We called him “Humble” Al, I was proud to be his pal,
No matter what went down, you could sure depend on Al.
In Sixty-Five we sailed off to war while playin’ Crazy Eights,
Not knowin’ where or when we’d ever see the states.
His weapon was a solder gun, the .45 is just for show,
His craft was fixin’ radios, with tubes that hum and glow.
We set up near Da Nang, while I made my wires sing,
Headquarters Ninth Marines, no peace to ever bring.
Then the day comes for returnin’ to the world.
Back where frag grenades never will be hurled.
Fly back to the Rock, we’re waitin’ for a ship,
That Golden Gate will open and end our senior trip.
We’ll brag about the exploits we have and haven’t done,
But Humble Al, he ain’t thru with havin’ all his fun.
His clothing bag is all fixed up with a secret pocket,
Damn thing holds a hand grenade, at least it ain’t a rocket.
Of grenades I know but little, I only threw just one,
Still, I’d have to say the bang was kinda’ fun.
Grenades they come in many shapes and sizes,
You gotta’ pick the right one when the need arises.
You don’t grab a frag when a smoke grenade will do.
A thermite one will turn your equipment into molten goo.
I look him in the eye, and ask, “What the hell is this?”
“A lil’ ol’ grenade, that the Commandant won’t miss.
Back home on some late night, I’m gonna’ pull the pin,
If’n I wake the dead, but harm no one, it’s really not a sin.”
About that time a typhoon blows in from the China sea,
Quonset huts are fragile, to safer digs we flee.
Mountin’ up on cattle cars, all but Al and me,
He lingers for a while, his nerves it’s gotta’ be.
He’s gonna’ hide that lil’ ol’ frag in an vacant locker,
Now I start to think, Al ain’t really off his rocker.
Minneapolis will see no disturbin’ of the peace,
Now that Humble Al his mischief will he cease.
The storm has passed, we’re returnin’ to the hut,
I look at Al, and I can tell he’s in an awful rut.
So I figure somethin’ just ain’t quite right.
His locker it is open, with no grenade in sight.
No one says a thing, it’s like it never was,
Al would spend his life, breakin’ no more laws.
Now you might be thinkin’ this tale is just a lie,
I’ll swear it’s mostly true and you never need to pry.
LDT April 23. ‘21
I served with Al Chiodo in the Far East in’64-’65.
I lost track of him when we docked in Frisco.
He died in 2016.
“Fair seas and following winds.”
Wonder if he ever told anyone this story?
Semper Fi!
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Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies 
so what is your guess as to what happened to the grenade???? Never having been in the service, I haven’t got a clue what might have happened.
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Good question. Ammunition and explosives are pretty closely controlled once you get to a safe place like Okinawa, Japan. The Quonset hut had been cleaned by the time we got back to it after the typhoon. I’m guessing an Okinawan worker found it, but didn’t turn it in. Okinawans are not terrorists, but they are pretty innovative. My best guess is that it got sold to a fisherman who used it to stun a whole bunch of fish. I thought of Al’s grenade when we were leaving Germany 20 years later. There was a big box in the middle of the U.S. Forces waiting area labeled “Contraband”. I sort of hoped G.I.s weren’t dropping grenades in it.
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