Gary was a Navy Seal. He was an operator. That means he was one of the sneaky, peeky, creepy, crawlies that could never tell you where they'd been or what they'd been doing. He had been on a Seal Team stationed at Norfolk, VA when he'd had an episode of ill health. He had been out on a run, early morning, before breakfast; he came across a couple of Marines on the same trail and the old competitive nature kicked in and before you know it, they were all sprinting down the trail with Service Pride on the line. I don't know who came out on top, but I am sure that Gary represented himself and the Navy well. But as he was cooling down, walking at a quick pace, suddenly he experienced shortness of breath, slight chest pains, wobbliness, and narrow vision. He said it had scared the crud out of him and they had rushed him to the ER. After extensive tests and pokings and proddings, the docs had said it was definitely NOT a heart attack. Most probable cause: low blood sugar. Hypoglycemia is difficult to detect after the fact. It could very well have been an isolated event due to lack of food and overstressing while playing with the Marines. As soon as the docs had released him, Gary had popped back into his team offices and reported himself cleared and ready for duty.

The Commander of the team had disagreed. His reasoning was that no matter what the cause had been, they could not afford to have it happen again while they were on an operation. Gary was taken off the active operator list until they could figure out what to do with him. He'd hung around the offices, doing odd clerical stuff while the Powers-That-Be decided his fate.

To say that Gary had been angry would be like saying the Titanic had had a little mishap on her maiden voyage. He got the bright idea that he could prove his "sea-worthiness" by running in a marathon. If he could do that, surely they would let him back on the teams. So he investigated what it took to get registered and began to prep for the run. He was of the opinion that any Seal could do a marathon anytime...they just didn't want to. He thought he was fit enough so he kept to light workouts until the big day. He chose the Marine Corps Marathon in Arlington, Virginia. It was a warm day for November, and humid. Gary said that by the time he had run fourteen or fifteen miles, he felt like there just wasn't any oxygen left in the air. He pounded out the rest of it in a daze, but he finished. And his heart didn't quit. He even did it quick enough to get an official time. He took his time slip to his commander and proudly proclaimed himself fit, cleared, and ready for duty.

The commander was impressed. He told Gary that they would allow him to stay with the teams in a support role...clerical work seemed to suit him...but that he would never be back on the teams. Gary's anger flared again and he told his commander that he would like a new assignment. The commander told him he could just about have his pick of ships, if that was what he wanted. Gary shook his head and said, "I'm ringing the bell*; I want an assignment as far from the Navy as possible." And that is how he came to be assigned to EUCOM HQ, in Stuttgart, Germany, where there were only about a dozen sailors in the whole place. And more than five hundred miles from the nearest seaport.

*During Basic Underwater Demolition/Seal (BUD/S) training in Coronado, CA, if a candidate drops out (his decision) or washes out of the course (school's decision), he is required to ring a brass bell signifying he is on his way out. Of course, after fifteen or so years of being an active Seal operator, Gary didn't really have to ring a bell; it was his way of letting the boss know that he was done.