Last Saturday they buried Thom Jenkins beneath the soaring pines of California's Sierra Nevada. As silence again envelops Dudley Cemetery, echoes of a U.S. Navy chaplain's words linger: "Thomas Allen Jenkins, your sacrifice will not be forgotten. Your courage stands as a beacon of liberty. You exemplify the U.S. Marine Corps motto, 'Semper Fidelis.' "
Lance Corporal Jenkins was one of the first ground soldiers to be killed in action in Operation Desert Storm. He turned 21 last August, just two days before leaving for Saudi Arabia. He was killed, perhaps by friendly fire, in a clash near the Kuwait border. On Feb. 9 he returned home to Coulterville in a flag-draped casket, both a hero and a haunting reminder of war's real cost. His handsome freckled face reflects the human toll of a conflict sanitized by high-tech smart bombs and camouflaged by antiseptic acronyms like KIA (killed in action).
Big cities may be able to absorb the death of one young man with indifference, but in places like Coulterville (pop. 115) the loss strikes home with intense personal force. "If I could trade for Thom, I'd do it," says the distraught Marine who helped recruit him. "Poor kid."
Shortly after the Marine messengers appeared on Tom and Joyce Jenkins' front porch with the horrible news about their only son, the word blazed across these drought-stricken mountains like a runaway forest fire. The close-knit community of this historic gold-mining town, one of simple values and sturdy folk, circled its wagons around the family, including Thom's sister Jamie, 19, in a show of patriotism and support. But the Jenkins' selfless stoicism is even more telling. "Our boy came home, and we know exactly where he's at," says Joyce, 39, who drives a school bus. "But there's lots of other men and women over there who need our love and support." She wears a sweatshirt with a yellow ribbon and a simple message: 'TIL THEY ALL COME HOME.
American flags and yellow ribbons adorn almost every house, pole, tree and car antenna in Coulterville, for here patriotism is a solemn duty. These people despise antiwar protesters, and they consider few acts more heinous than flag burning. So if anyone here believes Thom died in vain, he is keeping it to himself. "People do view him as a hero," says Tom, 42, who works for the state transportation department. "To me, he's my son." Tom has only simple requests. "Please be kind," he asks. "Please be honest. Don't be too big, because it's not real."
After arriving in Saudi Arabia with the 1st Combat Engineers Battalion, Thom fought boredom by keeping pet scorpions -- the first one, named Maurice, died; the other was called Mel Torme -- in a camouflaged desert shelter. In one letter home, he pleaded for Tabasco to spice up his rations, and in another he told a fire-fighting friend to keep the boisterous Magnolia Saloon on Main Street from burning down so they could enjoy his first legal beers there upon his return. At home, a Queensland heeler puppy named B.B. and a cat named P.J. are still waiting for him.