A couple of weeks ago I encountered one of those moments that every homeowner has at some point, unless maybe your house sits on a 6 acre lot in a cloistered community. I stepped out on my back deck to go to my garage to head to work. And what do I see?

Approximately 20 folks in neon green vests wearing white hard hats milling around in the street beside my house. They are surrounded by at least 10 white trucks lined up and down the street plus a black and orange piece of machinery that to me resembled a rocket launcher. I thought that perhaps we had declared war on Bridgeport, as this thing seemed like it might have the range to drop missiles into that town about 5 miles away.  In fact, I thought maybe we were engaging Fairmont, about 20 miles away. 

Being both curious and convivial, I wandered over to inquire and then I saw the signs of the devil that had been painted on my neighborhood’s sidewalks and in the street. Those tell-tale spray-painted markers that mean destruction is imminent. Or at least being contemplated. 

Being the clever fellow that I am, I walked up to this group, all 20 or so of whom were staring at a manhole cover in the intersection of my alleyway and the street that I use for ingress and egress (as those lawyers say) and asked, “gonna do some work ?”  As if they were possibly there for a social gathering. I was politely told (as I had feared) that they were with the “gas company” and they were replacing “lines that had been laid in the 20’s”. I knew they didn’t mean the 2020’s since my house is 100 years old, so this was probably a necessary and inevitable step.

This work and the accompanying dust and destruction and noise would be inconvenient at best. But in my neighborhood it could also be tragic in a sense. You see, I live in one of only 2 sections of our fine city that still have brick streets – beautiful, nostalgic, yellow brick streets. My thoughts immediately turned to my late neighbor, Capt. Mike Kozakewich, USMC (Ret.). 

Mike was my neighbor, friend, and law partner for about 25 years. He lived half a block down the street from the house that Joyce and I bought in the late 90’s. Mike was a “Marine’s Marine” – he began in the Corps as an enlisted man and left as a Captain. His father had been a Marine in the South Pacific in World War II and Mike had followed in his Dad’s  footsteps. He enlisted out of high school and then volunteered for Vietnam in 1968, where he served as a Sergeant in First Recon Company, First Marine Division. While I was not in the military and am not a Vietnam War historian, I know this duty was not exactly the same as sitting in a college classroom in the States during that period. It was danger to the 10th power. 

Mike K. became a “career guy” and earned his undergraduate and master’s degrees while in the Corps. Among his various “billets” (he liked the term) after returning from Southeast Asia,  he served as a drill sergeant at Parris Island, where he met his future wife Cindy, also a Marine (fittingly, they were married on Parris Island). Perhaps the high point of Mike’s post-Vietnam service was his assignment as Counterintelligence Officer in the Presidential Helicopter Squadron at Quantico during the Reagan administration.

Retiring from the Corps in 1986, Mike entered the law school at the University of Virginia on what he referred to in his obituary as “an ill-considered lark”. On graduation, Mike joined our firm and became an outstanding lawyer and superb community citizen, following the small town lifestyle he had hoped for. Capt. K passed away in 2012, way too young, another victim of Agent Orange, like so many of his fellow Vietnam vets (including my cousin Joe).

So, what is the connection between the recent onslaught of the gas company and Mike you say? Well, over the years when the City or any of the utilities which serviced our neighborhood appeared to be involved in hostile activities that might result in replacing our brick streets, Mike would slip into fatigues and casually come out of his house and walk over and “suggest” that we liked our brick streets. Sometimes I would accompany him, and in a friendly way let them know that Mike was a decorated Marine who had seen real combat. Real bad combat. We called ourselves the CDL – the Cobblestone Defense League. Suffice it to say that our street is still brick, at least for now. 

When Mike died a few of us at our office sat down and wrote the “Kozakewich Charge” – it sums him up perfectly – a tough Marine but a caring husband and father, community leader and Renaissance man. 

Go forth…

Love God, your country, and your family

Challenge your mind and body to the fullest

Always do your best but never take yourself too seriously…no one else does

Work hard, play hard, laugh even harder

Enjoy your friends, be loyal to them

Enjoy your toys…

Enjoy your guns…but they are NOT toys!

Enjoy the drive with the top down

Appreciate the meal before you ______…even the MRE’s and C Rations

Give of yourself generously and unconditionally…Duty Calls

Be a leader…if not by choice by example

Don’t  let the fear of failure keep you from reaching your goals

Enjoy your life and leave the world better than you found it