Hi there fellow shavers! Just a simple story I wanted to relate to you about my own straight razor experiences in a setting we don't often think about. I am sure other members have similar stories to mine and I would love to hear them. The following is mine:
Back in 2006 I was assigned to a Special Police Training Team (SPTT team) and sent to Baghdad, Iraq for a year. I had just completed a tour in 2003 – 2004 with 1st Marine Division and after 20 years of service submitted my request for retirement. That request was approved and then two weeks later denied until I completed my assignment with the SPTT team as a military advisor to the Iraqi Special Police. This was difficult for me as I still had two young boys at home ages 10 and 15 and I knew they really needed me there. Being torn between your duty, love of country, and responsibility of being a father is never easy, but my path was clear and I left for Iraq on a dismal rainy evening 13 November 2005.
After too many close calls on my previous tour, I knew that the likelihood of being injured or killed during this last assignment was high and at 43 years old I wasn’t exactly looking forward to walking around in 125 degree heat with a combat load for 12 months but I figured my age and experience would see me through. The one thing I made sure I packed was my straight razor, hone, strop, brush, and enough soap to see me through the year. You may think this was a little odd, but for me it was essential as you will see as this story develops.
When my 11 man team arrived in country we hit the ground running and were out on our first combat mission in less than 24 hours. My Officer in Charge was Major Crane and I was fortunate to have an experienced, competent commander with whom I had confidence. The two of us made a great combination and while I took responsibility for the enlisted men, he kept his eye on the three young Lieutenants. As advisors we were embedded with an Iraqi Special Police battalion and lived, worked, trained, and fought with these men for the next year. The pace was incredible and as a team we racked up 383 combat missions by the end of our tour. Each day brought patrol after patrol after patrol which we saw our share of IED’s, car bombs, suicide bombers, murder, death, fire fights and needless suffering and destruction. All of this takes its toll on you mentally and physically until you just become kind of numb to it.
You are probably wondering what this has to do with the relatively benign subject of straight razor shaving. Shaving with my straight razor became one of the simple pleasures that I could still enjoy. Each day at the end of a patrol, I would take a shower which was nothing more than a water hose we had to share; and then I would prepare some hot water in an old teapot I had acquired on the stove. I found a good size shard of a broken mirror I hung up by my rack and created a little table out of some empty ammo crates. This was my refuge; the rest of my team would watch each day as I went through this ritual of stropping my razor to a keen edge and working the soap in my shaving mug into a thick lather. The smell of the Proraso eucalyptus and menthol would calm me and bring my mind back to Saturday mornings with my boys as they used to sit in wonderment watching me shave. It amazed me each time in this hellish place how just the scents and familiarity of shaving would temporarily remove me from that place and bring me such peace. I would savor this time, and shave slowly and deliberately making sure I got each and every whisker until my face was smooth as a baby’s butt. Then I would splash on some Lilac Vegetal and lay down on my rack for some much needed rest. I know what you are thinking…..I washed off the aftershave before I went on patrol. The last thing you wanted was to get your head blown off by an insurgent because he could smell you coming!
The rest of the guys on my team didn’t understand this obsession of mine at first, and used to kid the old “Gunny” about being such an “Old Man” but soon became curious. By the end of the tour five of them had converted to wet shaving with a DE razor and one of them began using a straight razor. We have never lost touch and have a reunion each year to talk about old times, battles we fought and compare shaving techniques and advice. They are the finest men I have ever known, and I will forever be in debt to them for watching my backside without fail.
The act of shaving for me became a small bit of salvation from the unnerving sights and sounds I dealt with on a daily basis. This small act allowed me to keep that war in perspective and in touch with a reality that seemed so far away. When I returned a year later to the day; my wife and sons were waiting for me at Camp Pendleton when I got off the bus. With open arms, hugs, kisses and tears they greeted me putting an end to that chapter of my life. Once I made it back home I retired from the Marines about 6 months later and was fortunate enough to find work as an electronic engineer. My life has changed a lot since then, but each time I shave and look at myself in the mirror it is bitter sweet. It takes me back to my time in Iraq but never fails to make me appreciate the good fortune I had making it out of there in one piece, able to reunite with my family. Four men I knew personally in Iraq were not so fortunate, and I pray daily for their families and the children they left behind.
So you can see gentlemen that this little obsession of ours and the quest for the ultimate shaving experience, can take on an entirely new meaning and importance depending upon your frame of reference. To me it was what kept me sane in the midst of chaos and allowed me to experience one of life’s simple pleasures when all others had been left behind and so far away. I chuckle now at the psychiatrists and counselors that all of us had to interview with to help us deal with the emotional issues that inevitably follow you like unwanted baggage after an experience like that. But no therapy was more effective than honing my razor, stropping it carefully and shaving in that shard of broken mirror.
Semper Fidelis,
Gregg
Gunnery Sergeant, USMC (ret)
Back in 2006 I was assigned to a Special Police Training Team (SPTT team) and sent to Baghdad, Iraq for a year. I had just completed a tour in 2003 – 2004 with 1st Marine Division and after 20 years of service submitted my request for retirement. That request was approved and then two weeks later denied until I completed my assignment with the SPTT team as a military advisor to the Iraqi Special Police. This was difficult for me as I still had two young boys at home ages 10 and 15 and I knew they really needed me there. Being torn between your duty, love of country, and responsibility of being a father is never easy, but my path was clear and I left for Iraq on a dismal rainy evening 13 November 2005.
After too many close calls on my previous tour, I knew that the likelihood of being injured or killed during this last assignment was high and at 43 years old I wasn’t exactly looking forward to walking around in 125 degree heat with a combat load for 12 months but I figured my age and experience would see me through. The one thing I made sure I packed was my straight razor, hone, strop, brush, and enough soap to see me through the year. You may think this was a little odd, but for me it was essential as you will see as this story develops.
When my 11 man team arrived in country we hit the ground running and were out on our first combat mission in less than 24 hours. My Officer in Charge was Major Crane and I was fortunate to have an experienced, competent commander with whom I had confidence. The two of us made a great combination and while I took responsibility for the enlisted men, he kept his eye on the three young Lieutenants. As advisors we were embedded with an Iraqi Special Police battalion and lived, worked, trained, and fought with these men for the next year. The pace was incredible and as a team we racked up 383 combat missions by the end of our tour. Each day brought patrol after patrol after patrol which we saw our share of IED’s, car bombs, suicide bombers, murder, death, fire fights and needless suffering and destruction. All of this takes its toll on you mentally and physically until you just become kind of numb to it.
You are probably wondering what this has to do with the relatively benign subject of straight razor shaving. Shaving with my straight razor became one of the simple pleasures that I could still enjoy. Each day at the end of a patrol, I would take a shower which was nothing more than a water hose we had to share; and then I would prepare some hot water in an old teapot I had acquired on the stove. I found a good size shard of a broken mirror I hung up by my rack and created a little table out of some empty ammo crates. This was my refuge; the rest of my team would watch each day as I went through this ritual of stropping my razor to a keen edge and working the soap in my shaving mug into a thick lather. The smell of the Proraso eucalyptus and menthol would calm me and bring my mind back to Saturday mornings with my boys as they used to sit in wonderment watching me shave. It amazed me each time in this hellish place how just the scents and familiarity of shaving would temporarily remove me from that place and bring me such peace. I would savor this time, and shave slowly and deliberately making sure I got each and every whisker until my face was smooth as a baby’s butt. Then I would splash on some Lilac Vegetal and lay down on my rack for some much needed rest. I know what you are thinking…..I washed off the aftershave before I went on patrol. The last thing you wanted was to get your head blown off by an insurgent because he could smell you coming!
The rest of the guys on my team didn’t understand this obsession of mine at first, and used to kid the old “Gunny” about being such an “Old Man” but soon became curious. By the end of the tour five of them had converted to wet shaving with a DE razor and one of them began using a straight razor. We have never lost touch and have a reunion each year to talk about old times, battles we fought and compare shaving techniques and advice. They are the finest men I have ever known, and I will forever be in debt to them for watching my backside without fail.
The act of shaving for me became a small bit of salvation from the unnerving sights and sounds I dealt with on a daily basis. This small act allowed me to keep that war in perspective and in touch with a reality that seemed so far away. When I returned a year later to the day; my wife and sons were waiting for me at Camp Pendleton when I got off the bus. With open arms, hugs, kisses and tears they greeted me putting an end to that chapter of my life. Once I made it back home I retired from the Marines about 6 months later and was fortunate enough to find work as an electronic engineer. My life has changed a lot since then, but each time I shave and look at myself in the mirror it is bitter sweet. It takes me back to my time in Iraq but never fails to make me appreciate the good fortune I had making it out of there in one piece, able to reunite with my family. Four men I knew personally in Iraq were not so fortunate, and I pray daily for their families and the children they left behind.
So you can see gentlemen that this little obsession of ours and the quest for the ultimate shaving experience, can take on an entirely new meaning and importance depending upon your frame of reference. To me it was what kept me sane in the midst of chaos and allowed me to experience one of life’s simple pleasures when all others had been left behind and so far away. I chuckle now at the psychiatrists and counselors that all of us had to interview with to help us deal with the emotional issues that inevitably follow you like unwanted baggage after an experience like that. But no therapy was more effective than honing my razor, stropping it carefully and shaving in that shard of broken mirror.
Semper Fidelis,
Gregg
Gunnery Sergeant, USMC (ret)
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