I was a raw recruit just being shipped to Da Nang. The year was 1969, the nasty old world was a lot crazier place than a kid from Brighton Beach could ever have dreamed, and my NCO was a grizzled, shaggy-haired Master Sergeant the other dogfaces called “Iron Hands” Schwimmer. My corporal, “Lucky” Leo Stoller, warned me to steer clear of the beady-eyed vet and his jealously-guarded, light-blue set of what the other recruits called, mysteriously, “McCarthy’s.” I soon was unlucky enough to learn why. Schwimmer didn’t just seem distant and standoffish — he was impossibly nasty, brutal beyond any trace of rationale, and he delighted in the acrid smell of battle. But no one could put together paper trademark app that could sail through the PTO like
No, it wasn’t quite like that. How do I convey… hmm…
“You want the truth?” screamed Marty at the top of his lungs, throwing the drained cognac glass into the burning embers a full 20 feet across the room. “You can’t handle the truth!” he raged, veins popping in his forehead, the timid examining attorney cowering in the plaid wing-backed chair. Picking up the iron poker, Marty waved
No, never mind. You have to know him to love him. Congratulations, Marty!
UPDATE: That was years ago, of course! Thank God, Marty’s still alive, and well, and so is the Trademark Blog.