Quicksand

Thought it would be a bigger problem in your life when you were a kid than it ended up being? Let me tel you a little story.

A long, long time ago, in a jungle far, far away, we were out on patrol. This is before GPS, before night-vision, and with radios that worked far less reliable than what they have today.

I was a corporal, acting as squad leader. I had a kid named Lewis walking point. Good kid, immigrant from Haiti. Smallest guy in the squad. His best friend, because they were both Haitian immigrants, was this guy Dixon, the biggest guy in the squad who carried the machine gun. Dixon had played some college football, and had been invited to camp with the Jets. Having been cut, and with no job, he enlisted. Another great guy.

As leader of this thirteen man band, we were trying not to be noticable, as we were wargaming against two thirteen man teams of Ranger qualified Army Pathfinders doing long range reconnaissance patrols. There was some pride at stake. They were great in the jungle. We were great in the jungle. We didn't want the Army to beat us. They didn't want to be beaten by Marines.

I had us spread out with the point, rear guard, left and right flanks away from the main body. I am in the center with the radio man reading my map and compass as we move. I am trying to keep us in streams and brooks so as not to be tracked.

Note: Travelling through rain forests that have not been surveyed with a map and compass is among the most difficult things done in the infantry. There is nothing in the distance. Each time one shoots an azimuth with his (or her) compass, the route becomes a little less accurate. You'd like to shoot that azimuth at a radio tower or church steeple in the distance, not over and over again at the next tree sometimes less than ten feet away.

Long story short. Lewis completely disappears from my vision in what seemed like a second. The first fire team goes prone and sets up a defensive position, not knowing what happened. We were wearing soft covers and boonies, not kevlar helmets like today's young warriors. No body armor either.

Our Vietnam era sergeants had taught us to be swift and silent. Lewis' soft cover was sitting on top of this smelly, wet, brown disgustingness. I mean, he was gone.

Up comes his best friend, the size of an offensive lineman in a hustle. He throws the pig (M-60 machine gun) to my assistant squad leader and plunges his giant arm into the muck, all the way up to his face. He feels around. He's visibly scared. His best pal is probably dying. Suddenly, with the guttural roar of a giant, Dixon gets to his feet and with one arm, raises his little friend out of the disgustingness and with brute strength fully extends that arm, Lewis gasping for air in his massive friend's hand.

Lewis was too disgusting to clean off and was visibly shaken. I put someone else on point, and let Lewis walk with me in the center until he regained his composure. We proceeded on with the mission.

End of tale. I have seen what quicksand can do. I have also seen the brotherly love of one man for another.

I think both debt and equity markets may have run into some quicksand today.