In Memory of Capt. Grady Kurpasi, USMC
A man who modeled courage, embodied selflessness, and knew the meaning of love. A guest post from Eric Davids about his former company commander who died in Ukraine.
It’s a delight for me to be able to feature an excellent writer who is also a dear friend. Eric told me Capt. Kurpasi’s story a few months ago. I was moved then and am glad to be able to bring it to you now.
— Jean-Luc
This past month I received a text message from a Marine I served with several years ago. He wrote to inform me that our former company commander, Captain Grady Kurpasi, was declared dead after disappearing a year earlier while fighting in Ukraine.
Grady was adopted from Korea and raised in New York. On 9/11, he was working in New York City as a computer analyst. Shortly after, he enlisted in the Marines at the age of 29. He deployed to Iraq three times as an infantry assaultman and scout sniper and was a recipient of the Purple Heart.
I met Grady during what would turn out to be both of our final assignments in the Marine Corps. Grady was nearing retirement and I was approaching the end of my service commitment. As the unit’s headquarters company commander, Grady led a team of approximately 150 Marines who were responsible for things like setting up and tearing down command posts, coordinating convoy operations to resupply forward units, building expeditionary communications systems to enable coordination across the battlespace, and managing ground and aerial reconnaissance assets.
At 5’ 6’’, Grady was built like a bear. He possessed a serious professionalism that came from knowing the stakes of the job we were training for. He also delighted in the successes of his Marines, leading award presentations and promotions following a long week in the field. Occasionally his wife and daughter would come by the command post, standing off to the side of our formation.
One of the things I appreciated most about Grady was that I never once saw him take off his kevlar helmet and 30-lb flack jacket in the field. Most officers would quickly shed the uncomfortable gear after arriving at the command post, but not Grady. He was committed to the mantra “train like you fight”, and it inspired the Marines around him. Our unit's behavior and training reflected Grady’s disposition. Regardless of specialty, each Marine knew how to man the M240 machine gun on the defensive perimeter, how to properly carry a wounded comrade, and what actions to take if our convoy was ambushed.
Along with being a fierce warrior, Grady deftly balanced the need to train Marines to win in battle with the reality that many of us were just months away from transitioning into the civilian workforce. Every single one of the Marines on my team who transitioned off active duty under Grady’s leadership received specialized training or completed an internship while still on active duty that led to a well-paying civilian job, or they attended a university where they could exercise their GI Bill Benefit. Grady’s support was instrumental in these Marines’ successful transitions.
In the days following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine early in 2022, I recall a distinct feeling of powerlessness as I stared at pictures of middle-aged Ukrainian citizens being issued shoulder-propelled rocket launchers, the same kind of rocket launchers I learned to fire in Quantico during infantry school. I had spent years of my life preparing for this type of scenario. Grady and I spent our last field operation together, a ten-day exercise that spanned most of Camp Lejeune’s 150,000 acres and involved over 3,000 Marines, simulating a mission to dislodge an adversary following their invasion into a neighbor’s territory. It felt surreal to watch it happening.
I gathered around backyard fire pits in Denver with Marines I served with to talk about our shared sense of powerlessness. The extent of our contribution to the war effort was replacing vodka with tequila in our Bloody Marys on ski trips that winter. Grady, meanwhile, saw an opportunity to help. Having just recently retired from the Marine Corps, he chose to travel to Eastern Europe to use his combat experience to help with evacuations and train soldiers who would soon face Russian troops in battle. At some point he volunteered to go forward. And then in late April 2022, Grady’s unit came under fire. He was declared missing in the aftermath of the skirmish. On April 8, 2023, almost a full year after being declared missing, I received the text message confirming his death.
On the last evening I spent in the field as a Marine, Grady and I set up our sleeping bags in a small patch of mud adjacent to the command post. At some point in the night, I ducked out of the command post tent and walked a few paces to my bag to get an hour of sleep. Grady’s bag was next to mine, but as usual when we were in the field, it was empty. He was out walking the line, checking on the men and women in his charge.
He’s out there still.
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Salut! It is fitting that men of this caliber be honored.