thedrifter
09-24-07, 07:13 AM
Tattoos seen as mark of Marines' pain -- and survival
By MARK MUCKENFUSS
The Press-Enterprise
TWENTYNINE PALMS - Kyle Stratton was counting on the Marines.
He wasn't counting on the sorrow.
Four years ago, Stratton, 29, moved his business, American Made Tattoo, from Chino to this small desert town at the hip of the Marine Corps base, about 80 miles northeast of Riverside.
He expected good business and wasn't disappointed. On pay-day weekends, he says, he often has a line of Marines waiting for his needle and ink. The troops make up 90 percent of his business.
What Stratton didn't anticipate was the casualties. Many of his customers haven't returned from the wars in the Middle East.
"We've lost so many in the last few years, it's insane," Stratton says. "I know there have been 15 that I've had personal relationships with."
Stratton illustrates that loss, literally, almost every day. He says nearly half his work on Marines is memorials to their fallen comrades.
"They have the boots and the rifle and the Kevlar (vest) on the top of it," he says of the most common memorial image.
He flips through one of several photo albums of tattoos he has done and points to a picture. It shows a pair of hands in prayer surrounded by six dog tags, each bearing the name of a fallen Marine. The Marine who got the tattoo recently came in to have a seventh dog tag added, Stratton says.
At the back of his shop, a ceramic dragon head sits on a shelf. It was a gift from a Marine who was later killed.
"Somebody gives you something and the next time they don't come back," he says. "That's happening a lot -- more and more. I try not to dwell on it too much."
Not an easy task when much of his business is centered on that very thing. Other tattoo artists in the half-dozen shops strung out along the main drag of Adobe Avenue say they face the same situation.
Sense of Community
Dan and Vicky Kunz own Pair-a-Dice Tatooz. They call the Marines their kids.
Their shop isn't just a place to get a devil dog or a flaming skull with the letters USMC stenciled across young skin, they say. It's a hangout for Marines who are far from home and have few recreational options in the small town.
The soldiers flop across the leather sofa in the reception area, decorated with wooden parrots and elephants, and watch videos on an overhead television. The back room vibrates with the hum of tattooing machines.
The Kunzes say the attachments they form with the young men and women don't end at the walls of their business.
"We have a lot of Marines come and hang out at our house," Vicky Kunz says. "They come over and have barbecues with us. They call us Mom and Pop."
When some of those soldiers don't return from Iraq, it's hard.
"A lot of my close personal friends have lost their lives," Dan Kunz says.
Sometimes the losses are immense.
"We had done a lot of tattoos on this one platoon and only one of them came back," Vicky Kunz says.
Those who do return bring back sad stories.
"A lot of them will talk about the friends they lost," he says. "You're almost like a bartender in a way."
'Powerful Things'
Dan Kunz, 38, is a native of Twentynine Palms. He grew up around Marines. Nine years ago, he began tattooing their bodies.
Since the Iraq war, much of the imagery he puts under their skin is tributes to fallen comrades.
"Guys come back and they usually get memorials, mostly a lost soldier kind of thing, a gun with boots on the ground and a helmet on it," he says. "I've done lists down their arms. I've done one with the Iwo Jima flag (raising) with names and stuff."
Others want tattoos that glorify the Marine Corps. Some get names, portraits of their wives or children, or religious symbols.
"They're going over there risking their lives so they're trying to get powerful things put on their bodies," Stratton says. "They have the swallow that they put on. That guides them back from their deployment."
Retired Marine Deke Murphy, 45, says getting a tattoo is almost a rite of passage.
"After boot camp, one of the first things a Marine will do is go and get a tattoo," Murphy says, standing at the counter in Stratton's shop.
The former sergeant, who still keeps his hair military short, is a prime example. On his right arm is a "sleeve" tattoo featuring an eagle-clad military knife surrounded by flames. On the back of his right calf is the word "Teufelhund," German for devil dog, written in Old English lettering.
His lower abdomen bears the slogan "First to Fight." Above it are the scars of battle, shrapnel he caught from a roadside bomb during a 2005 tour in Al Anbar province in Iraq.
That experience has him contemplating another tattoo.
Reminder
"I've thought about getting a band of 50-caliber rounds around one of my legs because there is a strong call to remind yourself that this is what you've been through," he says. "It reminds you that you're OK and that there are guys that didn't make it out."
Murphy's sentiments are typical, says Stratton, but he also has seen the opposite reaction from Iraq veterans. About twice a month, he gets requests to mask a Marine tattoo, he says.
"There are guys that cover up their Marine Corps tattoos because they're unhappy with the experience," he says.
That bitterness is shared by the tattoo artists. Of seven artists interviewed, none supported the war.
"You see more of what's going on than you see on TV," says Scott Dees, who works at Pair-a-Dice. "It's more of a personal thing. It's the same story over and over. 'We lost buddies.' 'We lost friends.' 'I watched my buddy die.' You can't look someone in the eye and not be affected."
His role is to channel those feelings, Dees says.
"We help people interpret their story into a piece of artwork," he says.
And they do it with a special commitment, says his boss, Dan Kunz.
"I feel we owe the Marines everything," Dan Kunz says. "They're willing to lay their lives on the line for us. I put my all into it because of them."
Reach Mark Muckenfuss at 909-806-3059 or mmuckenfuss@PE.com
Ellie
By MARK MUCKENFUSS
The Press-Enterprise
TWENTYNINE PALMS - Kyle Stratton was counting on the Marines.
He wasn't counting on the sorrow.
Four years ago, Stratton, 29, moved his business, American Made Tattoo, from Chino to this small desert town at the hip of the Marine Corps base, about 80 miles northeast of Riverside.
He expected good business and wasn't disappointed. On pay-day weekends, he says, he often has a line of Marines waiting for his needle and ink. The troops make up 90 percent of his business.
What Stratton didn't anticipate was the casualties. Many of his customers haven't returned from the wars in the Middle East.
"We've lost so many in the last few years, it's insane," Stratton says. "I know there have been 15 that I've had personal relationships with."
Stratton illustrates that loss, literally, almost every day. He says nearly half his work on Marines is memorials to their fallen comrades.
"They have the boots and the rifle and the Kevlar (vest) on the top of it," he says of the most common memorial image.
He flips through one of several photo albums of tattoos he has done and points to a picture. It shows a pair of hands in prayer surrounded by six dog tags, each bearing the name of a fallen Marine. The Marine who got the tattoo recently came in to have a seventh dog tag added, Stratton says.
At the back of his shop, a ceramic dragon head sits on a shelf. It was a gift from a Marine who was later killed.
"Somebody gives you something and the next time they don't come back," he says. "That's happening a lot -- more and more. I try not to dwell on it too much."
Not an easy task when much of his business is centered on that very thing. Other tattoo artists in the half-dozen shops strung out along the main drag of Adobe Avenue say they face the same situation.
Sense of Community
Dan and Vicky Kunz own Pair-a-Dice Tatooz. They call the Marines their kids.
Their shop isn't just a place to get a devil dog or a flaming skull with the letters USMC stenciled across young skin, they say. It's a hangout for Marines who are far from home and have few recreational options in the small town.
The soldiers flop across the leather sofa in the reception area, decorated with wooden parrots and elephants, and watch videos on an overhead television. The back room vibrates with the hum of tattooing machines.
The Kunzes say the attachments they form with the young men and women don't end at the walls of their business.
"We have a lot of Marines come and hang out at our house," Vicky Kunz says. "They come over and have barbecues with us. They call us Mom and Pop."
When some of those soldiers don't return from Iraq, it's hard.
"A lot of my close personal friends have lost their lives," Dan Kunz says.
Sometimes the losses are immense.
"We had done a lot of tattoos on this one platoon and only one of them came back," Vicky Kunz says.
Those who do return bring back sad stories.
"A lot of them will talk about the friends they lost," he says. "You're almost like a bartender in a way."
'Powerful Things'
Dan Kunz, 38, is a native of Twentynine Palms. He grew up around Marines. Nine years ago, he began tattooing their bodies.
Since the Iraq war, much of the imagery he puts under their skin is tributes to fallen comrades.
"Guys come back and they usually get memorials, mostly a lost soldier kind of thing, a gun with boots on the ground and a helmet on it," he says. "I've done lists down their arms. I've done one with the Iwo Jima flag (raising) with names and stuff."
Others want tattoos that glorify the Marine Corps. Some get names, portraits of their wives or children, or religious symbols.
"They're going over there risking their lives so they're trying to get powerful things put on their bodies," Stratton says. "They have the swallow that they put on. That guides them back from their deployment."
Retired Marine Deke Murphy, 45, says getting a tattoo is almost a rite of passage.
"After boot camp, one of the first things a Marine will do is go and get a tattoo," Murphy says, standing at the counter in Stratton's shop.
The former sergeant, who still keeps his hair military short, is a prime example. On his right arm is a "sleeve" tattoo featuring an eagle-clad military knife surrounded by flames. On the back of his right calf is the word "Teufelhund," German for devil dog, written in Old English lettering.
His lower abdomen bears the slogan "First to Fight." Above it are the scars of battle, shrapnel he caught from a roadside bomb during a 2005 tour in Al Anbar province in Iraq.
That experience has him contemplating another tattoo.
Reminder
"I've thought about getting a band of 50-caliber rounds around one of my legs because there is a strong call to remind yourself that this is what you've been through," he says. "It reminds you that you're OK and that there are guys that didn't make it out."
Murphy's sentiments are typical, says Stratton, but he also has seen the opposite reaction from Iraq veterans. About twice a month, he gets requests to mask a Marine tattoo, he says.
"There are guys that cover up their Marine Corps tattoos because they're unhappy with the experience," he says.
That bitterness is shared by the tattoo artists. Of seven artists interviewed, none supported the war.
"You see more of what's going on than you see on TV," says Scott Dees, who works at Pair-a-Dice. "It's more of a personal thing. It's the same story over and over. 'We lost buddies.' 'We lost friends.' 'I watched my buddy die.' You can't look someone in the eye and not be affected."
His role is to channel those feelings, Dees says.
"We help people interpret their story into a piece of artwork," he says.
And they do it with a special commitment, says his boss, Dan Kunz.
"I feel we owe the Marines everything," Dan Kunz says. "They're willing to lay their lives on the line for us. I put my all into it because of them."
Reach Mark Muckenfuss at 909-806-3059 or mmuckenfuss@PE.com
Ellie