them—adored their son and thought he was the model child.
“His parents were great people, as was his sister,” said a former friend. “They had a very good relationship with BJ, that was obvious.”
During his senior year, eighteen-year-old BJ decided he wanted to pursue a life in the military. At first, he wanted to join the marines, an admirable profession only the “few and the proud” were able to make a career out of. BJ’s personality seemed to juxtapose perfectly with the marine’s “Semper Fidelis ” motto, loyalty and commitment, or, “Always faithful.” This phrase summed up the drive and dedication BJ had in his heart at the time. He wanted to serve. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to earn his liberty for his country. The military was the best place to sustain that compulsion and, at the same time, fulfill what is a noble vocation. Yet, as he thought about it and discussed it with his mother, father, and recruiter, the navy seemed to be a far better fit for BJ’s character. Sure, he’d make a hell of a marine, but after getting very high scores on his recruiting tests, it was made clear to BJ and his family that he had qualified for SEAL training if he opted for the navy—in particular, a nuclear-engineering program the navy was offering then.
BJ did his basic training outside Chicago in Great Lakes and then shipped out to field training in Coronado, California, just outside San Diego. It was here where BJ endured the rigorous twenty-five-week conditioning program any future SEAL is required to complete. Many drop out at this point; this is the period of the training that separates, as SEALs like to say, the men from the boys. In fact, out of the 160 candidates enrolled in BJ’s class, he and only seventeen additional recruits would ultimately graduate. BJ was named honor man of the class, a position designated by the group commanders to the top performer of the class. So dedicated and tenacious, BJ had not only made it through hell week and the rest of SEAL training, but he had finished on top. Several of BJ’s former SEAL peers later reported that he could spend all night drinking at a bar, get home at 3:00 A.M ., sleep for two hours, show up for drills, and have no trouble running ten miles and completing the day’s maneuvers. Meanwhile, some of his SEAL peers, heading off to bed at 8:00 P.M ., eating rice cakes and drinking energy shakes, had trouble keeping up after five miles.
For BJ, indeed, it was mind over matter. He had read that the powerfully dedicated mind could accomplish anything—and he proved it.
After SEAL graduation on August 15, 1997, BJ was sent to his first SEAL platoon in Norfolk, Virginia, where he kept in close contact with his mother, father, and sister, flying home any chance he could and, if not, calling nearly every other day, just as he had in San Diego.
By the end of the year 1998, BJ had completed medic training in North Carolina, another twenty-five-week, intense training course (Corpsman Training Delta 18), where he learned everything from working on injured soldiers in the field, to conducting autopsies on cadavers. Next to God, most field soldiers will say, the corpsman is the soldier’s best friend.
During this part of his training, BJ conducted between “six and twelve” dissections, he later explained, of cadavers. At first, that initial cut, BJ said, “was awkward.” The first time he had worked on an expired human body was not the most pleasant thing he had ever done. “But you got used to it.” It was the nature of every part of the SEAL training: All of it seemed impossible if you sat down and went through it on paper, or in your head, thinking about what you had to do; but you made it through because you didn’t think about what you were doing. Instead, you just did it.
The field training—making wounds look real—was something the military went to great lengths to stage for its SEAL candidates. They had what were called
“His parents were great people, as was his sister,” said a former friend. “They had a very good relationship with BJ, that was obvious.”
During his senior year, eighteen-year-old BJ decided he wanted to pursue a life in the military. At first, he wanted to join the marines, an admirable profession only the “few and the proud” were able to make a career out of. BJ’s personality seemed to juxtapose perfectly with the marine’s “Semper Fidelis ” motto, loyalty and commitment, or, “Always faithful.” This phrase summed up the drive and dedication BJ had in his heart at the time. He wanted to serve. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to earn his liberty for his country. The military was the best place to sustain that compulsion and, at the same time, fulfill what is a noble vocation. Yet, as he thought about it and discussed it with his mother, father, and recruiter, the navy seemed to be a far better fit for BJ’s character. Sure, he’d make a hell of a marine, but after getting very high scores on his recruiting tests, it was made clear to BJ and his family that he had qualified for SEAL training if he opted for the navy—in particular, a nuclear-engineering program the navy was offering then.
BJ did his basic training outside Chicago in Great Lakes and then shipped out to field training in Coronado, California, just outside San Diego. It was here where BJ endured the rigorous twenty-five-week conditioning program any future SEAL is required to complete. Many drop out at this point; this is the period of the training that separates, as SEALs like to say, the men from the boys. In fact, out of the 160 candidates enrolled in BJ’s class, he and only seventeen additional recruits would ultimately graduate. BJ was named honor man of the class, a position designated by the group commanders to the top performer of the class. So dedicated and tenacious, BJ had not only made it through hell week and the rest of SEAL training, but he had finished on top. Several of BJ’s former SEAL peers later reported that he could spend all night drinking at a bar, get home at 3:00 A.M ., sleep for two hours, show up for drills, and have no trouble running ten miles and completing the day’s maneuvers. Meanwhile, some of his SEAL peers, heading off to bed at 8:00 P.M ., eating rice cakes and drinking energy shakes, had trouble keeping up after five miles.
For BJ, indeed, it was mind over matter. He had read that the powerfully dedicated mind could accomplish anything—and he proved it.
After SEAL graduation on August 15, 1997, BJ was sent to his first SEAL platoon in Norfolk, Virginia, where he kept in close contact with his mother, father, and sister, flying home any chance he could and, if not, calling nearly every other day, just as he had in San Diego.
By the end of the year 1998, BJ had completed medic training in North Carolina, another twenty-five-week, intense training course (Corpsman Training Delta 18), where he learned everything from working on injured soldiers in the field, to conducting autopsies on cadavers. Next to God, most field soldiers will say, the corpsman is the soldier’s best friend.
During this part of his training, BJ conducted between “six and twelve” dissections, he later explained, of cadavers. At first, that initial cut, BJ said, “was awkward.” The first time he had worked on an expired human body was not the most pleasant thing he had ever done. “But you got used to it.” It was the nature of every part of the SEAL training: All of it seemed impossible if you sat down and went through it on paper, or in your head, thinking about what you had to do; but you made it through because you didn’t think about what you were doing. Instead, you just did it.
The field training—making wounds look real—was something the military went to great lengths to stage for its SEAL candidates. They had what were called
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