I have loved The Karate Kid for years, which is why I use the word "Miyagi." To me, a Miyagi is more than a teacher. He is the kind of man who shapes you by example, raises your standards, and leaves something in you that stays long after the lesson is over. Looking back now at age 67, I realize I was blessed to have that kind of influence in my own life - not once, but twice.
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| Pictured left to right: Bill Wallace, me, and Reggie Wournos |
The Reunion
In 2008, a bunch of us from GSE got together in Memphis for a weekend.
Most of us had not seen each other in more than 25 years. Time had done what time does. Hair was grayer. Waists were thicker. Rank was no longer something we were chasing. It was something we had already carried and put down.
But the minute we got in the same room, a lot of that disappeared.
For one weekend, we were not old men, retirees, grandfathers, or civilians. We were those same young Marines again, laughing too hard, telling old stories, and picking up right where we left off.
At some point during the weekend, I made a toast to Reggie Wournos.
I thanked him for what he had meant to me back in the early days and told him, in front of everybody, that he had been my Miyagi.
Everybody knew exactly what I meant.
If you ever served around Reggie, you knew. He was one of those Marines. Squared away. Steady. Sharp without needing to show off. The kind of man who could teach you something without making a speech about it.
My First Miyagi
When I was a young Marine on my first four-year enlistment at MCAS Tustin, Staff Sergeant Reggie Wournos was one of the men who helped shape me. He taught me the Marine Corps version of "wax on, wax off."
Not karate. Standards.
Do it again.
Do it right.
Pay attention.
Carry yourself like you belong here.
Take pride in the little things because the little things are never little for long.
He did not just bark orders and move on. He took several of us young Marines under his wing and worked on us. He expected something from us. More important, he made us expect something from ourselves.
And I was not the only one.
If you asked the enlisted Marines from Headquarters and Maintenance Squadron 16, GSE, back in those days, I think you would hear the same thing from a lot of them. Reggie had a way of leaving a mark on people.
Now, if the story ended there, it would already be a good one.
But it does not end there.
My Second Miyagi
A few years later, military life did what military life always does. People moved. Units changed. One chapter ended and another one began.
By then I was at MCAS Cherry Point, North Carolina. I had picked up a couple of promotions and was now a sergeant. I had a new boss: Gunnery Sergeant Bill Wallace.
And just like that, I had Miyagi number two.
Wallace taught me a different set of lessons.
Reggie had helped teach me how to be a young Marine. Wallace helped teach me how to carry responsibility.
He had a reputation, both inside and outside our organization, as the guy who had his stuff together. When people talked about Wallace, they did not talk about flash. They talked about confidence, competence, and trust. He was the kind of man people counted on.
And if you worked for him, you learned why.
So yes, I was lucky. Luckier than I knew at the time.
I had one Miyagi early, and then another one later.
The Realization
Back in Memphis that night, after the toast and after the laughter had died down a little, I found myself in a private conversation with Reggie.
By then, we were both retired, me as a Gunnery Sergeant and Reggie as a Chief Warrant Officer 4.
I thanked him again for being my Miyagi.
Like a humble man usually does, he tried to wave it off.
But I meant it, so I pressed the point.
Then I asked him a question I had never asked before.
"Who was your Miyagi?"
He looked at me and said, "Bill Wallace."
That stopped me cold.
In one sentence, two separate chapters of my life snapped together.
The only way I can describe it is this: it was like having a light bulb go on inside another light bulb.
First I realized Reggie had a Miyagi too.
Then I realized it was Bill Wallace, my Miyagi number two.
Out of all the people Reggie could have named, he named the one man who had later shaped me too.
That hit me hard.
Because all those years, I had thought of these as two separate blessings in my life. Two separate men. Two separate chapters.
But they were not separate.
They were connected.
What Wallace built in Reggie, Reggie helped build in others.
What one man took seriously enough to pass on, another man was humble enough to receive.
And somewhere along the line, some of it made its way into me.
What Good Mentors Do
That is what good mentors do.
They do not just help you in the moment.
They put something in you that keeps working long after they are gone.
They steady your hands.
They raise your standards.
They change the way you carry yourself.
And if you are paying attention, they become part of what you pass on to somebody else.
Everybody needs a Miyagi.
I was blessed enough to have two.
And in the end, they turned out to be part of the same light.
- Michael Riley
