Lance Corporal Harold Dawson

Prologue: A Few Good Men is a play by Aaron Sorkin, first produced on Broadway by David Brown in 1989. It tells the story of military lawyers at a court-martial who uncover a high-level conspiracy in the course of defending their clients. One of men on trial is Lance Corporal Harold W. Dawson, this is my imagining and interpretation of his experiences leading up to the opening moments of the play. While an understanding of the play or movie is helpful, I believe it works as a stand alone piece depicting the strength and fortitude of the men who fight for the United States military.

My father taught me well, "Be strong son. Be strong so you can take care of those around you." My dad was a man's man, built for hard labor, tough as nails and I never heard him complain. Montana isn't an easy place to grow up in, weakness will get you eaten by something or shot by somebody. From an early age I knew how to fight, how to hunt, how to stand up for what was right, how to bandage a wound, about the shoulder-bruising power in a 12 gauge shotgun, and that above all there was no place greater on God's green earth than the United States of America. Dad was smart but I wouldn't call him brilliant, he could fix anything but wasn't a mechanic by any stretch of the imagination. He was hard on me, took out the belt more times than I can remember. Even with that Budweiser gut of his he still had arms big enough to whup my rebellious teenaged ass. At times nothing seemed good enough for dad but something deep down underneath that sweaty t-shirt and his lumber mill forged biceps told me that he was proud of me. Unlike other fathers to other sons, he never really stopped being my hero. 

Dad fought in Vietnam, his father died on a beach at Normandy; there was never a doubt I would follow in their footsteps. My grandfather was Harold, my father, Warren, daily I carry the burden of their namesake and their heritage. Some kids grow up wanting to be firemen or astronauts; I always knew I'd be a marine. The Corps is in my blood. 

My mother left when I was 3, the only recollection I have of her is the smoke of her cigarettes and the curses she slung at my dad. I had one brother, Gabriel, he had cerebral palsy and died 3 days before his 12th birthday. Living in a small town people knew two things about him: Gabe was a cripple and I'd kick their ass if they said anything about it. One time Gino Papadackolis from 3 doors down called him," your brother the retard." I broke his collarbone. I have no regrets about that. I was protecting my brother, someone weaker than me. I was just following my dad's orders. Just doing what I knew. 

I enlisted when I was 18, only days after I had graduated from tiny Custer County District High School. It was my calling, my birthright. When my recruiting officer arrived in the middle of the night to take me away to boot camp there weren't any tears as dad said goodbye; just a strong silent look and that firm grip of his on my shoulder. All he said was, "Make me proud son." 

Through the blood, sweat and dry heaves of basic training I remembered my father's admonishment, "Keep going boy," he would say, "and when you can't go anymore you crawl - and when you can't crawl anymore I'll come get you." I always followed orders, "yes sir" was something I grew up saying so it came naturally even when faced with wild-man drill sergeants that spat in your face. That attitude, with my refusal to quit apparently showed my superior officers that I was someone of value. I quickly found myself going directly from new recruit to the frontline at Guantanamo Bay. Barely out of high school, I was going to face down other soldiers trained to kill me in one of the most dangerous places on earth. When I called my dad about my station he said one word: "Good." 

My first time meeting Private Louden Downey I didn't think much of him. Just another man in my unit, just another cog in the wheel. But there was something about him that was odd. The kid wasn't the shiniest ring at the pawn shop but good lord he was strong as my Dodge Durango back home. The boys down in Windward barracks would have their own bizarre fun by making Downey do either pull-ups or push-ups and betting each other cans of beer at how many his South Carolina butt could do before his face went from beet-red to rawhide purple due to exhaustion. I let'em do their thing, Gismo, as we called it, wasn't a place full of zoo animals and cotton candy, they deserved some respite now and then. 

I followed orders at all times and commanded the men in my charge with care. As marines, we are trained to have the back of the men on each side of us - I took that to heart. Yes I was their commander and hell no I wasn't their friend but I watched over them as I had done time and time again to everyone I could. There was nothing I wouldn't do for them. If the boys had trouble in the ranks I took care of it. They knew I wasn't a man to cross and like my father before me I would wear out the ass of any man who came upon me. I viewed myself as a guardian, a watchful protector. It was what I felt destined to do. 

It was a morning in June when I got word that I had received a call from home and I should report immediately to get it. I answered, it was unlike dad to call, in fact he never had. It was Louis Murphy, he owned a gas station and was often over to play poker at the old house back home. He told me plainly, 

"Hal, your dad... Last night he had a heart attack... He went home to be with Jesus."

I didn't say anything, I knew people were watching, I just stood there, mind racing, blood pumping, screams I couldn't scream bellowing through my thoughts. Dad was dead, someone had found a way to kill Superman. 

I thanked Louis, hung up and went back to my barracks, the room looked empty, it was about time for the boys to go running. I assumed they had taken off with Bravo company, following orders as I would have wanted them to. When I was convinced I was alone I let out the most agonized yell I can ever imagine hearing. How could this be?  He was my hero and heroes aren't supposed to die! How would I prove myself? Who would I go to? It was as I howled at the heavens that I saw in my peripheral vision someone standing there. It was Private Downey. 

I looked at him, he looked at me. Without saying anything somehow he knew. Maybe it was because he done the same thing when his parents were killed years before. He swallowed hard and said,

"Pardon me sir, the boys are outside waiting to run morning drills. I told'em to wait for Lance Corporal Dawson, he always keeps us in formation sir." 

I looked at Louden, holding back tears I took a deep breath and spoke, 

"Thank you Private, gimme two seconds and we'll be out shortly."

He smiled,"Sir. Yes Sir. I'll tell the boys to get ready. But just so you know sir, Corporal Dunn and Alpha Company are way out ahead of us they've been talking down Santiago's ma, I don't think we should let them beat us to the checkpoint after saying something like that sir." 

I just stared, this kid was something else... he was like me. Like another me from another side of the country, from another world away. I straightened my uniform and said, 

"Thank you Private, we'll run those Alpha bastards down and make them apologize to Santiago's mother now won't we?" 
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Be out in two shakes Private."
"Yes sir!"
"Oh and Private?"
"Sir?"
"You can call me Hal."

From then on I made it my goal to teach and mentor Louden as best as I knew how. I taught him what I knew or strength, of conduct, how to think and how to act. One night when it looked like one of those Cuban spooks were trying to take a shot at him I even fired a round over the fence to show that mumbly motherfucker you don't mess with one of Hal Dawson's boys.

I lost my dad but I carry his legacy. I have his blood and I brandish his torch so that all may know that even if the world should come crumbling down I will be there to help hold it up. As my commanders order I shall do. I may be a country bumpkin from a podunk town in Montana and I may not have much to give but I am a Lance Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. 
For even if this task should take my life I will always be a Marine. 
I will always have my honor.