MARINE CORPS AIR STATION IWAKUNI, Japan – When retired U.S. Marine Corps Capt. Kirk Troen stepped into the Zero Hangar at Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni for the first time ever, he looked around and saw a piece of history that had outlasted almost everything he remembered.
The Zero Hangar is a preserved World War II era hangar on the installation that displays a restored Japanese A6M Zero. Bullet holes still mark parts of the old structure, offering a rare glimpse into the air station’s history.
For Troen, the hangar was one of the few places on the station that still carried the weight of the past.
Troen first came to Iwakuni in 1977 as a 19-year-old lance corporal serving with the 1st Marine Aircraft Wing Band. It was his first duty station, and like many young Marines, he did not know at the time how much the place would stay with him.
Troen went on to serve 21 years in the Marine Corps. He started his career as an enlisted Marine, earning the rank of staff sergeant, then became a warrant officer, and later became a limited duty officer. He then retired as a captain in 1997.
Nearly 50 years later, Troen returned to Iwakuni with his wife, Linda, to walk through the air station that helped shape his Marine Corps career. What he found was a base that had changed almost beyond recognition but still carried the same feelings and emotions that stayed with him for decades.
“I had to come back,” Troen said. “This was my favorite duty station.”
When Troen was stationed at Iwakuni, the base was much smaller and much more isolated. There were few families on the installation. Many of the Marines lived in barracks or old Quonset huts. The base did not have amenities like the restaurants, schools, gyms or family housing areas it has today.
Troen said the only places to eat were the chow hall and a soba truck that drove around the base. He did not have a car, television, or telephone during that tour; Marines rode bikes or walked to get where they needed to go.
The work was demanding. Troen remembered long days, weekend commitments and long stretches where Marines worked for weeks without much time off. The hard work and time away from home taught them to lean on each other for support. For Troen, it wasn't the creature comforts, but the people he served with that created the good times and memories.
“You know, everybody in the unit at that time, we only had I think 25 or 30 of us in the unit, and we naturally became family,” Troen said. “Nobody had their families here. You had nowhere to go, nothing to do, or anyone to go see.”
The camaraderie between Troen and his Marine brothers became one of the defining memories of his time in Iwakuni.
Troen stayed connected to Marines he served with during that period long after they left Japan. One Marine he trained with and served alongside in Iwakuni remained so close that he was the best man at Troen’s wedding.
For Troen, those relationships were more than small pieces of his career. They were part of what made the Marine Corps a permanent fixture in his life.
Troen said. “The Marines that you served with, you will always remember.”
But not every memory from Iwakuni was a positive one.
In October 1977, Troen participated in Operation Fortress Lightning. During the operation, a Marine helicopter from Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron (HMH) 462, Marine Aircraft Group 16, 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing, crashed in the jungle. Troen was part of the recovery team that helped bring Marines out of the crash site in a Philippine jungle.
Some of the Marines involved were young. Troen still carries that experience with him as part of his first tour in the Marine Corps, a constant reminder of the sacrifices that are made every day by service members all around the world.
Years later, they learned that one of the widows of a Marine killed in the crash had spent years pushing for adequate recognition. Her husband had been young and was newly married when he passed.
Eventually, a memorial was placed at the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Virginia for the service members in the accident. Troen and Linda later visited it.
For Troen, the memorial served as a reminder for something he had carried privately for decades. Standing in front of this memorial ensured the loss was not forgotten. It connected him with those who passed, alongside him was another retired Marine standing at the memorial years later.
While this base was not the only place where Troen has traveled and worked, it was a place tied to some of the first serious responsibilities and awakenings in his life as a man and a Marine.
“This is where it all started for me,” Troen said.
He said he loved being a Marine and loved the work he did. At first, Troen questioned whether he should have retired. He had spent his early adult life in an institution where people were expected to complete the mission, take care of each other and carry responsibility beyond themselves.
After retiring, he saw how different the civilian world could be.
Troen spoke about working for a nonprofit organization after leaving the Marine Corps. During one event, people were helping him move equipment. He had stepped away briefly, and returned to find the work unfinished and the equipment sitting on the curb and the others gone because the workday had ended.
For Troen, this was hard to understand. Inside the Marine Corps, he said, there's an expectation that people will not leave a job unfinished, nor leave those to their left and right to complete the mission alone.
“You know inherently, they will take care of you,” Troen said. “Once you get out, that’s gone.”
Over time, Troen came to terms with his decision to retire. Despite the differences, he admitted that life after the Marine Corps brought experiences he couldn’t have had if he stayed in the uniform. But he never stopped seeing himself as a Marine.
“It becomes who you are,” Troen said.
A duty station can feel ordinary while a Marine is living through it. The long days, the work, the bad weather, the field days, the friends, the inside jokes and the frustrations can feel like small details at the time.
Then time passes.
The Marine leaves.
The base changes.
And the ordinary moments become the memories that stay.