Tom Sileo

by Brothers Forever

  The weekend after his mom’s stay, Brendan welcomed Amy to San Diego for her only visit of the summer. She arrived in Imperial Beach on a Friday night, anxious to see her boyfriend not only because she missed him, but also because she wanted to discuss where their relationship was headed after he became a Navy SEAL.

  After a nice Saturday night dinner at an ocean-view restaurant in nearby La Jolla, Brendan asked Amy to join him on the beach.

  “I had some time to think after Hell Week,” Brendan said. “That’s when I realized that I couldn’t think about my life without you in it.”

  “So I really wanted to ask you something,” he continued. “I’ve been trying to do this all night.”

  Kneeling in front of Amy, Brendan pulled a box out of his pocket.

  “I got you this ring,” he said. “Do you think you would marry me?”

  “Yes,” Amy said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too!” said Brendan, awash with relief. He then kissed his new fiancée.

  When Brendan and Amy got back to Imperial Beach, Sarver was waiting to congratulate them. After opening the bottle of champagne that the elated couple had bought on their way home, Sarver proposed a toast to his two friends, who he said were perfect for each other.

  After Sarver went to his room, Brendan told Amy about a conversation he had had with his mom while she was in town after Hell Week.

  “I told her that after Travis died, I realized there was no reason for you and me to wait any longer,” Brendan said to Amy. “Life is short. . . . Just look at what happened with Trav. I don’t want us to have any regrets.”

  The next evening, Amy left San Diego sporting a smile big enough to light up the entire harbor. Although moving from Maryland to the West Coast would be challenging, she couldn’t wait to start her new life. But first, Brendan would have to finish training to become a Navy SEAL.

  At BUD/S, officers train alongside enlisted personnel, which gave the Naval Academy graduate a chance to start blossoming as a leader. Before grabbing paddles and starting boat exercises, Brendan would underscore what the instructors were always hammering home: teamwork and paying attention to the small things. Whether it was lacrosse, football, the classroom, Iraq, or Korea, Brendan’s experience helped guide other candidates through the choppy seas. Even Sarver, who knew Brendan better than any other trainee, marveled at how instinctively his roommate adapted.

  Before embarking on long beach runs through the island’s chilly morning wind, guys would sometimes gripe, understandably, about lack of sleep, persistent hunger, or physical exhaustion. One time Sarver himself was commiserating with a group of SEAL candidates about the consistently tough training conditions.

  “Okay guys, it’s time to shut up,” Brendan said. “Let’s get started.”

  During the third phase of what seemed like six years of BUD/S training rather than six months, Brendan once joined his team on the beach for a morning “ruck” run, during which each SEAL candidate would carry forty pounds of gear in his backpack. Brendan, who had been up more than thirty straight hours after working his administrative job all night, didn’t have time to pack his bag before the five-mile run started at 5:30 a.m. Instead, he arrived at the beach a few minutes early and found a huge rock that he thought would satisfy the ruck’s weight requirements.

  As he had done in his races through Annapolis with Travis, Brendan ran as if his life depended on it. The ocean breeze didn’t affect his tired eyes, nor did the wet sand slow his aching feet. When Class 265 crossed the five-mile mark, Brendan finished first, standing at the finish line shouting words of encouragement to every fellow SEAL candidate who followed.

  “Looney, what the hell is in your pack?” one fellow trainee asked.

  “It’s a rock,” Brendan said. “I didn’t have time to pack up.”

  “Well that’s one big fucking rock!” said another classmate, who thought the rock looked much heavier than forty pounds.

  Though downplaying his own toughness, Brendan grinned and admitted that the rock felt “pretty damn heavy.” When a few of his teammates later put the rock on a scale, it weighed fifty-five pounds.

  “Hooyah!” the guys shouted.

  For instructors and trainees, the easiest part of BUD/S was determining who would finish at the top.

  “Now we will announce the Honor Man of Navy SEAL BUD/S training Class 265,” an instructor said. “This award goes to a leader who not only excels in physical training, but makes every Frogman [as SEALs are nicknamed] around him better. I’m proud to name Brendan Looney the Honor Man of your class.”

  After twenty-four weeks of a meticulous, exhausting regimen that had encompassed physical conditioning, diving, and land warfare, Brendan, who had almost missed the chance to train at Coronado because he was colorblind, received the ultimate recognition from his instructors and peers.

  All fall 2007 graduates of BUD/S would almost certainly go to war at some point in the next few years after completing SEAL Qualification Training (SQT) and receiving their tridents. Brendan and Sarver would have to wait longer than the enlisted BUD/S graduates to complete their twenty-six weeks of SQT, however, as all SEAL officers are held back one class to complete the required Junior Officer Training Course (JOTC). But as the valiant men of Class 265 gathered one last time on BUD/S Beach, they applauded Brendan for not only overcoming the loss of a close friend, but also inspiring all of them with his sheer willpower, ability, and character.

  “In times of war or uncertainty there is a special breed of warrior ready to answer our nation’s call,” the Navy SEAL ethos and creed begins. “A common man with an uncommon desire to succeed. Forged by adversity, he stands alongside America’s finest special operations forces to serve his country, the American people, and protect their way of life. I am that man.”

  Brendan said only “thank you” when he received the rare, coveted award, and he didn’t even tell Amy until she later discovered the “Honor Man” plaque in a drawer. When she asked Brendan what it was, he said it was “no big deal.”

  Since he was a little boy, when his mom would find ribbons and tests with A+ grades crumpled up in his backpack and trophies hidden in his drawers, Brendan had never been interested in recognition. Sure enough, when Amy later asked some of her husband’s peers about the Honor Man award and discovered its significance, Brendan had already mailed it to his parents’ house in Maryland.

  The Honor Man of BUD/S Class 265 sent his plaque home as a symbol of appreciation and respect. In Brendan’s mind, no award was ever his; it belonged to the people who had sacrificed to give him a chance at success. Indeed, there was no one prouder of what Brendan overcame the odds to accomplish than Kevin and Maureen Looney.

  Though also proud of Brendan, those same six months were brutal for Tom and Janet Manion. Since Travis’s death they had attended two more funerals for US service members killed in Iraq. The first was for First Lieutenant Colby Umbrell, the Doylestown soldier who had died four days after Travis, and the second was for a Marine and Naval Academy graduate who was killed in Baghdad less than two weeks after their son.

  Major Douglas Zembiec, the “Lion of Fallujah” from Albuquerque, New Mexico, whom Travis knew, worked out with, and deeply respected, was killed on May 11, 2007, in Baghdad. Due to his already famous battlefield heroics, Zembiec’s death received a high level of attention inside and outside military circles.

  “After the Battle [of Fallujah], he said that his Marines had ‘fought like lions,’ and he was soon himself dubbed the Lion of Fallujah,” Defense Secretary Robert Gates said to a large group of Marines on July 19, 2007. “He volunteered to deploy again, and was sent back to Iraq earlier this year. This time, he would not return to his country, or to his wife and his one-year-old daughter.”

  Gates, who had been nominated by President Bush to replace Donald Rumsfeld at the Pentagon less than a year earlier, paused before continuing. He was clearly moved by the thirty-four-year-old Marine’s courage.

  “In
May, the Lion of Fallujah was laid to rest at Arlington, and he was memorialized at his Alma Mater in Annapolis,” the defense secretary said, his voice cracking with sadness. “A crowd of more than a thousand included many enlisted Marines from his Beloved Echo Company. An officer there told a reporter: ‘Your men have to follow your orders. They don’t have to go to your funeral.’”

  Gates concluded his speech with a touching tribute.

  “Every evening, I write notes to the families of young Americans like Doug Zembiec,” he said. “For you and for me, they are not names on a press release, or numbers updated on a Web site; they are our country’s sons and daughters.”

  For Tom and Janet, the months after their son’s death were filled with devastation and daily reminders of their enormous loss. They were lifted up, however, by the many visits from Travis’s friends and Marine Corps brothers.

  The Manions were also getting hundreds of messages on a Legacy.com page set up to memorialize Travis. During many late, sometimes sleepless nights, Tom, Janet, Ryan, and Dave would scroll through the words of support, and they were particularly moved by posts from men and women inside the circle of 3-2-1 MiTT:

  I was with Travis when he was killed. There is no doubt in my mind that he saved my life and the lives of all of us that were there that day. Know that Travis is missed and remembered. He was one of the best Marines and men I have ever had the luck to meet and I’ll never forget his gift.

  ~1st Lt. Jonathan Marang

  I’ve been getting stronger. I see the progress every 2–3 weeks or so. I’m pushing to get back to full duty status before April [2008] is over. I know that when I take the PFT [Physical Fitness Test] I’ll think of what we talked about, of how we could look back on the days spent in Iraq and know that we did our part. We wouldn’t be the ones wondering about whether we had an effect or not.

  R.I.P. brother,

  ~Ed (“Doc”) Albino

  I served with Travis during his first tour in Iraq as his battalion surgeon. Last year when I heard of his death I was deeply saddened due to the loss of an exceptional man and Marine.

  Travis built our gym in Fallujah and this is where I had most of my conversations with him.

  Every day I work out now, even in a gym far away that he has likely never been in, I remember Travis and am grateful to have had an opportunity to know him.

  ~Reagan Anderson

  I am the wife of 2nd Lt. Scott Alexander, a member of Travis’ MiTT team and his great friend. I want to let you know what joy Travis was able to bring to the team. Scott called last night and for an hour relayed stories of all the ways Travis would make the guys laugh and keep up the morale of the team. Throughout the deployment he spoke of Travis with the utmost regard and he was a true mentor, friend, and brother to my husband. Thank you for raising such a wonderful young man, I know he impacted each one of our guys out there and is now watching over them. My sincerest apologies for your loss.

  ~Catherine Alexander

  Although her husband made it home safely, Catherine Alexander, who served in the Navy Reserve, would lose her brother, Marine Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Budrejko, almost five years later on February 22, 2012, in a helicopter training accident near Yuma, Arizona. Six fellow Marines were killed in the crash, which along with tragic events in Afghanistan, Iraq, and around the world, served as a painful reminder of the military community’s continuing post-9/11 sacrifices.

  On one quiet day in September 2007, the phone rang at the Manion house. It was Brendan, who asked Tom how he, Janet, and Ryan were holding up.

  “It’s great to hear from you, Brendan,” Tom said. “We’re doing alright up here. . . . How was BUD/S? . . . Did you make it out in one piece?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brendan said. “It was tough, but I made it, and I think you know who was looking out for me the whole time.”

  “Congratulations, buddy, and I also heard you got engaged, so congratulations to you and Amy, too,” Tom said. “Janet and I are proud of you, and I know your parents are, too.”

  Brendan told Travis’s father that he was in Maryland to visit his folks, and if it was alright with Tom and Janet, he would like to drive up to Pennsylvania and spend time with the Manions. After agreeing on a day, Tom invited Brendan to stay the night on the same downstairs couch next to the bar and pool table that Travis had loved to sleep on when he visited from California.

  “Brendan, it really means a lot to us that you’d come up here,” Tom said.

  After hanging up Tom went into the kitchen, where his wife was immersed in the roots of what would later become the Travis Manion Foundation. Hearing that Brendan was coming to visit, Janet smiled for the first time in weeks.

  “It will be so great to finally see Brendan,” she said.

  Many other friends and fellow Marines who knew Travis had made the pilgrimage to Doylestown, and Tom, Janet, Ryan, and Dave appreciated every visit. But few, if any, came without their spouses or significant others and spent the night. It was obvious that Brendan cared deeply about his friend’s family and wanted to personally ensure that they were okay.

  After opening the front door, which the Manions had not fixed since Janet had broken it six months earlier, one of America’s newest Gold Star mothers embraced the soon-to-be Navy SEAL. With tears in her eyes, she profusely thanked her son’s dear friend for making the trip.

  Brendan, who felt guilty for being stuck in California during the funeral services, started apologizing to Travis’s grieving mom.

  “You can stop that right now,” Janet said, patting Brendan on the back. “We all know you would have been here if you could have.”

  A collection of medals and letters, including one from the president, was sitting on the living room piano. Brendan paused to look at them for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and went inside.

  Tom and Brendan exchanged a firm handshake and quick hug. Janet brought Tom and Brendan beers before they headed to the lower level to sit at the Manion bar, where they discussed BUD/S, Brendan’s family, and Amy.

  Surrounded by more of Travis’s medals and mementos, sitting at the bar felt like having a drink in a Marine Corps museum. It was the first time Brendan had spent time with the Manion family since before Travis was killed.

  Janet and Tom told Brendan they were proud of him and asked him to explain his upcoming SQT training, which would take him to Kodiak, Alaska, to simulate combat in bitterly cold weather. As she would have said to Travis, Janet told Brendan to take his heaviest winter coat. With a smile that evoked laughter, Brendan assured her that his own mom had been telling him the same thing.

  After talking more about Brendan’s next round of training and learning that he would likely become a Navy SEAL in June 2008, Janet proposed a toast.

  “Let’s have a drink for Travis,” said Janet, pouring three shots of Patrón tequila. “He cared about you so much, and you were always—and still are—such a great friend.”

  “To Travis!” Brendan, Tom, and Janet said in unison.

  The next time Brendan saw Travis’s parents was the Friday night before the 2007 Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, DC, which was held on the Sunday just before Halloween. At long last Brendan had his chance to pay his respects to Travis, while spending the weekend surrounded by his buddy’s relatives, friends, and fellow Marines. But he was also confronted with the full breadth of the mark that Travis’s passing had made on people from all walks of life.

  Before Brendan ran Sunday’s Marine Corps Marathon with the Manions, his brother Steve, and their uncle, Chris Parker, the soon-to-be Navy SEAL attended a prerace “Team Travis” Saturday night dinner banquet in Arlington, Virginia, with his parents and Amy. Janet and Tom, who had created the special marathon group along with relatives and friends, began the emotional evening by standing at the podium to thank the hundreds in attendance. Nearly six months after an enemy sniper ended their son’s life in the Pizza Slice, the grief on the Gold Star parents’ faces was clear. But as Tom began to speak, their
strength was even more apparent.

  After expressing his gratitude and talking about how his son’s constant desire to push himself further could serve as a theme for Sunday’s 26.2-mile run, Tom talked about a significant moment earlier in the day.

  “Janet and I went over to Arlington [National Cemetery] this morning,” Tom said with his right arm around his wife. “We spent some time over there, and if you get a chance, that’s a place to go and visit. . . . It’s a special place. You feel a certain energy . . . when you go over there and see what’s there and certainly feel all the brave men and women who’ve given their lives for our freedoms. You feel their spirits there, and it’s really a special place and a special time. And this is really all about getting behind those who are over there now, continuing to fight for our freedoms, and those who have given their lives and made the ultimate sacrifice.”

  Family friend Bob Schumaker, who had helped organize the event with his wife, Kit, then introduced Steve Brown, a close friend of Travis’s since elementary school. Steve, who is African American, stepped up to the podium and told a childhood story that very few in the audience had ever heard.

  “A time that stands out to me the most was the summer between sixth and seventh grade when we set out to get a slice of pizza from a local pizza parlor,” Brown said. “I remember stepping up to the counter and asking for a slice of plain, and was ignored. I asked again, and still no response.

  “But before I knew it, the man behind the counter was already asking Travis for his order,” Brown continued. “Travis, without hesitation, replied and said ‘what about my friend? . . . What about my friend?’ The man stood there in silence, and Travis quickly processed the situation and ordered three slices, and then handed two to me.”