Out of respect for one of my closest friends, who died unexpectedly around a year ago, I wanted to take a moment to share the real reason I was back in the Pensacola, Florida, area. My good buddy Tony was a man among men who demonstrated a level of courage, truthfulness, love, and respect that is so rare, sometimes it's hard to believe it ever existed.
Tony, myself, and a small select group of other men to include Dan and Dave, trained together for the better part of two years when we initially entered the armed forces a long time ago. Most of the schools were very demanding mentally, some physically, and a few, spiritually. The overall attrition rate was very high and for the small number of us that were able to complete the initial training, there existed a timeless bond. Many of us kept in touch, we attended occasional reunions, etc. Tony and I were more like brothers in the literal sense.
A little over a year ago my phone rang from and unknown number. Usually, I refuse to answer and suspect a robocall but this time was different. I picked up and it was a common friend in the community. He asked if I had heard the news and could tell I was somewhat confused. He then shared with me that Tony had passed unexpectedly a short time ago and he wanted me to know. I was shocked.
Earlier in the year I was adventuring out in Wyoming and Montana, very close to Idaho, where Tony lived. We had talked much about my recent build, Tony offered sage advice, and he was expecting me to stop by and spend time with him and his family sometime soon. Although I was close, I just was not close enough and I was pressed for time since I had scheduled appointments back in Wisconsin and Michigan. Heck, I will just swing by next year and really spend some quality time with Tony, is what I was thinking. I felt horrible regarding the decision I had made.
Fast forward to the call and the days after. Several of us flew out to attend the celebration of Tony's life. Some of the guys were still working overseas and were unable to attend. Here is a picture the day we met at Chatcolet Lake in Idaho a little over a year ago on the day we met to remember Tony. This is were Tony first had a clue that he was born with webbed feet.
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I asked Tony's family for some of his ashes since there were a few places I knew were special to Tony. My good buddy has been riding in my truck with me for a year now and it was time to visit one of those special places, NAS Pensacola. It was there that we attended NACCS (Naval Aircrew Candidate School) and ARSS (Aviation Rescue Swimmer School) on our path down the
NSO (Naval Special Operations) pipeline. NACCS was pretty fun since it involved flight physiology and water survival mixed in with some physical work. ARSS was pretty brutal. Our class began with forty students and the kind instructors were able to convince six to drop even before classes began during an after hours "tour" of the facility. These guys were sadistic and in the community, we refer to this time as
pre-Mirecki. In the end, only seven of us graduated. Breaking someone physically is pretty easy. Breaking someone mentally, takes some hard work with some folks. The ones who were able to graduate ARSS, could not be broken spiritually.
Tony and I were now going to some time on the seawall one last time. I though about the good times and the bad times we shared together. Part of Tony's heart has been, and will always be, in Pensacola. The sun was falling fast and I heard the bugle call...
taps began to play. When my celebration of Tony's life concluded it was literally a few seconds later that I felt the first raindrops. By the time I made it to my truck the rain was falling pretty good. I let Tony's family and a few of the guys know what just took place and they agreed that this was good. His daughter was excited when I said it felt like the angels began to cry as the ceremony concluded. She was sure it was a sign from her father since he loved the rain and would sit out on the porch with her. Tony was an all-weather type of man, that's for sure; a total Mk 1 Mod 0 bad ass who never quit.
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As a bad storm rolled in that night, I decided to stay on the seawall and spend a bit more time with Tony. The wind and rain became so bad that I was forced to drop the top on my FWC and let me tell you, that was not as easy as it sounds. The winds were so high that my top would not drop, it just floated and moved up and down like a piece of paper fluttering in the wind. I had to physically pull it down and latching it was quite the challenge. I pulled a few cushions down after wiping up the wet floor, and turned in for the night. A few hours later I woke up since the wind and rain had become so heavy my rig was rocking. I pulled up a weather report and it talked about a tornado watch for the area I was in. Not tonight. I smiled and let the wind and rain rock and sing me to sleep. Thanks for the show Tony
The next morning the sun rose strong. It was a new day and the waters were calm.
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I made my way down the seawall to find our old ARSS school and was confused since it appeared to no longer be there. It now was grass, sand, and a few trees. I talked to some folks and they mentioned that many buildings, including ARSS, had been swept away during Hurricane Ivan back almost two decades ago. It was an old brick building with a heavy brass bell on the front for those who desired to DOR (drop on request). Tony never, ever considered ringing that bell. That I know for certain. There was also a nice wooden plaque that hung over the entrance which said,
"Welcome to Camp Crystal Lake." Like I said, those instructors will bullfrog legs were some sadistic fellows. Godspeed Tony.
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