Ahoy there mates. This is Johnny Roger, reporting for duty. I'm a private citizen now, but over the past several seasons I have served as a Marine, a Navy Seal, and a periodic participant in the Special Forces. Today I teach seventh-grade English in a small town here in Iowa. I was born in Indianna, I majored in English in college and ran some track, and then I joined the Marines, inspired in part by Joseph Conrad's quote from a short story called Youth, "I prefer the soldier to the philosopher." So do I. And I also believe that Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates were soldiers of the Truth, first, and philosophers second, as those who truly love knowledge must ultimately love the honor and action by which it is pursued. For who can divide the pursuit of the Truth from action without separating the soul from the body and diminishing the man? Look around yerself, mate, and ye'll see plenty of contemporary casualties, where souls have been amputated, leaving behind bodies with material appetites and basic biological functions. To sleep and to feed, as Hamlet once keenly observed.

Back in college the politicization and brutal feminization of the academy left my soul yearning for some deep, profound well of manly honor, integrity, brotherhood, and justice which I'd read about in the Greats, but never encountered upon the campus which were supposedly built in Wisdom's honor. I'd just broken up with another girlfriend, as the psychobabblers had gotten a hold of her, I'd again found myself with differing views pertaining to the value of life. I entertained some ideas of attending law school, but after pondering the natures of the loophole lawyers in congress, I wasn't so sure that that was the way I wanted to be remembered by eternity. From the manner in which I was routinely castigated for expressing my core values in classes, and from the general lethargy, ennui, and pointless parroting which dominated the class when I wasn't, I knew that I would not last long in academia, nor law school, nor any other institution which had been commandeered by the postmodernism ethos. There are some men who excel in such arenas, but I knew from early on that I was not one of them. I could do it, but it would be worth nothing to me.

I'll admit that at times I was pretty depressed in college, surrounded by so many brown-nosers and corner-cutters to whom the system seemed taylored to. Instacrats, who did not wish to create, nor build, nor serve, but only to administrate. Proud, vain, petty people who knew not of the infinite, reverent sadness in all things profound, who remembered not the sacrifices made by so many who labored and fought for the love of Truth. Mere materialists who indulged, indulged, and indulged, and then expected the poor, gentleman professor, who taught Shakespeare as if it were scripture, to indulge them. I longed for the definitive order of the soul, for those who sought not to twist words for monetary gain, but for those who sought to define words by selfless action, always loyal to higher ideals.

Perhaps the relatively straight path leading me towards military service originated one evening in the library, as I was browsing through the dusty section on naval history. It was there that I came across John Paul Jones. Jones was the first admiral of the American Navy, and he fought what has become perhaps the most famous naval battle in the history of American seamanship. As night fell close to England one September, just off of Flamborough Head, Jones' ship, financed by Benjamin Franklin and called Bonhomme Richard, crossed a merchant envoy lead by a mighty British vessel, The H.M.S. Serapis. The Serapis was a veritable Ship of The Line, a fifty gun frigate under Captain Richard Pearson, with a hull sheathed in copper to augment the ship's speed. The Bonhomme Richard was an old, half-rotten East Indiaman.

At the first exchange of broadsides, two of Jones' heaviest guns burst, and thus he knew that a gun battle would be fatal for his ship and crew. Thus he decided to board the Serapis. However, the British ship was too quick, so they continued exchanging broadsides from over eighty total canon, as Jones maneuvered the clumsy Indiaman closer and closer, always lagging and out of position for returning the raking broadsides. Finally Jones was able to collide with the stern of the Serapis, like a tired, beaten fighter hanging onto his opponent. The British Captain, knowing that he had demonstrated his ship's supremacy, called out in the augmenting darkness,

"Has your ship struck?"

And to this, Jones delivered his immortal reply,

"I have not ye begun to fight."

He ordered his crew to grapple the ships together, while he himself seized a broken line from the Serapis and made it fast to the mizzenmast. The ships, now inextricably wedded together, exchanged broadsides, muzzle to muzzle, for two more hours. By this time John Paul Jones' ship had suffered the almost complete obliteration of its gun decks, and Captain Jones knew that the Richard was going under. He released the British prisoners he had in the hold and informed the confused and bewildered men that if they did not start pumping, they were all doomed. One of his mates shouted to him that in the name of God it was time to surrender, and as the mate ran to strike the colors and haul up a white flag, John Paul Jones threw his pistol and sent him sprawling across the quarterdeck, unconscious. Captain Jones ordered his crew to cut the rest of the way through a splintered mast, so that it would fall across the British Ship, thus further grappling her to the Bonnhome Richard. The guns of The Serapis, pressed right up against the Bonhomme Richard, continued to fill her holds with iron and lead, splintering her infrastructure, filling her hull with holes. Yet the Americans fought on, many of them jumping over to the British Ship, some believing that they had a better chance of surviving upon a ship that would still be floating come morning.

The British commander called over once again, through the clouds of wind-whipped gunsmoke "Avast! Are ye ready to surrender?"

And John Paul Jones again roared back with his famous reply, "I have not yet begun to fight!"

And as if on cue, a grenade, dropped through an open hatch by an unknown American Sailor who had climbed out across a yard of the Richard, went off next to the powder supply on the first gundeck, igniting a huge internal explosion which rendered all the Serapis's gundecks silent. And here we finally arrive at the crux of the matter, mates, and the fundamental essence of serving in the armed forces. For it was that unknown, industrious, innovative, and fearless American Sailor whose actions granted meaning to John Paul Jones' words. For after that resounding explosion from within his ship, the British Captain, realizing the resolute Character of Jones and his crew, surrendered his ship to the Americans. And a few moments later the Bonhomme Richard sank down to Davey Jones' locker, who some say was Paul's brother, meaning that they were intent on keeping the ship in the family.

Now I'm sure you can taste the humble glory of selfless service in many walks of life, but at that point in my life about twelve years ago, the military alone seemed to offer these sentiments and principles in an undiminished form. And upon Paris Island I found them, along with far, far more, as what I went through on the island during those three months had a far more profound and resounding effect on my soul than the battles and operations it had prepared me for. And more recently I came across echoes of those somber, serene, and most sublime sentiments again, when I made out three tall masts emerging from the postmodern fog, just a few months ago. Honor, Courage, and Commitment, defined not by the rigid strictness and military discipline of the Marine Corps this time, but instead by poetry.

For that same marvelous, selfless sentiment I found on Paris Island was reawakened one night when I happened to sail on by The Jolly Roger. The spirit expressed by Captains Drake, Becket, and Elliot resounded throughout the depths of my soul, and although I wouldn't go so far as to say that they defined Semper Fidelis as well as the mighty Marine Corps does, they came closer than I ever imagined possible by poets, and modern ones at that. While there're so many academics who're content to contemplate the decline, and wring their hands, and continue to silently show up at the meetings and classes where their cause is sullied, where their passions are preempted, where their essence is eradicated, here were three young privateers and twenty-thousand mates who were not content with inaction and observation, but who were seeking true poetry and philosophy, on the front lines of a cultural renaissance of their own making.

I remember one of the first things to catch my attention on their websites was their quote which integrated Washington's words at classicals.com:

General Washington's words do well to capture the essence of the profound camaraderie felt between the chief literary officers of the Good Ship: My first wish would be, that my military family and the whole army should consider themselves as a band of brothers, willing and ready to die for one-another.

Now the founding fathers are all heroes of mine, as they must be to anyone who calls themselves an American. Were it not for the moral, exalting beauty of the founding documents, we would not enjoy such a high standard of living, nor would we have such a united front of members of the military, all dutifully serving under the Commander in Chief. For those same truths which ultimately set us free, also bind us in filial, moral, and sublime obligation. Now sometimes certain members of congress or the executive branch might forget that the Sacred Duty they have been entrusted with-- to uphold, defend, and protect the Constitution-- is defined not by lawyers, nor pundits, nor columnists, nor deconstructionists, nor second-raters, nor critics, but by God. True leadership requires a fundamental honesty and profound conscience which can only spring from a soul wedded to God's moral context. Though others forget these things or ignore these things from time to time, I cannot, and I shall not. For though others do wrong, the Bible says that we must yet do right.

I shall yet be loyal to the Commander in Chief, I shall yet bravely serve this country in any conflict where my service is needed, and all I ask in return is that you, the noble People, place a Commander in Chief in the White House who is worthy of your sons' and daughters' futures, and my life. For only by true moral leadership might a country maintain all that is valuable in society. For I say that the very center and circumference of the President's job is honesty, integrity, and character. The American revolution was fought for a government based upon these divine, enlightened entities. Thomas Jefferson, who never served as a soldier, stated, "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants," while Hamilton, who was one of Washington's most loyal officers and a veteran of the front lines of the revolutionary war, who died from a musket ball, said,

... the very finer feeling of a delicate mind revolts from the idea of shedding human blood and multiplying the common evil of life by the artificial methods incident to war. Were it not for the evident necessity and in defense of all that is valuable in society, I could never be reconciled to a military character...

So again you see the peace-loving nature of the soldier, and the more agressive stance of the philosopher, and the radical, violent nature of the fringe literary feminist, as embodied by the nemesis and vehement opponent of of all great literature, Joyce Carol Oates:

& Goodby America
The flagless pole, what relief!
I love it, the eye lifting skyward to nothing
Never to pledge allegiance to the United States of America again
--Joyce Carol Oates, The New Yorker, July 27th, 1998
(Italics are the author's)

For the soldier has learned a profound respect for a few things that the philosopher could never grasp by contemplation alone, and the soldier loves a few more things which the flimsy feminist soul, in all its selfish misery and petty, secular, vinidictiveness, could never admit to, like beauty. Now I might suggest that Ms. Oates could also utilize her talents to serve her country. We could export her meandering, pointless books to the terrorists about the world, whereupon they would be bored to death.

And when the Word is deconstructed, and our heritage is defamed, ridiculed, and disrespected, so follows the process and procedure of Justice which our forefathers gave to us as a gift, and which I have pledged my life to defend against enemies both foreign and domestic. Toni Morrison writes in The New Yorker that when a President lies under oath, when he flaunts the very Laws he has sworn to uphold, protect, and defend, it is excusable, as long as he agrees with her political views. Ms. Morrison states that the Pursuit of Justice is ". . .Slaughtergate. A sustained, bloody, arrogant coup d'etat. The Presidency is being stolen from us. And the people know it." No, that's not blood, Ms. Morrison. That's the Law, and blood is what flows when God's Moral Law is displaced by politics. Blood is that which flowed in the Revolutionary War, when Americans fought for God's freedom and triumphed. Blood is what flowed in the Civil War when Americans fought for God's freedom and triumphed. Blood is what flowed when Americans fought for God's Freedom in World War I and triumphed. Blood is what flowed when Americans fought for God's freedom in World War II and triumphed. And Blood is what was spared when Reagan won the cold war through military strength, rather than surrendering to the totalitarianism which so often rises in regimes which allow men to live above God's Moral Law.

One of the many things the Marine Corps trains us to do is to destroy the enemy and their property, and I became adept at this. I'm only around 5'10", and I weigh about 175, which I suppose is fairly average, but I say my soul has been forged by situations which you cannot conceive of. I have stared death in the face on several occasions, and I have laid men to rest with little more than my bare hands. I have commanded a battalion of men who lived for me because they knew I would die for them, and I say I would choose that battalion over any battalion that any one could assemble anywhere else in the world. Perhaps you could assemble a battalion that was quicker, or stronger, or smarter, but I guarantee that you could not assemble one that was more resolute. Resolve. For if it came down to it, as war often does, not one of my men would blink, nor would I. We would not hesitate, capitulate, nor procrastinate. We would not care that you were smarter, stronger, and quicker, and I doubt that you would be. For we're Marines. And unless you've had your soul welded to the Corps and forged in the brotherhood's blazing fire, I say that if you stood on that same brink of death, you would most assuredly blink. And in that momentary pause, within that split second of heedless contemplation, you will have passed the point of no return. I have seen this happen with my own two eyes, and I have proven it more than once with my own two hands, God forgive me. I have only ever killed killers, and I have only ever killed killers who were trying to kill me and disrupt the liveliehood of my nation, and undermine its Constitution. I apologize if my job description sounds stark and cruel, but this is its nature at times, and even so, in all of its bone-chilling, harrowing reality, I say it's yet more pleasant, more forthright, and fairer than today's war against the unborn. For those men I laid to rest had at least been given a choice.

Although I prefer the soldier to the philosopher, I prefer Words to War. I'm proud to have served my country, and today I'm proud to serve the children of this nation, passing along some of the literary ideals and rules of structured poetry by which they'll someday be able to compose sonnets for friends and for loved ones, as I now strive to do from time to time for my lovely wife and daughters. For while I could command a fleet of helicopters or tanks, and set the hearts, minds, and bodies of my men in motion against the most pernicious enemies from without, I cannot command the printed word quite like the mates of The Jolly Roger. While I could aptly and fearlessly lead the battalions of the world's greatest army into battle, and diligently execute any task assigned to me from above, I'm not sure I could've signed 20,000 people aboard a ship by my poetry. While I could touch, inspire, exalt, and motivate the new recruits on Paris Island just by squinting at them, I'm finding it harder to inspire today's rising teenagers to think, ponder, contemplate, and let rationality and religion guide their lives. For I've never been so outnumbered, flanked on all sides by a popular culture so opposed to the subtle beauty of a Shakespearean sonnet. I can encourage my students to do Right, believe in God, work hard, and tell the Truth, just as you could "encourage" a battalion to approach a machine-gun embankment, but sometimes I don't feel I'm reaching them. The pen, it has been said, is mightier than the sword, and while a bullet from an M-16 can find a heart, it cannot ennoble nor exalt one.

And the marksmen of The Jolly Roger have found my heart They have reminded me of a country, a spirit, a literature, and a culture worth living for, and thus worth dying for.

We have received orders from our superiors to not excessively chastise nor criticize the Commander-in-Chief, and be it known I have never criticized God. I would die for this country; this wonderful, glorious peace-loving country which grants all its citizens the right to vote. And along with this precious and historically rare right comes an enormous responsibility. For the Law is in your hands, mates, as is the Lord's living judgement, and it is you alone who can marry the two. I would not hesitate to do it for you. For the profound, deep, ineffable love of these words with which I have shared my soul with all ye about this watery globe, I would not blink, nor wince, nor flinch. For experience hath taught me that that deafening thunder is but the sublime silence of the words of the Western Canon. And thus there is nothing to fear when doing Right.

God Bless Ye, Me Newfound Merry Maties, and God Bless America.