-Joshua Cover
Tools of the Trade “A story: A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterward he turns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle ” ( Jarhead ) .
I have had many jobs in my life. I have been a busboy, a cook, and a maintenance worker for the Eastwood Mall and Shepherd of the Valley. I have had many tools of the trade : rags, spatulas, wrenches, hammers, and a wide variety of others. The one that sticks out most is my standard M16 - A2 service rifle . Many people know the first line of the “The Rifleman’s Creed , ” “This is my rifle, there are many like it, but this one is mine ” (Sturkey). However, there is so much more to it than that. If you continue to read on you begin to realize how important your rifle is to you. To this day , I can remember the parts of my rifle and the smell of the cleaner liquid protectant (CLP) I used to clean it . At first, it was a pungent paint thinner odor, but over time , it grew to be a comfort smell for me , like the smell of your pillow when you first lay down .
Late in July, 2003, I said fare well to my family and friends , and left for boot camp . My family and friends took it a lot harder than I did. I was excited; this is what I always wanted to do. Then I boarded a plane for South Carolina on my way to boot camp . As we arrived at the receiving area, I noticed multiple sets of yellow footprints painted on the sidewalk. We quickly disembarked the bus and jumped into position on the footprints. As if having a large imposing man barking orders , like an attack dog protecting his owner, was not scary enough , I was standing in the same footprints that thousands of honorable men and women have stood on before me . I was standing there hoping I was able to maintain the legacy of honor , and integrity they left behind through their service .
Over the next week , I was issued my gear, signed papers, and took the march to the armory where I was issued my rifle. At first I thought , “ This is just another gun to me. ” That was my first mistake . It’s not a “ gun ” ; it’s a rifle or weapon . Proper terminology is always required in the service . Many things you knew changed in those three months . As explained in Jarhead , “A flashlight was a moonbeam. A pen was an ink stick. My mouth was a cum receptacle. A bed was a rack. A wall was a bulkhead. A shirt was a blouse. A tie was still a tie, and a belt a belt. But many other things would never be the same. ” In the military, every free second was spent cleaning the rifle and learning its parts. I slept with my rifle and ate with my rifle. I never let my rifle out of my sight unless it was guarded; I even had to give my rifle a name. Mine had different names over the years, but for the longest time my rifle was named Sabrina. After those three months of boot camp , it was on to combat training; after that Military Occupation Specialty (MOS) School, and then off to my permanent duty. In the seven months of my training , my equipment always changed and improved as I went along. I went from the ALICE pack, to the MOLLIE gear, to the SALLIE system. Equipment and uniforms changed, but the only thing that remained the same was the rifle . The serial number may have been different, but every inch was the same. It was the one thing that was easy to rely on .
After I got out of the service , I remember my first hunting trip of walking through the woods , looking for squirrels for dinner. The hills where I hunt are steep and tough to traverse. Each one is close to 150 yards straight up, and I have to go to the bottom of one to get to another. Dressed in my cammies with a pack on my back and a .22 cal rifle in my hands , I walked for hours. I was walking a small ridge line on one of the far hills when I realized I was carrying that .22 like I would my M16. My pack was adorned on my back like all the others, and I walked in the same patterns as a patrol. I found a nearby fallen tree to use as a seat, and rested. By now, I had walked for miles, and a break was very much welcomed by my legs. I rested the .22 against the tree next to me, and took off my pack to get out a small snack and a drink ; it was kind of a small reward since I had made it that far . I injured my knees in the service; anytime I am able to walk that far is a feat in and of itself . That’s when it happened; movement in a tree about 50 yards away caught my eye. A squirrel had just run up a tree, and it just sat there oblivious to my presence . Without hesitation , I grabbed my .22 , found a stable shooting position, and fired. The squirrel fell from the tree, and I took a deep breath. In the time of that breath , I had another realization. The stable shooting position I was in was one of the shooting positions I was trained in while firing the M16. I gathered my prize and continued my hunt . Hunt after hunt, year after year , it always remained the same. I believe that is why I have taken an even bigger interest in hunting since I left the service . It’s the only time I am able to do some of the same things I did in the service. I can track movements of my desired game, find the best place to set up an ambush, and then carry it out .
In 2007, I was released from active duty due to injuries sustained during my service . I went back to my old job at Perkins as a cook , because I needed some extra money . I went to work every day after school; I was attended YSU at the time. The job along with my schooling only lasted one semester. There was just something missin g from my life that I could not place. I then got a job at the Eastwood Mall as the foreman for the maintenance department. We did all the maintenance, set up for events, janitorial , and some of the landscaping for the mall. I ended up quitting after a few months for the same reason. After being unemployed and behind in the bills for a few months , I decided to try school again. I attend ed the New Castle School of Trades. I always liked the maintenance field. I enrolled in their Commercial/Industrial Maintenance program , where I graduated at the top of my class with a 3.8 GPA and several certifications to my credit. Afterward, I moved to South Carolina to try to find work in my field of expertise. All of my effort was to no avail; I moved back to Ohio , and back in with my parents. I worked odd jobs when I could, but it was never anything permanent. There always seemed to be something missing in my life.
Moving forward a couple of years, I started a job as a maintenance man for Shepherd of the Valley. We did it all : Painting, drywall, carpentry, electrical, plumbing, heating and cooling, snow removal, landscaping, and just about anything else you can imagine. I even became close with a few of the residents. Every now and then , I would get los t in their stories about their lives , and that usually got me in trouble because I would spend too much time listening.
One of the most common things I could be found doing was carrying a ladder, mostly because I was too short to reach most things I needed to reach. One time , I was carrying around a four - foot ladder while we were doing our quarterly maintenance checks of our independent condos. We walked from condo to condo; it wasted too much time driving the few feet between them. To keep my arms from getting tired , I hooked my left arm through a rung near the bottom and held a top rung in my right hand. I, of course, did not give it a second thought. It was a comfortable and easy way to carry the ladder. We got to one condo, and knocked on the door. When the resident opened the door , she said , “At ease, young man.” Needless to say , that caught me off guard. I politely asked her what she was talking about, to which she replied , “The way you are holding that l adder is how my husband used to hold his rifle, when he was in the Army.” This took me by surprise, and I did not know how to react so I just chuckled softly. I n that moment , it dawned on me that regardless of whether it was a ladder, a drill, caulking gun, or a broom; m y arms still remembered my rifle and longed to hold her again. I realized I had a choice to make.
Although it would seem like a logical choice to make , it was difficult one because it took months of planning and deep thought. I talked to those closest to me to see if they also thought my choice was a good one. We discussed if leaving my full time job was a good one, or if I should just stay the course. Ultimately, I would soon embark on the journey of a life time. I left my job at the Shepherd of the Valley and enrolled back at Youngstown State University , where I am majoring in criminal justice with an emphasis in law enforcement. I knew that this would be the closest to being back in the military that I can get with my disabilities , which have stopped me from being able to reenlist back in the Marine Corps. I knew school would not be the easy road to travel , but I jumped in head first.
Even with the experience I have with New Castle School of Trades and semester at Youngstown State University it is a challenge dealing with an unstructured campus life, because I am used to the structure of the military . However, I think it is well worth the risk. At first I doubted my abilities, was stressed beyond my limits, and did not think that I would make it . So, I sought the help of those who have been and are currently in my shoes. Without their help , I would have never made it through this semester, because I began to lose sight of my goals . School hasn’t been my only tr i a l this year though. I have suffered the loss of some who were close, went through a tough break up, and have had to deal with one of my heroes being diagnosed with cancer.
With all these trials going on it only str engthened my resolve to pursue my dream, and maybe help those around me who may end up in similar situations. I have decided that I want to join federal law enforcement, and anything less will just not do. I plan to fight tooth and nail to achieve my goal in hopes that one day I will be reunited with my ri fle, and know the peace of holding her once again.