No reservations

Lolita Harper

The driveway to the Spence family home in Costa Mesa is usually

littered with toy trucks, balls, action figures, a paint set and a

scooter.

Those precious details -- confirming the presence of two small and

active children -- were strewn across the concrete just outside the

garage on Tuesday alongside 360 rounds of ammunition, two pairs of

boots, flip flops, a custom-fit backpack, a thermos and camouflage

tents and tarps.

A careful side step to avoid a miniature fire engine and you are

at the front door, where the American and U.S. Marine Corps flags fly

overhead.

Hovering over the martial items was Charles Alexander Spence,

known to everyone simply as “Cas.” The 36-year-old Costa Mesa

resident was organizing his wares in preparation for deployment to

Kuwait, where he plans to spend the next six months, pending orders

from the top.

The sun cast a rosy glow over the sky, and the decorated Marine

reservist gathered family and friends with whom he wanted to spend

his final 12 hours as a civilian. He readied the barbecue for a prime

cut of lamb while making sure he had everything he needed to go off

to what may become war.

His youthful face was punctuated by bright eyes that shone with

excitement, rather than despair. Spence said he was ready. He was one

of the best. He wanted to do his job.

“Our battalion was not assigned; it was requested,” Spence said

for the record.

He would join his fellow reserves at the crack of dawn Wednesday

morning at Camp Pendleton, where they would ready over the next two

days for their tour overseas. He will receive his vaccinations today

and will be quarantined until leaving for Kuwait on Saturday.

Spence was born and raised in Newport Beach, attended Newport

Beach schools and even delivered the Daily Pilot when he was young.

His mother, Corinne Spence, watched her son through the window and

reminisced about days when her son was merely burdened with the

responsibility of dispersing newspapers, not ensuring world order.

“Everybody just loved Cas when he was little, and they still do,”

his mother said. “He would go around to his customers and just visit

with them. And he only collected enough money from them to pay his

bill. He never made a penny. That’s just the kind of guy he is.”

At 4 a.m. the next morning, Spence would leave wife Carrie,

2-year-old son Connor and 7-week-old daughter McKayla, as well as

worried parents, siblings, in-laws, extended family and friends.

Spence left his post as a Newport Beach code enforcement officer

to answer the call of duty. The robust soldier, who sported the short

military haircut and did not mince words, proudly presented his

warfare items.

Among the piles of green and brown packs, Spence pulled out the

essentials. Coffee, a deck of cards and hair bands, which he calls

“scrunchies,” are all he needs for war, he said. He will carry them

in a 100-pound pack across the scorching desert while shouldering the

immeasurable weight of longing for his family

“Feel this,” he said, as he lifted his customized utility pack.

“Here, you got 360 rounds of ammo, grenade packs and a total of six

quarts total of water. And you’ll need every ounce of it out there.”

He joked about his necessary ration of processed meat and

freeze-dried noodles in the scorching heat of the Middle East desert.

“It just means you don’t have to heat it up,” he said.

Spence was made for the military. His tough exterior, blunt speech

and sense of camaraderie fit perfectly with the “devil dog” way of

life. But the Newport Beach kid was not always so regimented.

Spence was a student at Newport Harbor High School and wasn’t

doing very well in school, his father, Charles “Chuck” Spence, said.

“Hey, it was the ‘80s, you know. Punk rock,” Cas Spence

interrupted in defense. “I think I even had green hair.”

Anyway, the father continued, to instill some discipline, he flew

with his teenager to Harlingen, Texas, to visit a Marine military

academy. The younger son loved it and spent his junior, senior and

one post-graduate year at the military school.

“He loved it,” the father said. “He loved the discipline. He got

nothing but straight A’s.”

“Some young punk with a shaved head came up and started yelling at

me, and I said, ‘I want to go here,’” Spence added, cracking a fresh

beer.

After his time in military school, he joined the Army, but it was

“too soft,” he said.

“I had had enough and joined the Marines just to start all over,”

said the weapons platoon sergeant, who now has 72 under his command.

He served his time in active duty and joined the reserves. Spence

was called back to active duty just after Sept. 11, 2001, and was placed on presidential orders in February of that year. Three weeks

ago, he got the call that told him to be ready at a moment’s notice.

His moment is now.

The story was interrupted a phone ringing.

“Hey, devil dog,” Spence said loudly and continued his

conversation, speaking in terse military terms. “That’s affirmative.

All right, out.”

That was his good friend and surrogate military father, George J.

Tepich -- a man as hard as nails who either loves you or hates you,

Spence said. Despite a 25-year age difference, the two men are the

best of friends.

“We’re just a bunch of hard-core, old-school guys,” Spence said.

Tepich was stopping by to bring Spence a special, military-issued

knife, made especially for hand-to-hand combat. When he arrived,

Tepich examined Spence’s customized pack and noticed something that

did not sit well with him. The retired Marine reached over and pulled

a small flashlight from a Velcro pocket on the shoulder strap of

Spence’s pack.

“You’re not taking that,” he said, reaching into his own pant

pocket. “You are taking this.”

To the untrained eye, it looked as though he was trading a black

mini-flashlight for a silver one. But Spence’s reaction told a

different story.

“Oh my gosh, no, you really don’t have to,” he said. “That’s like

a $100 flashlight.”

Tepich flashed the light into the open garage. Look at how bright

it is, he pointed out. Bright enough to blind your opponents long

enough to kick them in the midsection and elbow them in the temple,

Tepich said while demonstrating the action on the unsuspecting

reporter to his right.

“And look at this,” the retired Marine said, throwing the

flashlight on the ground. “This thing won’t break.”

He turned it on, and sure enough, it shone just as bright as

before.

“He just wants to make sure I’m properly taken care of,” Spence

said.

Tepich further expressed his heartfelt care for the younger Marine

by remarking on the sacrifice Spence was making for his country.

“For freedom, the price is heavy,” Tepich said in a heartfelt

tone, while choking back emotion. “They give up their tomorrows for

our today.”

“I wish I could go with him,” he said in his gruff voice. “No, you

know what I wish? I wish it were me instead of him. Let me go. He

needs to stay here with this beautiful family.”

It doesn’t need to be anyone, Corinne Spence argued.

“That’s my baby,” she said softly.

But Spence insisted that it was best for him to go. No amount of

worry or wishful thinking could change that there is a job that needs

to be done, he said.

“I would rather it be me than some schmuck who doesn’t know what

he’s doing,” Spence said.

Spence fought in the Gulf War as a machine-gunner, in the first

track on the first wave, he said. The epitome of being on the front

lines.

“This time around, I have a wife and kids,” he said, absent his

usual bravado, and glanced at his unknowing 2-year-old, who was

busying himself with a fire truck. “That is why I am going. I can’t

walk into a park and not think that I have to do something. And

that’s not a glorified speech, that’s the honest to God truth. I’m

sorry. I didn’t mean to get all deep.”

Spence shook off the fleeting moment of sentiment and reaffirmed

his readiness to serve his country.

“I’ve been doing this for 17 years and I’m darn good at what I

do,” he said. “I’ll be back, I know I will. I will be back here.”

* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays

and covers culture and the arts. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275

or by e-mail at lolita.harper@latimes.com.