thedrifter
09-11-08, 08:40 AM
Marine's Bond With Friend and Mentor Endures
By Matt Zapotosky
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, September 11, 2008; SM01
Michael Thompson was just a corporal in the U.S. Marine Corps when he met Gunnery Sgt. Michael Curtin, a reservist, in 1990. The men, one a police cadet in Maryland and the other a veteran New York City cop, hit it off immediately on the fields of Camp Lejeune in North Carolina as they prepared to be shipped off to Saudi Arabia for what became operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm.
Fast-forward to Sept. 11, 2001.
Thompson, then a first sergeant at the Maryland State Police barrack in Leonardtown, was dispatching troopers to the Patuxent River Naval Air Station, fearful that the terrorists who had just struck the World Trade Center might hit there. For a fleeting moment, he thought about his Marine Corps buddy in New York.
"In those initial hours, nobody had any clue what was going to go on," he said.
Three months later, Thompson learned that Curtin had been killed directing the evacuation of one of the twin towers when it collapsed. He was 45, survived by his wife and three daughters.
Thompson, like many other Americans, will spend today thinking about those who were killed in the attacks seven years ago. He will consider how the events that day led the country into wars. He will reflect on his friend and mentor, who died trying to save others.
"I certainly think of him every year around this time," Thompson said. "Times where I have to make an integrity call . . . I'll ask myself, 'Hey, what would Mike Curtin do in this situation?' "
Thompson, now 38 and commander of the Leonardtown barrack and a state police lieutenant, was 20 when he met Curtin. Having been police officers in their civilian careers, the men bonded as they rode on an armored vehicle during Operation Desert Storm.
Thompson was a new Marine, quiet, confident and eager to glean all the knowledge he could. Curtin was a veteran soldier, a "louder, more gregarious leader" who had no trouble keeping his men in line, Thompson said.
"Just by watching him, I took a lot of stuff that would ultimately help me in my decision-making," Thompson said. "I was looking at trying to obtain all the training, knowledge and experience I could from him."
The men stayed in touch when they returned home, talking by phone about once a year. Curtin, who became a sergeant major in the Marines, seemed to always have a new tale about his heroism, although he downplayed them, Thompson said.
When the World Trade Center was bombed in 1993, Thompson said, Curtin was among those removing floodlights and antennas on the roof of one of the towers to clear a landing site for a helicopter. When the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed in 1995, Curtin spotted the dress pants of a Marine buried in the rubble. He spent the next seven hours removing the body, Thompson said.
A few months after 9/11, Thompson was up late one night with his infant daughter, reading a Marine magazine while he gave her a bottle. That was when he came across an obituary for Curtin.
"He knew one tower had collapsed," Thompson said. "There was someone else that was with him that opted to roll out."
Curtin stayed behind.
Ellie
By Matt Zapotosky
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, September 11, 2008; SM01
Michael Thompson was just a corporal in the U.S. Marine Corps when he met Gunnery Sgt. Michael Curtin, a reservist, in 1990. The men, one a police cadet in Maryland and the other a veteran New York City cop, hit it off immediately on the fields of Camp Lejeune in North Carolina as they prepared to be shipped off to Saudi Arabia for what became operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm.
Fast-forward to Sept. 11, 2001.
Thompson, then a first sergeant at the Maryland State Police barrack in Leonardtown, was dispatching troopers to the Patuxent River Naval Air Station, fearful that the terrorists who had just struck the World Trade Center might hit there. For a fleeting moment, he thought about his Marine Corps buddy in New York.
"In those initial hours, nobody had any clue what was going to go on," he said.
Three months later, Thompson learned that Curtin had been killed directing the evacuation of one of the twin towers when it collapsed. He was 45, survived by his wife and three daughters.
Thompson, like many other Americans, will spend today thinking about those who were killed in the attacks seven years ago. He will consider how the events that day led the country into wars. He will reflect on his friend and mentor, who died trying to save others.
"I certainly think of him every year around this time," Thompson said. "Times where I have to make an integrity call . . . I'll ask myself, 'Hey, what would Mike Curtin do in this situation?' "
Thompson, now 38 and commander of the Leonardtown barrack and a state police lieutenant, was 20 when he met Curtin. Having been police officers in their civilian careers, the men bonded as they rode on an armored vehicle during Operation Desert Storm.
Thompson was a new Marine, quiet, confident and eager to glean all the knowledge he could. Curtin was a veteran soldier, a "louder, more gregarious leader" who had no trouble keeping his men in line, Thompson said.
"Just by watching him, I took a lot of stuff that would ultimately help me in my decision-making," Thompson said. "I was looking at trying to obtain all the training, knowledge and experience I could from him."
The men stayed in touch when they returned home, talking by phone about once a year. Curtin, who became a sergeant major in the Marines, seemed to always have a new tale about his heroism, although he downplayed them, Thompson said.
When the World Trade Center was bombed in 1993, Thompson said, Curtin was among those removing floodlights and antennas on the roof of one of the towers to clear a landing site for a helicopter. When the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed in 1995, Curtin spotted the dress pants of a Marine buried in the rubble. He spent the next seven hours removing the body, Thompson said.
A few months after 9/11, Thompson was up late one night with his infant daughter, reading a Marine magazine while he gave her a bottle. That was when he came across an obituary for Curtin.
"He knew one tower had collapsed," Thompson said. "There was someone else that was with him that opted to roll out."
Curtin stayed behind.
Ellie