Don't Ask - the story of America's first openly gay Marine.

by B. K. Dell

  When more scrutiny was brought to bear concerning the letters, a mass email was circulated stating that Stacy had revealed the letters, not to a few select bloggers, but to a non-bias panel of over fifty people. They even brought in handwriting analysts to compare the signature on the letters to the original papers Caleb signed when he joined the Marines. It was a perfect match. The email also said that this panel was interviewed on CNN.

  From then on, the water-cooler debates sounded like this:

  “Of course Stacy could lie, and a few bloggers could lie, but he showed those letters to a panel of over fifty people. Do you think all of them are lying?”

  “Isn’t it possible that the idea of fifty witnesses is itself a lie, invented by only one person?”

  “No, because all of them had been interviewed together live on camera. And they all confirmed having seen and held the letters in their hands.”

  “Oh, you just read that from some left wing blog!”

  “No, it was reported on CNN.”

  Soon the line, “It was reported on CNN,” somehow morphed into, “I saw it on CNN.” And so, the debate over the letters’ existence was settled. Any new fabricated details about the letters would appear on Wikipedia with a footnote citing CNN, never giving the time or date aired because there wasn’t any. On top of that, major networks – once trusted – would post internet stories with new details and even peculiar quotes claimed to have originated from Caleb’s letters. After each new detail, there would be a link to the source. If anyone bothered to click on it, they would discover that it would take them to some unknown partisan blog or to Stacy Oliver’s own MySpace page. Most people, however, never bothered clicking. They were satisfied with seeing that the information actually was sourced and promptly began parroting it to their friends at work, to their siblings on the phone, or on their own blogs – linking to the internet story that linked to Stacy’s MySpace.

  Having gained the respectability of a martyr – Caleb’s approval rating was 81% in the latest pole – every activist minded misanthrope with a laptop and an internet connection suddenly wanted to put words in Caleb’s mouth that supported their own pet cause. As a result, strange quotes that claimed to have originated from Caleb’s letters started to appear, such as, “Radical Christianity is just as threatening as radical Islam,” and, “The proletariats have nothing to lose but their chains.”

  One effective video on YouTube, created by supporters of Jackson’s side, contained an edited side-by-side video of Stacy’s accusations about Caleb’s treatment in boot camp. It played the words Stacy used on Mitch McCarty’s show and followed them with the movie scene Stacy had been describing. After Stacy said, “His drill instructor found a donut in his footlocker and made the entire platoon do pushups while Caleb ate the donut,” the video played the matching scene from Full Metal Jacket. After Stacy said, “Then, when he was wearing this big metal scuba diving thing, they cut a hole in his bag and the water was really cold,” it played the matching scene from Men of Honor. After Stacy said, “Then the head guy tried to rape him and none of the other guys could stop him because they were all inside this cage thing,” it played the matching scene from G.I. Jane. The video would have been a smoking gun as evidence against Stacy’s character; however, it never got more than three-hundred hits.

  The footage of Stacy’s crocodile tears became too tempting a target for ridicule. Parody videos sprang up on YouTube ranging in quality from professional to amateur. They were all mean-spirited and received far more hits. This gave Stacy’s side further proof of the hate. The public narrative changed from debating the existence of Stacy’s letters to yet another national dialog about whether America was “still too homophobic.”

  A gubernatorial race in Minnesota was heating up, gearing for an off-year special election. Jim Woodard had been behind in the poles when he held a press conference announcing that, inspired by Caleb’s bravery, he decided to finally admit to being gay. He told the press before he told his wife and children, a fact that was drowned out by the praises being sung for his bravery. He instantly surged in the polls.

  The president of the United States, at the end of an unrelated press conference, was asked what he felt about the alleged murder and he responded that although he was not there and could not know what actually happened, he believed that “Private First Class Jackson Brooks acted stupidly.”

  Both Stacy Oliver and Michael Ponce were offered book deals in the high six figures.

  There was only one cable network that constantly played and replayed the same footage of Caleb Hertz and Jackson Brooks hugging on graduation day. It was difficult to tell from the angle, but they brought in body language experts to analyze the footage frame by frame, and determined that it was Jackson who refused a handshake and initiated the hug. This might have been powerful exonerating evidence in the court of public opinion if it couldn’t have so easily been dismissed by condescendingly evoking the name of the network. “Yeah, but you just saw that on FOX News.” It was like a magical incantation that could make unwelcomed facts disappear into thin air.

  Most of the Marines who had known Caleb were still in Afghanistan while all of this was happening stateside. Thanks to the tireless efforts put forth by Caleb’s mother, all of them had their chance to go on record and all of them went on record for the side of Jackson Brooks. Brit was back home in Oregon and had become quite skilled at giving a forceful interview. He would sit down with anyone – friendly or not – and take on tough, even underhanded questions. He was the most formidable defender of Jackson’s freedom and Caleb’s legacy. He told them that Jackson and Caleb were friends and that Stacy and Caleb weren’t even an item by the time he met Caleb. He told them about the pranks they played on Michael Ponce and how Mellow Yellow was really his nickname, not Caleb’s. When asked about the photo of the Marine holding him at gunpoint he said, “It’s not what it looks like, sir. Caleb asked him to hold a gun to his head!”

  “In the photo it was pointing at his chest.”

  “Oh yeah, first he pointed it at his chest, then he pointed it at his head.”

  “He pointed it at Caleb’s head also?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he asked him to!”

  “Why would Caleb do that?”

  “He was trying to make a point, sir.”

  “What was the point?”

  Here Brit scratched his head. He hadn’t really been listening all that closely. “It was something about Plato, I think.” This was his least effective moment.

  Next to Jackson, Brit quickly became one of the most hated men in America.

  That was until they got a hold of Rider.

  Rider was home from deployment, back in Redding, California. He had refused to give any interviews, so one day a reporter ambushed him outside of Tequila Mockingbird, his favorite bar, and shoved a microphone in his face. The resulting sound bite was played so often, most of the nation’s news junkies had it completely memorized:

  Look, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about homosexuals. People don’t like homosexuals because they are whiney and shrill, so what do they do? They act more whiney and shrill. Then they hold outrageous protests because people don’t accept them. But why should we accept them? If they want to be accepted, they should act acceptable. But they don’t, and they never will. Instead they want to change our definition of what is acceptable, of what is decent and praiseworthy. Yes, they are the ones who want to change us. They could not rise up to our values, so they want to bring our values down to them.

  The reporter tried to respond here but was interrupted.

  The only option left for those who want to get along is to pretend to like them, which is what you have decided to do – your station and others like it. You are simply pretending, as well as most of your viewers. And all of you think you are the only ones pretending! You pretend to like them, the same way that you pretend to like peace protesters, and environmentalists. Nobo
dy likes people like that.

  The reporter began to speak but was interrupted again.

  People like courage; they like strength; and they like certitude. That is why people like Marines and that is why I liked Caleb. It’s simple; gay rights activists can have the respect that they want and they can have it tomorrow. Just act like Caleb. That is all you have to do – just act more like Private First Class Caleb Hertz.

  Only one network actually dug deep enough to find the men who went through boot camp with Caleb. In a special that aired on a Sunday night, two hours of live personal testimony came in from nearly every Marine in Caleb’s first platoon in San Diego. Those that could not be flown out to the studios in New York were filmed via satellite in Afghanistan. The only two people missing were PFC Tucker and SSgt Folsom. Trey Tucker was still in physical rehabilitation and SSgt Folsom issued no comment. PFC Terrence Brown did most of the talking.

  “What is your perspective on the death of Private First Class Caleb Hertz?”

  “Unfortunately, sir, friendly fire incidents are a fact of life. As long as humans continue to be imperfect, accidents will happen. But I think what is important to remember is that men and women in uniform who travel half way around the world and lose their lives in an accident, sometimes as ordinary as a car crash, still give their lives for their country. Their deaths are no less noble.”

  “So, you believe that the incident was friendly fire.”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I really do. PFC Brooks and I were with PFC Hertz from the beginning. I can promise you there is not one man who was a recruit at boot camp with PFC Hertz who did not like him, not one.”

  “So there was no hazing? No special treatment?”

  “No, sir. None whatsoever.”

  “You can’t think of anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Marines tease each other don’t they?”

  “Not us, sir.”

  “There were no playful jabs in fun, something that could be misinterpreted?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”

  “What about the drill instructor?”

  “Staff Sergeant Folsom is a consummate professional who treats his recruits with fairness and respect. His behavior toward Private First Class Hertz was one-hundred percent indistinguishable from his behavior toward any other recruit.”

  “Did he ever draw attention to the fact that Caleb Hertz was a homosexual?”

  “To be honest with you, sir, most days it had slipped my mind.”

  “What is your opinion of Private First Class Jackson Brooks?”

  “PFC Brooks is a good man, sir. He’s a great Marine.”

  “Do you have any idea why Caleb Hertz would use these words, ‘If I only believed in God, I would pray for my own speedy death.’”

  “He didn’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because that is not PFC Hertz. I’m telling you, sir, that is not him. PFC Hertz never complained about nothin’.” Terrence began to get emotional and he forgot to watch his grammar. He lost his live television enunciation and started dropping his g’s. He said forcefully, “And Hertz wasn’t even together with Stacy. That dude dumped him for some gay rights activist. Stacy was a total Oliver. Hertz never sent letters to that guy; he hated that guy. We all hated that…” Panic filled Terrence’s eyes as he feared what his tongue might do. He regained his primetime posture and his primetime voice, and said, “phony.” He smiled cautiously.

  Every interview that night was virtually identical in message and in spirit. All of them professed their admiration of Caleb, all stood up for Jackson, all denounced Stacy, and all of them used the line, “Staff Sergeant Folsom is a consummate professional who treats his recruits with fairness and respect. His behavior toward Private First Class Hertz was one-hundred percent indistinguishable from his behavior toward any other recruit.”

  The testimonies were powerful. Aside from the one near slip from Terrence, each man spoke respectfully and with heartfelt conviction. All of them lied, but all of them believed that – while lying – they were actually fighting for a more general truth. The truth was that Caleb’s experience with them was great and noble. The truth was that Caleb was a victim of nobody. Each man knew that if Caleb were alive, he too would stand up and proudly proclaim the same truth, and if he had to, he too would use lies to do it.

  The public was convinced. There were too many names, too many real faces, all of them testifying to the same things, all of them proud Marines that were serving their country.

  The interview requests for Stacy dropped off. His name became synonymous with liar. Letters to the editor and calls into radio talk shows all expressed their indignation over the fraud that had been attempted on the American people.

  Michael Ponce was demoted by the Times. He spent his time covering school bake sales and staff meetings at the local library. His articles were all buried in the back pages of the Times’ website, to which the online editor would sometimes forget to – or not even bother to – create a link.

  Michael Ponce’s name became iconic – exhibit A in the case against mainstream media’s credibility. It was brought up as a counter argument against any news story that the political right did not agree with. “Why should we trust anything they say? These are the people who brought us Michael Ponce.”

  Within one week, the entire country had moved on. The networks searched for the next life to ruin; the people returned to watching Dancing with the Stars; the newest viral video on the internet was a kitten on a Rumba; and Jim Woodard’s opponent was voted Governor of Minnesota in a landslide.

  Everyone moved on but Jackson, who was still awaiting trial.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Terrence Brown woke up and stumbled out of bed. While still in his boxers, he staggered into his kitchen and searched for a clean bowl. There were none in the cupboard, so he found the bowl from yesterday’s cereal and rinsed it out. Good enough. He poured himself some Count Chocula and decided to check his email. There was no one he was expecting an email from, but he liked to check it a few times each day. His girlfriend had been dropping hints recently that maybe he had a technology addiction. He argued that it was just because he had to live so primitively while deployed, that he had to catch up while at home. I mean really, a Marine with a technology addiction? We’d die from withdrawal.

  When he clicked on the icon to open up his browser, he discovered that overnight, he had become the next victim that the press had been searching for. The headline on his home page read “Private First Class Terrence Brown’s email hacked.” The link to read the full story was labeled, “Military cover-up exposed.” Terrence dropped his spoon on the carpet. The earliest emails in question were originally sent during the ten days in which Terrence was home after boot camp, before he left for combat training. The most damaging among them was sent in response to one of his civilian friends who had sent a short email saying, “Hey Terrence, sup? I hope you survived boot camp okay. Did you happen to run into that gay guy from the news?” Terrence had replied to him with a full account of the entire thirteen weeks. All the best pull quotes from Terrence’s email had already made it into the article: “I have seen a lot of movies, but I have never seen a drill instructor punish a guy as hard as Caleb got it every single day,” and then there was the prophetic closing line, “Don’t show this email to anyone. If the press ever found out what really happened, we’d never hear the end of it.” The email had introduced into social dialog terms like duck walk, blanket party, and SSgt Folsom’s personal creation – heterosexuals up, the call for every man to conclude their pushups but Caleb.

  More incriminating evidence came from his inbox. Correspondence with the entire platoon back and forth to confirm they were on the “same page” before the interviews. “I don’t want to get on national television and lie if one of you guys is going to come along and blow the whole thing,” Terrence wrote in a mass email. Every single one of them responded. All of them agreed to lie.
The article lifted a line from one Marine’s response. He said, “Jackson’s attorney told him not to talk and Caleb can never talk again. We are the only witnesses who can tell people what happened, even if we have to lie. That is the way that he would want it.” Everyone in the media incorrectly assumed the he referred to Jackson.

  A new edited video appeared on YouTube. This one had clips of Terrence lying about boot camp, followed by the words typed out from one of his emails that directly contradicted what he just said. This video had over five million hits.

  The responses from every single Marine involved was proof positive that if these Marines from Caleb’s boot camp had stuck together and conspired to lie, then the Marines that were deployed with Caleb at Camp Kookaburra probably did the same thing. Nothing after that was ever believed if it was perceived to be a Marine siding with a Marine and against a homosexual. They labeled it the Chorus of Hatred, a term lifted from Michael Ponce’s first interview.

  Michael Ponce was reinstated to his former prominence and pay grade. The evening edition that day already had him on page one. He could not resist giving his two cents in the article with the line. “The only thing worse than a Christian is a Christian hypocrite. You can’t look down on me for my immorality while being a lying scumbag at the same time.” This comment drew about a day’s worth of criticism, but there was too much momentum on his side. His defenders excused it by saying, “He was just upset. You would be too if you had been the target of a modern day witch hunt.”