Eulogy for Captain McKenna

Written and delivered by Sergeant Derek McGee, USMC

Time heals all wounds.  That’s what they tell us anyway. Is it true?  I don’t know.  But I sincerely hope there is some substance to it, and that someday, not tomorrow, probably not in time for Christmas, but someday, the straps will loosen and we’ll all set down this grief were humping (hiking with a pack) around now, and be able to look back, with nothing but smiles, maybe over a couple of cold beers, and reflect on two fine men and the remarkable time we spent with them here in these harsh, distant lands.

Now I can’t say if Captain McKenna truly cared about this battered town (Fallujah) that lies a click (Kilometer) to our South, though his actions certainly make me think he did.  Saving the good guys and killing the bad ones may have been a perk for him; but that’s not really why he came.  And it wasn’t for the money, or the glory.  It wasn’t that he had something to prove.  He came because he saw what I see now. . .you.  (Pointing) Cpl Scuitto. . .Cpl Vaccaro. . .Cpl Elwell. . .Lcpl Figiel. . .all of you.  He saw your hands go up.  He saw Lcpl Glover’s hand go up.  He saw us. Young men, some a little older, some still boys, raising our hands and volunteering to head off into the unforgiving embrace of war, and he knew we needed a leader: to weld us together, train us hard, unleash us on the enemies of America, and then bring as many of us home as possible.

Being a PLT commander is a colossal undertaking and with it comes a pressure that quickly exposes the weak.  Few choose to accept it, fewer actually do it well.  Capt McKenna did both.

As I get older- and I’m sure it’s the same for everyone- I find that it gets harder and harder to find genuine role models.  The bar rises.  Some of you Gentlemen here know what I’m talking about, most, probably don’t.

Many Marines will grow to be wrinkled old curmudgeons, ripping Winstons (Smoking Cigarettes) and sneaking whiskey when their grandkids aren’t looking, and many will get there without ever having had the opportunity to serve with a role model of Capt. McKenna’s caliber.  .

Whether you led a squad or were a boot PFC (fresh out of boot camp) still trying to find your way around the SAW (Machine Gun) that was tossed in your lap, you could talk to him about anything; be it how to call for fire (Request Mortars) or how to best enjoy a night in New Orleans.  For most things Captain McKenna was the man to talk too, for other matters his evil twin Earle was the go to man.

Capt McKenna never tolerated BS.  So I won’t try to sell you that he was perfect.  Who is?

He often talked of administering vigilante justice and losing his Irish temper, though I never saw him raise his voice in anger.  When something didn’t go as planned he would simply say, “That will not happen again.”   And it wouldn’t.

Capt. McKenna gave the impression that he was fanatical about cleanliness.  I say “gave the impression” because sources have recently come forward and alleged that maintenance of his living quarters was never a priority.  Nonetheless, he once confided that if he was captured alive by the enemy, he would resist all manner of tortures, but if they took his toothbrush away he would tell them everything.  
 “Mort you’ve got rust on your rifle,” he once said; which in and of itself wasn’t at all odd.  That it was during a firefight on route April, though, made it a tad out of place.

One day, out of the blue, he demanded, with an admirable zeal, that the COC (Combat Operations Center) be kept professional-looking at all times.  From that day on he would hiss, actually let forth a disapproving hiss, if you read a magazine over the map table or broke any one of the many rules that suddenly appeared posted, with all the authority that comes when something is printed.  Yet, there always seemed to be cookie crumbs dotted about this revered map table when he was on duty.  When confronted with this bit of obvious, yet I suppose excusable hypocrisy he would say, through chipmunk cheeks, “I eat these cookies so you don’t have to.”

He sipped Diet Pepsi constantly despite a hypersensitivity to caffeine.  Sometimes I found him at strange hours in a mental state that I would describe, lacking the preferred medical nomenclature, as giddy.  1 or 2 Diet Pepsis, maybe 3 if your parched, that’s fine.  But a dozen, well that’s just abuse.  I came to suspect that the depth of his Diet Pepsi stash correlated with his often spontaneous decision that the PLT needed a trip to the PX.

Capt McKenna was not afraid of going over the top, really taking something as far as it could go.  After finding some ammo hidden in a crevice along the top of a cement wall Capt. McKenna charged ran up, sledge hammer in hand, punched a hole through the cement, then began enlarging it until it looked like the Kool-aid guy had just slammed through.  If he didn’t get danger close (Very Close) to heat exhaustion he would have taken down the whole wall and probably part of the house.  His face was so red it made his hair look blond by the time he finally dropped the hammer in the rubble.

Wherever Capt. McKenna went, humor hovered nearby.  One frigid morning in Fort Devens he asked for a list of what the platoon wanted from Dunkin Donuts.  I reported back all the regular stuff then added, and a Dunkachino.

A confused, Lcpl Jeram, was ordered into the office and began what became a substantial amount of push-ups.  Every time he pushed up “Dunka;” every time he dropped down, “chino.”  As I was leaving I heard a labored, “Dunka-Chino, Dunka-Chino.”  Over that an admonishing, though paternal “You realize I can’t have my warriors drinking something with a fruity name like, Dunkachino.  People will think you take it in the. ”  “Dunka-Chino” “Dunka-Chino”

His advice on women was succinct, always the same, usually right on the money.   “Dump her.  She’ll screw your head up.”  I bet I am not the only one here who wishes they had followed that astute tidbit when we were still stateside?

Capt. McKenna defended his Marines .  .  .even when we were wrong.  And he listened .  .  .most of the time.

Only once did he dismiss, entirely, an earnest request from one of his squad leaders.  Lcpl Glover was sprawled out, face-down in the road as a barrage of gunfire roared unabated from the north and the south.  Sgt. Kiendzior yelled to Capt. McKenna, asking him to hold tight, wait for the up-guns and vehicles to arrive- before going to the downed Marine.  It is hard to hear over the deafening cacophony created by the blasts of gases escaping from muzzles, the cracks of bullets as they pass over head, the thuds of lead rounds chipping away at brick and concrete, the concussion of grenades landing in the distance, and the buzz of quickened, staccato voices flooding the radio.  Despite all this, Capt. McKenna heard Sgt. Kiendzior, but he could not comply.

One thing common to all forms of life, from the flies that travel so effortlessly from the chow vats to the port-a-johns, and back again, to you and I; one thing common to us all, is an unshakable desire for self-preservation; to go on living.  We’re born with it, and eventually, we die with it.  The ranks of those, whose love for their fellow man is so great that they can, for a moment, forget about their own life to save another, are paltry thin.  Captain John McKenna stands proudly at the front of those thin ranks.

A good man leads, but a great man builds leaders as well.   The truest testament to Capt. McKenna’s leadership came, not while he lived, but after he had fallen.  It came when his PLT, held together and kept going after its Commander went down.  That right there tells the whole story of his leadership.  If Captain McKenna had been able to witness his PLT, carrying on, returning fire, and suppressing the enemy, just as we should, just as he taught us, it would have been, without a doubt, his proudest moment. 

So what now?  We lick our wounds, tuck away that feeling of loss to be fully realized some later day and we go on.  That’s what Marines do. 
But I promise you this.  Until the day comes, when the last man from 3^rd Platoon, finally gives in to old-age and passes away, until that day comes, the indelible memory of Captain John J. McKenna IV, his strength of character, his guidance, his outrageous Irish carrot-top, and his goofy Diet Pepsi-swilling smile, will live on in those of us fortunate enough to have served under and with him.  Semper Fidelis.

This eulogy was delivered at a memorial service in Fallujah, Iraq on August 25, 2006. Sgt. McGee was one of Captain McKenna’s squad leaders.