It was a cold, gray Kansas morning with winter but a few days away. The Marine Corps was having its annual birthday celebration at the Dole Institute. It would be a time for all Marines to get together with others in the community to celebrate another birthday, another year of survival, and a time to remember those who did not make it.

It was good to see familiar faces and renew friendships. Each year, fewer and fewer return. There was the newest group of ROTC students from KU, who would enter the Navy or Marine Corps when they graduated. The disparity between the groups could not be greater. Old, grizzled, overweight veterans, many with full beards and chained wallets, others dressed as retired businessmen, still others in Levis or police uniforms, veterans of all wars since World War II.

The ROTC students were young, clean shaven and wearing crisp, sharp midshipmen uniforms with little gold anchors, white shirts and black shiny shoes. They were very polite, very respectful and stood in a line, not quite sure what to do amid the elders.

The Lawrence Choral sang “America the Beautiful,” and it was beautiful. They next sang the Marine Corps hymn, accompanied by a robust audience who knew most of the words.

Then it was time for the ritual “Commandant’s Message.” This was an annual birthday video and message to all Marines, past, present and future. It was to bolster morale and faith in the Corps, validate past sacrifices, to remember the fallen, to remind us all of what a great day it was for the Corps, and how our faithful service kept America strong and safe, how fortunate we all were to have belonged to this august organization.

The commandant, Lt. Gen. James T. Conway, and Sgt. Maj. Carlton Kent joined together to tell the story, recalling the 1980s disaster in Beirut, Lebanon, when terrorists killed 234 Marines sleeping in their barracks. The videos were graphic and full of death and destruction, the dead and dying, casualties of our American political process gone terribly wrong.

The disaster tour continued with vivid video of our involvement is Somalia, the bombing of the Khobar Towers, the attack on the embassy in Kenya, the USS Cole terrorist attack, a litany of messy, bloody, fire-fights and terrorist attacks in foreign lands.

Then the commandant and sergeant major were in Afghanistan, decked out in strapped down pistols, flak jackets and desert boots, ready to go after the bad guys. They walked the sand and talked about commitment and sacrifice as they sweated in the hot desert sun.

The ROTC cadets were riveted to the screen during this capsulated version and interpretation of the war process. It was clear they were a little uncomfortable, and who can blame them? What they were seeing was not neat and tidy; it was not heroic and gallant, not like the movies. It was brutal and full of wanton death and destruction. It was dead kids just like them who were being dragged from the concrete rubble and laid out on stretchers. War is not pretty; it is not fun.

The commandant ended his message by toasting Marines across the nation and congratulating them on their 233rd birthday.

The video ended, the screen went blank, and an uncomfortable silence filled the hall. The mood and tenor of the day had changed; it was now somber and solemn. The ceremony continued, but it was not the same.