thedrifter
05-26-06, 08:05 AM
After crucible of war, a friendship sustains them
RUBÉN ROSARIO
Semper fidelis.''
I know what it means on paper. It's been the official motto of the Marine Corps since 1883. In English, the Latin phrase means "always faithful,'' to both country and comrades in arms.
But it takes two vets like Enrique Monjarrez and Jesse Ortega to put a real face and real meaning to the slogan.
Both are Marines with Minnesota links. Both are sons of immigrants. Both engaged in combat and left pieces of themselves, mental and physical, behind in Iraq.
And both want to remind us all that their efforts, and those of many others past and present, mean far more than a Monday off or a three-day escape to the cabin or elsewhere.
"We should take this time to honor and respect all the veterans we have, both living and dead,'' says Monjarrez, 28, who served six years as a meteorology specialist for the Marines and in its Reserve unit.
"Immigrants like myself, we want to express our thanks to this country for giving us freedom,'' says Monjarrez, who served six months in Iraq and suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and progressive arthritis in his badly damaged knees. "Serving is my way of giving thanks.''
Ortega, seriously injured by a roadside bomb while on patrol, puts it this way: "We sacrificed our freedom to protect the freedom of others.''
The two men did not know each other until a few months ago. They have different backgrounds and views on issues, from the war to the ongoing immigration debate. Doesn't matter. Semper fi trumps all.
"These two men are now like brothers,'' says Monjarrez's wife of two years, Erin Monjarrez, 28, a St. Paul native.
"They started out as children of immigrants if not refugees, beat the odds and then tried to achieve the American dream by serving their country," she said.
Like her husband, Erin Monjarrez is a mentor and volunteer for the Marine for Life program, a nationwide effort helping combat veterans transition back into society.
Ortega vividly recalls the explosion that nearly took his life Nov. 14. He was three months into his deployment in Iraq.
A wiry kid from Willmar, Minn., Ortega has a slyly sheepish grin that reminds one of actor Robert DeNiro. He got the Marine bug as a teenager attending a ROTC-type program in high school at El Paso, Texas, where he was born.
"I was 14, hanging out with the wrong people, but that program got a lot of kids like myself out of trouble,'' he recalls. Ortega returned to Minnesota after graduation and enlisted in the Marines in November 2004.
"My older brother and I have always competed,'' Ortega said of Pete Ortega, 33, a Minnesota State Patrol trooper. "He always challenged me that I was not good enough for the Marines. We drifted apart, but the accident has brought us closer together."
The bomb, which exploded near him while he was on foot, peppered the left side and back of his body with shrapnel. He permanently lost hearing to his left ear and suffered a traumatic brain injury that affects his memory and other mental functions. He could recover from the injury, but must undergo twice- weekly therapy sessions for at least the next two years.
A piece of metal nearly pierced a major artery to the brain. He underwent 12 hours of delicate surgery to remove it.
Monjarrez came to the United States with his parents as political refugees from conflict-stricken Nicaragua during the mid-1980s. He grew up mostly in a suburb of Atlanta and joined the Marines in part because of his childhood experiences with Marines stationed in the seaside port city in Nicaragua where he grew up. As a permanent resident, Monjarrez says he was granted U.S. citizenship the same day he left for Iraq during the first days of the war.
He met his wife while stationed in San Diego. His overseas tour of duty in Iraq was less momentous than Ortega's, but no less jarring. He is reluctant to reveal details of firefights and other incidents.
Both men say transition back to "normal" life has been rough. They deal with sudden, uncontrollable bouts of crying and mood swings. They express disgust and frustration with segments of the community at large, from protests at the funerals of soldiers to bureaucrats unwilling to excuse delays in credit card or tuition payments caused by their war deployments.
"I don't watch the news anymore, and sometime you feel like just stepping off a cliff,'' Ortega said. "But you always stop yourself from those thoughts.''
They lean on each other and other vets when those emotions bubble over, they said.
Monjarrez, who works as a tester of potential military recruits, says the Marine transitional program, which helps link the vet to jobs, education and counseling, "has been phenomenal.''
"If (it) wasn't for programs like this, and the support from one Marine to another, I would think many who come back would seriously consider suicide,'' says Monjarrez, who has become like a mentor to Ortega.
Erin Monjarrez actually greeted Ortega at the airport after he returned from several weeks of recovery at a military hospital in Maryland. She thought her husband could serve as a mentor for the younger Marine, and the two hit it off at a social outing.
"Enrique feels like Jesse is like his little brother,'' she said. Monjarrez has three sisters, one of whom serves with the Coast Guard.
Monjarrez has plans to establish a local veterans support group through Metro State University, where he attends classes in pursuit of a college degree. Both men have loosely discussed the possibility of opening up a VFW-type bar/eatery for younger war veterans in the Twin Cities.
"It will have all kinds of music — reggaeton, country, which I also like,'' Ortega said excitedly last week.
Daddy Yankee and Johnny Cash. It's all good. That's what America is really all about. Semper fi.
Ruben Rosario can be reached at rrosario@pioneerpress.com or 651 228-5454.
to learn more
For more information about the "Marine for Life'' program, call Lt. Col. Benjamin Hermantin at 651-497-0066 or visit www.m4l.usmc.mil/
Ellie
RUBÉN ROSARIO
Semper fidelis.''
I know what it means on paper. It's been the official motto of the Marine Corps since 1883. In English, the Latin phrase means "always faithful,'' to both country and comrades in arms.
But it takes two vets like Enrique Monjarrez and Jesse Ortega to put a real face and real meaning to the slogan.
Both are Marines with Minnesota links. Both are sons of immigrants. Both engaged in combat and left pieces of themselves, mental and physical, behind in Iraq.
And both want to remind us all that their efforts, and those of many others past and present, mean far more than a Monday off or a three-day escape to the cabin or elsewhere.
"We should take this time to honor and respect all the veterans we have, both living and dead,'' says Monjarrez, 28, who served six years as a meteorology specialist for the Marines and in its Reserve unit.
"Immigrants like myself, we want to express our thanks to this country for giving us freedom,'' says Monjarrez, who served six months in Iraq and suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and progressive arthritis in his badly damaged knees. "Serving is my way of giving thanks.''
Ortega, seriously injured by a roadside bomb while on patrol, puts it this way: "We sacrificed our freedom to protect the freedom of others.''
The two men did not know each other until a few months ago. They have different backgrounds and views on issues, from the war to the ongoing immigration debate. Doesn't matter. Semper fi trumps all.
"These two men are now like brothers,'' says Monjarrez's wife of two years, Erin Monjarrez, 28, a St. Paul native.
"They started out as children of immigrants if not refugees, beat the odds and then tried to achieve the American dream by serving their country," she said.
Like her husband, Erin Monjarrez is a mentor and volunteer for the Marine for Life program, a nationwide effort helping combat veterans transition back into society.
Ortega vividly recalls the explosion that nearly took his life Nov. 14. He was three months into his deployment in Iraq.
A wiry kid from Willmar, Minn., Ortega has a slyly sheepish grin that reminds one of actor Robert DeNiro. He got the Marine bug as a teenager attending a ROTC-type program in high school at El Paso, Texas, where he was born.
"I was 14, hanging out with the wrong people, but that program got a lot of kids like myself out of trouble,'' he recalls. Ortega returned to Minnesota after graduation and enlisted in the Marines in November 2004.
"My older brother and I have always competed,'' Ortega said of Pete Ortega, 33, a Minnesota State Patrol trooper. "He always challenged me that I was not good enough for the Marines. We drifted apart, but the accident has brought us closer together."
The bomb, which exploded near him while he was on foot, peppered the left side and back of his body with shrapnel. He permanently lost hearing to his left ear and suffered a traumatic brain injury that affects his memory and other mental functions. He could recover from the injury, but must undergo twice- weekly therapy sessions for at least the next two years.
A piece of metal nearly pierced a major artery to the brain. He underwent 12 hours of delicate surgery to remove it.
Monjarrez came to the United States with his parents as political refugees from conflict-stricken Nicaragua during the mid-1980s. He grew up mostly in a suburb of Atlanta and joined the Marines in part because of his childhood experiences with Marines stationed in the seaside port city in Nicaragua where he grew up. As a permanent resident, Monjarrez says he was granted U.S. citizenship the same day he left for Iraq during the first days of the war.
He met his wife while stationed in San Diego. His overseas tour of duty in Iraq was less momentous than Ortega's, but no less jarring. He is reluctant to reveal details of firefights and other incidents.
Both men say transition back to "normal" life has been rough. They deal with sudden, uncontrollable bouts of crying and mood swings. They express disgust and frustration with segments of the community at large, from protests at the funerals of soldiers to bureaucrats unwilling to excuse delays in credit card or tuition payments caused by their war deployments.
"I don't watch the news anymore, and sometime you feel like just stepping off a cliff,'' Ortega said. "But you always stop yourself from those thoughts.''
They lean on each other and other vets when those emotions bubble over, they said.
Monjarrez, who works as a tester of potential military recruits, says the Marine transitional program, which helps link the vet to jobs, education and counseling, "has been phenomenal.''
"If (it) wasn't for programs like this, and the support from one Marine to another, I would think many who come back would seriously consider suicide,'' says Monjarrez, who has become like a mentor to Ortega.
Erin Monjarrez actually greeted Ortega at the airport after he returned from several weeks of recovery at a military hospital in Maryland. She thought her husband could serve as a mentor for the younger Marine, and the two hit it off at a social outing.
"Enrique feels like Jesse is like his little brother,'' she said. Monjarrez has three sisters, one of whom serves with the Coast Guard.
Monjarrez has plans to establish a local veterans support group through Metro State University, where he attends classes in pursuit of a college degree. Both men have loosely discussed the possibility of opening up a VFW-type bar/eatery for younger war veterans in the Twin Cities.
"It will have all kinds of music — reggaeton, country, which I also like,'' Ortega said excitedly last week.
Daddy Yankee and Johnny Cash. It's all good. That's what America is really all about. Semper fi.
Ruben Rosario can be reached at rrosario@pioneerpress.com or 651 228-5454.
to learn more
For more information about the "Marine for Life'' program, call Lt. Col. Benjamin Hermantin at 651-497-0066 or visit www.m4l.usmc.mil/
Ellie