by Sean Abbott

Note:  Doby was a part of our family’s story – but only tangentially.  He is really  a part of the story of The Three Musketeers:  Doby, Blu, and Abbott. And so, when we lost him, it could only be Sean to tell this part of the story who is the last of the three Musketeers

There are many definitions of swoop. Merriam Webster dictionary defines it as: swoop – verb \ˈswüp\: to fly down through the air suddenly: to arrive at a place suddenly and unexpectedly

As a young Marine “swoop” was what you did on the weekend. It was the act of leaving base to ANY other destination – “to arrive at a place suddenly.”

“Let’s swoop.”

“We are swooping to my folks house this weekend”

“My swoop partner couldn’t come, so I’m going to hit swoop circle on my way out of town and find somebody else looking to go to Florida this weekend.”

Me? I had a handful of swoop partners over the years. Especially as some of the “regulars” got married, moved their wives to Jacksonville, and they stopped swooping. But the two “regulars”?  That was Doby and Blu. Stephen Doby and Blu Berner. I never really called Stephen by his first name. He was always Doby.  Likewise, I never called Blu Berner by his last name. He was always Blu. Me? I was always Abbott. 

On November 24th, 2013, Doby and I got the word. Blu Berner had passed. It wasn’t debated. It wasn’t discussed. It was just understood. We were going to make one last “swoop” in honor of our brother.  And we did. We went to fold the flag, to stand with his wife and children, to say goodbye. We truly thought it was the final “swoop”.

And then Doby had an idea. We should do one more, one last swoop.  We would drive up to my folks house. Just him and me. Re-live the old journeys, the old visits. The old adventures. One last trip, just Doby and me. 

And then COVID hit. Our last swoop was put on hold, but we didn’t forget it. When we talked on the phone, we continued  to plan this “final swoop”.

On July 29th I got the unexpected word. The final swoop was on. This was unplanned, but there was no way I was going to miss this last ride home.

Of course I’d need to make sure that my attire was correct. If this was the final swoop, everything had to be perfect. Clothes were purchased. Alterations were made, and then I was off to meet my friend for our last adventure. It took a few days to meet up with him. There was a brief stop in Texas to meet with his family and old friends. To reminisce and catch up, and then I was off to Kansas City to meet up with my old friend.

The morning of the final swoop, I was awake before my alarm went off. Nerves I guess. I woke up, showered, and then prepared my attire for the day. Every button was buttoned, every shiny tidbit polished the way Doby would have insisted. He was a dick about that after all. Every little detail had to be perfect, and if this was the last swoop, I wasn’t about to disappoint. Everything set to perfection, I set off to meet my friend. 

He beat me to the airport of course. No surprise. Doby was always a member of the “15 minutes early is late” club (a debate he and I had many times).  When I arrived at the airport I wasn’t able to initially see him. I was there to watch him board the plane and say hello. After he boarded, I was escorted to the plane, and then we were off on the last swoop.

A little different from what we had agreed on of course, and this was a little different than all of our other swoops….  but time and age change things. Leave it to Doby to make our last adventure together a true adventure.  

When we landed in Atlanta to change flights, I beat him off the plane. While the passengers on the plane applauded my service, it all felt in vain. It would have been so much better if Doby was leading the way. I met him at the bottom of the plane. He was the second to disembark. I guess beauty and age do come first. There were brothers there to greet him. Brothers who had served and were there to make sure he also had the recognition he so deserved. 

We spent the entire layover together.  No more than an arm’s reach away. I regaled all who would listen with the Doby stories I had.  

And then our time was up. The crew escorted us to the plane. Doby was the first to board, but again, we would not be sitting together. After he was aboard, I stepped up on the plane. This was the last leg of our final swoop to his home. 

When we landed, I was invited off the plane first and received fervent applause, but somehow it rang so shallow in my ears. The pilot and co-pilot stopped me and asked if they too could greet Doby as he got off the plane. 

We stood there at the bottom of the plane. The honor guard was called to attention, and I dutifully snapped to my position. The pilot and co-pilot mirroring my moves. As Doby came off  the plane I rendered what I knew would be my final salute to all of our swoops and to all of the adventures of young men. Eight young men, pall bearers, and strangers to Doby and me, slowly came to attention and then carefully, and with the utmost grace, escorted Master Sergeant Stephen Doby into the hearse for his final ride home.

I wish I could remember all the details of that ride. I was worn out and tired in ways I am still learning to come to grips with. I will tell you this. It was monumental and epic. It was the ride of heroes, and without a doubt Doby deserved every moment of it.

It was, and will be, my final swoop. I may still travel, but unlike my past, the journey will now be a means to the destination, and no longer the adventure itself. I am no longer a young man, and all of my swoop partners are gone. I am too old and too tired to take the adventures that young men take. If there was to be a “final swoop” I am honored that his family allowed me to take my best, and my last, friend home. 

We were always the the Three Musketeers. Doby, Blu and me – long before we. . .and I. . .truly knew what that meant. Today . . .  well . . . today I feel old.  For the first time in my life, I truly feel old and broken. Countless times in the last few days and weeks I find myself looking to reach out to my friend . . . my comrade in arms . . . my brother . . . and he was every bit my brother . . . but there is nobody there. 

And so, as the Last of the Three Musketeers, I find it fitting that I end this story with a quote from another story.  

 “I have lost my friends,” ‘Artagnan said ruefully, burying his head in his hands. “I have nothing left but the bitterest of recollections . . .”

Two large tears rolled down his cheeks.

Athos answered. “Your bitter memories still have time to turn into sweet ones.”

And so my friend, I will work on turning the bitterest of memories into sweet ones.  I will make sure that everyone knows your story. I love you. And I miss you.

Semper Fidelis

Abbott