thedrifter
12-12-02, 07:13 AM
Submitted by: Marine Forces Atlantic
Story Identification Number: 2000102781040
Story by Sgt. Chet Decker
GREENVILLE, S.C.(Oct. 23, 2000) -- As the images of bodies being pulled out of the rubble in Oklahoma City flickered across his television screen, Paul Rivers stared on in horror. But unlike the rest of America, the images triggered more than disbelief.
They triggered memories, and the nightmares began.
One year later, scores of U.S. Airmen lost their lives in the terrorist bombing of military barracks in Saudi Arabia.
Again, Rivers shuddered, as his past hurried to catch up with him.
He had lost his buddies. All of them.
Rivers didn't just lose a friend in a car wreck or a couple of pals in a freak accident. All of his close, trusted friends died on the same day - 17 years ago - on Oct. 23, 1983, when a terrorist bombing killed 241 American servicemen in Beirut, Lebanon. Two-hundred and twenty of the Marines and sailors were stationed at Camp Lejeune, N.C. and belonged to the 24th Marine Amphibious Unit. The unit was involved in peace keeping efforts at the time of the attack.
The bombing of the Marine headquarters building in Beirut not only killed numerous Americans, it also changed the lives of thousands of friends and family members forever.
Paul Rivers is one of the few who survived the blast and can provide a rare first-hand account of perhaps the most tragic event in Marine Corps history. All said and done, he was one of the lucky ones. According to him, there were 150 Marines residing on the second floor of the building, and 148 lost their lives.
The former Cpl. Rivers was one of the two that lived, and he hasn't discussed the event in 12 years.
He's kept it bottled up, trying to forget - trying to escape.
"I had the whole thing behind me, and it was in the cellar of my brain," he said. "I tried to leave it there forever, and it started getting harder and harder every year."
The list of his murdered friends goes on and on: Lance Cpl. Steven Jones, Lance Cpl. Warren Richardson, Cpl. Obrian Weekes. They were names Rivers had tried to forget, names he hasn't heard in years.
The Oct. 12 terrorist attack on USS Cole that killed 17 sailors serves only to remind Rivers of his own tragedy.
Oct. 23, 1997, 14 years after that fateful Sunday morning in Beirut, Rivers decided to do something he hadn't done since November, 1983 - come back to Camp Lejeune. He made his return to come to terms with his past by attending the annual, heavily-attended ceremony at the Beirut Memorial, which includes a wall listing all those killed in Beirut and Grenada.
Following the 1995 bombing in Oklahoma City, Rivers found his past catching up with him quick. The images on television brought back painful memories he had tried so hard to forget. They were affecting his job, and he would lose his concentration in the middle of the workday. Rivers sought help in a counselor to deal with his pain. His doctor suggested he write a book or try to talk about the tragedy to let it out and perhaps find some closure.
Before returning to Camp Lejeune, he spoke of his plans to bring his frustrations to the surface.
"I'm going to face my demons and try to put the brothers to rest and the ugly thing that happened," he said.
Although his visits to the Beirut Memorial have helped, he has never gotten the closure he wants. As the nation hunts for the terrorists responsible for the attack on USS Cole, Rivers knows he'll never receive any type of compensation from those that scarred him for life and murdered his friends. But he would like to try.
"I wish I knew how to do it, but I'd sue them for 17 years of hell," he said.
Rivers hasn't worked on an Oct. 23 since the bombing. Usually he'll go to church to say a prayer for his fallen brothers, or he'll toast a drink to his pals.
But he'll never forget, and unlike the past, these days he no longer tries to.
"I'd just try to put it out of my mind until next year," said Rivers of his old method for dealing with the pain.
Now 37, Rivers doesn't talk about the bombing or brag that he is one of the few survivors. He doesn't even discuss it with his wife Sandra.
He can recall the moment vividly ... the orange light, the walls tumbling down, the smoke, the dust ... the bodies of his fellow Marines.
The night before the attack, the building was on high security, forcing all Marines not on duty to seek shelter in the basement. Hours earlier, Rivers, who had only about six months left before finishing his enlistment, had returned from a three-week liberty run. The Marines he had palled around with were all killed in the coming blast.
"I stayed down there and fell asleep with everyone else. There were probably about 200 of us down there. It was all crowded, and then I woke up at about 3:30 a.m. and dragged my butt up to the second floor. Where I slept I was right over the lobby area on the front part of the building," he said.
That was right above were the terrorist drove the van through the barriers and detonated his deadly cargo.
Rivers, a squad leader, said he doesn't know why he went up to the second floor where many of the other Marines had already gone. He says it was as if he had a sixth sense to return to the NCO room where seven others were sleeping. As Corporal of the Guard, Rivers was supposed to have been awoken by his men at 6:15 a.m. to post for his 6:30 a.m. guard duty.
The wake up call never came.
He awoke five minutes early and saw that his Marines were still sleeping and no one was walking him up.
"I saw everyone just laying there, and I thought I'd just lay there for a moment and compose myself before I got up," he said.
It was the last decision he'd ever make before his life would be altered and the Marine Corps would lose more Marines (220) in any one day since D-Day on Iwo Jima in 1945.
"It wasn't but 30 seconds, and I heard a VAVOOM, VAVOOM, and all hell broke lose," he said. "The whole place lit up like the sun. It felt like something had hit me in the head. The place had started shaking, and I rolled into the fetal position. That's the way I ended up staying."
All seven Marines in the room with him were killed, including one who was laying about four feet away. Of the two Marines on the second deck who lived, Rivers came out the best.
But his injuries were still severe. Aside from countless scratches and bruises, both of his ear drums were blown, and Rivers could only see out of one eye.
He guesses he was unconscious for 20 minutes.
The bombing was over, but the nightmare for Rivers was only beginning. After regaining consciousness, Rivers found he was trapped under the rubble.
That was when he smelled the burning flesh.
That of his friends and that of his own. A pipe was melting onto his face, but he couldn't move. He wanted to grab his rifle, in the probable event that the enemy would try to overrun the position and kill what few survivors there were - most of which were trapped under rubble.
"I started kicking with one foot, trying to get up and get my rifle. I thought we were getting overrun. I had to get out and find my rifle and defend myself. The wall had fallen on top of me," Rivers said.
Then he felt another human hand touching his. The bricks and beams were being lifted off him.
"It was as if everything had fallen around me, with only little things on me," he said. "I was in my own special crevice, and everything had fallen flat around me. Everything had fallen on everybody else."
All Rivers can recollect is some Arab people in camouflage with rifles slung over their backs were helping him out. They placed him in the back of a Mercedes and sped away. Then Rivers lost consciousness again.
He was brought to an unidentified hospital where he woke up and saw there were other surviving Marines in the beds next to him. A doctor kept asking him, "Where does it hurt?" in broken English.
"There were Lebanese soldiers guarding us. All they could say is 'I don't like soldiers.' They were trying to ask me questions, and all I would give them is my name, rank, and social security number."
Rivers thought he was a prisoner of war. He had no clue what was going on around him.
There was a deceased gunnery sergeant in the bed next to him, Rivers said. His body lay there the three days Rivers was in the hospital. Rivers recalls a Marine with patches over both eyes, who was shaking, screaming and pushing away the medical assistance.
Rivers consoled the Marine, telling him they were receiving medical attention and to remain calm.
Then he remembers a lieutenant stopping by and taking the Marines away. It was then that Rivers realized he was in the heart of enemy territory, and the Lebanese guards were protecting the Marines from further attack.
The Marines were brought back to the Beirut International Airport where the bombing had occurred. Rivers' stretcher was placed inside a hangar where hundreds of bodies lay in identical coffins.
"I wanted the hell out of there, so they put me outside," Rivers recalls.
Rivers and two survivors were flown to the helicopter amphibious assault ship Iwo Jima, where he was awarded the Purple Heart by then Vice President George Bush. Later that evening, he was brought to Germany, and after two weeks of surgeries and recuperation in a Frankfurt hospital, he was brought to Washington D.C., where many dignitaries were awaiting the survivors' return.
continued...........
Story Identification Number: 2000102781040
Story by Sgt. Chet Decker
GREENVILLE, S.C.(Oct. 23, 2000) -- As the images of bodies being pulled out of the rubble in Oklahoma City flickered across his television screen, Paul Rivers stared on in horror. But unlike the rest of America, the images triggered more than disbelief.
They triggered memories, and the nightmares began.
One year later, scores of U.S. Airmen lost their lives in the terrorist bombing of military barracks in Saudi Arabia.
Again, Rivers shuddered, as his past hurried to catch up with him.
He had lost his buddies. All of them.
Rivers didn't just lose a friend in a car wreck or a couple of pals in a freak accident. All of his close, trusted friends died on the same day - 17 years ago - on Oct. 23, 1983, when a terrorist bombing killed 241 American servicemen in Beirut, Lebanon. Two-hundred and twenty of the Marines and sailors were stationed at Camp Lejeune, N.C. and belonged to the 24th Marine Amphibious Unit. The unit was involved in peace keeping efforts at the time of the attack.
The bombing of the Marine headquarters building in Beirut not only killed numerous Americans, it also changed the lives of thousands of friends and family members forever.
Paul Rivers is one of the few who survived the blast and can provide a rare first-hand account of perhaps the most tragic event in Marine Corps history. All said and done, he was one of the lucky ones. According to him, there were 150 Marines residing on the second floor of the building, and 148 lost their lives.
The former Cpl. Rivers was one of the two that lived, and he hasn't discussed the event in 12 years.
He's kept it bottled up, trying to forget - trying to escape.
"I had the whole thing behind me, and it was in the cellar of my brain," he said. "I tried to leave it there forever, and it started getting harder and harder every year."
The list of his murdered friends goes on and on: Lance Cpl. Steven Jones, Lance Cpl. Warren Richardson, Cpl. Obrian Weekes. They were names Rivers had tried to forget, names he hasn't heard in years.
The Oct. 12 terrorist attack on USS Cole that killed 17 sailors serves only to remind Rivers of his own tragedy.
Oct. 23, 1997, 14 years after that fateful Sunday morning in Beirut, Rivers decided to do something he hadn't done since November, 1983 - come back to Camp Lejeune. He made his return to come to terms with his past by attending the annual, heavily-attended ceremony at the Beirut Memorial, which includes a wall listing all those killed in Beirut and Grenada.
Following the 1995 bombing in Oklahoma City, Rivers found his past catching up with him quick. The images on television brought back painful memories he had tried so hard to forget. They were affecting his job, and he would lose his concentration in the middle of the workday. Rivers sought help in a counselor to deal with his pain. His doctor suggested he write a book or try to talk about the tragedy to let it out and perhaps find some closure.
Before returning to Camp Lejeune, he spoke of his plans to bring his frustrations to the surface.
"I'm going to face my demons and try to put the brothers to rest and the ugly thing that happened," he said.
Although his visits to the Beirut Memorial have helped, he has never gotten the closure he wants. As the nation hunts for the terrorists responsible for the attack on USS Cole, Rivers knows he'll never receive any type of compensation from those that scarred him for life and murdered his friends. But he would like to try.
"I wish I knew how to do it, but I'd sue them for 17 years of hell," he said.
Rivers hasn't worked on an Oct. 23 since the bombing. Usually he'll go to church to say a prayer for his fallen brothers, or he'll toast a drink to his pals.
But he'll never forget, and unlike the past, these days he no longer tries to.
"I'd just try to put it out of my mind until next year," said Rivers of his old method for dealing with the pain.
Now 37, Rivers doesn't talk about the bombing or brag that he is one of the few survivors. He doesn't even discuss it with his wife Sandra.
He can recall the moment vividly ... the orange light, the walls tumbling down, the smoke, the dust ... the bodies of his fellow Marines.
The night before the attack, the building was on high security, forcing all Marines not on duty to seek shelter in the basement. Hours earlier, Rivers, who had only about six months left before finishing his enlistment, had returned from a three-week liberty run. The Marines he had palled around with were all killed in the coming blast.
"I stayed down there and fell asleep with everyone else. There were probably about 200 of us down there. It was all crowded, and then I woke up at about 3:30 a.m. and dragged my butt up to the second floor. Where I slept I was right over the lobby area on the front part of the building," he said.
That was right above were the terrorist drove the van through the barriers and detonated his deadly cargo.
Rivers, a squad leader, said he doesn't know why he went up to the second floor where many of the other Marines had already gone. He says it was as if he had a sixth sense to return to the NCO room where seven others were sleeping. As Corporal of the Guard, Rivers was supposed to have been awoken by his men at 6:15 a.m. to post for his 6:30 a.m. guard duty.
The wake up call never came.
He awoke five minutes early and saw that his Marines were still sleeping and no one was walking him up.
"I saw everyone just laying there, and I thought I'd just lay there for a moment and compose myself before I got up," he said.
It was the last decision he'd ever make before his life would be altered and the Marine Corps would lose more Marines (220) in any one day since D-Day on Iwo Jima in 1945.
"It wasn't but 30 seconds, and I heard a VAVOOM, VAVOOM, and all hell broke lose," he said. "The whole place lit up like the sun. It felt like something had hit me in the head. The place had started shaking, and I rolled into the fetal position. That's the way I ended up staying."
All seven Marines in the room with him were killed, including one who was laying about four feet away. Of the two Marines on the second deck who lived, Rivers came out the best.
But his injuries were still severe. Aside from countless scratches and bruises, both of his ear drums were blown, and Rivers could only see out of one eye.
He guesses he was unconscious for 20 minutes.
The bombing was over, but the nightmare for Rivers was only beginning. After regaining consciousness, Rivers found he was trapped under the rubble.
That was when he smelled the burning flesh.
That of his friends and that of his own. A pipe was melting onto his face, but he couldn't move. He wanted to grab his rifle, in the probable event that the enemy would try to overrun the position and kill what few survivors there were - most of which were trapped under rubble.
"I started kicking with one foot, trying to get up and get my rifle. I thought we were getting overrun. I had to get out and find my rifle and defend myself. The wall had fallen on top of me," Rivers said.
Then he felt another human hand touching his. The bricks and beams were being lifted off him.
"It was as if everything had fallen around me, with only little things on me," he said. "I was in my own special crevice, and everything had fallen flat around me. Everything had fallen on everybody else."
All Rivers can recollect is some Arab people in camouflage with rifles slung over their backs were helping him out. They placed him in the back of a Mercedes and sped away. Then Rivers lost consciousness again.
He was brought to an unidentified hospital where he woke up and saw there were other surviving Marines in the beds next to him. A doctor kept asking him, "Where does it hurt?" in broken English.
"There were Lebanese soldiers guarding us. All they could say is 'I don't like soldiers.' They were trying to ask me questions, and all I would give them is my name, rank, and social security number."
Rivers thought he was a prisoner of war. He had no clue what was going on around him.
There was a deceased gunnery sergeant in the bed next to him, Rivers said. His body lay there the three days Rivers was in the hospital. Rivers recalls a Marine with patches over both eyes, who was shaking, screaming and pushing away the medical assistance.
Rivers consoled the Marine, telling him they were receiving medical attention and to remain calm.
Then he remembers a lieutenant stopping by and taking the Marines away. It was then that Rivers realized he was in the heart of enemy territory, and the Lebanese guards were protecting the Marines from further attack.
The Marines were brought back to the Beirut International Airport where the bombing had occurred. Rivers' stretcher was placed inside a hangar where hundreds of bodies lay in identical coffins.
"I wanted the hell out of there, so they put me outside," Rivers recalls.
Rivers and two survivors were flown to the helicopter amphibious assault ship Iwo Jima, where he was awarded the Purple Heart by then Vice President George Bush. Later that evening, he was brought to Germany, and after two weeks of surgeries and recuperation in a Frankfurt hospital, he was brought to Washington D.C., where many dignitaries were awaiting the survivors' return.
continued...........