Speeches

227th Marine Corps Birthday Ball

Franklin L. Lavin - U.S. Ambassador to Singapore

November 8, 2002

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I have ordered the color guard tonight to carry live rounds, (laughter) because there is always someone who does not turn off their cell phone and we are adopting a new hard-line policy on this issue. (laughter and applause)

Ambassador Price, Admiral Cassius, Detachment Commander, distinguished guests and friends, welcome to the 227th birthday of the United States Marine Corps. We as Americans are very proud of the Marines. And those of us who serve here in Singapore are especially honored to help our Marine Security Guards celebrate. Over 54 years, Marine Security Guards have not only risked, but also sacrificed, their lives in defense of our missions worldwide and in so doing have epitomized the Corps values of honor, courage and commitment. It’s no surprise that our children often tell us they want to grow up to be Marines. Such a compliment is hard to compete with, and so far I haven’t heard any children say they want to grow up to be an Ambassador.

Not only do the Marines understand duty, but they also understand off-duty. The Marine House is a haven for those of us who want to unwind at the end of a busy week, when there is not a Marine Ball around. The Marine House is the foundation of our community spirit. Marine Detachment Singapore, for your superb professionalism on the job and for the way you improve the atmosphere when you are off the job, we salute you.

The gentlemen in front of you tonight are a special breed. They have proven the honor, courage, and commitment required to earn the title of Marine. Indeed, the terms honor, courage, and commitment are defined as the three constant Corps values, and throughout the history of the Marine Corps, Marines everywhere have lived up to these words. This was brought home in a story I saw recently. The events could have taken place in a forest in France in 1918, or on an island in the Pacific in 1944, but they took place in New York City, just last year.

Some 3,000 people died on September 11. In fact, only 12 survivors were pulled from the rubble of the World Trade Center, despite intense rescue efforts. Two of them were saved, not by firefighters or rescue workers, but by one man, Dave Karnes.

Karnes wasn't even in New York when the planes hit the towers. He was in Wilton, Conn., working in his job as an accountant with Deloitte Touche. When the second plane hit, Karnes told his colleagues, "We're at war." Karnes had spent 23 years in the Marines. He told his boss he might not see him for a while. Then he went to get a haircut.

Next he drove home to put on his uniform. Karnes always kept two sets of Marine fatigues hanging in his closet, pressed and starched. "It's kind of weird to do, but it comes in handy," he said.

Then Karnes stopped by the storage facility where he kept his equipment — rappelling gear, ropes, canteens, his K-Bar knife, and a flashlight. Then he drove to church and asked the pastor to say a prayer that God would lead him to survivors. Finally, Karnes lowered the convertible top on his Porsche. This would make it easier for the authorities to look in and see a Marine, he reasoned, which might help him get past checkpoints. Driving at speeds of up to 120 miles per hour, he reached Manhattan in the late afternoon.

His plan worked. With the top off, the cops could see his pressed fatigues, his neatly cropped hair, and his gear up front. They waved him past the barricades. He arrived at the site—"the pile"—at about 5:30. Building 7 of the World Trade Center, a 47-story structure adjacent to the fallen twin towers, had just dramatically collapsed. Rescue workers had been ordered off the pile—it was too unsafe to let them continue. Flames were bursting from a number of buildings, and the whole site was considered unstable. Standing on the edge of the burning pile, Karnes spotted … another Marine dressed in camouflage. His name was Sgt. Thomas. Karnes never learned his first name, and he's never come forward in the time since.

Together Karnes and Thomas walked around the pile looking for a point of entry farther from the burning buildings. They also wanted to move away from officials trying to keep rescue workers off the pile. Thick, black smoke blanketed the site. The two Marines couldn't see where to enter. But then there was a sudden parting of the smoke. Karnes and Thomas dashed in.

They climbed over the tangled steel and began looking into voids. They saw no one else searching the pile—the rescue workers having obeyed the order to leave the area. "United States Marines," Karnes began shouting. "If you can hear us, yell or tap!" Over and over, Karnes shouted the words. Then he would pause and listen. One writer wrote: "The pile heaved and groaned and constantly changed, and was capable at any moment of killing again." Fires burned all around. "I just had a sense, an overwhelming sense came over me that we were walking on hallowed ground, that thousands of people could be trapped and dead beneath us," he said.

After about an hour of searching and yelling, Karnes stopped.

"Be quiet," he told Thomas, "I think I can hear something."

He yelled again. "We can hear you. Yell louder." He heard a faint muffled sound in the distance.

"Keep yelling. We can hear you." Karnes and Thomas zeroed in on the sound.

"We're over here," they heard.

Two Port Authority police officers, Will Jimeno and John McLoughlin, were buried in the center of the World Trade Center ruins, 20 feet below the surface. They could be heard but not seen. By jumping into a larger opening, Karnes could hear Jimeno better. But he still couldn't see him. Karnes sent Thomas to look for help. Then he used his cell phone to call his wife in Stamford and his sister in Pittsburgh. He thought they could work the phones and get through to New York police headquarters.

"Don't leave us," Jimeno pleaded. He later said he feared Karnes' voice would trail away, as had that of another potential rescuer hours earlier. It was now about 7 p.m. and Jimeno and McLoughlin had been trapped for roughly nine hours. Karnes stayed with them, talking to them until help arrived, in the form of Chuck Sereika, a former paramedic with an expired license who put pulled his old uniform out of his closet and came to the site. Ten minutes later, Policemen Scott Strauss and Paddy McGee also arrived.

Strauss and Sereika spent three hours digging Jimeno out of the debris, which constantly threatened to collapse. At one point, all they had with which to dig out Jimeno was a pair of handcuffs. Karnes helped pass tools to Strauss and readied his K-Bar when it looked as if they might have to amputate Jimeno's leg to free him. After Jimeno was finally pulled out, another team of cops worked for six more hours to free McLoughlin, who was buried deeper in the pile.

Karnes left the site that night when Jimeno was rescued and went with him to the hospital. While doctors treated the injured cop, Karnes grabbed a few hours sleep on an empty bed in the hospital psychiatric ward. While he slept, his mission finished, the hospital cleaned and pressed his uniform for the next day’s work.

Marine Security Detachment Singapore, one reason I like this story is that we can see elements of you in Dave Karnes. We won’t always be able to go on our missions driving a Porsche, but it’s a nice thought. But in you we see the same dedication. The extraordinary preparedness and initiative. The bravery. Maybe even the night in the psychiatric ward.

One final remark. Once when Officer Strauss was out on the pile, trying to pull Jimeno free, Strauss shouted orders —"Medic, I need air," or "Marine, get me some water." At one point, in the middle of this work, Strauss asked if he could call them by their names to speed things up. The medic said he was "Chuck."

Karnes said: "You can call me 'staff sergeant.' "

"That's three syllables!" said Strauss, "Isn't there something shorter?"

Karnes replied: "You can call me 'staff sergeant.' "

Detachment, we know you will always keep your uniform pressed and ready. Your gear will always be near-by. When your country calls, you will always answer that call.

And Detachment Commander, we will always call you, "Staff Sargeant."

Happy Birthday Marines.

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We are grateful to Slate and The Atlantic Magazine for elements of the story.