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A Slaughter in Oklahoma: David Tyner Spun Elaborate Fantasies About Being a Hit Man. One Day They Came True 

Thursday, Jul 4 2013
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He enlisted in March 2002, shuttled to motor-transport school in Missouri before moving to Twentynine Palms. Left behind was a high school sweetheart who had borne his child; Tyner had since married a cute blonde he met back in Tennessee. The two briefly lived in off-base housing for couples. Once, Fugate recalls, military police responded to a domestic disturbance. Tyner laughed and shrugged it off. Another time, MPs chased him as he ran — drunk or high — into the Mojave Desert. He soon lost his driving privileges.

The Marine Wing Support Squadron 374 deployed to Iraq in February 2004, where it would first convoy to Kuwait before reaching Al-Taqaddum. Ground support in this sector never saw any live fire aside from mortars; they filled sandbags for the first few weeks. The food was hot and the danger minimal. The worst Tyner endured was rabies shots for spooking a coyote lurking near refuel bags.

Less than two months into deployment, Fugate heard commotion and the clompclompclomp of combat boots passing him. He figured a fight was on, since that's what Marines tend to do when boredom sets in. When he followed, he saw a small cluster of soldiers surrounding a tent. Tyner was inside, threatening to shoot himself. The others were not there for an intervention.

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"Do it, pussy," someone yelled.

"Marines — it's a bunch of 18- to 24-year-old guys," Fugate says. "We weren't the best support group."

A commanding officer talked the gun out of Tyner's mouth, then put him on suicide watch. Some Marines remember him getting a troubling letter from his wife, who may have confessed infidelity. (The two soon separated.) Having put on weight since college, he also was badgered for not "taping out," or having proper body measurements for a soldier. It forced him into remedial physical training, which the once-decorated athlete despised.

Tyner was sent back to California for a psychological assessment and discharge. Superior officers would spend weeks processing a soldier's early leave by treating them like the dirt below dirt. Flunking the Marine Corps, they said, was flunking life. Enjoy flipping burgers.

The support squadron at Twentynine Palms never expected never to see him again. Instead, here came Tyner pulling up in a jeep, wearing a hard hat and orange vest.

"Livin' the dream," he said with a smile. He had gotten a construction job on the base, cruising around other units that didn't know the whole story. He was free to make up his own.

When Tyner returned to Salina in late 2004, he told high school friend Austin David that he had gotten into a physical altercation with an officer in Iraq. He also said he'd been forced to clean out a Humvee that had been blasted by Iraqis, blood and brains all over the cab. During his deployment, however, no one had been killed in Al-Taqaddum.

"He didn't look well," recalls Cindy David, Austin's mother, who frequently hosted Tyner at her family's country property, where he would bow-hunt or shoot deer from tree stands. "He had a smile you couldn't miss. But he became very serious, solemn." Once, he left a carnival when the fireworks started, unsettled by the noise.

Fugate, however, resents any discussion of post-traumatic stress. "That fucker wasn't over there long enough to see shit," he says.

Work came in spurts: bouncer, county tree service, a cement plant. Tyner tinkered with cars. He met another woman. Another baby came along, and with it a sense of urgency to provide support. Wrestling friends were getting into cage fighting, which was becoming popular thanks to reality TV series The Ultimate Fighter. He phoned Jason Nicholson, a friend in the business, and asked if he could get a match. Nicholson got him several.

Tyner trained at a few fight gyms around town but usually wound up on the mats at Locust Grove, where he had been so celebrated a few years earlier and where his Hall of Fame plaque still hung on the wall.

"The kids loved seeing him," Cook says. "Before he left, he'd always say, 'Love ya, Coach, love ya, Coach.' That was Byrd."

He fought once in late 2006 and six times in 2007, including a bout he accepted just 10 days after fighting. Even with the extra weight, Tyner was formidable: He won all of his contests in the first round. Except for an October bout, he spent more time golfing than training. After feeling the sting of a kickboxer's strikes — like having a baseball bat swung at you — he promptly quit both the fight and the sport.

In 2008, Tyner took a traveling job as a welder and pipeliner, disappearing for weeks or months at a time to Pennsylvania or Arkansas on jobs. His training partners would occasionally see him in town, hitting bags and sparring to stay fit.

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