"Kelley. With an 'E'"

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John Kelley (right)

One of our veteran friends who passed away last year was a fascinating Air Force Captain we met through Honor Flight in the fall of 2014. Actually, it was Mom who first became acquainted with him, and then in the following months, through exchanged letters, we got to know him a little better. We were at the WWII Memorial greeting the flights coming in, and as his guardian had wandered off, Mom went up to chat with him for a few minutes. He introduced himself as John Kelley. "Kelley with an 'E'. Not like the way women spell it." He was 95 and adamant. He wanted to make sure it was differentiated from the more feminine version of the name. 

"You look good in the photo. I look like Hell -warmed over!!"

When she mentioned she was from San Antonio, it opened a floodgate of stories. Captain Kelley had been at Brooks Field, and became well versed with all the local hot-spots during his off time. He described later in a letter, "As I mentioned to you, I took my advanced flight training at Brooks Field in San Antonio. And received Wings following graduation from Brooks Field (December '43). At the time I was dating a student at Incarnate Word College, and having a ball. On "Open Post" at the Gunther Hotel. Mostly dancing up a storm. I never had so much fun in my life. I was a New York kid and grew up listening to Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, Sinatra; I never missed a beat in the process." 

His stories continued and each seemed to outdo the last one. The months following his Honor Flight we stayed in touch through letters. In fact despite health issues making it very difficult to write, he would send quite the tome relating his experiences in the Air Force. 

"Back in 1943, I was en route to the Aleutians flying the A-24 Dive Bomber. Following the receipt of my winter flying gear, my number one friend, Scotty Alexander, and I took the planes for a test hop. That is where it all started. In the air at about 10 o'clock, Scotty dumped me and we got into a Dog Fight. We chased each other trying to get on his tail for a simulated shot. Well, we "crashed" (mid air collision). Both pilots bailed out and made it okay. I was ready to hit the ground when the parachute opened. I still shake thinking about it. I thought I had it. Scotty was found rolling his chute out of the debris. The next day we received two new planes and an 'ass' charging for committing a 'Bad Act.' It really happened in a hurry. We both were spellbound, but reacted to a real issue. We were terribly embarrassed over the act, and let it be known we were sorry to our fellow pilots. 'Gross' to say the least. We did get to combat and completed our missions. We were lucky to make it. It was exciting times."

A theme we saw in Captain Kelley was a genuine pride in having worked himself up from the ground, starting as a "New York city kid" and rising to officer status in the Air Force. 

"We grew up in Queens, New York. I'm a grad of New York University at Farmingdale, New York. Graduated 1939, took agriculture, played football, and had a ball.... I consider myself a good military man. Took orders well and served (obeyed) well. When I was a cadet, I obeyed my last order first. I got to be a cadet, not too shabby for a New York City kid. I was just plain 'with it' as a new cadet."

A highpoint in his Air Force career occured on August 8, 1945: escorting the "A" Bomb to Nagasaki. "I have a photo of my flight (9 planes) when the B-29 dropped the 'A' Bomb. The picture is a jewel and depicts the way it was. Following I got the flight (4-P47s) in close and said, 'Fellows, this is it. The war is over.' And it was... I ended the war with the 'Atom Bomb' drop on Nagasaki. I actually saw the drop on Nagasaki and personally viewed the devastation (what a mess) - total ruin.

Captain Kelley had a long and varied career in the Air Force until his retirement in 1984. Regarding his service in WWII he said, "I [had] made captain in 1944. I completed two tours of combat -one in Aleutians flying Dive Bombers (A-24s) and at the end of the war P-47s in the Pacific... I consider myself as having a charmed life. Exposed to danger but lucky my life was lightened with Aeroplanes." 

The Cute Couple

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"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

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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. 

"The Bombs Bursting in Air"

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Probably one of the most remarkable stories I heard at the Marine reunion in San Antonio (more on that later) was from Lt. Col. Tom Kalus, a 27-year Marine Corps veteran who not only fought on Iwo Jima, but was also one of the "Chosin Few" from the Battle of Chosin Reservoir. We just had the the 66th anniversary of this battle (Nov. 27 - Dec 13, 1950), so it seemed an appropriate time to share this story.

When I met Mr. Kalus, it was during the tour of the Nimitz Museum. I came up and introduced myself to him and we chatted for a few minutes. Then he gave me his card and on one side it stated his unit, 5th Division, 5th JASCO, etc... but on the flip side it also stated, 1st Marine Division... "One of the 'Chosin Few."' Now, there are three defining moments in the history of the Marine Corps: Belleau Wood (WWI), Iwo Jima (WWII), and the Chosin Reservoir (Korean War), and it is pretty rare to meet a Marine who took part in both the Battle of Iwo Jima and Chosin Reservoir. To date I have only met one other veteran like this, a 4th Marine Division guy with stories that are so unbelievable, it is truly a miracle he survived at all.

But getting back to the story... One of the last days of the reunion I was chatting with Mr. Kalus about his remarkable service in the Corps and naturally the subject turned to Iwo and Chosin. "Do you remember the lines in the National Anthem," he asked, "About the 'rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air? When I was on Iwo, about the 3rd or 4th night, the Japs gave us a real hard shelling. One of the wisecracks in my foxhole said, 'Hey look, it's like in the song with the bombs bursting in air.' I didn't pay much attention to him at the time, until one night at Chosin. The 7th Marines were bravely taking a hill and the Chinese were giving them everything they'd got. The sky was filled with explosions and fireworks. I remembered what the Marine said on Iwo, 'and the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.' At that moment I realized that I was seeing what Francis Scott Key had seen when he wrote the Star Spangled Banner."

Oh goodness, if there was ever a story to put the chills on your arms. Mr. Kalus got teary-eyed as he finished by saying that he could never listen to the American Anthem again without thinking of those fearful nights at Iwo Jima and Chosin. 

O say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Maurice Brookes: US Army Air Corps

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We were sitting down, stuffing our faces with some delicious Dairy Queen dilly bars, the perfect addition to a hot day at D-Day Ohio (more on that later), and I saw this darling fly boy watching us. So I popped over and introduced myself. He said "I was wondering when you were going to come over." So I laughed and asked him where he was from. He said,

"Have you ever heard of Shakespeare? Stratford on Avon? I'm from Stratford."

Turns out Mr. Brookes was born and raised to with his English parents in the hometown of the beloved writer of all things remarkable, William Shakespeare. In 1931, when he was 9 years old, his parents immigrated to Pittsburgh for a "better life." When the war came he joined the Air Corps and trained as a flight engineer in Texas, and then was stationed in New Mexico training new airmen. Towards the end of the war he was sent to Guam to get ready for the big move on Japan but thankfully it all ended before things came to that. He also mentioned he had a brother who was a flame-thrower in Saipan.

While we were talking, he opened his wallet and pulled out an old picture of an adorable gal with fluffy blonde hair. Very proudly he introduced me to his wife. "I met her on a furlough, and married her on the next one a year later. " he pulled another picture out and said "This is from the day we met!" I can think of few things more precious and loving than a 95 year old gentleman, 70+ years later still carrying with him for all the world to see and admire a picture of not only his life long sweetheart, but the day he met her!

The whole time we talked, I couldn't help imagining him as a darling rosy-cheeked 9 year old, English boy coming to our country, learning the American way, fighting for both our countries, and now, our Mr. Brookes, a lovely gentleman of 95 relating these stories. 

Korean War Armistice Day

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63 years ago today, Armistice was declared and the Korean War came to an end. Our friend, Mr. Thomas, was sent over to Korea in 52' and spent a long six months on the front lines directing artillery fire. Triangle Hill, Old Baldy, and Pork Chop Hill are a few names he'll never forget.

We had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Thomas during our October Honor Flight. We spent many hours on that trip talking with him about Korea, the combat, the cold, and his favorite old-time radio programs. Mr. Thomas was the first Korean War vet we'd really had the chance to talk to at length. At one point he said, "You ask a lot of questions. And you've made me think about things I haven't thought of in 50 years... But that's all right." It was evident with Mr. Thomas that he loved his country, the men he served with, and was happy to fight if it would prevent communism in the world. At the Korean War Memorial in DC, he choked up looking at the life-size statues. "It's so real." He said. "They look so much like the guys I knew." It was a short war that many of us have forgotten. But for soldiers like Mr. Thomas, they'll always remember days like July 27, 1953 when peace was finally declared to war-torn Korean.

Dinner with Fred

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nimitzdinner

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.

I Meet Sir. C. Aubrey Smith; We Talk of Korea, the Cold, and the 5th Marines

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“You were at the Chosin?” I was directing this question to an 80-something year old gentleman with a moustache somewhere in between Nigel Bruce and Ron Swanson. His hat said, “Chosin Few,” his lapel pin said 1st Marine Division, and his tie was covered in Marine Corps symbols...  I was asking an obvious question; there was no doubt as to the identification of this character, but it was more a preambulary statement than a query. 

“Yes. I was.” He said a bit gruffly.

I pulled up a seat and sat down next to him. We were in the green room of the Iwo Jima Reunion in Arlington, Virginia, last February. It had been a busy afternoon, and now people were coming in and out of the room with drinks, chatting, and relaxing. 

“It was pretty cold there.” I said to the Chosin vet. 

“You’d better believe it.” He grunted. “Got frostbite on my feet. Couldn’t walk from it.” There was a definitive stress on certain letters in the words he used, sending him up north quite a bit... likely to some part of Massachusetts. 

“I can’t imagine it. I’m from Texas, and we start freezing over when it gets down into the 50s. What keeps you going when it is so cold?”

“Training.” He said simply. “We became robots. We were so reduced by the cold, the only thing that kept us going was our Marine Corps training. We didn’t know what we were doing. But that is where the training became important.” He stated these facts as they were, though with a bit of a shiver in recalling the memory. 

A few weeks previous, I'd been reading up on Chosin, and was delightfully surprised to run into one of the men who fought there, though at an Iwo Jima reunion of all places. 

"American Marines march down a canyon road dubbed "Nightmare Alley" during their retreat from Chosin Reservoir, Korea." Photo by David Douglas Duncan

The Chosin Reservoir Campaign (or Frozen Chosin) summarized: A terrible, complicated battle fought in North Korea between the allies of the United Nations: United Kingdom, South Korea, America, and the United States 1st Marine Division, against the North Koreans and Red Chinese during the winter of 1950 (November 27-December 13). 

One of the most iconic photos from the Chosin Reservoir Campaign. "A dazed, hooded Marine clutches a can of food during his outfit's retreat from the Chosin Reservoir during the Korean War, December 1950". Photo by David Douglas Duncan

Some have compared it to the Battle of the Bulge fought in WWII. But the Marines who were at Chosin say it was worse. Our soldiers were poorly fed and poorly equipped, and our high casualty rate was caused more from the extreme temperatures than anything else. The cold was more than unbearable, at times dropping down to -40F. The boots they'd been issued to help with the cold only made their feet sweat profusely during their marches and freeze instantly on stopping. This created many cases of frostbite and trench-foot. It was miserable in the extreme. 

At night the men were warned about falling into too heavy a sleep or zipping up their sleeping bags. They might not awake from the former (many froze to death in their sleep), and as for the latter... the cold could freeze the zippers shut, making them easy prey for the Red Chinese who had no qualms about slitting the throats of defenseless Marines trapped in their bags.

And then, there was the most nightmarish part of it all. The enemy was unceasing. Every single Korean combat vet I've spoken with has told me the same thing almost verbatim: "The enemy never stopped coming. Charging forward madly, with an endlessness to them. It didn't matter how many you took down with fire, they continued, and continued, until all were too exhausted to go further." Just like your worst nightmare when no matter how hard you strive, all your efforts are in vain, nothing you do seems to help anything, and the situation only gets more desperate. (To get a better understanding of the Chosin Reservoir Campaign I recommend reading here). 

The U.S. Retreat at Chosin Reservoir

As I talked with this Chosin vet, his gruffness began to wear off, and I saw underneath a charm similar to the dashing old actor from the Golden Age of Hollywood, Sir C. Aubrey Smith. True confession, when I was very young, this screen actor had made a lasting impression on me as the ultimate charming old gentleman. His portrayal of the gallant Colonel Zapt in Prisoner of Zenda, or the grumpy-but-with-a-heart-of-gold grandfather of Little Lord Fauntleroy, were just a few that quite stole my heart. Thus, sitting across from this fascinating and delightful curmudgeon from Massachusetts (who in every way seemed to characterize Sir Smith), it felt like I was being taken on a virtual trip to the battlefields of Korea, personally guided by Sir C. Aubrey Smith, only with a strong Massachusetts accent and Marine Corps written all over him.

"How long were you at Chosin?" I asked, interested in continuing the conversation. 

"Till the middle of December, when I was wounded." Said Sir Smith (as I shall call him). "My sergeant sent me to the back for medical attention. When I got there, I was told they had no place for me and to go back to the front. I made the hike to the front lines again and got bawled out for returning. The sergeant sent me back again. This time I told them how it was and what was what, so I stayed back till I got shipped home."

His 6-month war in Korea was over. 

"And you were in the 5th Marines?" I checked.

"Yes indeed. The best regiment in the Marine Corps!" 

"I don't doubt it," I said, amused. "Actually, I just finished reading a book about a brother regiment of yours - A Company, 7th Marines... Baker 1/7 I believe it's called.”

Hardly had the words "7th Marines" come out of my mouth when there was a virtual explosion from Sir Smith. 

“Bah. Those 7th Marines! They’re no good at all. Always behind the action at a safe distance, making us do all the dirty work. We take a hill, they get the glory. Those no good....” My charming friend was obviously not biased at all. 

A friend of his nearby turned and said, “Bob, isn’t that the Company with the Chinese guy in the pink vest?”

“Kurt Lee. Yes," said Sir Smith with a chuckle. "The fellow was crazy. Always running into battle with that ghastly pink vest so that his men would always know where he was at all times.”  

“So you saw his pink vest then?” I was thrilled. Lieutenant Kurt Chew-Een Lee was a truly remarkable soldier. The first Marine Corps officer of Chinese decent, he quite proved the mettle he was made of during the Korean War. Gallantly leading his men into action, he would holler out orders in Mandarin, successfully causing disarray and confusion in the ranks of the Red Chinese. Then he would wildly attack them with little care for his own protection. His men watched in awe as Lt. Lee stood tall and straight, marching about and giving orders during the hottest parts of the fighting, seemingly unaware of the hundreds of bullets whizzing around him. Eventually, he was wounded, but he did not allow this to interfere with his duty. Indeed, he and another Marine made a daring escape from the American hospital to return to the front, despite being covered in bandages and wrappings. No, nothing mental or physical would ever come in the way of this brave Marine's determination. 

And as far as the pink vest was concerned, if he thought it would inspire his men, than who cared if it made him the perfect target for the Red Chinese?

Lt. Kurt Chew-Een Lee in Korea

Sir Smith guffawed at my excitement over the vest, “Of course I did! Everyone did! He didn’t seem to realize the enemy would also see where he was at all times. What did he think anyways? He could have gotten us all killed. There is no place on the battlefield for foolish heroics.” 

I couldn’t help laughing. These “foolish heroics” Sir Smith spoke of (and highlighted above) had awarded Lt. Lee none other than the Navy Cross, the second-highest military decoration for valor given by the United States.

“Besides,” his eyes twinkled, “He was in the 7th Marines that...”

I had to laugh again. The 7th Marines may not have been up to Sir Smith's standards, but with men like Lt. Lee in their ranks, they were certainly a fighting force to be reckoned with.

With "Sir Smith" at the Iwo Jima Reunion in February (Photo Credit: Dean Laubach

With "Sir Smith" at the Iwo Jima Reunion in February (Photo Credit: Dean Laubach

But though we joked about the eccentricities of the officers, the events of the summer, fall, and winter of 1950 had left a deep and terrible impression on Sir Smith. He told me that the reality of what he had gone through was finally catching up on him. About 50 years after his service in the Marine Corps, he suddenly started having nightmares about the fighting in Korea. He dreamed about things he'd seen or done that hadn't crossed his mind in decades, and out of the blue thoughts attacked him that left him with little mental peace. 

"I have to go to a PTSD group now." He told me somewhat grimly. "I'm the oldest guy there. All the others are soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan. It doesn't help much, but I keep going." 

We all know that the end-date of a war doesn't mean it's over in the minds of the fellas who fought there, but it's still hard every time I hear it from their own mouths; that each day they are re-fighting the battle of the Chosin Reservoir, or Iwo Jima, or Normandy. Thankfully, though, my new friend has a tenacious fighting spirit and probably wouldn't allow himself to be easily overcome by these nightmares.

We talked for some time more, till the dinner bell rang concluding the weekend. It was a lovely time I spent chatting with Sir Smith. Learning from such a charming curmudgeon about the rougher side of Chosin combat (as well as a few humorous anecdotes) was a remarkable experience. It is regretful that so few know anything of the Korean War, or even the Chosin Reservoir Campaign. The difficulties of Chosin were practically unparalleled in American history. That any could survive it is truly a miracle. But they did, and once again I was reminded of the endurance of the human spirit when it is put to the test - especially the United States Marine Corps at Chosin. 

Memorial Day in Fredericksburg

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My personal favorite Admiral in WWII, Admiral Chester Nimitz.

This past Memorial Day we spent the day in Fredericksburg at the Pacific War Museum. I think there are few places I would rather spend this precious day of remembrance. After the museum's annual Memorial Day program, we spent most of the afternoon studying and reflecting the Wall of Honor Plaques in the museum's courtyard. This wall of Honor Plaques are remarkable and unique. Some paying tribute to the fallen, others in gratitude for a family member's service during WWII. It took some time, but we managed to look at just about every plaque on the wall (and there are quite a few!). 

While there, we found a couple of friend's names, and talked with a lovely Navy veteran, Mr. Glazener, who volunteers at the Nimitz regularly.  Mr. Glazener was in the pacific during the latter part of the war, and showed us where his ship's plaque was on the Wall of Honor. Though he never experienced action, he did tell us of one dramatic event: As the war came to a close (and the Japanese were fighting their hardest), one of the destroyers in his convoy was hit by a Kamikaze. The kamikaze hit the Bridge, taking it out completely out and killing all the officers in the ship. To save the ship, Mr. Glazener's Destroyer hooked up to the totaled ship and towed her to the closest island of safety. The poor crew were thus happily saved. 

His hand it resting above the plaque to the 6 Destroyers in his group.

He later got out of the Navy and served on the US border patrol for many years. He experienced all extremes from the frostbite cold of Vermont to the crazy border troubles of McAllen, Texas. Car chases up to 140 mph, shootings and knifings (getting shot and knifed himself), and numerous other exciting things. There was no doubt talking to him, that he is true-blue Texan for sure!

All in all, a quiet, but memorable day spent remembering our fallen soldiers. 

"Did you remember the sarge and the gunners mate?"

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Last year in my Memorial Day post I mentioned a Navy Corpsman name Bert Cooper, and how he never forgot the sacrifices of two particular men who died during the Okinawa Campaign. It is such a moving story, and so perfectly sums up the reasons for why we have a Memorial Day, that I thought I'd share the story again in his own words. 

----Excerpt from Bert Cooper:

I remember one thing vividly about my service. On Okinawa [there was] this big ugly Marine (I swear he was uglier than Ernest Borgnine, who was a good actor, but an ugly actor), he was tough and muscular, and built like a tank; and his men loved him. We had him as a patient and he called me over to his stretcher in the tent there, and he says, "Doc, I don't think I'm gonna make this one." I said, "Oh come on, we never give up." He said, "I know. I just feel it in my body. I'm not going to make it this time." (And he'd been shot up several times on other island campaigns). And he says, "I wonder if anyone will remember me." So I looked him straight in the eye and I said, "I'll remember you Gunny. I'll remember you the rest of my life, I promise you that." So he died that evening.

Across the tent was a young sailor in a stretcher also. And he called me, "Hey Doc." He could hardly talk, it was only a whisper. About the only thing pink you could see were his lips. He was in a gun tub with eight other guys, gunnery men. And it got hit by a kamikaze and killed all seven, he was the only survivor if you can call it a survivor. When we got him he was black as this mic here. And we knew he didn't have much time left. But we kept him going for about a day and a half, and everything we could do... And it was amazing, the doctor even said he didn't know why he didn't die instantly from all these burns. So he calls me and I kneel down to his stretcher. I say, "Yeah gunner". And he says, "Doc, I'm an orphan. Who is there that's gonna remember me?" I says, "I'm gonna remember you. I'll remember you every day of my life. I promise you that. I'll remember you."

To this day, every night I ask myself when I pull the covers up to my chin, I say, "did you remember the sarge and the gunners mate?" And 99 times out of a 100 I thought of them during the day, and once in a while if I didn't , I go to sleep saying, "I thought of you guys." And I've been doing it every day since. It's not a burden. It's a testimonial to what men will do or have to do to save the freedom for the rest of us.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

This is the true meaning of Memorial Day. Thanks to Bert Cooper, those two brave men will never be forgotten.

A Gold Star Meant for Me

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When you visit the National World War II Memorial in D.C., you will see a wall covered in gold stars. There are 4,048 stars on this wall; each representing 100 men who sacrificed their lives for us in WWII. Last year we met Mr. Lee (pictured) at this memorial. Mr. Lee doesn't like to talk about the war at all. He was part of the 11th Airborne and made four jumps in the Pacific, taking part in some of the fiercest battles. But he did tell us something that was beautiful, sad, and poignant. In a thoughtful voice he said, "There is a star on that wall that was supposed to be for me. But it is for my friend instead. He took my place." The memory of the moment when his buddy took a grenade for him is still as clear as when it happened 70 years ago.

Frank Buckles: America's Last Doughboy

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Near the end of January, 2011, I was sitting in one of my Dad's annual business and planning meetings. It had been an interesting but long day. To pass the last hour or so, I decided to read some of the headlines in the news. One of them stuck out particularly to me. I read that America's last WWI doughboy was about to turn 110. His name was Frank Buckles. Wow. How incredible. Just putting aside the shear remarkable health he was in at 110, he was also a veteran of the Great War. The so called "War to End All Wars." Right then and there I decided to meet him. I had to. 

The next few weeks I researched him, his life, his military career, etc. I also prepared a letter to send to him, asking for permission to visit. 

Dear Mr. Buckles,

My name is Liberty Phillips. I am 14 years old... I live in San Antonio, Texas with my seven brothers and sisters. Joshua, Justice, Jubilee, Faith, Honor, Providence, and Virginia Hope. All of my life, my father and mother have brought me and my siblings up on a great love for history and its impact on the modern culture around us. 

(I talked about the history documentaries my dad had made on WWII and how that had influenced me to learn more.) 

...My father has often impressed upon us how little time on earth we have, and that every year more veterans from past wars die. Understanding this, when I read that it was your 110th birthday, I was reminded that when my father and brothers were on Iwo Jima, they met a WWII vet named Marvin Perrett who was a Coastie during the war. They got to know each other pretty well, and when visiting the WWII Museum in New Orleans a year ago, we looked for Marvin Perrett only to find he had died shortly before. This was a reminder for me of how fleeting life is, and since we are going to Normandy in June, I thought this would be a prime time. Maybe if this worked out, I could film you giving a message from a WWI vet to the WWII vets that my dad could show in Normandy. 

I would forever be in your gratitude if you would allow my brother and me to do this. I have met many WWII veterans, and have been so blessed by it, and would be exceedingly blessed to meet you, the last WWI veteran, before time runs out.... Forever in your gratitude for what you did for our country, Liberty Phillips

Well, to my great sadness, time did run out before there was an opportunity to meet him. On February 27, 2011, right as I was about to send my letter, Corporal Frank Buckles passed away. 

My dad later wrote about it: 

Several months ago, I discovered that my dear daughter Liberty had been secretly working with her mother on a surprise for me. Knowing her father’s passion for history and desire to cultivate a culture of honor, Liberty’s hope was to meet Frank Buckles, World War I’s last living American doughboy, to interview him, and to share his story with others.

Liberty watched me make The League of Grateful Sons, and she has stood beside me for ten years as I worked with the Faith of Our Fathers Project. She understands that the mission of this effort is to demonstrate our commitment to the Fifth Commandment in the context of showing honor to the heroic fathers of the World War II generation. Liberty has taken this vision into her heart, and she hoped to reach back one generation further and meet World War I’s last remaining U.S. veteran.

So, with the encouragement of her mother, Liberty spent weeks researching the story of Mr. Buckles. She then came to me with her surprise project of honor and asked if she could complete the mission by visiting this unusual man who was such an important link to our nation’s providential past. How encouraged I was! I gave Liberty my blessing, and she prepared to make the trip with her mother to see Mr. Buckles. But just days later, he died. My dear daughter was never able to complete her mission of honor. That broke my heart. It saddened me that she was never able to meet this veteran and to speak to him about the Lord Jesus Christ. We missed our window of opportunity with Mr. Buckles. We waited too long. . .

A few months later, when our family was preparing for our first trip to Normandy for the 67th anniversary of the D-Day Invasion, I read another article in the news and sent it with this note to my dad:

Dear Dad,
It turns out I missed out on more than just meeting and interviewing Frank Buckles. Look what just came in: "Veteran Claude Choules's death breaks last link to World War I: ...The Australian Defence Force said Mr. Choules became the last surviving WWI serviceman following the death earlier this year of American Frank Buckles."

It means even more to me now, Dad, that we are taking advantage of this opportunity to honor the WWII vets in Normandy in a few weeks. Thank you for having this vision and giving us this opportunity.  On a side note, Claude Choule was 14 when he joined and of course, as you know, I'm 14 right now. It just makes me think about life a little differently.

February 27, 2016 was the 5 year anniversary of the passing of Corporal Frank Buckles, America's last doughboy, and the veteran I came so close to meeting. A lot has happened in the last five years, but my family's drive to honor the men who served our country so well has only become more serious as time goes on and the urgency increases. You could say that the passing of Frank Buckles was my first real awakening to the brevity of life we have with our dear veterans. Though I'd met many veterans before, I'd never experienced the impermanence so personally. 

Though I missed a rare opportunity, I think that the passing of Frank Buckles prepared me and taught me to better appreciate the events we experienced that summer as we traveled with several dear WWII veterans who willingly shared stories and tears as they traveled back to their battlegrounds for the first time in 67 years. And for everything else since then.


Stationed in Texas: Jake Kesatie

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In 2014 at the Conneaut D-Day, we met the lovely Mr. Jake Kesiatie, an Army Staff Sergeant who served at the San Marcos Military Hospital in Texas during the war. A first generation American, Mr. K was born in 1918 just as the war was wrapping up. “When I was born they had to end the war... But then they had to start a war for me”.

Near the hospital where he was stationed in San Marcos during the war, was an Army Air Corps training base. One day two trainer planes, with five occupants each, had a head-on crash. Nobody survived, and he was detailed with others to clean up the mess. "There weren’t any bodies, just pieces here and there -arms, legs..." He had to fill ten bags with pieces of the remains of the trainees bodies. It was a terrible memory that made him shudder as he told it to us.

Several times throughout the war Mr K. tried to get shipped to overseas service, but they told him his help at the hospital was too valuable. And it must have been because he spent four years stationed in Texas. He was happy to hear we were from Texas because, besides the war going on, he had happy memories of Texas and the Bluebonnets, and of course the people. Mr. Kesatie may never have seen combat, but his role back home was vital. And for that we are very grateful to him.

Jerell Crow - Coast Guard at Iwo Jima

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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.

"They were good Marines, the finest."

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"What sticks with me now is not so much the pain and terror and sorrow of the war, though I remember that well enough. What really sticks with me is the honor I had of defending my country, and serving in the company of these men. They were good Marines, the finest, every one of them. You can't say anything better about a man." 

R. V. Burgin, 5th Marines, 1st Division, survived over a month of brutal combat during battle of Peleliu Island in 1944. It was supposed to be a "quickie" in and out. But it wasn't. The battle lasted from September 15 to November 27, with nearly 20,000 casualties. Today, you can go to this haunting island and see what is left from that terrible battle in the remains of military equipment, blown out pillboxes, and sometimes even unburied bodies. It is a tragic picture of the reality of war. But is was an island where boys became men and leaders. 

Frederick Kroese: Dutch Resistance Fighter

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In 1940, it would have been a very hard time to be living in Europe, especially if you lived in one of the many little countries that were being invaded by the Nazis. The Netherlands was one of those. At first, it wasn't so bad. The Netherlanders could live with them, but when the Germans went to fight in Russia, they needed more men and more weapons. So, they started taking men out of the factories and sending them to fight the Russians. But of course they had to have someone to fill the places of all the men who were being sent to the front, so the Germans started taking the men and boys from the countries that were under the Nazi thumb.

In mid 1943, Frederick Kroese, got a message telling him to get a few belongings and report so that he could be moved to Germany to work in the factories. As a 19 year old young man, he wasn't going to be bossed around by some government that wasn't even his own, telling him that he had to drop everything he was doing and go to work to help the very people who had invaded his country. So he just said, "I won't do that!"

There were then only two options left to him: he could either wait for the Nazi police to come get him, or he could go into hiding. Well, he wasn't going to wait around for the police, so he found a place to hide himself! And then, since he wasn't going to just wait in hiding, he decided to join the Resistance. 

When I first met Mr. Kroese, he described to me in great detail the perils of joining the Resistance. It was a very real and dangerous thing to undertake. He knew that at any time he could be shot, put in prison, or tortured for information and addresses, but it gave him a way to "really do something against the Germans..." In a lovely Dutch accent, he told me, "You took part in an organization which did things you shouldn't do to survive it. In common clothes - you don't have a uniform, but we were the enemy of the Germans." He wore a band on his arm that said he was in food distribution so that the Germans wouldn't bother him or take away his bicycle. If you remember from Corrie Ten Boom's stories, bicycles were very important to the success of their plans. 

One day, however, as he was coming out of the woods, he found a German stealing his bike. He really needed his wheels to get where he was going, so he tried to talk him out of it  -but without success. He finally asked if the German would at least give him a ride into town on the back of it (oh the gall!), but he wouldn't take up his offer... And he lost the bike. Just another day in the life of Frederikus Wilhelmus Kroese.

During the war American planes would drop supplies to the Dutch resistance, especially weapons, explosive equipment, and booklets on how to use them most effectively. This booklet is explaining how to blow up a bridge. Mr. Kroese obtained it from one of the cylinders that were dropped.

When American or English pilots were downed, he was there to help them. "I was in the group that saved flying people who were shot down..." The pilots would call in to the Dutch Resistance saying, "Save us, save us, we're crashing!" and Mr. Kroese would organize the farmers to go to the location where they were falling, destroy the evidence, bury the parachutes, etc... Then find them a place where they could stay, forge false identification papers and ration cards, and finally get them new clothing! Isn't that just too rich...part of the Dutch Resistance, forging papers, and saving downed English and American pilots!!!

Mr. Kroese's false identification papers.

Although it was no doubt thrilling to their impetuous spirits, these Tommies and Johnnies were practically still boys, and didn't seem to grasp the danger of the situation or the tremendous sacrifice that these Dutch people were embracing, risking their lives, and giving them a large portion of their own scarce supply of food. "They would stay there for a few weeks, or as long as needed and they would stay in the house where I was aided. We gave them food, and some night I came upstairs after they had dinner, and I came and I saw that the soup was in the washing table," -(that was in the year that food was especially difficult to come by)- "So I said, 'Are you mad? If you don't like it, tell it to us, and we can have it, but don't spoil it!'"  

At other times, the Americans struggled to grasp the precariousness of their situation. "Sometime in the following months, there came a German car stopping just before our house... but what did he (the American flyer)? He moved to the window, pushed the curtains away, and I said; 'Are you mad?!'" 'No, but I've never seen my enemy. I want to see my enemy.' As they are young boys, they don't realize, and they don't know. They didn't know that we had few food, and he didn't realize that he, ya, was in danger of bringing us in danger by showing himself at the window. It was remarkable." 

Finally, after 5 longs years of being under Nazi oppression, after 3 years of working every moment against his country's oppressors, rescuing Allied pilots, burying parachutes, hiding radios, stealing bicycles, blowing up bridges, forging papers, scraping together food, organizing the farmers, - and every moment living in the realization that they could die any time, the Netherlands were finally liberated.

"It was happiness to be liberated." 

In all the times that I've come in contact with people from the Netherlands, I've found them to be some of the nicest people in the world. So kind, and with such a full history of their own, and between our two countries, dating all the way back to 1608 when they welcomed our Pilgrim Fathers into their land, and gave us a place where we could live in peace and worship God in freedom for over ten years, until our forefathers sailed to America. Mr Kroese is certainly no exception! Thank you, dear sir, for your gallantry and your kindness to our boys who got in a tough spot in the air over there.

"You can't tell a man's bravery by just looking at him"

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"You cannot look at someone and decide if they are brave or not. You can only find out if someone is brave by looking backwards, seeing how they have responded."

This is something Lt. Lynden Benshoof often thought about when he was aboard his LST in WWII. He told us he was concerned and worried about his own actions. Would he be brave? Or would he be like his Captain, who after fierce fighting during the Africa and Italy Campaigns, finally couldn't handle any more. One day, Mr. Benshoof had found the Captain of the ship, curled up like a child, grasping tightly to a radio and pretending to be talk into it. Benshoof suggested he go to his cabin for rest. The Captain did, locking himself in and not coming out again.

But if Africa, Sicily, and Salerno were tough, it wasn't the end. On June 6, 1944, Lt. Benshoof's LST took part in the D-Day Operations landing troops onto Omaha Beach. It was horrible work. "We saw all the guys stacked like cardboard on the beach and we could see all the trouble happening... There was so many bodies in the water they couldn't dodge them all." His LST would make 57 trips between England and France carrying causalities and prisoners. "One thing I learned is you can't tell a man's bravery by just looking at him." Only by looking backwards. Looking back on his life, Lt. Benshoof's greatest fear, the fear of failure to do his duty, never became a reality. He served his country well and proudly. But it is a good lesson for all of us to consider: how will *we* respond, when the trouble in our lives becomes too difficult to bear. Quit, like the poor Captain? Or persevere a little longer. Only the future will tell us how we responded to the present crisis. So let's take the example of Lt. Benshoof, and fight a little harder and stick in there a little longer. 

A Korean War Veteran's Story

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A few months ago, at a Victory Japan Remembrance day event, we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Creswell (right), a combat veteran of the Korean War. He was in tears as he thanked Mr. Slief (left), for his service in WWII. "I'm wearing my uncle's hat," he said. "He was on a bombing mission and never came back. They found this hat in his locker. I wear it to all events like this. I'll never forget him. Really, you guys are my heroes. I just missed the war. I went in in 1950 and all my trainers and were WWII veterans. They called me "kid" like I was their younger brother and they taught me how to fight. If it hadn't been for you guys, I would have been killed." Pointing to his ear he said, "See this ear? In Korea, a Chinese soldier came at me with his bayonet and was going to stab me. I ducked and he sliced my cheek and cut that piece off my ear. I had to have 222 stitches on my face. My girlfriend called me scarface. If the WWII guys hadn't taught me how to fight, I wouldn't have made it. I owe everything to you all. You're my heroes. Thank you."

Growing up Mr. Creswell sold newspapers on the streets of Burbank, California (just down the road from his good friend Debbie Reynolds). "You guys were out there making the headlines and I was selling them." When we asked what his biggest headline was, he told us, "the Invasion of France. I was in school and the paper man came and told me to come sell papers. He gave me these huge stacks. All afternoon I sold them [for a nickle] a penny profit for me, making $30 the end of the day." 

Paratroopers are a Special Lot

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Sainte Mere Eglise, Normandy, this past June for the D-Day anniversary events. 

Paratroopers are a special lot. They are known for an unusual delight in death defying antics and absurd feats. Mr. Dan McBride is no exception. Just surviving jump school (the first time he jumped his chute didn't open and he pulled the emergency as he reached tree level. A little stunned, he assumed that was normal), his first combat jump was into Normandy, on June 6, 1944. 

“I was loaded down with eight grenades, two antitank mines, ammunition, a full field pack, four blocks of TNT, an entrenching tool, a bayonet and a carbine. I weighed 300 to 400 pounds. We had to have someone help us climb into the plane. The formation began to break apart as pilots tried to avoid the AA fire. They were banking and diving and turning. Well, on one particularly steep banking turn, being closest to the open door waiting to get the signal to jump, I fell out the door."

Tangling himself in the parachute lines, he landed on his head, which knocked him out for a good while. The adventures that followed were numerous; and told in his dry-wit style, become quite hilarious. Not too long after D-Day, on a night patrol, a soldier came up and spoke to him. It was a German."I pulled up my rifle, and he pulled up his. We both shot, and we both hit — but I hit more." Wounded in his arm, it would be the first of 3 purple hearts he would receive in 1944. The next one would be in Holland after he was blown off a dyke by mortar shells, crushing his ankle. "The medic stuck a needle through my boot. I had to walk out of there, and I could hear the bones grinding." His third Purple Heart came in Bastogne when he was hit in the knees from tank shrapnel. He would take part in four of the major battles in Europe: Normandy, Holland, Bastogne, and Southern Germany. Today, at 91 Mr. McBride is still one tough hombre with plenty of chutzpah. "I live in New Mexico close to the border. One time I was in the parking lot of Walmart and this guy came up to me with a pocket knife and said, 'give me your money'. I pulled out my [handgun] and told him, 'you can either leave now, or in a body bag. I don't care which.' Boy did that guy go running... (he laughs) yup, that was about two months ago."

Happy 100th Birthday X2!

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Well, this picture is not the best, but it's the story that counts. A week or two ago, at a monthly veterans luncheon we got to celebrate 200 years of birthdays between TWO wonderful veterans: Mr. Santiago Diaz and Mr. Emmett Tiner. For an hour after the lunch we listened to some pretty fabulous stories from their life. After losing a son to malnutrition, Mr. Diaz (pictured) parents emigrated to the US from Mexico when he as 4 months old, hoping to get a new start on life. He was 28 years old, married, and with a 6-month old son when he enlisted in the army in 1943. His wish was to help and protect the country that had given his family a new life. He served in the Pacific at Guadalcanal as a medic attached to the Malaria prevention team. Malaria was a worse killer than combat during the war, and took many many lives. Mr. Diaz dealt with many cases, preforming his duty well and saving countless lives. In 1945, just before the end of he war, one of his proudest moments came: he received his US citizenship.

The other birthday boy, Mr. Tiner, (not in the photo but a very handsome fella) related one story from the Marshall Islands Campaign. After the tremendous capture of Gai Island (which happened to be the first Japanese controlled island we captured during the war, and a whole story in of itself) his parents were listening to the radio one evening, with no idea where their son was. "Kate Smith had a nation-wide radio broadcast once a week. And while my parents at home on the farm had no idea where they were listening and they listened to Kate Smith, and she said, "The selected soldier of the week Lt. Emmett Tiner who put the flag on the first Japanese territory of the war."" What a proud moment for them and all of America! Happy 100th birthday to Mr. Diaz and Mr. Tiner. We wish you many more years of happiness!