October 17, 2000 — Horseshoes and hand grenades.
Marcellous Love knows about both.
The 55-year-old Gainesville man grew up poor in the hills of North Carolina, one of eight children on a small family farm. They lived off the land, and passed down shirts and shoes from child to child.
Growing up, Marcellous had no toys — no toys, that is, except for the iron shoes his father pulled off the family workhorses. Little Marcellous would drive a stick into the ground and toss and toss and toss.
Marcellous chose to focus on more traditional sports in high school, so horseshoes were pitched to the side. But in 1970, when Marcellous was 25 years old, the game of horseshoes re-entered his life in the oddest of places.
Vietnam. A long way from the hills of North Carolina.
Marcellous was an assistant manager at the post exchange, a convenience store of sorts for infantrymen. This was Marcellous’ second tour of duty. His first, eight months as an Army squad leader in 1967, was a nightmare of bullets and blood. During that time, however, no soldiers were hurt or killed under Sergeant Love’s command. Of that fact, he is quite proud.
The war was hell, though. There’s no denying that. Marcellous is tall and strong, but his voice becomes soft, his eyes moist, when he recalls the horrors of Vietnam.
Take, for example, the time a friend was killed as he stood nearby. The soldier was hit with a round of ammunition originally designed for tanks, not people. His body was blown to bits.
“I hear a boom and turn around and he’s not there anymore,” Marcellous recalled. “You look and you see flesh, pieces of flesh all on the ground. A body that has been destroyed like that is probably the most horrible smell.”
The morbid reality of their existence had soldiers searching for something — anything — to occupy their minds and bodies. Marcellous was no different.
“Do you pitch horseshoes?”
Imagine Marcellous’ surprise, joy perhaps, when a co-worker at the post exchange approached him with this question. Not what you expect to hear during a war in Southeast Asia.
“Yeah,” Marcellous answered. “It’s been a long time, but I have.”
And so, once again, Marcellous tossed and tossed and tossed.
“I got pretty good at it,” Marcellous said with a smile. “It got so competitive, I tell you what. We’d be out there four or five hours in the late, late night because we had nothing else to do. A lot of us were family people so we didn’t look for the, um, extracurricular activities.”
Marcellous retired from the Army as a first sergeant in 1986. For the past 10 years he has worked for the Georgia Department of Juvenile Justice at a boys group home in Gainesville. He also runs his own landscaping business, is an active member of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church, and sings tenor in a gospel group called the Brothers of Joy.
Marcellous is obviously not the torpid type. And he’s still pitching those horseshoes — pitching them pretty darn well, too. Last month, he nabbed a silver medal at the Georgia Golden Olympics, an annual event for “older adults” held at Robins Air Force Base in Warner Robins.
He also medaled in the football throw and 3-on-3 basketball. (This is a man, by the way, who played professional basketball while stationed in Germany.)
I met Marcellous at the River Forks Park horseshoe pits. He was ready, horseshoes in hand.
“I pitch with a twist,” he explained. “I pitch mine just enough so it turns one time in the air, and comes in like this.” He rotated the shoe with his hands to demonstrate.
I, on the other hand, had no such technique. Didn’t realize any was necessary. But the iron felt cool and comfortable in my hand.
We played by the Golden Olympics scoring system, which varies a bit from the ones used in Vietnam and rural North Carolina. One point for a toss within a horseshoe’s width of the stake. Three points for a ringer. First to 21, wins.
Marcellous led from the first pitch, but I kept it close. When I pulled within 15-13, Marcellous said, “I’ve got to get my stroke going here.”
A few tosses later, I hit a ringer to make the score 18-17 in Marcellous’ favor. “Oh man,” Marcellous exclaimed. “That was a pretty shoe.”
On the next pitch, Marcellous won it with a ringer of his own.
Marcellous believes he’s been blessed — and not just with the occasional ringer here and there, either.
Blessed to be part of strong family that turned poverty into prosperity. All of his siblings are happy and successful. Marcellous himself has four children. His two sons are out of college, and his eldest daughter is a senior in college. He has a 6-year-old daughter at home.
Blessed to survive two tours in Vietnam. There were close calls, many of them. One in particular stands out.
He was alone in a bunk tent sitting up in his bed wide awake. Sirens were sounding. The Vietcong were attacking the company area. At that moment, for some reason, a first sergeant called for Marcellous, and Marcellous got out of bed, left the tent and walked toward him. The sirens were now signaling all was clear.
“About that time a round went off in the company area. Boom!” Marcellous said. “So he and I ran and got in the bunker.”
When the bombing stopped and all was truly clear, Marcellous and the first sergeant inspected the damage. The mortar had blown through the roof of the bunk tent and exploded directly above his bed.
“I picked up my bed, and it looked like a sifter,” Marcellous said.
“So what did the first sergeant want?” I asked. “Why did he call you out of the tent?”
“I have no idea,” he replied. “Grace of God. That’s my belief.”