“Try never to run out of smokes, ammo and luck all at the same time. But remember, if you have ammo, you can always get more smokes, and make your own luck.” — G.K. Shirpa

One of the oldest folders in my jumbled files is titled “Things Said & Done.” It’s kind of a catch-all of quotes, quips and lines from places bright and dark. Now and then that file needs airing out, you know? Like now….

The challenge posed to Shirpa was, “From your long life of combat, select just one piece of advice you would give young warriors.”

I thought that was a pretty simplistic answer for a man who had been fighting communists over two continents for more than half a century, since he was about 9-years old. Knowing a little about him, I suspected there was more to it; a more metaphysical meaning. I was right.

He explained that everyone has something—literally, some thing — they need in their body and soul to sustain them in battle and to keep them going through a long campaign—or a longer life of soldiering. Ask any smoker, he said, how important tobacco can be before and after a fight. For others it may be their bible, their prayer beads, a treasured photo, a talisman of clan or tribe, a sweetheart’s scarf, their father’s knife, their mother’s last letter. Those are the “smokes.”

“Ammo” is the means and ability to defend your life, your possessions and your loved ones; whatever it takes to fend off or attack evil. And “luck”? Certainly, he said, there is an element of fate or karma woven through all war, all life, because, he smiled, “Indeed, God blinks,” but all too often, he said, isn’t it odd how fortes fortuna adiuvat — fortune favors the bold? In his experience, Shirpa said, a man who is smart enough to know that bold, decisive action and belief in oneself are event-shaping forces in and of themselves, will indeed be “luckier” than the wavering and timid.

Another gem he gave me was this: “A warrior should not try to see or imagine ‘the end of his trail.’ Do not imagine a hero’s welcome, adoring crowds, grateful comrades or even a long, peaceful rest. While you wake, with every word spoken and every act taken, live so that when you lay down your head, to sleep or to die, you may say to yourself and your God that you have acquitted yourself honorably this day. Do this and sleep will welcome you as a hero; your bed of rocks will comfort you more than fur and feathers, and there will be no end to your trail, or any need or desire to end it.”

Warriors & Waiters

My Uncle John has given me a few good ones too. One of my favorites is, “Some men have an inner warrior. Others have an inner waiter.” Now to me, that’s just funny as heck on its own, but he had a thoughtful follow-up.

“I think it has more to do with genes than with experience, though some only discover their inner warrior or inner waiter with hard experience. The point is, you should know what your core dynamic is—and be honest about it.” He said you owe it to your family and associates to tell them either, “Look, if trouble comes, I may react with sudden violence. I may not be able to take care of you and the threat at the same time, so if you’re not in the fight with me, you should get outta my way and flee,” or, “If trouble comes, my instinct is to get away from it, fast. I’m not into violent confrontation; I don’t deal with it well. I can’t move fast if I’m carrying or dragging you, so do what you want but I’m outta there, understand?” For many people, Uncle John said, either way, that kind of honesty demands courage— and is potentially life-saving.

Another great quote came from a silly, stupid confrontation between him and a rude 20-something dipstick blocking a passageway and intimidating folks who just wanted to get by. When this dummy gave ’em his best mirror-practiced mad-dog look, others turned and took the long way around. Uncle John didn’t. The exchange deteriorated quickly and the idjit asked, “So you think you’re some kinda tough guy, huh?” Uncle John smiled.

“No,” he laughed, “I’m not a tough guy. But I’m an ex-professional tough guy, and I remember a few tricks. So if you feel the need to bleed, give it your best shot, sonny.” The kid gave him a long look, then silently turned his back and got as thin as he could against the passageway wall.

Another great line came from a sorta-related situation. In a smallish town in a warm sub-tropical place, half a dozen nominally white dudes were having lunch and beer in a cantina. The locals took them for Yankees or Euros connected with a nearby bridge project. They weren’t, but that was the intent. The atmosphere was generally friendly, but that didn’t extend to the village bullyboy, who looked like a swarthy version of Andre the Giant.

He came in with a sneer lifting his bushy moustache and a machete dangling from one hand. It rapidly became apparent that his aim was to cow the foreigners—get ’em to squirm—and he’d done this before, successfully. A series of insults followed. The oldest and smallest of the group sat at the head of the table, and BullyBoy focused on him, crudely challenging him to fight and prove his doubtful manhood.

“No,” the elderly gentleman demurred, “My fighting days are past.” BullyBoy advanced, his machete swinging up. “You will fight, or die like a dog!” It may have been any empty theatrical threat—but who knew? Anyway, it’s doubtful he had time to realize his error.

Suddenly a shorty AR appeared which had been slung from the gent’s shoulder under his rain slicker, and several rounds dropped BullyBoy backward like a church door blown from its hinges. The old man got up, surveying the room and his voided antagonist. Leaning over a man who couldn’t hear the words, he stated clearly, “I said my fighting days were past, not my killing days—fool!”

I don’t think any line in any movie could be better than that one, do you?

Oh, boy; here are some great 1-liners—but there’s no more room! Another time, OK?

Connor OUT