Randall Stevenson
“Only trust someone who understands three things about you: the sorrow behind your smile, the love behind your anger, and the reason for your silence.”
Randall Stevenson Sr. came across that line somewhere, and it stuck with him. In 2021, it was on his mind as he weighed whether to attend with the men of 3rd Recon Battalion, Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, at the Kingfisher Lodge in Montana to spend time with those who had served alongside his son, Randall Stevenson Jr., better known as Steve-O.
Randall lost his son to suicide on April 5th, 2016.
Randall was a Marine, and Steve-O grew up wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Randall was a senior in college in 1979 when Iranian students seized the U.S. embassy in Tehran. He dropped out and enlisted in the Marine Corps. In 1980, he went to Officer Candidates School, and at 20 he was commissioned as a second lieutenant.
“I was the youngest officer in the Marine Corps at the time,” he said.
He served four years on active duty, and in December 1983, he moved over to the reserve. Then in 1990 he married and learned he and his wife were expecting their first child. After twelve years of service, he decided he had done his duty and resigned his commission. That child, the oldest of three, was Steve-O.
As a boy, Randall had pored over his uncle’s Marine Corps boot camp books and gear, and the C-rations his uncle gave him. “My uncle was my hero,” he said. A generation later, Steve-O went through Randall’s boot camp books the same way.
“And he was like, ‘Yeah, I’m going to be that too.’”
The invite
“My son was a big part of the reason I got out of the Marine Corps,” Randall said, “and I’m a big part of the reason he joined them.” Right before boot camp, Randall told Steve-O, “You’ll always be my son, but in a few weeks, you’ll be my brother.”
The last note Steve-O left his dad was signed: “—Your son, your brother.”
In January 2021, Randall received an email from Fred Galvin, a retired Marine officer who was also the Battalion Operations Officer at 3rd Recon Battalion during Steve-O’s deployment to Afghanistan. Bar X had previously brought together a Reconnaissance team, and Fred wanted to do the same for Steve-O’s platoon.
He also wanted Randall to come.
Randall responded that same day with this.
Bar X Program sounds awesome. I was a bit torn between wanting to see the Marines of Bravo Co. and not wanting to detract from their bond or their healing or them being themselves.
His wife suggested a compromise. Randall would join the men for the first day, then the two of them would drive on to Yellowstone and let the men be a unit again.
A week later, James Moran wrote to Randall directly. He had spoken with the platoon’s corpsman, Anthony Bunkley, aka Bunk, who was rounding up the men. Bunk told James what an incredible guy Steve-O was. The trip was set for June 7–11 at the Kingfisher Lodge outside of Billings, Montana. “It would be an honor,” James wrote, “to have you attend all or just part of the trip.”
Randall answered carefully. “I want to both see the guys again and be there for them,” he wrote, “but I also want to respect their unique brotherhood forged in combat.” At the bottom of that email, Randall wrote:
“Only trust someone who understands three things about you: the sorrow behind your smile, the love behind your anger, and the reason for your silence.”
Before Randall decided, Doc spoke with every man in the platoon.
“He assured me that I would not take away from their bond,” Randall said, “and that they consider me one of their own. That alone is quite healing.”
Randall decided to attend the entire trip.
Around the fire
After arriving at the lodge, a couple of the men told Randall that it had been hard to come, knowing he would be there.
On the first night, around the fire, one of the Marines asked everyone to go around the circle and share where they’re at—in life. Not the war stories, saying, “We’ll get to those. We have plenty of time.”
But how are you, honestly—right now?
One by one, they went around the circle, sharing intimate parts of their lives with their brothers long into the night.
“People laid their souls bare,” Randall said. “I’ve never been to an AA meeting, but I figure that’s what it’s supposed to be like.”
The men told stories about Steve-O, and they weren’t polished.
“They weren’t whitewashed. They were real,” Randall said. “It was like I got to know my son better.”
One of the men had been Steve-O’s good buddy in Okinawa. Steve-O had called him the night before he died, and he hadn’t picked up. For years, he had carried the question of whether answering would have changed anything. In Montana, Randall told him what he believed to be true: Steve-O had hidden his plan from everyone. He wouldn’t have told you. He was just calling to say goodbye. You meant that much to him.”
“You’re not at fault,” Randall told him. “Not at all.”
The Marine cried on his shoulder.
“I could feel the healing,” Randall said. “And the fact that I could be an instrument that healing could go through for someone else meant a lot.”
Still with me
The men told Randall that he and his son reminded them of each other. Randall had always known it.
“I could look at him, and I knew what he was thinking and feeling,” he said. “We were that much alike.”
The platoon members present gave Randall their blessing to get the Recon Jack tattoo that Steve-O and many of the men wore. He hasn’t gotten it yet. If he does, he said it will go on his ribs, next to his heart, not the inside of his left bicep.
“There’s a part of me that says, ‘No, I haven’t earned that,’” he said. “But just the fact that I’m allowed to means a lot.”
The men still call now and then, and the group chat he's on with them will surface from time to time.
“When I’m with the guys, even one-on-one, or when they call on the phone, it just feels like he’s still with me,” Randall said. “There’s a part of him with me. There are no words for how it feels.”