feeling a bit unappreciated and itching for a chance to prove themselves.
They got that chance at Belleau Wood.
But, wait... the Colonel said something earlier about the Battle of Belleau Wood almost not happening at all, didn't he?
He did indeed. Here's the story.
In March of 1918, the German Army, reinforced with 50 divisions from their now-peaceful former eastern front with Russia (the Russians had overthrown their Czar and sued for peace), kicked off a series of spring offensives in a bid to end the war before the American Expeditionary Force could be full-up and ready to influence the outcome of the war on the side of the French and British. By the end of May, the German Army had reached the Marne River just 60 miles from Paris. There at Chateau Thierry, the Germans ran into the U.S. Army's 3rd Division and were stopped cold. The 3rd Infantry Division of the U.S. Army to this day refers to themselves as the "Rock of the Marne." The German thrust turned eastward down the northern side of the Marne valley.
On the 1st of June, the lead division of the German offensive broke through the French divisions' lines at the village of Belleau and advanced into the northern edge of Belleau Wood. The next day the Germans advanced through Belleau Wood and attacked south in order to reach and cross the Marne. The French army retreated in the face of their onslaught.
The 5th Marine Regiment of the 4th Marine Brigade was the only allied force in the way of the steamrolling German advance. They had been sent the night before to help plug the hole in the French lines and had reached a position astride wide open wheat fields in front of Belleau Wood. The French commander in their sector ordered the commander of the 4th Marine Brigade to withdraw and dig defensive trenches much further to the rear. General Harbord refused, instead ordering the Marines to "hold where they stand." The Marines dug shallow prone fighting positions along a low ridge through the wheat fields and allowed the Germans to advance to within 100 yards before opening up with their highly accurate '03 Springfield rifles. Decimated, the Germans fell back on Belleau Wood.
The French wanted the Marines to fall back on defensive trench works several miles to their rear and repeatedly implored the Marines to do so. In response to these entreaties, Marine Captain Lloyd W. Williams of the 2d Battalion, 5th Marines retorted with a line that echoes still in the lore of the Corps -- "Retreat, hell! We just got here."
Captain Williams succinctly summed up the feelings of all Marines past, present, and future. When Marines get a chance to fight, they take it. No backing down. And, they don't like occupying permanent defensive positions -- it's destructive to morale.
Had the Marines done as the French wanted, the fight likely would have settled back into the stalemate of trench warfare that had predominated the previous four years. The Germans would have swept through Belleau Wood and it would have remained nothing more than a patch of trees for eternity.
But, Marines are a stubborn bunch. That stubbornness in the wheat fields before Belleau Wood meant that the Marines would have to go in and root out the Germans in Belleau Wood.
And as long as one Marine draws breath, Belleau Wood will for eternity be the Bois de la Brigade de Marine.
