[url]http://www.nytimes.com/2001/12/25/international/asia/25MARI.html[url]

For Marines, There's Powder for Eggnog, Tunes on Vinyl

December 25, 2001
For Marines, There's Powder for Eggnog, Tunes on Vinyl
By C. J. CHIVERS

KABUL, Afghanistan, Dec. 24 - The Christmas tree had been hacked from the
grounds outside the shattered front door. The angel on top was made from a
roll of toilet paper. The eggnog was a mix of mashed banana, powdered
milk, water and a dash of spice. The young armed man who offered it, to
his credit, admitted that it did not taste very good.
It was Christmas Eve in the American Embassy here and the marines were
playing host with their usual insistence on ceremony and their flair for
making do. Outside, some paced in the shadows with rifles at the ready and
grenades in their vests. Inside, the rest bowed their heads and waited as
the senior enlisted man said grace.
"May this food give us the strength, the courage, the wisdom to carry out
the missions ahead of us, because this is only the first step in many more
ahead as marines," said First Sgt. James L. Dalgarn. "In Jesus' name, we
pray."
The Marine Corps, founded in a bar in 1775, is older than the nation it
serves. Its members like to think they belong to an ageless institution, a
wandering band of riflemen for whom the battle for Iwo Jima is as close at
hand as the fight for Kuwait. It seemed perfectly ordinary then that its
members, traditionalists all, might gather for a Christmas Eve dinner
inside an embassy lost in time.
The United States abandoned its embassy in Kabul on Jan. 31, 1989, as the
Soviet Union withdrew and the country was considered to be unsafe. These
marines, a force of 78, reoccupied it earlier this month.
Christmas Eve brought the occasion for the first full-scale party in their
reclaimed home, and now and then it was hard to tell if the year was 1989
or 2001. Maps on the walls were of the Soviet Union. The framed
photographs were of Secretary of State George P. Shultz. The phones were
rotary dial.
The VCR movie titles - "Dirty Harry," "Rocky," "An Eye for an Eye" -
captured both the period and the marines' tastes. The same could be seen
in the Playboy centerfolds, which the new marines, reflecting
post-Tailhook sensibilities and hours of Pentagon-mandated sensitivity
training, had soberly taken down.
(One staff sergeant did allow a supervised glimpse, which showed that Miss
May and Miss September remained rooted in their 1980's lives. Miss May
said her favorite performer was Wynton Marsalis; Miss September preferred
Pink Floyd.)
In addition to the period pieces all around, there were traditions as old
as the corps. Senior marines served the junior, doling out grilled lamb
and peppers beside seasoned rice and unleavened bread. In unflinching
Marines custom, the officers ate last.
For all the eagerness the marines displayed in showing off their quarters
and devouring their hot meals, the first since Dec. 21, they also spoke
somberly about Christmas in Kabul and the war against terrorism, which may
yet take them other places.

It began with grace said by First Sergeant Dalgarn, 37, a Roman Catholic
Eucharistic minister from Columbus, Ohio. It continued in the bar, where
the marines spun vinyl records on a turntable that looked circa-1985.
"There is a good thing about being here tonight," said Lance Cpl. Michael
Rush, 20, of Somerset, Pa. "I can reflect about the true meaning of
Christmas and not have it drowned out by Santa Claus and all those other
things. It reminds you that Christmas is about the birth of Christ."
They were 7,000 miles from home, and not a single man complained. Corporal
Rush nodded to the other marines, now between their shifts on sentry duty,
lounging on the floor with their rifles all around. "Most of these guys in
this room right here, I consider them my brothers," he said. "If I was
home with my family, I'd miss these guys."
Music blared from a lone speaker near his head, crackling songs by Led
Zeppelin, Deep Purple and The Who.
The marines also shared their experiences. Sgt. Brent T. Conover, 27,
Corporal Rush's squad leader, described the return to the embassy earlier
in the month, when the marines, members of the 26th Marine Expeditionary
Unit, arrived by bus to reclaim the building and help the State Department
resume relations with an Afghan government.
"We were all tweaked up coming in," he said. "It was like kickoff in a
football game."
There were priorities: sweeping the building to look for infiltrators or
booby traps, posting their snipers up on the roof, spreading concertina
wire and sandbags, raising the American flag.
Then the marines entered the dusty Marine House Bar and did something that
had been on their minds. They plucked the Marine Corps emblem off the
wall, polished it and restored it to its place. "Everything else in here
can be nasty, but never that," Sergeant Conover said.
The artifacts started to appear. The marines who closed the embassy in
1989 left a note on a desktop calendar on the day they were supposed to
leave, and then on the day when they actually did. The entry for Jan. 30,
1989, reads: "History is made. We leave now O.K. Ta Ta."
For Jan. 31, it reads: "One more time."
Nearly 13 years have passed, and the booze in the bar is now finely aged.
While the marines themselves had to refrain from really enjoying it (those
who were not due back on post for at least nine hours were allowed one
supervised Christmas drink apiece), they were generous with their tiny
cadre of guests, recognizing that it was the last hours before Christmas
in a place far from home.
"Hear, hear!" said one young enlisted man, who opened a bottle with a
smirk, politely handed it off to a civilian, and then gave the traditional
mess night toast.
"Long live the United States," he said, before adding the important
footnote, one every marine knows. "And success to the marines."

Copyright 2001 The New York Times Company

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[marines]

Semper Fi...

Ted...