Somewhere during the night, I came across a picture of me in my Marine Corps dress blue uniform. I was so baby-faced I looked like a child playing dress up with his father’s old military clothing. I smiled for a second and then frowned as I begin to think about my career as a Marine.
Everyone has the right to make a mistake during their lifetime. I have made several, but if I had to pick only one, it would have been my choice of forgoing graduate school in order to do a stint in the Corps. Don’t get me wrong on this one, I am proud of my service and I probably grew more as a person during that time than any other period of my life, but I hated it. I spent five years, nine months and twenty-two days in the service and I hated five years, nine months and twenty days of that time, with the first and last days being the only two exceptions.
There’s nothing wrong with the Marine Corps and for many people it has been a good fit for them. I was a square peg in a round hole. I was a bad fit for them, they knew it, and I knew it. Even though I hated it, I still take pride in the fact I was a Marine Officer. To this day, if I see someone wearing a Marine Corps uniform or sporting a USMC T-shirt, or even a tattoo of a bulldog or other Corps symbol, I go up and introduce myself to him or her. Another thing the Corps left me with is a feeling of sadness I get when I hear that a young Marine was killed in combat. It bothers me when a member of the other branches of the military is killed, but I feel actual pain when it’s a Marine. Don’t ask me to explain that one because I can’t.
I went in the service with high hopes and big dreams. I had wanted to be an astronaut since I saw Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, Jr., walk on the moon when I was only a tiny boy.
I still remember that event as though it was yesterday. My uncle Delano was sitting beside me in grandmother’s house. I remember seeing a fan blowing air across the living room, but the house was still stifling hot. I recall seeing the sweat drip down my uncle’s face as he pulled me near him and said, “See that Randy? That could be you one of these days. You might even be able to go to Mars. Who knows what might happen in your lifetime? Wouldn’t it be nice to be an astronaut like Captain Kirk?”
“Yes,” I replied and decided at that moment that I wanted to be an astronaut. That dream would stay with me for eighteen years only to be crushed by the United States Marine Corps.
I entered military service on June 26, 1985. I was assigned to class 125 at Quantico, Virginia. I joined because I felt as though I had to do something spectacular, something so awesome that the nation in general and my family in particular would come to adore me. I joined for two reasons. The first was to chase a dream that I knew would make me unique and thus ensure that my family would love me. The other was because I thought that were I to die in war, then my family, who never seemed to love me in life, would at least love me in death. I was willing to make that compromise. If it took my dying in order to get someone to love me, then I was perfectly willing to trade one for the other.
“Soooo, you think you’ve got what it takes to be a Marine Corps Officer,” the recruiter asked, as he looked me in the eyes. “Many people think they have what it takes, but most don’t. Why should I believe you’ll be any different?”
I looked him over and smiled. He was standing there in a pair of dress blue slacks and a tan shirt. His hair may have been a light brown or sandy blond, but I couldn’t be sure. It was so short he may as well have been bald.
“You have to,” I replied with as much pretentiousness as he seemed to be faking. “The only person who needs to be convinced is me. I could care less about what you believe.”
The fake grin he had been wearing vanished and was replaced by a hard-edged stare. He looked me over and then harrumphed indignantly. “I’ve seen your kind before. You thing you know everything, but you don’t know do-diddly-squat.”
I looked at him and laughed defiantly before I spoke. “Sweet talking me like that’s not going to win you any points. I’m used to such silver-tongued talk.”
“I bet you are.” His expression suddenly changed and he got a sly look on his visage. “What can I do for you? You interested in becoming one of the world’s greatest warriors?”
“Please spare be the B.S. I’m interested in becoming a pilot and will join any branch of service that is willing to put me in the cockpit.”
“Just like that?” he interrupted. “No questions asked.”
“They can ask all they want, but I’m telling you what I want.”
“We’ll see. Have you taken the AQT/FAR?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
He smiled as though he’d scored a point against me and then resumed his original posture. “The aviation qualification test and the flight aptitude review.”
“Never heard of ‘em.”
“You need to pass them before you can be a pilot.”
“When do we take it? I’m ready.”
“Hold on. Let me make a call and see when the next exam is being given.”
He got on the telephone and made a call. He spoke to someone one the other end for about five minutes. Once finished, he put down the phone, looked at me and said, “You can take the test anytime you like, but you have to take it at one of the MEPS stations. There is one in Louisville, another in Cincinnati and a third, which is the closest one. It’s in Beckley, West Virginia. When would you like to go?”
“Let’s do it tomorrow. I’m ready.”
“Okay.” He paused, took a deep breath and began to look me over a second time. He stared at me for a couple of minutes. I was beginning to become uncomfortable with the whole situation and he must have sensed it because the instant I was going to say something to break up the tension, he spoke.
“Level with me. Why are you really joining the Corps? Seriously, don’t B.S. me. Tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying to me. If I believe you, I’ll schedule you an appointment. If not, I’ll toss you out on your behind. And don’t think I won’t do it.”
I stood to accept his challenge. I was expecting him to do the same, but he didn’t. He sat there for a few seconds before he looked up at me and smiled. The look he gave me disarmed me because it was not what I had anticipated. It was a genuine look of respect and not anger. His grin became even bigger just before he said the most amazing thing to me.
“Maybe there’s hope for you after all. Now sit and tell me your story. The truth.”
I hesitated and thought about leaving. I stood up and began walking towards the door. As I was about to exit the room, he called to me, “If you leave now, I’ll never deal with you again.”
My head jerked as anger instantaneously welled up in my body. I turned around to face him and shot daggers at him with my eyes. “You son of a….”
“Watch your mouth. A Marine officer needs passion, but he also must exercise restraint. Any fool can lash out in anger, but only a real man understands how to harness that emotion.”
He pointed to a chair located in front of his desk. “Sit down and tell me the truth. If I believe you, I’ll move heaven and earth to get you in the Corps. If not, I’ll send you on your way with no hard feelings at all.”
I hesitated for a brief minute and then I made my way to the chair I stared at him suspiciously the entire time. I never took my eyes off him. It was as though I was expecting his head to peal back and a demon jump out of it. I took my place in the chair about the same time he took a seat.
“Well, what do you want to know?” I asked and felt silly in doing it.
“The truth. You’re educated, intelligent and have a bright future in front of you. Any branch of the service would be glad to have you, so, why do you want to join the Corps?”
“Because you’re the best of the best and I want to be a part of that. I want…”
“Horse feathers, any fool can spout that bit of drivel, tell me the truth or get out.”
We sat there locked in a battle of wills for a couple of minutes. I don’t know how he knew I wasn’t being honest with him, but he did. I was hoping that he’d get bored if I stared at him long enough, but he didn’t. I was determined not to be the first to be the first to speak and he was just as determined to do the same. I don’t know how long we stared at each other but it must have been a while, because only the mail carrier entering the room and speaking broke our battle of wills.
“Good morning Capt. Mahoney,” the postal employee said. “How’s it going?”
The recruiter pointed his finger at me and said, “You stay where you’re at.”
He looked up at the other man and responded, “I’m fine John. How are you? That baby getting any better? I know she’s been sick.”
The man had a look of hopelessness in his eyes when he spoke. “They can’t seem to get her to respond to treatment. She’s in God’s hands and that’s exactly where I want her to be. I appreciate your prayers for her. Your pastor came by to see us and he said that you made him come out and visit. It did my wife a world of good. Either way it goes, I’ll not forget what you’ve done.”
“Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for me.”
“Mebbe, but you guys have been a godsend for us. Take care.”
“We’ll be praying for your family.”
The man waved his approval of Captain Mahoney’s words.
As the recruiter looked at me, I noticed something different about him. There was a look of compassion in his eyes. I was shocked by this. I had expected Marines to be these mindless, emotionless killers, but this man had kind eyes.
“How long have you known that guy?” I asked trying to change the subject.
“Not long, maybe, six months. I used to go to his church and his six-year-old daughter is dying of cancer. We’re praying for her. She needs a miracle. I don’t know what the Lord has planned for her, but John’s living out my nightmare. I’ve got a couple daughters myself.”
“I didn’t think Marines were supposed to have feelings.”
“Just the opposite, we’re a very emotional bunch. You gonna stop wasting my time and tell me the truth or do we have to keep playing footsies?”
“All right, you win. I’ll tell you why I want to join the Corps.”
He walked over and closed his door. He then turned the ringer off on his telephone. He sat back down, looked me straight in the eye and said, “You have my undivided attention, proceed.”
I took a deep breath and thought about leaving, but there was something in his eyes that held my attention. They seemed to be saying, “Tell me all you have to tell. I won’t laugh and I won’t judge you.” I hesitated for a few seconds and then began. Once I started, my story flowed out of me like water from a pitcher.
“I’ve never felt as though I belonged to anyone or anywhere. I know, or I hope my parents love me, but I wouldn’t bet the house on it. I’m so different from the rest of them. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family and secretly fear that they are ashamed of me.
“The truth is that I want to belong to something greater than myself. I want to be accepted for who I am. I want to be understood, respected, and even bragged on a bit. I want to feel appreciated for something I’ve accomplished and mostly, I want to be…”
I stopped unable to continue because I feared being ridiculed by the man, but he didn’t make fun of me. His reaction sealed my fate.
“You want to be loved, don’t you?”
Embarrassed by the situation, I tried to speak but struggled to say just the right thing. “Yes, no, I don’t know. I’ve been told that I am a loser and a plague sent by God to rain punishment on my family. I’ve been told that I am a no account and that prison is my ultimate destiny. I’ve been told that I am worthless and a mistake that should never have been born.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you? Is that why you’re joining the Corps?”
“No, I’m joining because I’m too big of a chicken to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger. I’m joining because I’m a coward. I’m joining because I want to prove to them that I’m not worthless.”
“You trying to convince them or yourself?”
“What difference does it make? I’ve never been accepted and never will be. That’s why I’m joining. That’s why I chose the Marine Corps. I want to be toughened up so badly that nothing will ever penetrate into my heart and therefore not be able to hurt me again.”
“We can’t do that. Nor would we want to. We need men in the Corps that have compassion and care about others. It’s why we do what we do.”
I wanted to get up and run out of his office, but couldn’t. I’d came this far and had to see it through. I wanted to show him I was strong and that I could handle anything that came my way. I failed. I sat there as tears slowly meandered down my face. I lowered my eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the shame I was now feeling. I didn’t want him to see that I was really a scared little boy instead of a man fully grown.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked in a child’s voice. “I guess I’m not Marine material. I’ll go now.”
As I was leaving, he called to me. “Would it help if I told you that you’re exactly what I look for when I recruit an officer candidate? I think you have the makings of an outstanding officer. It will be the Corps job to prove to you just how unique and wonderful you really are.”
“Me?” I asked doubting everything he was saying.
“Yep, you. I’ve never met a man as honest as you. Most are still lying to me when I send them off to Quantico, but you, you’re different. You were willing to be honest regardless of the consequences. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you and I respect you for that.
“Now, the Corps can’t change your situation, but we can teach you how to turn that negative into a positive and I think that is what you really want.
“You want respect? You’ll have to earn it, but you’ll get it. You want to be recognized for your achievements? You’ll have to work hard, but the Corps will recognize you for them. Everything you need, we can offer and more. You might not be able to see it now, but the thing you need the most is a little dose of confidence and self-respect. We’ll give you that in spades.”
Three weeks later, I was flying out of Beckley, West Virginia heading for Quantico, Virginia and OCS (Officer Candidate School). A guy I had known from elementary school accompanied me, but we’d be sent to different classes for training.
I only have a few memories about OCS. Some are wonderful and I’ll treasure them all my life. Most are bad and as a result, they set the tone for my career in the Corps. I went in with high hopes but some of the things I saw during my training dashed those.
I was hurt in the third week of training and had to go to medical rehabilitation. I was dropped from my original class, but was picked up six weeks later by another by another one.
During this time of convalescence, I became depressed and thought about DORing from the program. I struggled with that thought the entire time I was rehabbing. The only reason I didn’t quit was because I feared going home a beaten man. The thought that I would have to look my parents in the eyes and tell them that they were right, I was a complete and total loser ate at me like a rat gnawing on some cheese and that was the only thing that kept me going during those rough times. Half way through my rehab I made myself a promise that the only way I was leaving Quantico was either across the parade deck as a Marine Officer or in a pine box heading to my final resting place.
One day I was left alone in the rehab unit. I was lying in my rack contemplating my future. When I realized that I was all alone, I pulled the sheets over my head and silently prayed. I had never done that before in my life. I didn’t even believe in God, but desperation will push you to do things you never thought you’d do.
As I lay there, I prayed, “God, if you really exist, listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on with my life. I wish I did. I’d like to ask you a couple of things if I can? What have I done that’s so wrong? Why am I so hated by those that should love me? What sin have I committed? Why was I born if my purpose in life is to be a curse to those I love the most? What’s the matter with me? Please, let me know and lastly, is it always going to be this way?”
Once I was finished, I began to silently sob. I was afraid I’d be discovered and thus be known as a wimp instead of officer material. Therefore, I kept a constant vigil so as not to be seen.
As I lay, there I heard music playing in the background. I hadn’t noticed this before. I hadn’t heard the sweet melodious sound of music in weeks, therefore, I stopped all that I was doing and listened to the soft rock sounds that seemed to be coming out of the very walls themselves.
As I began to focus on the music a song ended and then the soothing voice of the male deejay began to dance within my ears. “These next two songs on two for Tuesday go out to that person out there that is experiencing a bit of doubt.”
My head shot up and I snapped it to the left and right looking for that radio. I knew the instant I heard his voice that he was talking to me. Prior to that instant, God had never been real to me, but now I was experiencing the incredible miracle of an answered prayer. I don’t know how I knew, but these next two songs were meant for me and for me alone.
The Deejay’s voice echoed in my ears. “I hope you enjoy these songs and hang in there. I’ll let the music do the talking for me.”
I was struggling to breathe as the first song began to play. I recognized it before the third note had sounded. It was No One is to Blame by Howard Jones. I struggled to sit up and began to cry. These were the cleansing tears of joy that poured from the deepest recesses of my very soul. This was the first time in my life I felt as though I wasn’t evil personified. Each tear that flowed purged a tiny bit of guilt from my overburdened heart. Eventually, I began to sob like a baby, but these were tears of unadulterated joy. I had never experience tears of happiness before. As a matter of fact, I learned not to cry as a very young child and thus had never experienced the shear pleasure that occasionally accompanies tears.
The next song was an even greater godsend. It too was from Ho Jo and it was Things Can Only Get Better. If the first song soothed my conscious, then this one offered me hope, a hope that still burns over twenty-five years later.
I have a special place in my heart for the synthesized music of Howard Jones. Even though he was considered a joke and an untalented musician by some of my peers, I’ll always have a special love for his music because his songs were the first time I ever experience hope in my life. To this day, when things get bad, I begin to sing, “Woe-woe-woe-woe-woe-woe-wote-wah-woooooooe, things can only get better.” It always makes me smile and that gives me just a little extra strength to stand up and fight just one more time.
How do you thank a man for such a gift and how to thank God or the universe for changing your life in a split-second? It still amazes me that my life turned on such a small thing. I went from a pessimistic, half-empty and getting smaller type of guy, to an optimistic, “things can only get better” person in less than ten minutes. Thank you, eternal deity, thank you, Mr. Deejay and thank you, Ho Jo.
My last memory about OCS involved a kid from New Jersey. His name was Franco Pescatilini. He was half-Italian and half Polish and was from a town called Passaic. He had attended Rutgers and majored in English, but his passion was the Marine Corps. He had wanted to be a Marine all his life. The only problem with the guy was that he was shy, timid and the clumsiest man I have ever met.
I don’t know what it was that drew me to him, perhaps I recognized a kindred spirit in him, but whatever it was, I worked harder trying to get Frankie through OCS than I did getting myself through it. I was a natural leader and was recognized as such by the drill instructors. I was put in charge of first squad. Once while talking to a drill instructor, I asked him if he’d put Frankie in my squad.
He looked at me with a combination of indifference and respect. “Sure,” he said. “It’s your funeral.”
“May this candidate be so bold as to say he believes he can get Candidate Pescatilini through this?”
“No you can’t,” replied the DI. “His fate was sealed when he was recruited. He’s not officer material and if you can’t see that, then maybe you aren’t either. You think you’re being noble, but you’re not. He’s a dead fish, cut him loose or he’ll drag you down with him.”
“Duly noted sir,” I replied. “But this candidate must try.”
The DI laughed. “I admire your spunk but not your lack of judgment.”
The farther we got into OCS the harder the DI’s came down on Frankie. Several times I wanted to step in and stop the abuse, but never did because I knew that would be the end of my career and I wasn’t about to give up on the dream of being a pilot and perhaps an astronaut.
I had worked extra hard prior to final inspection. I was confident that Frankie and I were going to pass. I had left no stone unturned for either of us. It had cost me a great deal of capital with my peers, but I was sure the team of Johnson and Pescatilini had beaten the Corps.
During the morning of the final inspection, we were all adorned in our dress blues and looked smartly as we stood erect in front of our lockers. I had to fight to keep from smiling.
“Attention on deck,” shouted a voice and we all snapped to attention. “Colonel on board.”
I stood just a little taller as I heard that voice. I was thrilled with the anticipation of it all. Once we passed this, we were all but Marine Corps Officers. Frankie was standing directly across from me. He looked me in the eyes and I winked at him. We’d beaten them.
The colonel began to walk through the barracks and he looked at each man. “Very impressive,” he said, “very impressive. Gunnery Sergeant, you’ve done an outstanding job. This group is sierra hotel.”
“Thank you sir,” responded the senior drill instructor. “We’ve had a good team.”
The colonel began at the far end of the barracks and stopped in front of each candidate. He would look them over and then ask them one question before he moved on to the next man; at least that was what he did for everybody but Frankie. When he got to my friend, he stopped and began drilling him with a series of questions. He wouldn’t even allow the timid candidate a chance to respond before he’d yell out, “Wrong.”
This continued for a couple of minutes and I could see the look of panic on Frankie’s face. His eyes were pleading with me for help, but I couldn’t. I wanted to scream at the colonel. I wanted to scream and urge Frankie to fight back. I wanted to scream at the DIs to make this all stop, but I didn’t. I stood there focusing on keeping my bearing while under intense pressure.
As suddenly as it had started, the shouting stopped. The colonel walked past Frankie and made a beeline for his locker. When the colonel stopped in front of my friend’s standing closet, he slipped on a pair of white gloves. As he slid on the right hand, I noticed that the pointer finger had a brown stain on it. The colonel then proceeded to rake that finger across the locker. After a couple of strokes, he smiled and then walked back to where my friend was standing.
“What’s this?” asked the colonel as he shoved his finger into Frankie’s face.
It took everything I had to keep from walking over and punching that guy out. This had been a set up from the get go. They wanted Frankie out and despite all the talk of integrity being the trademark of a good Marine they had used devious means to rid themselves of one of the finest men I’d ever met.
“This candidate doesn’t know!” shouted my friend. There was no anger in his voice. As a matter of fact, I’d never heard him in better form.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” shouted the colonel. “It’s dust and you know what that means.”
“This candidate thinks the colonel has made a mistake,” responded Frankie.
Where has this guy been? I thought to myself. Pour it to him, Frankie. I was so proud of the way my friend was standing up to them. Had he been this way the whole time, he’d graduate as honor man.
“Mistake, how have I made a mistake? Is this dust or not?”
“Maybe, this candidate isn’t sure of that but he is sure the colonel has made a mistake.”
“How have I made a mistake? I can’t see it. So, tell me how I’ve made a mistake.”
“The colonel is mistaking this candidate with someone who gives a damn, sir.”
I had to fight to keep from laughing. I scanned the barracks with my eyes and I noticed several other candidates trying not to laugh. Even the senior drill instructor was fighting to keep his composure.
That statement had sealed Frankie’s fate, but no man ever went down more valiantly than did my friend. He had won. The respect he couldn’t garner from his peers while training with them was later heaped lavishly upon him. Everyone in that room realized that if guts and integrity were the hallmarks of a Marine Officer, then this tiny half-Italian half-Pole from New Jersey had it in spades. At that time, I’d never been more proud of anyone as I was Frankie.
That afternoon I was called into the company commander’s office. As I entered the room, I noticed that the company commander, Major Carlos, was sitting at his desk. Standing next to the left side of his desk was my platoon leader, Captain Walker, and on the right side was our squadron commander, Colonel Ridgley. He had been the one that washed out Frankie.
I walked up in front of the major’s desk and presented myself. “Candidate Johnson reporting as ordered sir.”
“At ease,” ordered the colonel before the major had a chance to speak.
I did as ordered. I stole a glance at these men as I followed their orders. The captain was a small boyish looking man and seemed out place in the Marine Corps. The first time that I saw him, I assumed he had joined the Corps because he had come from a long line of Marines so he felt obligated to follow in the family tradition.
The major on the other hand was a man who was born to wear the uniform. As a young officer, he had been a model for a series of recruiting posters. He looked like he belonged in Hollywood. He was the image you see whenever you watch a Marine Corps recruiting advertisement. He had it all; good looks, a great body, charm and charisma. His nickname was “The Total Package” and it fit.
The colonel was a dog-faced man that looked like his mother hand weaned him on sour pickles. He had a grizzled air about him and I could tell that he was a no-nonsense type of person. He was the type that you didn’t want as an enemy.
“Do you know why you are here?” asked the major.
“No sir,” I lied. I assumed I was there to be asked to leave.
“I’ll tell you why,” inject the colonel. “I want to ask you one question. Your career in the Corps may depend on your answer. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Why did you help Pescatilini? From the instant he came here, everyone, even him, knew he wasn’t going to make it, but you fought to save him, why? He’s not Marine Corps material, but you carried his weight as well as your own. That was foolish.”
“A good officer cares about his troops,” I stated with false confidence.
“Yeah, but an incompetent officer, which is what that kid was going to be, will cause great harm to his troops. That’s why he had to go. We had nothing personally against him. I even liked the son of a…” He hesitated. “That’s neither here nor there.
“Do you know how foolish your actions were? I know you think they were admirable and in some ways they were, but foolishness is how I’d describe it.”
He stopped and stared at me for a few seconds before he spoke again. “Do you think you’re officer material?”
“Yes sir!”
“Being a Marine Corps Officer is not an easy job. You have to make decisions and many times people are going to die as a result. Compassion is an admirable trait, but it cannot be more important than the mission. That’s why your friend was let go
“Now, what are we going to do with you? That’s the question the three of us have been debating over the last hour. If it were left up to me, I’d strap your hind end to a rail and run you out of town, but your captain has different ideas. He states you’re the best candidate he’s got. The problem is that Major Carlos is convinced you’ve got the makings of a future commandant. There, in a nutshell, is your problem.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“This candidate would like to stay, sir.”
“Then answer me this question. Why did you help him?”
“This candidate saw a kindred spirit in candidate Pescatilini. That candidate was an outsider looking in and this candidate has felt that way all his life. This candidate has always been the outsider and, as a result, he has had to fight, tooth and nail, to get the things he wanted. Nothing has ever come easy to him. No one has ever given him a hand. This has made him tough, but always alone. He saw the same spirit in Pescatilini and decided that he was going to help and that he was willing to do what ever it took, provided it was morally and legally right, to help his friend. If that costs this candidate his dream of being an officer, then so be it. My personal integrity is more important than being a Marine.”
I silently cursed myself. I had lost my bearing and had forgotten to speak in the third person on that last statement. Surely they had heard that and I was about to get the boot. I held my head up as high as I could get it. If I was going to go down, I was going down with dignity.
The colonel looked at me and smiled. “I’ve been in the Corps for over twenty years and that’s the best answer I’ve ever heard. Congratulations, I think you are going to make a fine officer.”
Despite my best efforts to prevent it, a smile swept across my face and I stood there grinning like a drunken fool.
“Wipe that smile off you face and get the hell out of here,” shouted the colonel and then he returned my smile.
“Yes sir,” I said as I snapped to attention and saluted.
All three of them snapped to attention and returned my gesture. Once they released their salutes, I released mine. I then did a left face and started heading out the door.
As I turned to leave the room, Major Carlos, stated, “Oh yes, and congratulations Candidate Johnson, you’ll be carrying the guide iron during graduation. You’ve been selected as honor man by your drill instructors.”
To this day, I can’t remember if I walked or floated out of that office. Unfortunately, that would prove to be the highlight of my military career. I left the Corps less than six years later because I had become disillusioned by the hypocrisy of those leaders that preached integrity and demanded it from everyone but themselves.