Eulogy for Major John M. Walsh
January 30, 2003
Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery
By Colonel J.L. Williams, USMC (Ret.)

Yesterday, at the HMLA 775 memorial service at Camp Pendleton, we heard Larry Walsh tell us, with simple eloquence, of his relationship with his son, John. He told us that, in the past ten years, John had acquired several families in addition to his birth family. There was his Marine family, his USD family, his PLEXIS family and the Williams family.

Larry, you said that you didn’t know how John had worked his way into a special relationship with the Williams family so I thought would tell you how it happened.

We first met John in 1992 in Pensacola. Cindy and I were there to see our son, Grant, receive his wings as a Naval Aviator. It was there that we first met John. The two young second Lieutenants, Walsh and Williams, had been alphabetically assigned as roommates at the Marine Officer’s Basic School in Quantico and had chosen to be roomies once again as student Naval Aviators in Pensacola. The two, young, hot-shot pilots took mom and dad to lunch at their favorite hang-out, McGuire’s Pub. Grant had orders to MCAS El Toro and since John was soon to complete flight training and was expecting to be assigned to MCAS Camp Pendleton, we invited him to stop by for a home-cooked dinner when he arrived.

John was never shy about accepting dinner invitations. In fact, he had an uncanny knack for showing up at dinner time. Our daughter, Laney, tells the story best in a letter she wrote to Amy several days ago. I won’t read all of it but enough to give you the flavor:

Dear Amy,
One day when I was about 14 years old, the door bell rang. When I answered it, there was a very polite guy standing there asking if my brother, Grant was home. I told him to hold on, and ran to my parents, gasping that there was this really cute guy here to see Grant.

It turned out that it was John. Grant wasn’t home, but John was invited in for dinner. As my dad talked to him in military jargon, I zoned out, as usual, but continued to stare at him and develop a school-girl crush.

Well, that dinner turned into another and another, until it seemed that John had become a part of our family, joining us at all our family gatherings and holidays. The crush eventually faded, but a new relationship developed between John and me. I had gained another big brother. At first, I thought another brother was the last thing I needed. I already had three older brothers, which could be a little over-whelming as is, and now four? But, John was great. He never gave me a hard time. He would always make me feel special. When I was going to school at U.S.D., to my surprise and excitement, John decided to get his M.B.A. and joined me on campus. I always knew where to find him—at Aroma’s—the campus coffee shop, pretending to study, but really scoping out the underclass ladies. He would randomly take me to dinner, saying he wanted to check out this or that new restaurant, but I knew he was just checking up on me.

After I graduated, I moved to a little town called Cardiff-By-The-Sea. As it turned out, John lived just one block away and once again, I had my big brother watching out for me. Every little thing I needed: a picture hung, furniture moved, help with my resume (which he ended up doing entirely), or just someone to talk to, John was always there. Every Sunday morning after his jog, he would stop in to say “hi”, but I knew he was just checking up on me once again. Whenever we went out together, we introduced each other as “my big brother” or “my little sister”. When people asked me how many brothers I had, without even thinking, I would automatically tell them, “four”. Everyone in Cardiff just assumed it to be true. And it was. We may not have been biological siblings, but he had all the same brotherly qualities, and he holds the same place in my heart as my three biological brothers. I love him like a brother and will always love and miss him.

Amy, it is comforting to know that no matter where you or I are in this world, we will always have our big brother John checking up on us. I am so grateful for all the time I spent with him and the memories we shared, the most recent being John walking me down the isle at my brother Chris’s wedding. He was a very special person.”

Each of our sons, especially Grant, could tell similar stories About their special relationship with their brother, John. They shared surfing and partying, as well as birthdays, weddings and graduations.

Thanksgiving weekends at Warner Springs Ranch and trail rides with the Portola Riders were always much anticipated events. He was truly a brother to our four children and a son to Cindy and me. I was as proud as I could be when, three years ago, John asked me to swear him in as a Major at a promotion ceremony at his squadron.

To any of us who knew him, John was more than just a good friend, Son and brother. he was a hero. In recent years, that designation has become widely misused. Athletes, movie stars and others, who can rightfully claim the title of “celebrity”, are often mislabeled as “heroes”. My definition of a hero is someone who puts his life on the line for others: police, firemen, and members of the Armed Forces—they are our everyday heroes. Marines don’t have to have medals on their chest or be tested in combat the earn the title “hero”, but they do have to make a sacred commitment to Corps and Country that they are ready, willing and able to go into harm’s way in defense of our nation and in support of their fellow Marines. John was one of those heroes—a proud Marine who knew the risks and thrived on the challenge.

I am reminded of an incident at Camp Pendleton some years ago when I was hosting Clint Eastwood and his movie crew for the filming of Heartbreak Ridge. I was invited to bring my kids to witness the action and to join Clint and the cast for lunch. Afterward, on the way home, son Mike exclaimed “Dad, Clint Eastwood always addressed you as “Colonel” or “Sir” and you were talking to him like he was just a regular guy.” I replied that Clint is a real gentleman and a Hollywood celebrity, but there is no reason to be overawed by an actor playing the role of a Marine hero. I’m surrounded by real Marine heroes every day.

Now, in my retirement, I continue to be surrounded with Marine heroes—sons Grant and John and their Marine friends who always manage to show up for one of Cindy’s home cooked meals.

I am reminded of another story that took place at Camp Pendleton. I was the C.O. of the School of Infantry. Every two weeks we would graduate a new group of infantrymen and many parents and friends would show up for the graduation parade. The event always began with an invocation by our chaplain and since it was always a new audience, he always gave the same prayer, referring to the new Marines as “The precious treasures of home and nation”. Marines are not accustomed to being called “precious treasures”, especially hard charging young infantrymen. For a while, I considered suggesting a more manly description. But as I thought about it, I realized that the chaplain had it right. Young men like John are, in fact, the precious treasures of home and nation. No one here Today doubts it.

Rest in peace, John. And feel free to continue to check up on my daughter!

Jim Williams