Touching History: Why Scars Matter

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He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian."

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember, with advantages,

What feats he did that day.”

William Shakespeare, “Henry V”

Last year I sat with a crusty, 93 year-old Marine from the Battle of Iwo Jima. I asked him frank questions about Iwo. He was Irish. He answered me back frankly. In more ways than one, the battle was still with him.

“I have some of the island still in me.” O’Malley told me in a thick Massachusetts accent. Extending one of his hands to me, aged, but massive and strong, he said, “See those two black spots? That’s sand from the beaches of Iwo Jima.” The Marine allowed me to touch the spots with my fingers. A doctor had once offered to remove them, he told me, but O’Malley had responded with a firm no! “I earned that!” For 73 years he had carried those pieces of black volcanic ash in his hand, a memory of the most defining days of his life. There was no way they would be removed now.

This wasn’t the first time a veteran has showed me his scars. Once, another Marine friend had taken my hand and put it to his temple. “Feel that,” he said. “That’s shrapnel from the jungles Nam.” 

And at a monthly breakfast group one morning, an Army vet stretched both his arms out over the table and pointed out to me the lines he had running up from his wrists to elbows, “June 6th, 1944, on Omaha Beach,” he said matter-of-factly. “I held my arms up to cover my face from the bullets. Good thing I did because otherwise my face wouldn’t look too pretty.”

“It never looked pretty,” kidded another D-Day survivor from across the table.


As most kids are, I think, growing up I was fascinated by scars. My brothers [and sisters] always hoped our scratches from outdoor play would turn into scars, and when they didn’t, we solved that problem by drawing them in with permanent marker. Maybe not the best idea. But it sure looked good.

As adults, we each carry internal scars of battles we’ve fought. Some of them we are proud of, others we are content to keep hidden deep in our hearts.

But why do scars matter?

I think Shakespeare hits the nail on the head in Henry V.

“Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars / And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day.””

There is nothing like an external scar to show the world that you fought hard and conquered. In the Japanese culture, there is a practice called, kintsugi: A piece of broken pottery is repaired with gold, not only renewing the life in it, but adding value by celebrating and showing pride in it’s “scars.”

I consider it a treasured privilege to be shown a veteran’s battle scars. Something very personal is transferred. And I become custodian to a moment from 75 years in the past.

When I took that crusty Marine’s hand and felt his scars, I could feel a battle that took place 51 years before I was even born. I was touching history.


Marines, Soldiers, and Sailors: Home from the Islands


It’s been a couple of weeks since I arrived home from traveling all over the Pacific Islands with 7 Marines, Sailors, and Soldiers, who fought and spilled blood there 74 years ago.

It was a magical 10 days.

Sponsored by the Best Defense Foundation, we stood atop Mt. Suribachi and watched a Marine point to where he had landed on February 19, 1945. We walked along the side of Suicide Cliffs in Saipan and listened as a former Army Lt. Col. and Green Beret explained what it was like to see hundreds of misguided natives willingly throw themselves over the cliffs rather than fall into the hands of the Americans. And we picked up pieces of the tarmac on which the Enola Gay made her famous voyage, changing the course of history forever.

Even as I write now, I am getting chills up my arms.

There is obviously much to tell. For now, I will give you a sampling of photos, with hopefully more to come in the future.


Rondo Scharfe. 16 year old Coxswain at Iwo Jima. His landing craft was hit just as he approached the beach. 17 of the 36 Marines on board were immediately killed. Rondo's sternum was split open, his front teeth were knocked out, and his nose was broken. In the chaos, and not aware of his injuries except that he had a huge pain in his chest, Rondo kept telling himself that, "16 was too young to have a heart attack. Just too young to have a heart attack." Before he bled out, someone grabbed him and pulled him ashore where he was saved.


Fred Harvey, USMC, landed on February 19, 1945 with the 5th Marine Division. He made it 7 days before being seriously wounded after taking 3 Japanese grenades in his foxhole. Fred was evacuated off the island and spent the rest of the war in a body cast in hospital. Later on, Fred received the Silver Star for his bravery during a night patrol early on in the invasion of Iwo, when he was left to defend himself and a wounded comrade after being ambushed by the Japanese.


Same Flag, 14 Years Apart:

On top of Mt. Suribachi with Iwo Jima Survivor Fred Harvey, 5th Marine Division. Fred and I are holding the SAME flag that my brothers brought to Iwo Jima 14 years ago, when they were 10 and 12 years old. So grateful to the Best Defense Foundation for making this special moment possible.

More to follow shortly…

Back to the Island


When I went to Iwo Jima in 2015 with my dad, it fulfilled a dream I'd had since I was 8 years old. It completely changed my life, and I was pretty sure that my first time there would also be my last time.

But next Monday, I will be helping escort 6 veterans (including one of my dearest of friends) back to Iwo Jima, Guam, Saipan, and Tinian. I'm still waiting for reality to hit. But I am deeply grateful to the Best Defense Foundation for this opportunity to re-live those childhood dreams all over again and in the company of such heroes.


Consequently, I have been studying like a madman in preparation. I feel like the word "excited" is an inadequate one to describe how I feel about returning to Iwo and making my first trip to Saipan and Tinian. The history of these islands is one that I feel so deeply connected to.

Iwo was my first introduction to WW2 when I was 6 or 7 years old. And some of the first stories of war I ever heard were from veterans of Saipan who described what it was like to watch the poor brainwashed natives take their own lives by jumping the cliffs rather than fall into the hands of what they had been told were "cannibal Americans."

Over breakfast one morning, a Marine (*see endnote) showed me a picture of the first Japanese he ever killed and the cave where he was wounded by a grenade. Another one showed me the volcanic ash that was still in his hands.

I have shared tears with hearty Marines who were making their first return to the battlefields; some of whom had left an arm, a leg, and hardest of all - their best friend.

But it wasn't just a rollercoaster of hardcore memories that makes my connection so deep. Along the way, I was a adopted by this special group of fighting men and given a second family. My Marine Corps family. All these extra uncles who declared I had to run any boyfriends by them for approval first, swore to protect me (in various forms of Marine Corps terminology), and were there to help me through some pretty rough times.

Mt. Suribachi (2015) with Sgt. John Coltrane

Mt. Suribachi (2015) with Sgt. John Coltrane

Going back to Iwo is pretty personal to me. More than the dress blues (which are gorgeous btw), more than the battle facts and statistics - because honestly, none of the adopted uncles are statistics to me - my Marines are living, breathing human beings who went through hell, but still managed to go on and live normal lives.

So what is the word I’m looking for to describe how I feel? Grateful? Heart-full? Thoughtful? Exuberant? I don't know. For now, just consider these words to be the placeholders until I do find the right one.


** Note: The story of that Marine and the photo is not a story of the glorification of death… rather it is part of a beautiful story of forgiveness. When the Marine showed me the photo (one his buddy had taken), he was still angry with the Japanese. He had 70 years angst and bitterness built up that was coming to a climax. By showing me the photos, he was trying to share his story and find clarity in the mental conflict he was still fighting. He needed answers. All week I spoke to him about this, and others did as well… tskaAnd incredibly, the day we went to Iwo Jima, he was able to go up to a Japanese veteran and shake his hand. It was the first Japanese man he'd been willing to talk to since the war. The rest of the trip following that, he was happy and light-hearted. A month later, he passed away. I think he had finally found the deep peace and forgiveness he needed.

Jerry Yellin: The Fighter Pilot Who Found Forgiveness


December is a busy month for everyone, but amid all that's going on, we wanted to take a moment to remember a dear friend who just passed away: Captain Jerry Yellin, WW2 Veteran, P-51 Pilot, and a man who left an undeniable legacy.

At all military reunions I attended with Jerry, whenever I turned around, there he was exhorting the younger men and women. He spoke so kindly and with such sincerity that anyone listening couldn't help but be drawn to his every word.


At one reunion, I walked through the hotel lobby and saw a huddle of enormous basketball players. Then I saw Jerry. He had them hanging on every word as he shared a message of forgiveness, hope, and love. I had to smile.

When World War Two ended, America and the rest of the world was ready to move on. But Jerry Yellin couldn't. The memories were too difficult. He experienced a grief and guilt from them that dragged on for years. He even contemplated taking his life.

For Mr. Yellin, the war was a hellish necessity, essential for halting the spread of Nazism and Japanese aggression. But he also spoke forthrightly about its costs, including the mental anguish over memories of combat that nearly led him to suicide. He recalled with particular horror the experience of landing on war-torn Iwo Jima for the first time, where, “There wasn’t a blade of grass and there were 28,000 bodies rotting in the sun... The sights and the sounds and the smells of dead bodies and the sights of Japanese being bulldozed into mass graves absolutely never went away.”
— The Washington Post
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His wife helped him through much of his PTSD, but the real turning point came when he learned his son was going to marry the daughter of a Japanese man, trained during the war to be a Kamikaze pilot. He could hardly believe it at first. So many of his friends had been lost at the hands of the Japanese, and now his prospective in-laws were to be the very enemy he had fought against. 

Mr. Yellin, a captain in the 78th Fighter Squadron of the Army Air Forces, counted 16 downed pilots in his unit during the war... “The feeling that one has when a buddy dies? You just can’t emulate that. We have a burden civilians will never understand.”
— The Washington Post

It was at this time he realized he had to make a decision. Continue to live with his mental suffering and bitterness, or release the hate he'd stored up for years and turn to forgiveness and love. He chose forgiveness. With this change, hope and life was restored, and he devoted the rest of his years to spreading a message of peace and love. In fact, he soon came to consider his son's father-in-law, a former enemy, one of his dearest friends.

Learning to forgive our enemies is a message that never gets old. Thank you Jerry for setting such a beautiful example for us. 


For George: Remembering A Great Marine

Many people come into your life. More go out of it. And a few of them touch your life in ways you couldn't have dreamed. George Cattelona is one of the few.

Anyone who ever met Mr. Cattelona knows what a character he was. One of his favorite sayings was, "I always try and give em' hell where ever I go." But for all his joking around, he had the rare and beautiful quality of true kindness and genuine sincerity. Visiting with him at reunions over the last couple of years and getting to know him better each time, whether it was killing a few hours in the hotel lobby waiting for his car to be repaired or galavanting about the MCX at Camp Pendleton, these two qualities of his became apparent and touched our hearts tremendously.

Virginia Beach 5th Marine Division reunion in 2015. George and his war buddy, John Coltrane.

Virginia Beach 5th Marine Division reunion in 2015. George and his war buddy, John Coltrane.

The girls and I fondly called him our "Prospector." He may have been born in the 1920s, but there was an almost intangible aura about him that seemed to come from another time. He saw hard things on Iwo Jima. His before and after portraits taken during his time in the Corps give that away. It was difficult for him to talk about Iwo, nevertheless he did because it was so important for his buddies to be remembered. He was absolutely devoted to their memory.

I know the last few months following his accident were really hard for him. Mom and I were able to visit him in late May, and it broke my heart to see a man who was everything the Marine Corps stood for, everything that is American, noble, brave, and true, suffer so. Just a few months ago it seemed he would go on forever. And now, to hold his beautiful hands, look into his eyes and only see confusion in them; to listen to him talk about the men he served with on Iwo Jima as if they were still there, and to give him answers to his questions that only made him more frustrated. It made me cry. I didn't want to say goodbye and have that be my last memory.

During our last visit, like a break in the clouds on a stormy day as if in answer to my prayer, for a few minutes that old familiar twinkle, (slightly ornery, slightly mischievous), came back into his eyes as he cracked a few jokes that only the George Cattelona I knew could make. He pretended to be annoyed that we were holding up his lunch, but the smile curling up from under his moustache gave him away.

There's so much more about him I've left out. Losing him is hard. Harder than I imagined. In his passing it feels like a world of knowledge, wisdom, love, kindness, and sincerity has passed with him. We'll always love you Mr. C.

Exciting Announcement...

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As many of you know, last year Liberty ran the Marine Corps Marathon to raise money to bring Iwo Jima veterans back to their battlefields. Well, we have some pretty super-duper, really exciting news for you. Last year was such a success raising money for the Iwo Jima Association of America, that we have decided to make it a triple threat this year and all three of us run the Marathon together! Yes. That means, Liberty, Jubilee, and Faith!!

It is going to be another amazing experience, so if you are interested in following our journey to the MCM, you can follow us on Instagram @RunningforIwoJima. Or if you would like to participate yourself by contributing to the Iwo Jima Association of America, click the link below.

Liberty, Jubilee, and Faith

Semper Fi: San Diego, Camp Pendleton, and the Iwo Jima Reunion

“The doctor gave me a mask and said, ‘Put this on.’ ‘Why?’ I asked, ‘Is it so I don’t spread germs?’ ‘No,’ the doctor said, ‘So they don’t know how old you are.’ I was 19 years old.” 

19 and doing a man’s job. This is what Robert Bergen, Navy Corpsman on Iwo Jima, related to us last Friday as we chatted over a dinner honoring Iwo veterans. This is one of the many remarkable things we heard last weekend at the annual Iwo Jima Association Reunion in San Diego, California, commemorating and remembering the bloodiest battle in Marine Corps history.  Last year I was able to go to the reunion in Washington, DC, but as the girls could not make it, we were all anxious to make this one together. Especially as this year was to be a joint reunion of the East and West Coast veterans. So after saving up our pennies for several months, we finally arrived in Carlsbad, California, the headquarters for the Iwo Jima reunion. 

George Vouros, USS IZARD, and Jubilee at the Iwo Jima Reunion

And what a week it was! Unforgettable. Amazing. Excellent company and conversation. There is too much to relate in one blogpost, so here are some highlights.

George Vouros, gunner on the destroyer USS Izard (DD-589), told me that shortly after Pearl Harbor was bombed he went down to the Marine Corps recruitment office with his best friend to enlist. The recruitment officer took one look at him (height 5'3"), and then at his best friend (close to 6 feet), and said, “Sorry. You’re too short. You have to at least be 5' 4.” Disappointed, but nonetheless still determined to serve his country, Mr. Vouros joined the Navy. Fast forward a couple years and his ship was just off of Iwo Jima, parallel to Mt. Suribachi. There they put up a fierce defense for the Marines on the island, very narrowly missing a few shells fired from the Japanese on Iwo. 

Little did he know at the time that his best friend (the one he had tried to enlist in the Corps with), was fighting and would be eventually killed on the same piece of volcanic ash that the USS Izard was anchored off of. The tragic irony of life.

This picture couldn’t help but evoke the lines "A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the [Camp Pendleton] saloon; The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune," from Robert Service’s poem, “The Shooting of Dan McGrew.” No doubt the jag-time tune was something on the theme of "from the halls of Montezuma..."

Ivan Hammond, 5th JASCO, shares a behind the scenes story of the flagraising on Iwo Jima. 

Mr. Robert Bergen, Navy Corpsman on Iwo Jima.

One of the really poignant moments during the event was a veterans’ panel one of the evenings. 10-12 Iwo vets recalled memories from the island, some hilarious, some serious. Mr. Bergen (mentioned above) related an incident with a patient that required immediate and intensive care. The man, a somewhat important figure, had been wearing a fur coat when he got all shot up. The fur from the coat became imbedded in his wounds, and when they opened him up, all they could see was fur and blood. It was impossible to distinguish anything. With little field experience, Bergen asked the head doctor, “What do I do?” “Irrigate!” The doctor said. Bergen had no idea how exactly to irrigate, so he took gallons and gallons of water and flushed it over the man’s body to clean the wounds. Then he patched him up and moved on. Years later he saw in the papers a notice about the ship the man with the fur coat had been on. Wondering if the man had survived, he wrote the paper to find out. Shortly after, he received a letter from the very man saying it was him, and thanking the “doctor” for saving his life. Bergen never had the heart to tell him he wasn’t a doctor, just a simple 19 year-old given a bunch of bandages, morphine, and told to “irrigate!"

During the symposium on Saturday, the sad news was announced the General Lawrence Snowden, highest ranking officer still alive who had served on Iwo, had just passed away. I had the great pleasure and honor of meeting General Snowden 2 years ago during the 70th Anniversary Reunion of Honor trip to Iwo Jima, and he left an indelible impression on not just me, but everyone who came in contact with him. Gen. Snowden throughout his entire life devoted his work to the reconciliation of Japanese and American relations, and you could hardly find a more gracious and noble man, committed to truth and honesty, who loved his country passionately. It was moving to see the response of the men who had served with him the past 30 years during these Iwo Jima Reunions. Stoic men, who hardly ever showed emotion, brought to tears at the passing of this great and revered man. America lost a great patriot, but the legacy General Snowden left will continue on forever, never to be forgotten. You can read more about his magnificent life here:

Not all of the weekend was so serious. There was quite a bit of hilarity that went around; and how can there not be when you have a gathering of nonagenarian Sailors and Marines from all walks of life and backgrounds -California surfer, Boston yankee, North Carolina southerner, Nebraska westerner, Greek, Indian, and all around American mutt, all who have had more life experience than pretty much anyone else. Throw in a few walkers, canes, portable oxygen tanks (“Anyone want a shot of oxygen?” - a comment we heard more than once), and it is a constant circus.

Faith and Iwo Jima Veteran Fred Harvey

We swapped old family recipes, discussed business, laughed at the disputes between Parris Island Marines vs the Camp Pendleton "Hollywood" Marines, and heard a few humorously odd stories from growing up in America during the great depression. 

It was a full weekend, both physically and emotionally, but ever so rewarding. Sometimes folks have asked why we don't do more film interviews. Honestly, because the relationships we are trying to cultivate with these dear men is more than just their oral history. No mistaking, we have done some film interviews, and we *always* write down their stories on paper. But in building a long-lasting friendship with them, we are laying in a store of memories for the future when there are no more WWII veterans.

It's hard to imagine a time when these reunions will no longer happen. When we can no longer sit in a room full of Iwo Jima Marines, or Salerno T-Patch soldiers, or hear about the cold of Bastogne from a former tank commander or paratrooper. Our children will probably never know what it was like to know one of the "Greatest Generation," just as we will never know what it was like to chat over coffee with a veteran of "The Great War." And though it seems like they will be here forever, they are gone before you know it. Life is truly but a vapour, here one day and gone the next. Take every opportunity, not just with WW2 veterans, but with your grandparents, elderly friends, and all those beautiful old people that are so often overlooked. 

For the Love of Phyllis: A Valentine's Day Story

Here is a sweet Valentine's Day story. It is the story of Bill and Phyllis Madden. 
* * * * * * * * * * 

In truth, theirs is the ultimate storybook romance if there ever was one. It started with the "puppy love" (as he called it) of a young high school boy, but quickly grew into a mature love and desire to marry the girl of his dreams. To him, Phyllis was as kind as she was beautiful, talented as she was popular, with a genuine heart that only thought of others. And Bill knew she was the only one he could ever love. But there was a problem, Phyllis was dating a guy named "Slats."

Now Slats would have been nice enough, except for the fact that Slats liked Phyllis and Bill liked Phyllis too. "Slats was a nice guy." Mr. Madden told me. "I liked him a lot, but this was war over the woman we both wanted to marry. I would have done almost anything to get her to marry me instead of him. That's how love works, I guess." And how could a poor young Marine compare to the guy who "had a good job, good clothes, and a nice car." Things looked hopeless for Bill until Slats joined the Navy, and Bill found his opportunity to cut in. This didn't last long, however, as he too was soon shipped off to San Diego for training. Phyllis continued to stay in touch with both the Sailor and the Marine, but it couldn't continue this way.

On invitation of her boyfriend, Slats, Phyllis, and a friend named Fern went to stay with an aunt in Los Angeles. Slats was concerned that he was being pushed out of the picture, and hoped to gain some ground by making frequent visits. Phyllis now found herself in a conundrum. Even though she had been dating Slats, she was beginning to take a real liking to this shy, young Marine. Well, the climax of this little love triangle finally arrived. In Mr. Madden's words here is what happened:

"She told me to come there on a day that Slats did not have time off, but 'the best laid plans of mice and Marines gang aft agley.' Slats got someone to take his duty place on the day I was to take Phyllis out. I had hitch hiked to LA and was going to take a cab wherever the girls wanted to go, but we ended up, all four of us, in Slats' aunt's car and headed for the Hollywood Palladium where Harry James was playing and Helen Forrest was singing. I was not too happy with the arrangement, and neither was Slats, much less Phyllis. We got to the Palladium, had some drinks, and listened to that heavenly music of James and Forrest. I quickly asked Phyllis to dance before Slats had a chance to. I was still a teenager and didn't dance very well, but I would have done anything to get her alone for a while so we could talk. Well, we danced, talked, and when the song was over, we stayed till the next one and the next one before we got back to the table with Fern and Slats. He was not happy a bit. I got one more dance during the playing and singing of "Stardust," which became our song. She decided that night that she would choose me to marry over Slats."

Reunited again! This photo of Bill and Phyllis was taken at the hospital where Bill was recuperating from wounds he received on Iwo Jima. 

Bill and Phyllis were married for 69 years, and they truly lived happily ever after. 

Tribute to a Marine

We recently lost a great Marine, Al Pagoaga. In many ways, he personified the Marine Corps. A rough exterior, a tough persona, completely indefatigable, and yet, lurking there in the shadows behind all that, was a true heart of gold. Al lost his leg on Iwo Jima to a Japanese mortar, but you would never know it. His posture was always perfect, and at 91 years of age, his military bearing was impeccable.

Just last November he lost his wartime buddy and our dear friend Bill Madden. Having known the two of them is simply unforgettable. Bill was a sweet and tender English professor; Al was still the tough Marine, able to hold more beer than most young guys today. Put them together and they were something to be reckoned with. It's hard losing both of them within just a few months, but it's not surprising. Al saved Bill's life on Iwo, and friends like that are never far apart. Semper Fi Marine.

The Cute Couple

"Eat your heart out girls. We've been married 70 years." The absolutely darling Mrs. Johnson told us this right after laughingly declaring that the cute (and very tall) Texan was HER man and for us to steer clear of him. Oh they'd had a lot of fun over the years she said. "We were hippies" after a fashion. For their Honeymoon they took bicycles and went all over Norway, camping out and occasionally staying in local hostels.

Before she met Bill, she'd been warned that Marines were a dangerous lot and she shouldn't date them -a rumor probably started by some Navy fellow-, but now she was curious. Finally she got the opportunity to date a very confident (aren't they all though!) Marine. One evening he took it upon himself to teach her some of the drill steps. When he ordered her to march towards him, but neglected the order to halt (hoping she would walk right into a kiss), she saw through his games and decided that yes indeed Marines were a wily lot, but she certainly liked them. Soon after she found herself the tall Texas Marine of her dreams, Bill Johnson, and proposed to him. He accepted and they were married. Miss Personality pretty much describes her to a T. And Gary Cooper 2.0 describes Bill. Together they make the cutest dream couple. And we will all be happy if we can be just half as amazing at 90 as Mrs. Johnson is.

Bill: An All American Marine

Last night I started a brief instagram post with these words, 

"Even the most beautiful things cannot last last forever."

It is true. But in a way, that is what makes them so beautiful. If you'll excuse the cliché, beautiful things are like flowers - we appreciate them so much more when we only get to experience their beauty for a little while. 

Bill Madden (seated) reading the newspaper.

Bill Madden (seated) reading the newspaper.

One of these beautiful flowers was a retired English teacher named Bill Madden. He was soft-spoken and gentle. He dressed in the way you would imagine an old lover of the arts would dress, including a slightly faded, but very neat, blue cardigan. He lived and breathed poetry and could recite countless classics from Keats, the Bronte Sisters, and Emily Dickinson, to the slightly lesser known (but still wonderful) Eugene Field and Alfred Noyes.

Once, Jubilee and I spent a delightful afternoon with Mr. Madden comparing notes on our favorite poets. We had a little disagreement over the merit of Kipling's writings, but that only added to the color of our conversation. Emily Dickinson's "Some keep the Sabbath going to Church" brought on hilarious laughter at the peculiarity of her writings. It was all so impromptu and lovely that I shall never forget it. 

But with all these gentle qualities, you would never have guessed Mr. Madden to be a former United States Marine, one of the men who fought with "uncommon valor" on the battlefields of the Pacific. Instead of commemorating his 19th birthday with cake and ice cream, he was storming the beaches of Iwo Jima. There were no candles for him to blow out and the fireworks in the sky were not a celebration of life, but more out of a line from Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade, "Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them, cannon in front of them, volley'd and thunder'd. Storm'd at with shot and shell, into the jaws of death, into the mouth of Hell."

A young and adorable Bill Madden

Looking over the island's landscape, he later recalled, "[It] reminded me of the witches scene in Macbeth. Clouds of sulfur fumes steamed up from nearly every crevice of the ghostly terrain."

Mr. Madden survived Iwo long enough to see the inspirational flag-raising and watch nearly all of his close friends blown to pieces before he himself was wounded and evacuated. It took nearly 50 years before he was able to write and talk about the horrors he witnessed on that nightmare of volcanic rock. "Forever impressed on my mind," he wrote, "are the sights and sounds of young boys being ripped apart by the steel fragments of mortar shells. My hand trembles whenever I write about it, even after half a century. I will never forget the unmistakable "ka-zoom" of mortar shells exploding into a clustered body of troops and then the "zing" of fragments of body, sand, and steel flying past my ears as I dived for cover. Life can never be the same once it is experienced under those conditions."

One friend, Red Griffiths, miraculously survived a fearsome bullet that ricocheted around his helmet, entered his neck, and exited his back. Another walked into a machine gun ambush and was paralyzed from the waist down. "So many more of my buddies dropped one by one with wounds: Neilson, Johnson, Lanier, Strome, Mitchell, Rebstock, and Hernandez, to name a few. I myself was buried alive my a mortar shell on the edge of my foxhole, but was dug out immediately by Al. That blast robbed me of my hearing for 24 hours... Even more fearful to contemplate after I was rescued was the smashed but unexploded grenade lying beside my head." And the stories go on. 

My first meeting with Mr. Madden was unforgettable. Jubilee and I had traveled to Virginia Beach for the 5th Marine Division Reunion. It was one of the first times we had traveled alone like this, but the opportunity of being around so many of our wonderful Marines quite put away any concerns. The first afternoon of touring brought us to a local Military Aviation Museum where we all gathered outside before going in. 

Marine Corps buddies, Al (left) saved the life of Bill on Iwo, shortly before being wounded himself. 

"Excuse me," said a soft voice. Jube and I turned around to see a lovely veteran whom we hadn't yet met. "May I please ask what two such nice young ladies are doing in a group of us old people?" We laughed and told him how we wouldn't miss a gathering like this for anything! "I was on Iwo," he said, "And the guy over there saved my life... A mortar shell hit right by me blasting my eardrums and burying me alive. Al came and dug me out, and, if it weren't for him, I would be dead. You know," he continued, hardly pausing to take a breath, "My wife passed away three months ago. And you girls remind me so much of her. We were married for 69 years. She was the love of my life." He pulled out a photo of a gorgeous brunette and showed it to us. In an instant, our laughter nearly turned to tears as we realized how fresh the loss was for this gentle man. 

Jubilee and Mr. Madden at the 5th Marine Division Reunion

Jubilee and Mr. Madden at the 5th Marine Division Reunion

We continued to chat for the rest of the day, beginning to put together the pieces of a life which could be considered that of a truly all American boy. In love with his high school sweetheart (though unsure that the love was reciprocated), he signed up as a United States Marine to follow in the steps of his older brother. Completing bootcamp, he was shipped off to the Pacific for combat, hardly after his 18th birthday, hoping all the while that he would survive to return and marry the girl he'd been in love with for so long. 

Now, let me just pause and take a minute to tell you the story of Bill (Mr. Madden) and Phyllis (his wife). Theirs is the ultimate storybook romance if there ever was one. It started with the "puppy love" (as he called it) of a young high school boy, but quickly grew into a mature love and desire to marry the girl of his dreams. To him, Phyllis was as kind as she was beautiful, talented as she was popular, with a genuine heart that only thought of others. And Bill knew she was the only one he could ever love. But there was a problem, Phyllis was dating a guy named "Slats." 

"It was a picture to show me the ring she bought with money I sent her from overseas because I didn't know what to get her for some special day, a birthday, Christmas, or something. My Marine buddies fell in love with her from her picture and said they were going to write to her and take her away from me.  I said, "ok, just try," and I gave them her address.  Several of them did write to her, but she turned them down diplomatically, as I knew she would." -Bill M.  

Slats would have been nice enough, except for the fact that Slats liked Phyllis and Bill liked Phyllis too. "Slats was a nice guy." Mr. Madden told me. "I liked him a lot, but this was war over the woman we both wanted to marry. I would have done almost anything to get her to marry me instead of him. That's how love works, I guess." And how could a poor young Marine compare to the guy who "had a good job, good clothes, and a nice car." Things looked hopeless for Bill until Slats joined the Navy, and Bill found his opportunity to cut in. This didn't last long, however, as he too was soon shipped off to San Diego for training. Phyllis continued to stay in touch with both the Sailor and the Marine, but it couldn't continue this way. 

On invitation of her boyfriend, Slats, Phyllis, and a friend named Fern went to stay with an aunt in Los Angeles. Slats was concerned that he was being pushed out of the picture, and hoped to gain some ground by making frequent visits. Phyllis now found herself in a conundrum. Even though she had been dating Slats, she was beginning to take a real liking to this shy, young Marine. Well, the climax of this little love triangle finally arrived. In Mr. Madden's words here is what happened:

"She told me to come there on a day that Slats did not have time off, but 'the best laid plans of mice and Marines gang aft agley.' Slats got someone to take his duty place on the day I was to take Phyllis out. I had hitch hiked to LA and was going to take a cab wherever the girls wanted to go, but we ended up, all four of us, in Slats' aunt's car and headed for the Hollywood Palladium where Harry James was playing and Helen Forrest was singing. I was not too happy with the arrangement, and neither was Slats, much less Phyllis. We got to the Palladium, had some drinks, and listened to that heavenly music of James and Forrest. I quickly asked Phyllis to dance before Slats had a chance to. I was still a teenager and didn't dance very well, but I would have done anything to get her alone for a while so we could talk. Well, we danced, talked, and when the song was over, we stayed till the next one and the next one before we got back to the table with Fern and Slats. He was not happy a bit. I got one more dance during the playing and singing of "Stardust," which became our song. She decided that night that she would choose me to marry over Slats."  

They were married for 69 years. 

I already told you a bit about his experiences on Iwo. After meeting him at the reunion, Jubilee and I chatted with him over email, exchanging stories nearly every week. It was frequent for him to talk about Iwo in those emails- the buddies he lost and the nightmarish events that were burned into his memory. But more often he talked about what he wanted future generations to know. He didn't want the sacrifice of those men forgotten, as so many have already done. I know at times he wondered if the price we paid on Iwo was worth it. But I think it was. The freedom we have in America today is an example of that. 

As we continued to talk, he became less the formal English teacher, and more the personal friend. Though this did come with one difficulty. "Call me Bill instead of Mr. Madden," he said. "I give you permission, although I admire you for the respect." I protested. It's not really my habit to call people I respect and who are a great deal older than me by their Christian names. It just doesn't seem right. However Mr. Madden eventually won over. "And you can just make it Bill, not Mr. Bill... We're just Liberty and Bill now." Well that was the end of that.

We talked about family and life. He told me Marines never build their houses at the bottom of a hill, and when our house flooded last spring, I understood why. He gave me valuable advice for our futures: Be careful in choosing a boyfriend - "Don't be in too much of a hurry. Many people rush into marriage and then decide to quit within five years. That's not the way to go. Don't be in a hurry. I know you will use good judgment... I sure hope you girls someday have a man who will love you as much as I loved Phyllis, and still do."

Photo credit: PRWEB

Lastly, he also taught me to be an ardent Chicago Cubs fan... but my wait to see them win wasn't nearly as long as his. In fact, Mr. Madden had been waiting 70 years to see the Cubs play the Series. In late 1945, while he was recuperating in the Navy Hospital in Chicago from wounds he received on Iwo, word got around that in gratitude for their service, the Chicago Cubs were offering free tickets to any of the patients in that hospital. The tickets were given to the Navy officials, who in turn made the happy announcement with one stipulation: That they would be required to "scrub down the deck" and do various other hospital cleaning. Well, gentle though Mr. Madden was, he was not about to be pushed around by some stuffy Naval officer, so he stiffly refused. "They're sure to play the Series another year, so I'll go then." 70 years later as he told this to Jube and me, it was still evident that his dignity had been offended. We had to laugh. But as we all know, the Cubs didn't play the Series the next year, nor the next, nor for many years after that. A staunch Cubs fan, Mr. Madden held out hope. 

This past October, I heard that after all these years he was finally going to be able to see the Cubs play in the World Series. I know he was so excited about it. As I cheered for the Cubs' win, I was so thrilled knowing that his wish had finally come true. Little did I know that night that he had passed away just a few days too early, on November 1st. He never got to see the Cubs win their game.

Even though I knew his health was poor, and we discussed it frequently with each other -the merits and otherwise of possible medications and procedures - it still was a shock to hear. Despite the vivid and harsh impact Iwo Jima had left on him, he still continued to look at life as beautiful, grateful for the many years he had been given. But I know he was happy to go. The last few months of his life he continually told me how much he missed his wife, Phyllis. "You don't know what it's like to live with someone you love for 69 years, and then not have them with you." Still, I'm selfish enough to want him here a little longer. Just one more chat, one more conversation. I only got to know him in the latter part of his life as the years had faded him and ill-health and pain made basic things very difficult, even dreary for him. But still he had shared so much kindness to Jube and me, that it only makes his passing so much the harder. He was truly one of the most beautiful souls I have ever met. Mr. Madden's life story seems to be one of the truest examples of the Greatest Generation. And I know, I for one will certainly miss him. 

Dinner with Fred


Yesterday, Jubilee and I were invited to attend a special dinner put on by the Nimitz Foundation with our dear friend and Iwo Jima veteran, Fred Harvey. Mr. Harvey's stories from Iwo are among the most descriptive and remarkable that I have ever heard, and when hearing them, there is no doubt as to his bravery. 

On February 20th "His three man patrol (which was sent out to establish contact with the adjoining company) was ambushed by heavy fire from an enemy machine gun and one of the men was seriously wounded." Mr. Harvey, "dragged the fallen Marine under heavy fire to the shelter of a nearby hole. Remaining with the wounded man while his companion went for aid, he held off the hostile forces with his rifle and hand grenades until the arrival of the rescue party." (The next morning) "Then, exposing himself to enemy fire and directing accurate heavy fire on the Japanese position, he successfully covered the evacuation of the casualty." He received the Silver Star for this remarkable and courageous event. 

About the 7th day of action, he took 3 grenades which gave him a purple heart and put him out of action for the rest of the war. His stories of the post-war are almost as wild as when he was in the Corps, and never ceases to leave all listeners on the edge of their seats and nearly choking with laughter.

Return to the Black Sands of Iwo Jima pt.2

First sight of Iwo Jima

“What does returning to Iwo Jima after 70 years mean to you?” I asked a 90 year old, soft-spoken Marine.  

He started to tell me, then stopped. We were on the top of Mt. Suribachi overlooking the island of Iwo Jima. With his good arm, he had just pointed out to me the location of his landing beach and subsequent movements. At his side hung a limp prosthetic arm, a memento of the 12 days he had spent on the island. 

“Give me a minute.” He said, his voice choking a little. He looked back over the island, trying to get control of the emotion in his throat. After a few moments of silence, he started to speak again, but his voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you. It’s too...” His hand instinctively went to his prosthesis.

“It’s okay.” I told him. Without saying a word, he had expressed everything. 

- - - - - - - 

The morning we departed for the island of Iwo Jima, we left our hotel on Guam at the unrighteous hour of 3 or so o’clock in the morning. Most the folks on the trip (self included) had only enjoyed 2 or 3 hours of sleep, but excitement and anticipation proved to be a good enough antidote. In the airport, we were joined by the rest of the crowd, all in all totaling about 450 people (3 planes' worth).

During the flight, I turned around to introduce myself to the two veterans behind me: Sam Weldon, 4th Division, a real brass-knuckles Marine; and Frank Pontisso, 5th Division, much more soft-spoken than his companion. They both came from way up north, their accents betrayed. For both of them, Iwo was their first and last combat. Mr. Weldon came off the island relatively unscathed, with the exception of almost complete loss of hearing. He ended up as an MP on Guam. Mr. Pontisso was less fortunate. On his 12th day, a mortar blast exploded near him and two of his buddies. All three survived, but his right arm was badly damaged. With it packed on ice, he was shipped off the island. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, in a few moments we will be approaching the island of Iwo Jima...” It was almost amusing to hear the Captain say this over the loud speaker. The usually dull, “Welcome to your destination,” was changed entirely by those two little words Iwo Jima

The plane circled the island three times before landing, so that all who wanted could cram into a window seat and grab a shot of this historic island. The island was beautiful. Not in the way the Golden Gate Bridge is beautiful to a sailor who has been at sea for many months, or New York Harbor was to the immigrants in the early 1900s. But beautiful in the haunting sense of the stories it holds, the bravery and courage unequaled, and a history that must never be repeated. 

I looked over at Mr. Pontisso in the seat behind me and couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. The last time he’d seen the island was the day he was hit by a mortar. Diving into a foxhole, a corpsman had given the wounded marine a shot of brandy before he passed out. The next thing he knew, he’d been taken off the island and hospitalized. Everything was going fine in his recovery, until gangrene set in. There was no choice but to amputate the arm. His war was over, and he was sent home with a Purple Heart.

Mr. Pontisso looks out the window as we circle Iwo Jima, moments before landing. 

Mr. Pontisso looks out the window as we circle Iwo Jima, moments before landing. 

Now, 70 year later, he was coming back. I snapped a quick picture. It is strange that a piece of  lava in the middle of the ocean can hold so much significance to us. 

- - - - - - - 

Immediately after debarking, we headed up to Mt. Suribachi. From the top of Suribachi, we could view the entire expanse of the island; an impressive view, but not exactly the same view the flag-raisers had 70 years ago. Then, the surface of Iwo had been bombed to pieces and hardly a lick of foliage was to be seen on the island. Today, it is completely covered in greenery and can almost be considered lush.

Iwo Jima today. Photo Credit: Mark W. Stevens (Iwo Jima Association of America)

This was a bit disconcerting to some of the vets who had been hoping to find familiar landmarks. Now covered up with shrubbery, it was like finding a needle in a haystack to get precise locations. One of them remarked to me, “We should just bomb it again. Then I’d be able to find my way around okay.” 

On top of the mountain, an exciting chaos was ensuing. Veterans and friends crowded around the Marine Monument for a photo, or raised their flag on the pole briefly, all the while dodging news cameras and photographers. I had to gulp and hope it wouldn’t go away too fast. 

Time did seem to halt a few times as I talked to a couple of the veterans coming back for the first time. They spoke slowly, carefully reflecting on their surroundings. One of them said that no matter how much you prepare to revisit the old sites, it still kind of hits you hard. 

With Sgt. Coltrane at the Marine Memorial on Mt. Suribachi

“I’ve been having nightmares for 70 years.” Sgt. J. Coltrane told me while we were sitting atop Suribachi. “I’m hoping that after this, I won’t have them any more.” 

Standing up there, I remembered the story Colonel Bill Henderson had told my dad the first time he went to Iwo Jima in 2005. In his outfit was a young Marine who had earned the name “Buttermilk” due to his youth and inability to order anything stronger at a bar. The Colonel didn’t know him too well, being new to the unit, but he recognized him still. After landing on the first wave,  Henderson (then a Lieutenant), was struggling to get his men together and up the beach.  At one point, he looked over and saw Buttermilk standing in the sand with a dazed face. “Buttermilk!” He shouted out. “Get up and go. Don’t just stand there. Move it!” Knowing they had to keep moving forward quickly, he was surprised that the young Marine just stared blankly at him. Realization hit a moment later. The lower half of Buttermilk’s body had been blown completely off. Colonel Henderson later reflected, “He very slowly toppled over. At moments like that, there was little choice but to move on or die, paralyzed with fear, confusion, and anger.”

- - - - - - - 

The ceremony on Iwo Jima was formal. The representatives from both America and Japan spoke, followed by a wreath laying. Each side paid tribute to the men who died; they spoke of forgiveness and healing, and the unity between our countries. It is always striking to me to see two countries that warred so viciously with each other, make peace, and then for the next dozens of years became strong allies. 

Lt. General Stackpole, Lt. General Snowden, and Lt. General Smith lay the wreaths.

Lt. General Stackpole, Lt. General Snowden, and Lt. General Smith lay the wreaths.

Speaking of forgiveness, we had, with our Military Historical Tours group, a special guest: Mr. Tsuruji Akikusa, a Japanese Naval Radioman. Mr. Akikusa had aspired to be a fighter pilot, but his father, not wanting him to die, had him sent into the Japanese Navy. This would be a safer place for his son. But it wasn’t. Before long, 18 year old Mr. Akikusa ended up on the island of Iwo Jima. Through a translator, he described to us what it was like to watch the first Americans land on the island. In a small bunker near the beach, he saw the landing crafts approach, the marines unload and begin climbing the beach. There was no opposing fire. Quite anxious, he asked the officer next to him, “Why are we not firing?!”  At that moment, the cannons erupted from the hidden bunkers and tore up the first Americans. Mr. Akikusa was relieved, but also horrified. 

A 16 year-old Tsuruji Akikusa

A 16 year-old Tsuruji Akikusa

Throughout the rest of the battle, he remained on the island, but never fired a shot. As the end drew near, many of the Japanese soldiers in his bunker committed suicide. Then it was evident they would soon be overcome. He heard shouts and cries and saw the Japanese officers shooting the soldiers who were crying in fear. Afraid that they would shoot him, he didn’t say anything. Soon, his bunker was hit, knocking him unconscious. A few days, later he woke up in an American hospital tent. He learned that one of the War Dogs had sniffed him out during a patrol. When the Marine accompanying the dog saw that he was still alive, he brought him back for medical attention. Mr. Akikusa was one of only 1,000 Japanese to be taken prisoner on the island of Iwo Jima. Over 22,000 Japanese soldiers had been killed or committed suicide. 

Mr. Akikusa spent the next year as a prisoner of war. Fearing his survival would cause shame for his family (who thought he was killed on the island), he never wrote home to tell them he was alive. It was one of the moral codes of their culture to die an honorable death in battle rather than suffer the disgrace of surviving, or worse -become a prisoner of war (This is one of the reasons the Japanese treated our POWs so poorly; they considered them to be disgraced men for surrendering). Eventually, after the war ended, he decided to go home. He arrived just in time to discover his school was having a funeral service for him and the other boys in his town who died during the war. He went quietly in, removed the picture of himself and sat down to attend the rest of the funeral. His funeral. 

- - - - - - - 

Mr. Akikusa attended the official ceremonies with us -the Americans. I’d seen him earlier in the hotel lobby. He was wearing a hat with GoArmy and USA pins on it. Knowing he was Japanese, but not having met him yet, I wondered how he came to be wearing a hat with American insignia. After hearing him relate his story, I knew. He concluded his comments by saying, “They say I was captured by the Americans. But I don’t like to say that. I wasn’t captured. I was rescued.” 

Tsuruji Akikusa, and General Lawrence Snowden. As Gen. Snowden said, "Once enemies, now friends." Photo Cred: Mark Stevens (IJAA)

Tsuruji Akikusa, and General Lawrence Snowden. As Gen. Snowden said, "Once enemies, now friends." Photo Cred: Mark Stevens (IJAA)

Mr. Akikusa is an example of a man who once was our enemy, but now he is a friend. Some of the veterans on the trip were unsure about meeting someone they would have considered a bitter enemy. But putting aside enmity and deciding to forgive, they were able to shake his hand and welcome him as a friend. In response, Mr. Akikusa appreciates and respects our country for “rescuing” him. 

The polaroid instant from our meeting. 

After the ceremony, I saw that he was sitting alone with his translator. Walking up to him, I took his hand and told him how grateful I was for the peace between our countries and thanked him for coming with us - his former enemies - back to Iwo Jima to remember our fallen soldiers. He smiled so kindly and replied similarly. Pulling out my Polaroid, I asked to take a picture with him. If you remember Polaroids, they print instantly, so a moment later, I gave him one of the prints. He smiled when he saw the photo, and his translator explained to him that it was a gift from me for him. With almost tears in his eyes and holding tight to the picture, he thanked me. 

It was brief, but the interchange meant a great deal to me. My great-great uncle died in a POW camp in the Philippines. His sister was very bitter against the Japanese for the rest of her life. I have known many people who experienced great hardships at the hands of the Japanese in WWII. But at the end of the day, forgiveness is one of the greatest acts a man can offer another.  “Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger... be put away from you...forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake has forgiven you.” Ephesians 4:31-32 

- - - - - - - 

Following the ceremony, several of us piled into the back of a jeep and headed down to the beach. Getting to the sand was entirely different from anything I had imagined. You read about the difficulty the Marines had climbing the sandy embankments: move forward three feet, sink backwards and in two. It was impossible to dig foxholes for protection because of the texture of the gravelly sand which caved in and cut up the skin. It was all this and more.

Jim Skinner USMC on the beach where he landed in 1945

My cowboy boots sank up to the top and sand poured in. Walking in them was like wearing moon shoes as I tried to walk. Because of time constraints, we didn’t go too far out onto the beach, but I heard later that some of the folks tried “storming the beaches” again, and found the task of scaling the inclines tremendous. (Side note: up to 10 months later, I was still finding sand from Iwo Jima in my boots, despite cleaning them and wearing them regularly)

I mentioned that the sand was rough enough to cut skin. Hard to believe, but true. Coming up from the beach, I tripped and cut my knee. The cut was small, but 13 months later, I still have the scars from it. With such a small incident leaving such a permanent reminder, I couldn’t help but think about the poor fellows who crashed into the sand for protection or fell wounded. I’ve been calling it sand, but really it is volcanic ash; the same hard, rough, gravelly volcanic ash that greeted the Marines on Iwo 71 years ago. 

I'm here with my friend, Mr. G. and his granddaughter just after we've come off the beach. 

With evening coming, we headed back to the airstrip to fly back to Guam. We boarded our plane all in tact, carrying several additional pounds of black Iwo Jima sand. This sand was so popular that for a few minutes there was question if some poor soul would have to dump their portion to lighten the load of the plane. There were no volunteers and in the end everything was fine. Our flight back was uneventful (though two of the other planes ended up being grounded for a couple of hours before returning... Another story), and we chatted with the veterans and folks on the plane. Our trip was coming to a close. 

Mr. C. Burney signs my LIFE magazine. The cover depicts a blockhouse being blown up on Iwo Jima.

The next day was the last day of the tour, finishing up with the closing banquet at the Pacific War Museum, a fabulous museum in Guam that boasts excellent artifacts and tremendous military equipment (jeeps, trucks, guns) scattered around the grounds. Nothing like enjoying your dinner at the base of a WWII anti-aircraft gun. 

This may seem like the longest article I’ve ever written. Probably is. Unfortunately, as long as it is (and if you have persevered through it thus far, bravo and thank you), only highlights were mentioned. So much happened in such a short space of time that it is hard to put it all down and get it out the door. But for now, here are a few lessons I learned from Iwo Jima. 

There is no underestimating the power of forgiveness:

On this trip, I met veterans who had carried great animosity and hatred toward the Japanese for the past 70 years. Understanding that what the Marines on Iwo Jima experienced is beyond our comprehension, it is still hard to see men in their 90s continue to carry bitterness against their enemy when their time left on earth is so short, because bitterness eats at the soul like nothing else. But, even the most angry man can overcome and forgive. I saw that happen. 

The Brotherhood of the Marines:

It is rare you find a bonded brotherhood like the Marines. What makes a 90+ year old man make an incredibly arduous trip across the world to a barren and desolate island? Especially one that holds only the most painful of memories? Because he feels it is his duty to go back and pay his last respects to the comrades and friends he lost. Mr. Pontisso said about his wounds, “I don’t deserve the Purple Heart, it’s the ones who never made it back that do.”

He may have lost his arm 71 years ago, but to him, he came out with his life when so many others didn’t. He went back because it was important to him that he remember them and that others remember. The strength of the brotherhood was so strong that he and others were willing to put aside the personal pain of the memories and make one last return. One last Reunion of Honor. 

We must never forget:

In an old war movie from the 1940s, White Cliffs of Dover,  there is a scene at the end which always brings tears to my eyes. The young man, John, has been mortally wounded fighting in France during WWII. Lying in a hospital in England, he tells his mother about a conversation he had with another soldier. The interchange between the mother and her dying son pretty much sums up why we must never forget.

"That chap, the American, he said he'd really start to fight the day war ended: for a good peace, a peace that would stick. He didn't know he was going to die, you see. He said that God would never forgive us, either England or America, if we break the faith with our dead again. Write his mother a nice letter. Tell her that…,oh well, you'll think of something....

A few moments later a parade comes by, and his mother looks out the window.

How well they march, John... There is a look of greatness about them. All the strong young boys. Beautiful and proud with dreams. Just like you, John. They'll help bring peace again. And as your friend said, "A peace that will stick." …. You know, John, we must never forget what that American boy said to you. God will never forgive us if we break faith with our dead again.” 

The memory of the boys who died on Iwo Jima, where “uncommon valor was a common virtue,” mustn’t be forgotten. Neither should the boys of Peleliu, Tarawa, Wake Island, Guadalcanal, Monte Cassino, El Alamein, Normandy, the Hurtgen forest, the Battle of the Bulge... None of them. If we forget, what was the point of their sacrifice? 

I will never forget this trip to Iwo Jima. And I will make sure no one around me ever forgets either. If we are a grateful people, we will not forget the sacrifices of the men who died for our country. In Ernie Pyle’s book, Brave Men, he wrote, “I don’t believe one of us was afraid of the physical part of dying. That isn’t the way it is. The emotion is rather one of almost desperate reluctance to give up the future.” 

So, thank you to all the young men who gave up their futures. The men who will be forever young in our memories. We may live to be 95, but they will always be 19 years old. God forbid that we ever break faith with them and, in our selfishness, forget the reasons we still live in a free country.

Return to the Black Sands of Iwo Jima pt. 1

One year ago today, I stepped onto the runway on Iwo Jima Island for the first time. It was a surreal moment for me. 11 years before, I had first really learned about this terrible battle and it impacted me tremendously. A little later, when my brothers (then 10 & 12) returned from going to Iwo Jima with my Dad for the 60th, I told myself I would visit the island some day. Now, at 18 years old, it was actually happening. And the experience was unlike any I've ever had. 

Now, if you've read any of the previous things I've written about Iwo Jima, you'll know the story and it's characters mean an awful lot to me. This time, however, I'm going to tell you a little about when this dream of an 8-year old girl finally came true, and I made the journey to an island of bravery, courage, and sacrifice, called Iwo Jima. 

The whole experience of getting to Iwo Jima is a story in itself. Preparations, passport anxieties (doesn't that always happen?!), surprise blessings, surprise complications. But in the end, it all worked out, and on March 16, 2015 after a fabulous send-off, we flew out of LAX airport with nearly 30 Iwo Jima veterans and an enormous amount of family of veterans, friends, relatives, and the like; all going to pay respect and remember.  

Airport buddies! Both 3rd Marine Division guys.

Our flight was made up into two 7+ hour flights. Despite the great length of the travel time, it ended up becoming one of the highlights of the trip.  On the first flight from LAX to Honolulu, I had the great pleasure of sitting with a wonderful Vietnam vet who has been traveling to Iwo Jima for the last 15 years. For 7-hours straight, we talked and talked, covering almost as many miles as our plane.

The next flight from Honolulu to Guam, I spent standing in the back of the plane chatting with the veterans and others who congregated there, or walking up and down the aisles meeting the other members of our tour. Carrying an April edition of the 1945 LIFE Magazine featuring Iwo Jima was a great conversation opener for the vets. They thumbed through the pages, telling me various facts about the pictures and articles in it. The 7 hours flew by as everyone got to know each other in this wonderfully relaxed way; and some pretty remarkable stories were swapped before the "fasten seatbelt" sign came on for landing. 

Hafa Adai! The traditional Chamorro (Guam) welcome

We arrived in Guam sometime pretty late on the 17th. Of course our hours were all mixed up since we had passed the international dateline and were now 15 hours ahead of the rest of America. Tired as we were, the entire group was welcomed to the hotel with a delightful reception. 

The next few days were spent traveling to various historical spots on the Island of Guam. Among our group we had many veterans who took part in the fighting for Guam in 1944. Several had been back over the years, but for those coming back for the first time, it was a stirring experience.

One of those to be making a first return trip was the last Iwo Jima Medal of Honor recipient Hershel W. Williams. In previous years, he had refused to return to these battlefields as the memories were too painful, but as the 70th anniversary approached, he decided that it was time. Like the other veterans returning for the first time, there were many emotions and memories that came back to Mr. Williams.

Hershel W. Williams MOH with his great-grandson on Iwo Jima

One afternoon we had made the trip up to Nimitz Hill and the Admiral's home there. After some commentary and talks outside, everyone went in to the Admiral's house for refreshments, and I found myself with Mr. Williams, his friend, an entirely empty portico, and a spectacular view of nearly all of Guam.

After a few moments of silence, Mr. Williams began to talk about his first experience of combat on Guam. It was more stream of consciousness spoken aloud than an intentional conversation with either me or his friend. He told us of those first nights in combat when the slightest noise made your hair stand on end. The expectation of any moment hearing the blood curdling, "Banzai!" charge and the suicide attacks that immediately followed. When they finally did come, it was when least expected. Charging at you in the dark they screamed, "Die Marine! Die Marine!" Jumping into the foxholes they fought a fierce hand to hand combat. A comrade fell or an enemy was killed. I hardly breathed for fear of breaking his stream of thought. These were memories that had remained on a dusty shelf for 70 years, but now, looking over the very landing beaches and locations where he had fought and distinguished himself, they came flooding back. His reverie ended, but the memory of this moment will stick with me. 

Jim Skinner, USMC 

Another morning on Guam, one of the veterans, Jim Skinner, came up to me with a book of photos from his time in the Marine Corps. He had been telling me about it over the last few days, and I was quite eager to see it. For probably half an hour, we looked through the book, and he told me about each picture. They were all great. Pictures of his girlfriends, Marine Corps buddies, training, family, and all the general photos you would find in an old military photo book. But there were two that stuck out to me the most. Turning the page he said, "This is a picture taken right before I killed my first Jap... and this picture is right after. You can see there he is in the corner of the picture." He didn't take glory in these two pictures as if they were trophies of war, but saw them as they were, a photographic documentation of one of the most life-changing moments in the career of a combat soldier: the first time he kills. Mr. Skinner is another story in itself. A story of bitterness and redemption. He passed away two months after our trip to Iwo Jima. 

Lt. General Snowden with Naval radioman Tsuruji Akikusa 

I would be greatly remiss if I did not mention Lt. Gen. Snowden, the real driving force behind the return trips to Iwo Jima. General Snowden, an Iwo Jima veteran himself, through his gracious relationships with the Japanese government over the years, made it possible for American veterans, families, and friends to travel to Iwo Jima to pay respects and remember. A remarkable man with a very commanding presence, he talked to the entire group before we flew to Iwo, strictly admonishing them as to how our behavior and attitude should be on the island, as it was entirely a gift given to us by the Japanese to make this trip.

The day before we flew to Iwo, to better prepare everyone, Military Historical Tours (the groups which makes these trips to Iwo Jima every year) hosted a symposium on the battle of Iwo Jima. By then, more attendees and veterans had trickled in, and we had quite a crowd. The symposium was most excellent and couldn't have been more informative. During the afternoon, I listened in on some of the veterans' interviews that were taking place in the hotel. This was uniquely special because the the vets being interviewed were about to make their first trip back. On the edge with excitement and apprehension, they talked freely about their experiences during the war, their reasons for going back, and their fears and hopes of what the morrow would bring. Healing? Closure? 

Iwo Jima 71 years later

Iwo Jima. It's hard to put into words the meaning behind those 7 letters. I think for most people, it's an interesting assortment of vowels and consonants. One Iwo veteran told me, "A 50-something year-old once came up to me and said, 'What does "I Survived I-W-O" stand for?' Realizing it was pointless to explain, I just told her, 'It means, "I Survived the International Women's Organization"."

(l-r) Gene Bell -3rd Marine Division, Liberty, and Ken Jarvis, son of an Iwo Jima veteran. I am holding Mr. Jarvis' father's license plate which says, "Iwo J 1945."

The reality is they ARE letters that stand for something - They spell out the names of the nearly 7,000 boys who never left the island and 20,000 others who became casualties of war. The Battle for Iwo Jima was long, bloody, and hard. But when those Marines saw the first plane emergency-land on the secured airstrip, they knew that, as costly as it had been, it was completely worth it.

Last weekend, I (Liberty) had one of the greatest pleasures and honors of my life attending the reunion for the 71st anniversary of the Battle of Iwo Jima held in Arlington, Virginia. For the last 11 years, Iwo Jima has held a unique and special place in my thoughts. Something about this particular battle has wrapped it's way around the strings of my heart, and as time goes on, it only becomes tighter. When Admiral Nimitz said, "Among the men who fought on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue," he was only speaking the truth. The Marines in this battle fought with a persevering endurance so strong, against an enemy so fierce who seemed to stop at nothing to achieve the complete defeat and humiliation our brave boys and beautiful country of America. But despite the odds, our fellas overcame and the battle was declared our victory. 

The Iwo Jima veterans at the WWII Memorial

If you speak to an "Iwo Jima Survivor" today, they won't tell you much. There are just some things that even now, 71 years later, cannot be repeated. A veteran of the Korean War described it perfectly when he said, "People ask you about 'what war is like,' but the minute you start telling them, they don't want to know. They can't handle it. They don't know what it's like to see [hundreds] of dead men. . .all the time. They can hardly bear to see one dead person all cleaned up in a casket." 

But on occasion, they do open up, and when they do, it is an emotional experience. This past weekend, among the humorous and lighthearted anecdotes of "those good ole' days in the Corps," I spoke with several Marines who shared some very personal stories with me. Their words and accounts were told with almost an angst at speaking of things so sacred and tender. Tender because they have lain buried deep in their thoughts for 71 years. And few will ever understand. 

Hearing the stories as I did, so real and raw, it is hard for me even now to repeat them. Partly because of how close I feel to these stories and the ones telling them. I was not there to experience them, but it is almost as if I could experience it all through the eyes of the veteran; and in their voices hear the sounds of battle, the tension of the combat, the smell of gunfire, the loss of friend and comrade. Waiting for a night attack. A close call. Then another one. Until the point where they no longer took note. On and on and on. Then, a brief respite. Only to be repeated again and again. For the veteran of this living nightmare, tears dried up many years ago. . .or at least they don't come as easily now. He just looks back on it all with a contemplative solemnity. Maybe wondering at the high price spent for freedom. But for the listener, this "second-hand" experience of what war is like brings many new tears. Tears of sorrow, compassion, and gratitude. A fuller understanding. . . but also a recognition that the enormity of it will never be fully grasped.

Two of my 5th Marine Division friends. Mr. Harvey (left) was in the Paramarines prior to joining the 5th Division. Mr. Lauriello (rt) experience 37 brutal days on Iwo.

Another reason the retelling is so hard is the fear that repeating the stories will cheapen the sacrifice. It can happen that we become so accustomed to tales of bravery that we are desensitized to the depth of pain behind it. We forget that the boy who died on the beach moments after landing, took a bullet for his friend behind him, and that friend has carried the memory with him for 71 years. The memory of a life cut off in his prime: no family, no future, no life. Not even a minute more. When a day rarely passes without recalling this scene to mind, a 30-second mention by a TV news-anchor just does not seem to do the memory justice. 

Regardless, their stories must be repeated. They must be passed on so that the sacrifice of our courageous boys will not only continue in our memory, but also be remembered in our deeds and actions. Their lives purchased an extra 71+ years of freedom and prosperity for us here in America. May we never do anything to soil the purity of the blood that was shed for our country. Please, never forget Iwo Jima.

Jerell Crow - Coast Guard at Iwo Jima

We learned recently of the passing one of our sweet Iwo Jima veterans: Mr. Jerell Crow. Mr. Crow was a Coast Guardsman during WWII, but the U.S. coast was the last place he was to be stationed. Taking part in the invasion of Iwo Jima, Mr. Crow landed some of the first waves of Marines onto the island and continued until all troops had been taken off the ship. Even 70+ years later, Iwo was a subject too difficult to talk about. "[I] have never wanted to go back. The first day there was all that I needed to remember it." And anyone who has read anything about the Battle for Iwo Jima understands why.

Before even Iwo Jima, Mr. Crow had already had his share of experiences. A newspaper clipping he sent us from shortly after the war says, "While serving on Guadalcanal, [Jerrell] Crow was operating a small boat carried on a destroyer. The boat making for shore, was attacked by the enemy and destroyed. Crow and the marines swam to the island, where they were out of contact with U.S. forces for 47 days. Only six of the men were alive when they were picked up after U.S. reinforcements came to the island. For wounds sustained and for his bravery, he received the Purple Heart, and the Silver Star."

Following Iwo Jima, came the landings at Okinawa and regrouping in the Philippines to prepare for the invasion of Japan. Thankfully this invasion never came, and after four long years, the war came to an end. Mr. Crow was one of the brave and silent men to serve our country when she needed him most, and for that he will never be forgotten.

"I couldn't move forward, I couldn't move backwards"

The other week Jubilee and I popped up to Virginia Beach for the 5th Marine Division Reunion, one of our favorite weekends ever! For three days we were surrounded by the manliest set of Marines with truly harrowing stories of combat on Iwo Jima to tell.

"See that Corsair (above), I was lying in the sand on red beach, D-Day [Iwo Jima]. I couldn't move forward, I couldn't move backwards. We were completely pinned down. I looked up, and there flying over me was a Corsair firing on the enemy. At that moment, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life."

Two Marines discuss the differences in their bootcamp training.

Another Marine said, "I wrote the battlefield reports for my Company: every casualty we had on Iwo Jima. I was one of only three other men in my Company of 145 men to come off the island without a scratch."

"You don't lose many friends in the Motor Transport... but I lost a few." These words were said with great meaning. 

Two life-long friends and war buddies. 

"I was buried alive on the island, and this guy here (pointing to his friend standing by), dug me out and saved my life. That was right before he lost his leg."

Quotes like this and many more are what we heard. Hard gritty stuff, humorous anecdotes, and tearful remembrances of comrades lost. It was a very special experience for Jube and me to be surrounded by such grand men and soldiers. Every man there had a story that would make any loyal American's heart soar with pride and gratitude. 

James "Jim" Skinner 1922-2015

In March of 2015 I (Liberty) traveled to the Island of Iwo Jima for the 70th anniversary of the battle with a wonderful group of veterans including veteran James "Jim" Skinner. For one week I had the privilege of talking with him every day and hearing his wonderful stories from his childhood to his triathlons at 90 years of age. One morning we sat down and he showed me pictures from his wartime scrapbook. Pictures of his buddies during the war, girlfriends, training, military life, etc. As we walked through these pictures, he told me stories of hand to hand combat with the Japanese on the Islands of Bougainville, Guam, and Iwo Jima, and showed me a photo taken moments before he killed for the very first time. He spoke frankly to me of the roughness and brutality of his war; a war in which many of his experiences caused him to hold bitterness toward the Japanese 70 years later. 

Mr. Skinner (center) on his way back to the beaches where he landed, 70 years ago.

Last week I received the painful news that Mr. Skinner passed away on May 24th, 2 months after our trip, and just two days after his 93rd birthday. It was a privilege to have spent that brief time on Iwo Jima with him.

A few days before our March trip to the island, our group learned that we were to meet one of the last surviving Japanese soldiers from the Battle of Iwo Jima, Tsuruji Akikusa. A pervading theme of this "Reunion of Honor" was forgiveness. After listening to the words of our trip leader, Lt. Gen. Snowden, Mr. Skinner resolved to put aside his bitterness to the Japanese and shake hands with Mr. Akikusa. Afterward, I asked him how he felt meeting his former enemy. He told me that he felt great peace in his heart to have reconciliation and forgiveness with a former enemy before he died. He had been bitter towards them for 70 years, and it was time to let go. For me to see this complete change in him over the course of a few days was one of the most beautiful signs of redemption and forgiveness I have ever witnessed. 

Mr. Skinner and Mr. Akikusa. Once enemies, now friends.

Iwo Jima: 1945-2015

Today is the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Iwo Jima, the bloodiest battle in Marine Corps history. What was supposed to be a 3 day in-and-out ended up being 35 days of brutal, intense fighting between the Japanese and American forces, culminating in over 26,000 American casualties. The cost was terribly high, but the capture of the island was crucial. If we could take the Island of Iwo Jima, we could use it as a staging point to get to mainland Japan. It would also provide a much needed landing base for American bombers and P51 mustangs on their missions to and from Japan. The battle was long and hard and bloody. From February 19 to March 26, the Marines moved slowly forward, taking ground bit by bit, but at tremendous expense. Years beforehand, the Japanese had built miles of caves and tunnels underneath the ground, laid mines, prepared bunkers and pillboxes for the ultimate defense of the island. The Marines quickly found out that the only way to get the Japanese out of these pillboxes was by flamethrower, a horrible, yet effective weapon. On February 23, 1945, five Marines and one Navy Corpsman raised the American flag on Mt. Suribachi. There was still a long way to go. It would be another month before Iwo Jima was taken, but the sight of Old Glory flying high and proud sent a message to every man on that island: We are here to stay. 

10 Years ago this next week. WWII veteran and Iwo Jima survivor Ivan Hammond with two of my brothers, Jubilee (left) and me. Photo credit: 

One of my first memories of meeting Iwo Jima veterans was 10 years ago this month. For the 60th anniversary, Fredericksburg, Texas held a grand reenactment of the battle and over 25,000 people turned out to watch it. It was simply packed. I was only about 8 years old at the time, and I didn't completely comprehend the significance of it all except that my father told me, "This is an historic moment. Pay attention to the people you meet and remember them. There will not be many opportunities like this again." So I did. Over the anniversary week, I followed my dad and two brothers around, lugging a gigantic yellow and white cassette player in a little pack I carried on my back. I brought along several blank cassettes, and for every veteran we met, I would turn that recorder on and listen for all I was worth. I don't remember the names of most the Marines I met that day, but I remember standing in awe at the stories they told us. One man in particular, I will never forget.  He had on a bright red coat with pins and medals, and a red hat with gold colored trim on it; somewhere on the hat were the words Iwo Jima. I listened to the stories he told my dad and brothers, and wondered at the bravery and sacrifice of such a man. To me, only a little girl of 8, he seemed to me the oldest man I'd ever met. As I look back now, I realize he would only have been in his late 70s, a mere spring chicken compared to the fellows of today; yet what he had done for this country was amazing to me. And I've never forgotten him. Every time someone brings up the Battle of Iwo Jima, I remember that man. At one time a brave young Marine ready to conquer the world,  then standing in a grassy little area in Fredericksburg, talking with my brothers and me, his hair was white and his hands a little shaky, but his voice was strong and a spirit of fearlessness was about him that was unconquerable. I will never forget him.

Photo credit: Patrick Johnston Times Record News

This last weekend, my sisters and I were able to attend one of the last Iwo Jima Reunions. For two days we visited and talked with veterans of this great and horrible battle. Marines, Navy Corpsmen, Air Force, and even a SeaBee all gathered together for one last time in Texas to remember and pay tribute to the comrades they left behind. It was a moving experience. They told us their stories looking at maps and replica newspaper clippings. Each man had played a different and unique role in the winning of Iwo Jima, but like all true heroes, they downplayed their own actions and declared the true heroes were the ones who never made it home.

Photo credit: Patrick Johnston Times Record News

The weekend was short, but sweet. In many ways it was an apropos conclusion to my first meeting of Iwo Jima veterans 10 years ago. 10 years from now I doubt there will be any Iwo Jima veterans still alive, none left to tell their own story. The Battle of Iwo Jima stands out as the bloodiest battle in the history of the Marine Corps. More Medals of Honor were given out during this battle than any other during the war; and it was the only time Marine casualties were more in number than the enemy. The level of courage required was high, but for the Americans fighting on Iwo Jima, "uncommon valor was a common virtue." It is only fitting that, on the 70th anniversary of this battle, where so many lives were lost, we stop for a brief moment, and remember those boys who endured and sacrificed so much for you and me.