During those three weeks the Corps surprised the Lt. Col. with a special delivery, Cpl. Jackson was given to him as an assistant. Shelby never complained about the lack of an assistant, instead he whined about his lack of combat time. Jackson was a peace offering to keep Shelby quiet.

Jackson was a special case. He enlisted in the Marines during the height of the Iraq War. His reasons were simple and common. He wanted money for college, a path out of the ghetto and away from the lifestyle that would probably get him killed anyhow, and lastly, a place where he could belong. All of those reasons were made quite clear by the recruiter who came to his high school. “You’re life will change,” The Dynamic Sergeant Major Samuel Tillman (as was what he called himself) yelled at them. “All of you will find that once you make your life in the Corps you will be more than just another screaming jarhead. You will become an accomplished human being.”

At that time the military had stopped describing themselves as a collegiate funding source or technical training school. They knew full well that all the GI Bill funds and computer training in the world doesn’t mean anything when you get your ass blown off in Mesopotamia. So they devised the complete person formula. No one is complete until he or she becomes a top notch killing machine. All the incentives of on the job training and college money were placed into bullet points on their brochures and PowerPoint presentations just below the section about confidence building.

Basic was a breeze not nearly the hassle that history let on. Just two weeks after basic, Jackson was to be shipped with his unit to Iraq. Then his talent was discovered.

His talent? Yes, he was something special. Tyrone Jackson was bestowed with the great skill of organization. What sort of skill is that you say? Well, the best explanation comes from his first CO.

Jackson had been assigned to clean up the office of Major Cyrus T. Hummings. It was a punishment for an evening of insubordination that led to a drunk Marine urinating into the patch of beautiful dahlias located outside the officer’s mess. Jackson was indirectly involved. He was there and he was drunk, but he did not do said urinating. Instead he was the only one slow enough not to get away. He caught flak for that as well. “Slowbo: The Slowest Black Man on Earth” became his nickname.