I got my tattoo on Fathers Day 1987 or '88, we stopped at a red light, my wife wanted to buy me something, I looked out the window, we were
right next to a tattoo parlor, and I said "You know what? I want that Marine tattoo" My oldest daughter designed the letters along the top, and I went and got it.
    I think about a lot of things when I think of those days. It's mostly the comradeship; we were like a family in that short period that we were together. I miss the hell out of them. But I also remember the day I got wounded. October 21st 1967 -- mortar round. I knew I was hit bad because I was bleeding in the front -- tore a hole in the front of my stomach, and there were holes all in my arms and I could feel the blood all rolling around in my back -- I had a hole up in the middle of my back, that missed the spine, fortunately, but just nicked the artery. My best friend said to me "Bobby, I can' t stop the bleeding." I was weak, I was tired, I knew that I was bleeding to death.

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