Johnny Joey Jones, Triple J to his friends and Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician to his Marine Corps brethren, wrote a poem about a particular day, a particular explosion, a particular knife, while on patrol in Afghanistan.
Jones, a double amputee and motivational speaker, is the spokesman and more for Zac Brown’s Southern Ground, which is an umbrella company that represents numerous 100-percent American-made and -sourced products, including the knife company, Southern Grind. Proceeds from the sale of these patriotic items benefit Camp Southern Ground, which strives to give kids of all races and religions, and especially those with neuro-developmental challenges, the positive influence of a camp experience. The camp also helps military families by offering the same experience to children who are dealing with a deployed, injured or deceased parent.
In May 2010, about three months before Staff Sergeant Jones would step on an IED and lose both legs above the knee, he was on patrol with a group of Marines. (In the Corps, EOD units go where they are needed, with whom they are needed.) They came to a small canal. “There is always lots of learning,” Jones said, and in this case, it was that you don’t want to use foot bridges to cross waterways. Such crossings would create bottlenecks, ideal spots for the enemy to booby-trap.
To get across, first the sweeper, the Marine with the metal detector, went and then the mine-detecting dog and his handler went. “We think the dog stepped on the mine,” Jones said. “The Water So Cold” tells the story.
The Water So Cold
They say it passes
The pain so cold
Even atlas shrugged
Or so I’m told
He was out of sight
Walking on water
A fallen tree bridge
A bomb rang louder
His steps stopped so abrupt
Smoke and dirt were to breath
Gone in an instant
His bloody face screamed
I still see his face
Bloody and scared
The water so deep
Wet blood in his hair
He was screaming so loud
When I jumped in
I grabbed his body
I reached for his hand
The water a mess
Water touching my chin
I opened my mouth
The water rushed in
He yelled and screamed
I panicked and pulled
This boy would not die
In water so cold
I knew I had to do it
I was so frightened beneath
I had to reach down through it
The water so deep
I stalled for a moment
Whispered,” it’s gonna be ok”
“I’ve got you, they’ve got you”
He quieted his bloody face
They came to the bank
Reached down and pulled
This time I didn’t think
Lifting him high once more
In water so cold
I grabbed at his knees
Scared and surprised
I felt legs beneath
My mind rejoiced
His bloody face still screamed
Yet, his hand, his face
Torn open and bled
In the mix of it all
His knife in my hand
I meant to cut off his gear
He was missing only a hand
The bird came loud
So fast and fluttered
The shots rang out
From afar, from cover
I couldn’t shoot back
The bird flew, scattered
Frantically I scratched
To climb out of the water
His gear still a drift
His knife in my hand
Miles still to sift
Of this mine filled land
Days later, I stalled
Reached down, nervous sweat
My legs were still their
His knife, still wet
I gave his knife to the man
“Tell me he lived” I begged
“He lost a hand and an eye-
But he’s still got his legs”
The knife was a folder issued to Marines. “I was going to cut off his gear, but guys reached down to pull him out. Days later I realized I still had his knife in my cargo pocket,” Jones said. “I gave it to his first sergeant to give it back to him,” Jones said. That first sergeant is the man in the poem of whom the speaker asks about the Marine’s condition.
Jones has had a poetic streak most of his adult life. Since separating from the service, he has earned his Bachelor’s degree from Georgetown University in public policy. “I don’t go back and edit,” Jones said. He wants the poems to represent him authentically, as he was at the time.
Check back to read more about this inspirational wounded warrior.
To learn more about how Jones and Brown met and the knives made by Southern Grind, be sure to subscribe to BLADE® Magazine.
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