Semper Fi, sergeant
Gonzalez’s story of struggle and redemption taught many to care about troubled veterans.
Sometimes, former Judge Marc Carter wonders what would have happened if Marty Gonzalez hadn’t been assigned to his court back in 2007.
Actually, he wonders what would not have happened.
“Marty was the prototype,” Carter said this week, “He was the catalyst.”
But first, Gonzalez was just another twentysomething troubled soul who appeared on Carter’s criminal court docket after he’d taken too many pain pills one night and crashed his car into a house in Tomball with his 3-year- old son in the back seat. No one was injured, but Gonzalez faced a felony that could have sent him to prison.
Then, Carter learned the rest of the story. Gonzalez was a decorated Marine who had emerged from the deadliest battle of the Iraq War, the second siege of Fallujah, with three Purple Hearts and two Bronze Stars for valor.
In just one day in November 2004, Gonzalez braved a hail of small arms and rocket-propelled grenade fire to charge up a stairwell, not once, but 11 times, while wounded, to help a Marine escape, recover the bodies of comrades and kill several insurgents threatening other squad members.
His heroism in Iraq would leave Gonzalez with traumatic brain injury, PTSD and chronic physical pain caused by debilitating injuries requiring more than a dozen surgeries.
He returned home to Spring to a hero’s welcome and parade. But the nightmares, anger, survivor’s guilt and pill popping to escape the unrelenting pain sent him spiraling downward, ending his marriage and landing him in court.
Mercifully, the right court. Prosecutor Terrance Windham, also a veteran, took the rare step of supporting Gonzalez’s request for pre-trial diversion, which sent him to rehab instead of prison. And Carter, a retired Army captain, saw in Gonzalez’s story the impetus for a veteran’s court that would offer support, access to counseling services, mentorship, and most importantly, second chances for qualifying veterans whose tangles with the law often stem from struggles related to their service.
Carter’s Veteran’s Court would become a national model, injecting muchdeserved compassion into the way we treat former service members in the criminal justice system. And it may not have come to be if not for Gonzalez, who died suddenly last week, reportedly from a blood clot related to his battlefield injuries.
A bill by former Sen. Rodney Ellis to allow veteran’s courts statewide in Texas hit a roadblock in the Legislature and may have died if Gonzalez hadn’t had the courage to testify in a legislative hearing in Austin, telling his story with such painful emotion that Carter says it moved senators to tears.
Through the years, even as Gonzalez struggled to get his own life back on track, eventually remarrying and having three daughters, and fought a ruthless medical battle that eventually landed him in a wheelchair, he worked with veterans’ groups, wounded warriors and mentored former service members facing the same familiar demons. He urged them not to give up and to learn to cope without painkillers, which would only compound misery with addiction.
“I can’t tell you how many other people he touched that he probably kept out of the criminal justice system with his experience,” said Carter, who like many, came to consider Gonzalez a close friend and even officiated his wedding.
One of those veterans, Sgt. Arthur Davis, rebuilt his own life with the help of Gonzalez’s friendship and Carter’s court. “Marty lit the flame that sparked nationwide change in the way we see our veterans and the way we treat them when they ‘have a bad day,’” he said Thursday.
The court itself became not just some bureaucratic institution offering legal reprieves but a community whose members offered lifelines. They formed friendships, found purpose in volunteerism and life-saving respite from the isolation and hopelessness that too often lead to tragic ends.
Patrick McCann, a criminal defense lawyer and former Navy commander also instrumental in starting the Veteran’s Court, said it’s ironic but true that Gonzalez’s own suffering, his own struggle adapting to life after combat ended up benefiting so many others. He reminded judges, prosecutors, policymakers and others of the deeper roots of some criminal behavior and that redemption is possible if we as a society just care enough to try.
That’s what Gonzalez never stopped doing. All the way up to his tragic death at age 40 last Saturday night.
“He kept trying to do better,” McCann said. “For his family, his wife, the Corps or other vets he was always going to try one more time. It reminded me of the inscription on one of his awards. He kept going back up the stairs to get to his guys despite the wounds, despite the gunfire, to pull them off. And that’s what he did for so many of us. He kept trying to get back to us and pull us out. He was the best of us and of the Corps and everything you could ask for in a Marine, in a man, in a friend.”
Semper Fi, Sgt. Gonzalez. Thank you for your service to this country and to every single life you fought to save, on the battlefield and at home.