(Human interest) Marines bond with long-distance cups of joe

Sunday May 23 2004
James Fuller Daily Herald Staff Writer

Ed Bartt has been a Marine since he was 10 years old.

Growing up in Chicago during World War II, Bartt fell in love with the heroes who came in and out of his four-room apartment. His father would meet Marines in the corner taverns while they were on leave. Occasionally, he'd bring them back to the apartment for a home-cooked meal. Sometimes they'd stay the night, and Bartt would sleep on the floor so the Marines had a comfortable place to rest their heads.

He loved the Marines. And they loved him back. They brought his mom flowers. They'd swipe sugar and butter from the base to help with the meals. They'd even bring the knives and forks to eat with.

"For 10 to 15 years after World War II, we still had silverware with 'USMC' stamped on it," Bartt said.

So it wasn't surprising to his family when he joined the Marines just one week out of high school. Bartt became a scout in the 3rd Marine Division stationed in Japan in 1954. The training was fierce, the days sometimes long. But he always had his brother Marines.

Fifty years later, Bartt's eyes well up as his mind travels back to those days of brotherhood. He doesn't wear the uniform anymore, but he's still a Marine.

So, when a friend traveled to Iraq to entertain the troops, the retiree sent along a present for the Marines. Coffee.

Not charred, liquid blackness in a cup, but real coffee with real flavor, and a pot to brew it in, from one of Bartt's favorite restaurants, Egg Harbor in Barrington.

When Col. Dennis Arinello received the present at Victory Camp in Baghdad, Iraq, he was touched by the sentiment.

"You can't imagine how comforting it is to know that the average person understands what is going on here," said Arinello in an e-mail interview.

Arinello wrote a thank you note to Bartt touching off a correspondence that's produced nearly 30 letters between the two of them since February.

"I've never met Ed other than through e-mails, but I can honestly say I know more about the man than many who've probably known him for years simply because of the uniform he and I both share," Arinello said.

In that first thank-you letter, Arinello sent back a medallion with the Marine emblem on the front and his name stamped on the back.

"If a colonel, a high-ranking officer, takes the time to thank me and remember me as another Marine from another generation, that means a great deal to me," Bartt said.

The medallion is safe in Bartt's pocket wherever he travels from his Elgin home. It will be with him, he says, until Arinello is safe back home. Until then, Bartt will send as much coffee as he can to a brother whose face he's never seen, and dozens of other faceless Marines he keeps in his thoughts.

"These guys are getting shot and killed," Bartt said. "There's nothing waiting for them in the tent. They've got water and whatever they've got in their pack, and they may be in the field for a week at a time. They carry back their buddies dead and wounded. So if I can at least give them a cup of coffee, I've found my niche. It's a chance to participate."

Boxes and bags of Egg Harbor coffee brew in the pot Bartt sent to Iraq. The 12-cup, stainless steel pot he sent in February is posted where Ambassador L. Paul Bremer grabs a steaming mug in the morning. Another 50-cup pot sits in the 24-hour Joint Combat Operations Center where more than 150 personnel line up for a cup to start their day. Among them are Lt. Gen. Ricardo Sanchez, the commanding general in Iraq, and his deputy commanding general, Thomas Metz, Arinello said.

Bartt will send another 60-pound shipment of Egg Harbor coffee this week. He's also recruited another former Marine, Lou Ferrante from Richard Walker's Pancake House in Schaumburg, to send a case of coffee.

In his civilian life, Arinello is an NCAA referee. In July, he'll be in the Chicago area and meet Bartt face to face for the first time.

"I'm coming home to do some serious 'coffee drinking' with the boys," Arinello said.

When that moment comes, Ed Bartt will know he's given back everything the Marines gave him as a 10-year-old boy.