Phantom Blooper
10-19-03, 07:55 AM
Bond was formed from Beirut ashes
October 19,2003
DAILY NEWS STAFF
They began digging for those still covered by debris while the air swirled thick with dust around them. The search for survivors continued even as the rubble shifted, raining bits of rock and dirt on the men who dug as if someone's life depended on them.
And when they were through, over 200 good men - fathers, sons, brothers and husbands - would return home, not hanging over the side of their ships, waving greetings to their families, but in flag-draped coffins accompanied by the lonely swell of taps.
Oct. 23, 1983, arrived wet and foul in Onslow County. Gray clouds poured rain as Marines gathered aboard Camp Lejeune to prepare for an emergency deployment to Beirut to assist their brothers-in-arms.
Beirut was a once-beautiful city turned into a junkyard by bombs and street-fighting. It was where a contingent of U.S. Marines and sailors, sent as part of a multinational peacekeeping force, spent their days counting the moments until they'd be on their way back home.
The troops from Lejeune found Beirut dusty and dry in contrast to the cool autumn days they were used to. Time passed slowly in the sweltering heat of war-torn Lebanon until the early morning of that October Sunday, when a terrorist bomb slammed into Marine Headquarters, destroying the barracks where they slept.
An ocean away, the news hit home with devastating consequences. Families found themselves waiting for one of those tell-tale knocks on the door, peering through the curtains whenever a car pulled up, both hungering for - and dreading - word of their loved ones.
Teams dispatched to break the news made their rounds throughout the next few days, slogging through the dismal hours with unpleasant purpose. All eyes followed as they broke the news that so many of the men serving in Beirut wouldn't be coming back alive. An entire community went into mourning.
Time is touted as a great healer. Perhaps that's true. But, looking back over the 20 years since the bombing of Marine Headquarters in which so many members of this community lost their lives, it's hard to be dispassionate about the events that transpired. Hard to reconcile the deaths of so many to a footnote in a history book. Hard to forget the numbers represent living, breathing human beings who were an inalienable part of life in Onslow County and Camp Lejeune.
But while the terrorists who targeted the Marine barracks may have destroyed 241 lives, they also accomplished something they certainly hadn't meant to do: They strengthened the resolve of the American people, and, locally, brought the disparate halves of this community together.
When the walls of the Marine barracks came down, a new one went up. But unlike the barracks' walls, which were designed to keep people out, the new one was constructed to bring people together.
The Beirut Memorial, built to symbolize the unique relationship between the military and the civilian communities in Onslow County, became more than just a monument to the dead. It became a symbol of how the living should see their lives as intertwined. Two halves of the same whole. Brothers under the skin.
It took a disaster to bring cohesiveness to this community, but the unity stemming from that autumn day lingers not simply because we share a common grief. It's there because Onslow County's civilian and military residents united in brotherhood, spirit and common purpose in the days following the terrorist attack, forming a bond that won't be broken. Not by anyone - least of all the cowards who think to terrorize this great nation.
October 19,2003
DAILY NEWS STAFF
They began digging for those still covered by debris while the air swirled thick with dust around them. The search for survivors continued even as the rubble shifted, raining bits of rock and dirt on the men who dug as if someone's life depended on them.
And when they were through, over 200 good men - fathers, sons, brothers and husbands - would return home, not hanging over the side of their ships, waving greetings to their families, but in flag-draped coffins accompanied by the lonely swell of taps.
Oct. 23, 1983, arrived wet and foul in Onslow County. Gray clouds poured rain as Marines gathered aboard Camp Lejeune to prepare for an emergency deployment to Beirut to assist their brothers-in-arms.
Beirut was a once-beautiful city turned into a junkyard by bombs and street-fighting. It was where a contingent of U.S. Marines and sailors, sent as part of a multinational peacekeeping force, spent their days counting the moments until they'd be on their way back home.
The troops from Lejeune found Beirut dusty and dry in contrast to the cool autumn days they were used to. Time passed slowly in the sweltering heat of war-torn Lebanon until the early morning of that October Sunday, when a terrorist bomb slammed into Marine Headquarters, destroying the barracks where they slept.
An ocean away, the news hit home with devastating consequences. Families found themselves waiting for one of those tell-tale knocks on the door, peering through the curtains whenever a car pulled up, both hungering for - and dreading - word of their loved ones.
Teams dispatched to break the news made their rounds throughout the next few days, slogging through the dismal hours with unpleasant purpose. All eyes followed as they broke the news that so many of the men serving in Beirut wouldn't be coming back alive. An entire community went into mourning.
Time is touted as a great healer. Perhaps that's true. But, looking back over the 20 years since the bombing of Marine Headquarters in which so many members of this community lost their lives, it's hard to be dispassionate about the events that transpired. Hard to reconcile the deaths of so many to a footnote in a history book. Hard to forget the numbers represent living, breathing human beings who were an inalienable part of life in Onslow County and Camp Lejeune.
But while the terrorists who targeted the Marine barracks may have destroyed 241 lives, they also accomplished something they certainly hadn't meant to do: They strengthened the resolve of the American people, and, locally, brought the disparate halves of this community together.
When the walls of the Marine barracks came down, a new one went up. But unlike the barracks' walls, which were designed to keep people out, the new one was constructed to bring people together.
The Beirut Memorial, built to symbolize the unique relationship between the military and the civilian communities in Onslow County, became more than just a monument to the dead. It became a symbol of how the living should see their lives as intertwined. Two halves of the same whole. Brothers under the skin.
It took a disaster to bring cohesiveness to this community, but the unity stemming from that autumn day lingers not simply because we share a common grief. It's there because Onslow County's civilian and military residents united in brotherhood, spirit and common purpose in the days following the terrorist attack, forming a bond that won't be broken. Not by anyone - least of all the cowards who think to terrorize this great nation.