The news that the Marine Corps Drive Rededication Act is scheduled for introduction in the Guam Legislature on November 10 brought a smile to this manamko's face. It sharpened the focus in my mind on an episode that took place during the Liberation Day parade in 1958.

As Commanding Officer of a company of Marines at the Barracks, I had the honor of leading them in the parade. For the special event, we decided to wear combat clothing and carry packs and weapons much like the liberators did. Participating in this annual observance and remembrance was a new experience for my men as it was for me in my role as their commander.

It is not unusual for those in a parade staging area to be a little edgy before a march. But the march that day was not part of a football rally or a Little League parade. Symbolically, we were following in the footsteps of a long line of heroic Marines of World War II, many of whom fought and fell where we were gathering. It was a sobering thought that prevailed over a solemn occasion.

The parade route was different. As always, it was festive. Spectators lined both sides of Marine Drive stretching from Adelup to East Agana. Most of them had survived the war and had vivid recollection of the enemy occupation. Whatever animosity they harbored, however, it was subdued that day. The crowd cheered loudly for everyone and everything that moved before them. All the villages had a float and every military service was represented in the parade -- including marching bands

As the parade was about to start, I braced myself against the possibility of emoting publicly. When we entered the parade route, the crowd roared. As we approached the reviewing stand full of military and political dignitaries, I gave the traditional command to salute, "Eyes Right." At that instant, as though directed to do so on cue, the crowd "returned" our salute with deafening silence. For a few minutes, the only audible sound was from our boots pounding the pavement in unison. Just a few years earlier, similar boots pounded the original road all along the coast as Marines charged from their landing crafts, crossed the road under heavy gunfire, and fought their way inland against an entrenched enemy. For 1200 Marines, it was to be their last crossing. About 6000 of their comrades returned to the beach on stretchers.

My effort to control my emotions failed. I was marching solely on disciplined automation. Although tears swelled, I was able to connect with the faces in the crowd, young and old. Without uttering a sound, I heard the message radiating from their faces -- of appreciation, of admiration, and of affection -- for the Marines passing in review, for whom Marine Drive was originally dedicated. I, a liberated son of Guam, had the privilege of marching at that parade with a company of United States Marines who were, in effect, my liberators.

In the ensuing years, I have participated in Liberation Day parades as a general officer of Marines and as a Member of the U. S. Congress. But, I was never again to feel and embrace a moment such as I did that day in 1958.

I tip my hat to Senator Bob Klitkie, himself a Marine, and to his fellow Senators for sponsoring the bill to rededicate Marine Drive. It is a magnanimous expression of remembrance. Unlike the typical inanimate monoliths that serve as memorials and centerpieces at annual ceremonies, Marine (Corps) Drive is a living memorial, a touchstone, a reminder to future generations how dearly we paid for the freedom we enjoy.

Happy Birthday, Marines!

BEN BLAZ, brigadier general, Marine Corps (Ret.), former member of Congress
November 10, 2003