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

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

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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.

Youthful Nonagenarians, the Navy, and Trouble Down in Texas

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There are a few veterans who defy all aging, and you just have to ask, "Are you sure you're a WW2 vet?" Such was the case with our friend here. In truth, this picture doesn't quite do justice to his youth. He just seemed... so young.

Our introductory conversation went something like this:

Me: (somewhat ambiguously) "Are you sure you were in WWII?" 

Mr. Wright: (confidently) "I was indeed!"

Me: (testing him) "When did you join the navy?"

Mr. Wright: (laughing) "1943"

Faith: (joining the conversation) "Why you must have been 5 years old then! Are you sure that wasn't your dad?"

Mr. Wright: (emphatically) "I'm 90! I was born March 2, 1926."

The only thing Faith and I could do in response was simply to laugh, shrug our shoulders, and agree we'd have to believe him. 

Mr. Wright was a Fireman First Class (F1/c) on the USS Crittenden 

Humor put aside, we asked him why he chose the Navy. He told us, "You know, it's funny how the flip of a coin can change your life. I had a good friend who was joining up. I asked him where he was choosing to go, and he said he'd pick the Army. So I decided to join the Navy because it had lots to do with mechanical and engineering. I went to the Pacific and 6 months later I learned he'd been killed in Germany. I always remember that. It could have been me that got killed, but it was him." 

In truth -this picture doesn't quite do justice to his youth. He just seemed... so young.

After a while, the conversation turned to Texas. Naturally. It's not egotism about our state; it just seems to pop up in the regular discussions, "drawing room" chats, and pretty much all the time.

He said he had been to Texas many years ago, so we asked him how the people treated him and had it been an enjoyable stay. It is a point of pride to most Texans that, besides having the best Mexican food in the country (and that is the tried and tested truth), we are also one of the friendliest states in the U.S. Therefore we are always anxious to hear personally from the visitors to our great state.

"Weeell," Mr. Wright said in his thick midwestern Nebraska accent, "I can't say I had the best time there, nor that the folks treated me so well."

This was shocking, so we begged him to explain. 

It turned out that in the mid to late 70s his company sent him down to Texas to quell a labor strike that was creating havoc near Beaumont. The strikers were causing endless trouble, so it looked like he'd have to take up residency for a while. He ended up spending close to a year in Texas over the course of several labor strikes. As is pretty commonly understood, everything related to unions and strikes can be very nasty, so at first he ignored the wild threats to his person and went about his job as usual. "But when they started shootin' at me and puttin' bullets through my bathroom windows (very nearly hitting me), I figured it was time to move a couple of miles out of town."

Things went a little better for him after this, though regrettably (and somewhat humorously), that was his last visit to the great and friendly state of Texas. 

So that is the end of the story. Youthful nonagenarians, the Navy, and a bit of a throwback to the wild west of old Texas days. Hopefully though, someday Mr. Wright can make it back down here to experience some real Texan hospitality. 

Reliving the WWII USO Canteen Days with Roll Call Fort Worth

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Last week we headed up to Fort Worth for our monthly WWII Veterans' Luncheon. As I'm sure we've probably mentioned many times before, this luncheon is the highlight of each month for us. About 2 years ago, a dear Iwo Jima veteran friend in the Dallas/Fort Worth area connected us with Kevin Boldt, a retired Army Medic and Care Home operator who would get together each month with about 60+ WWII veterans for a special luncheon to talk about their war experiences. 

Mr. Boldt told us that initially the luncheon was just a handful of folks who would meet at their local Golden Corral. However as more and more veterans heard about it, the luncheon grew until they had to happily move to a much larger facility. By the time we made our first visit, 60+ WWII veterans were on the roster, plus nearly 100 family members and friends.

Richard Stanley, US Army, escorted by the local Civil Air Patrol.

In the last two years, it has grown enormously and now includes numerous veterans of Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf War, Iraq, and Afghanistan. In fact it has grown so much that in the last few months, after lots of work on the part of Mr. Boldt and his incredible staff, the monthly WWII Veterans Luncheon became officially incorporated and titled, "Roll Call Fort Worth." Their new mission statement: "To share through education, publication, and fraternity, constructive remembrance of Honorable actions taken by American Military veterans and service members." 

Mr. Boldt interviews one of our new veterans, 99 year-old Homer Cox. (Photo credit: Joe Schneider)

At each luncheon, Mr. Boldt takes the mic around introducing new veterans, remarking on birthdays and anniversaries (we have several well into 70+ years of wedded happiness), and then concluding with a special veteran spotlight where he interviews one of the veterans about the service for all to hear.

This last month, the veteran highlighted was with the 7th Armored Division during the Battle of the Bulge. On anniversaries, such as Pearl Harbor Day or Victory in Europe Day, the veterans share their thoughts on where they were and what was going on. It is really a step back in time to listen to them.

Two WWII veterans go over a European Theatre map. (Photo credit: Joe Schneider)

So getting back to last weekend. Honestly, each luncheon tops the last. And last week was no exception. Once again it was standing room only for a house packed with men (and women!) who have bravely served our country over the last 75 years. B-17 pilots, Navy gunners, concentration camp liberators, paratroopers, Iwo Jima Marines, former German and Japanese POWs, and pretty much anything or position you can think of. The youngest WWII vet is about 88 and the oldest 101, with a whole bunch of 90's, 92's, 95's, 97's, and a couple of 99's in between. Pretty, pretty fabulous. I can't even begin to imagine how many years they are all added together.

Two of our adorable Navy veterans. (Photo credit: Joe Schneider)

There are so many- yet so few- words to describe how meaningful and beautiful these afternoons are. In a way it feels a little like the USO Canteen days of WWII. Greeting the veterans as they arrive (en masse), chatting with them about their families, where they grew up, their military service, and keeping them stocked up on coffee and tea. 

They are not the strapping 19-year old soldiers they were when they first visited the USO Canteens in 1944, now they have a few more wrinkles, maybe a walker or cane (and that is a maybe), and perhaps can't cut quite the rug on the dance floor as they did 70+ years ago; but they still have that same twinkle in their eyes, rib-tickling humor, and infectiously genuine delight in life. 

It is always an honor to be a part of such a wonderful family as our Fort Worth friends. 

More photos from last week:

A Weekend with the Marines: The Fifth Marine Division Reunion Recap

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Just a few months late... but here is a recap from last October when San Antonio was honored to play host to the Fifth Marine Division's annual reunion. In 2015, Jubilee and I had attended the reunion held in Virginia Beach, and it was just one of our favorite experiences ever. So when they announced that 2016's reunion location was to be San Antonio, we couldn't have been more pleased. 

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Through different Iwo Jima reunions, we happily knew almost everyone in attendance, and those we didn't know we quickly became good friends with. That is the reality of going to these events: whatever expectations you arrive with, you leave with a brand new extended family. So when October finally came around, we were quite ecstatic. Marines of the 5th Marine Division came from all around the country - including Hawaii - and descended upon San Antonio, and for a whole weekend, it was just one grand party.

The first evening was what we would call "catch up time" as we reconnected with old friends. Faith had been invited to sing, so for quite a while she serenaded the folks with a variety of songs from Glenn Miller's Sentimental Journey to Andy Williams' Moon River and the Righteous Brothers' Unchained Melody. Every so often, a harmonica or two would chime in, adding wonderfully to the atmosphere of the singing. (Note about the harmonicas. There was a great surplus of these fabulous instruments all week. It seemed as if there was always at least one going, and almost as often a duet. Of course the theme song for the week was the Marine Corps Hymn, but it was closely followed by Swanee River and Oh Susanna!)

At the other side of the room, a couple of Marines and one Navy man were have a rousing debate that boiled down to two things: Who caused the most trouble to their superiors, and who had the best looking photo from their time in the service? Boy, it was hilarious. The discussion concluded with some more harmonica music. Naturally. 

Day 2 of the reunion was spent at one of my favorite museums in America: the National Museum of the Pacific, in Fredericksburg. If you ever get to Texas, no matter where you are, it is worth the drive to visit. A couple of years ago, they renovated the entire museum, and now it is so packed full of information, artifacts, history, military equipment, and everything WWII in the Pacific Theatre related that it will literally take you all day to go through (and that is if you start at opening hours and go to closing). But that is only one part. They have a fabulous Pacific Combat zone where they do remarkable demonstrations and have lots more military equipment, PT boats, and Living History demonstrations, so that will take you another day. Last year, I managed to talk the family into going to the museum about 5 times in 6 months. So we kinda like it (now I'll get off the soapbox and get back to the reunion).

It is pretty much the best experience in the world to walk through a museum on WWII with the veterans who were there.

A special memorial program had been planned for the Iwo Jima veterans in the courtyard of the Museum. When the bus of veterans arrived, they were greeted by an Honor Guard and various dignitaries from the Pacific War Museum. Despite a light rain, the ceremony was beautiful as they remembered the brave Marines who fought for the 5th Division. Instead of a great long description of everything, I'll let the next few pictures tell a little of the story. 

There are few things more stirring to the heart than to watch an old soldier stand at attention for the flag he fought hard to defend. Make that the last remaining veterans of a division who made a name for their entire Corps when the American flag was proudly raised on Iwo Jima, and it nearly brings on the waterworks. God bless these dear men.

Faith was asked to sing the National Anthem, and the all around favorite: I'll Be Seeing You. If the waterworks weren't on yet, the last song certainly brought them on for several of the vets. 

Two of our very hearty and happy Marines. Mr. Hammond (left) and Mr. Bell (right) are two of the driving forces in the Iwo Jima reunions. They also have million dollar smiles. 

I'm here with my good friend in front of a plaque for the ship the USS DeHaven. This ship was named after one of his relatives (and Arctic explorer) Edwin Jesse De Haven. Unfortunately the ship was sunk off of Guadalcanal only 133 days after it was commissioned. The second USS DeHaven did a little better for herself serving all the way through Vietnam. 

One of the most remarkable characters from the reunion, this guy personifies the Marine Corps: Tough, indefatigable, a bit curmudgeonly, but with a heart of gold.

Now I have to introduce you to one of my favorite ladies from the reunion. Her name is Jimmie. At 83 she is one of the most adventurous women I know. For years and years she has traveled all over the globe, and just a few months ago she was in India visiting friends. Whenever I see her, we have the most delightful chats, made even more so by her charming Louisiana accent. 

In the beginning of 1945, Ms. Jimmie was a 12 year old girl who was very proud of her big brother, Harrydale "Harry" Hyde, a United States Marine. He had lied about his age in 1943 and joined at the age of 16. Now, all she knew was that he was off fighting in some corner of the Pacific. That corner happened to be Iwo Jima, where the bitterest fighting in Marine Corps history was happening. 

Ms. Jimmie and the handsome Iwo Jima veteran Sam Prestigiacomo

One day in late April, Ms. Jimmie was alone at the house when the doorbell rang. She ran to the door and found a young Western Union boy waiting. He was there to deliver a telegram. At first he wouldn't give it to her on account of her age, but as there was no other adults and he had a pile of telegrams to deliver, he finally handed it over. When her mother arrived home, she refused to open it, knowing all to well what she would find. Harry was dead. On February 28, he had been killed on the infamous Hill 362, fighting gallantly and earning the Silver Star, the third highest decoration awarded by the United States. It was a bitter blow to the young girl. But that is not the end. Six years later, nearly to the day, on the evening of February 27, 1951, Jimmie Hyde (now Watson) gave birth to a darling little girl. Before the girl was born, Jimmie had already decided what the name was to be, regardless of the gender. The little girl was named Harry.

Faith and Mr. Coltrane

One of the highlights of the weekend was the closing banquet. The line running around was, "you sure clean up well." And they certainly did. It's a mighty fine sight to see an old Marine dressed up in the brilliant blues of the Corps. 

One of the "smashingest" looking of the group was our friend Mr. Coltrane (pictured left). We call him our "Marine Corps Teddy Bear" because he really is just one lovable teddy bear with the sweetest North Carolina accent. A few months ago when we called him on his birthday he said, "I'm 94 today, so it must mean I'm finally an old man!" Then he laughed real hard.  

Mr. Coltrane returned to Iwo Jima last year for the first time since WWII. It was a trip which he had put off for many years, but finally decided when the opportunity came that it was time. He had suffered from terrible nightmares from the battle, and he hoped this trip would bring closure. It was a great blessing to talk with him at each step of the return journey, learning about his war experiences. 

 

Another fabulous sight to see that evening was the Marines of 70 years ago talking to the Marines of today. Comparing notes and stories. It is a tradition that goes back as long as there have been fighters. In the grand old story of Beowulf, you see the battle scarred old men recount the tales of their warrior days to the youths that gathered around. 

And it wasn't just the younger Marines that wanted to hear their stories, but a whole basketball team who also happened to be stopping by the hotel for the weekend. I couldn't help smiling a mile wide to see these big, tough players listening eagerly to the P51 pilot, Jerry Yellin, as he told them his remarkable story of how he went from great bitterness and hatred of all Japanese to love and brotherhood. It is one of my favorite forgiveness stories, and I could hear him retell it over and over again. The long story short, after the war he was very angry at the Japanese. He had lost a great number of friends and didn't think he could ever get over it. Then one day his son came home and announced that he was marrying a Japanese woman. Jerry realized then and there that he had no alternative but to move on with his life and let go of his bitterness. He did and now his life is dedicated to being a goodwill ambassador of forgiveness. This last March he returned to Iwo Jima with his granddaughter who is half American and half Japanese. No doubt it was very touching for all to see. 

Jerry Yellin, P51 pilot, telling stories to a few fellows from the basketball team that was staying at our hotel. 

I could go on and on about the weekend. There are few things like military reunions. It's a gathering of men who all fought together. Maybe not in the exact same platoon or company, but they all fought together on the same small patch of land, experiencing the same things and creating a bond that you can't really find anywhere else. 

With our lovely Reunion Hosts from last year, Leilani and Monroe. They have to be one of the loveliest couples we know. They've been married for over 65 years, but they still go hand-in-hand everywhere. 

"No Mama, No Papa, No Uncle Sam"

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Yesterday's date holds a special significance to me. Obviously the inauguration of our 45th president is significant to America, but January 20 is also the birth date of my great-great-uncle Israel Goldberg who died in a POW Camp after the Bataan Death March. This year marks the 75th anniversary of Bataan, and in honor of this, I am doing something that has been a dream of mine for several years. On March 19, I will run the Memorial Bataan Death March Marathon.

It's not nearly as long as the original March (only 26 miles instead of the full 65), nor anywhere nearly as difficult, but set in the desert of New Mexico, it certainly bodes to be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. 26.2 miles of sand, dirt, tough hills, direct sun, and more sand. Not as "fun" as the Marine Corps Marathon this past October, but that is not the point. No doubt I will be thinking of my uncle and his brave, brave soldiers-in-arms every step of the way. 

In preparation for this Marathon, besides the physical training, I'm also pressing forward full speed to find any information I can on my uncle's military service. Unfortunately, after they recovered the bodies from the mass grave he was buried in, Israel was unable to be identified. I've done periodic research over the last few years, and even though we do not know which grave he's buried in at Manila Cemetery, there are many things still to learn. And this race has added an extra incentive to push forward full speed.

As tough as this race will be, each sore bone, achy knee, stiff back, and blistered foot will be completely worth it if it can help to continue the memory of the men of Bataan. "No Mama, no papa, no Uncle Sam," was a song they sang because they thought they had been forgotten. But they are not forgotten. And I hope the memory of their sacrifice continues on for generations.

I look forward to sharing more about this later. Until then, you can catch up on two articles I wrote previously on my uncle:

Private Israel Goldberg

Connections to my uncle Israel Goldberg

"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." 

Friends We Lost in 2016

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We lost many, many friends this year. We honor them and remember them forever. 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Pearl Harbor Remembered 75 Years Later

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Photo taken at the 70th anniversary ceremony for Pearl Harbor in 2011 

"Let me tell you something I bet you've never heard." The  speaker was a lovely white-haired gentleman wearing the typical casual Hawaiian shirt that you find in the tourist hotels of that tropical paradise. The girls and I were standing in the lobby of the Pink Lady Hotel off Waikiki Beach about 5 years ago, waiting for the rest of our group to join us for dinner.  I don't remember him wearing a Pearl Harbor Survivor hat, but everything about him spoke to it, so of course we had gone up to chat with him for a few minutes. He continued on, "One of the bombs that hit our ship came clear through, but didn't explode. It was a dummy. Of course we all ran over to look at it since it hadn't gone off. As I looked, I saw the words USN 1918 engraved on it. The bomb was American surplus we had sold to the Japanese after the war, and now they were using it against us! Imagine that!"

Five years ago I heard that story, and it's stuck with me ever since - a mixture of horror that our own bombs were being used against us, but also (and only because it turned out to be a dummy), a bit of the ludicrousness of the situation. 

Last Wednesday, the girls and I went up to Dallas to commemorate this momentous day in our history - the 75th Anniversary of this life and world changing event. And it was a beautiful day. Each month a good friend up in the Dallas area organizes a veterans luncheon. Each month it is well attended with around 65 WWII veterans and many veterans of Korea, Vietnam, and even the last two decades' wars. This month was special though because we all gathered with the particular intention of remembering Pearl Harbor: those who survived, those we lost, what it meant for America in 1941, and what it means for America today. 

The cutest little B17 pilot (and a staunch Aggies fan too!).

The building was packed - wall to wall, every chair filled, even a couple of the discarded walkers were borrowed for those who didn't catch a seat sooner. Our host and his fabulous team pulled out all the stops, complete with Honor Guard, local ROTC, and Marine Corps Escort.

Faith and Jubilee with two of our Marine Corps representatives. (Photo Credit: Joe Schneider) 

Our three Pearl Harbor veterans gave their recollections of the day, and we even got to hear from a veteran who was stationed at Clark Field in the Philippines at the time of the bombing (as you probably remember, the Philippines were attacked the next day, on December 8th.)

Our 3 fabulous Pearl Harbor veterans and 1 Philippine veteran. (Photo Credit: Joe Schneider) 

The stories were unlimited, and despite going over time, I think everyone in the room would have been happy to be there for the rest of the day. I mentioned in the previous post that we'd share some of the stories. So below, in no particular order, are a few of them. 

Jubilee with Pearl Harbor survivor Dale "Red" Robinson

In the above photo, Jubilee is with our Pearl Harbor survivor, Dale Robinson. I asked him to sign a special commemorative newspaper of the attack, and he started to write his name, but paused. "I'm putting 'Red' here because that's what they used to call me." "Did you have red hair?" I asked. "Yup," he answered, then lifted his cap and chuckling added, "Not anymore."  

A young and very handsome Dale "Red" Robinson

At the time of Pearl Harbor, Mr. Robinson was serving in the 35th Infantry, 25th Division at Schofield Barracks. "I was up early, walking around the barracks," he recalled. "It wasn't too long, and I heard the sound of an airplane. One airplane came down low over our quadrangle, and I could see the pilot."

It was a startling moment for him to realize that the pilot wasn't one of our own boys, and even more so when he started strafing the airfield.

But for Mr. Robinson, Pearl Harbor was only the beginning. Two and a half years later, he landed on Omaha Beach, D+2, and went on to fight through France, Belgium, and Germany. On May 8th, 1945, he received his discharge papers and went home. "War is horrible," he said, "And you just want to forget about it."

Nevertheless, despite enduring some of the toughest fighting of the war, at 94 he still has the best sense of humor and is always handing out the cutest lines. 

As the girls and I popped around asking the vets, "Where were you when you heard about Pearl Harbor?" these are a few of the things we heard: 

Pearl Harbor veteran Robert Tanner. USAF B-18 Bomber Pilot.

"I was working at Ashburn's Ice Cream," said one veteran. "I was dipping ice cream when I heard that Pearl Harbor was bombed. Taking classes in college... I didn't realize then how much my life would change."

Another veteran from the European theatre, Mr. Wilkie, was 18 years old at the time and playing the trumpet with Ralph Barlow and his orchestra. He told me, "I was 18, and I was in Chicago, Illinois, playing in a band. And I was shocked when I heard it. I was coming down the elevator in the hotel, and when the doors opened, the people in there were saying how terrible it was, and I said, 'What's terrible? What happened?' Then they told me. It was quite a shock. I was drafted in 1942, the next year."

Marvin Rudd, a veteran of both the European and Pacific theatres told us, "I was 17 years old. I was in my dormitory in my room at Texas A&M trying to wake up. 'Well' [they said], 'did you hear they bombed Pearl Harbor?' I says, 'Where is that?!' Nobody knew where Pearl Harbor was. It was just a routine [rest of the] day for everybody at A&M, except all the military officers. They understood and were getting ready, you know, for whatever was going to happen at A&M with our ROTC."   Shortly after, Mr. Rudd finished up college, joined the Army, and was sent to Europe with the 86th Division. 

Our swell crowd of WWII veterans. (Photo Credit: Joe Schneider) 

One of the special guests on the 7th was not a Pearl Harbor survivor, though he had a story to tell that was as heartbreaking as any other we heard that day. On December 7, 1941, Harmon Moody lost his brother at Pearl Harbor. 

90 year-old Harmon Moody

Robert Moody, a young and very handsome Mississippi son, had enlisted in the U.S. Navy in the fall of 1940. By 1941, his ranking was Seaman First Class, and his ship was the U.S.S. Arizona, stationed at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. We all know the story of the Arizona, the tragedy and enormous loss of souls on board. There were a few survivors, but Robert Moody was not one of them. Last year in our Pearl Harbor Day post, I quoted the words that a survivor of another ship told us of what he heard from the Arizona, "We could hear the pounding on the sides of the ship, and the screaming of the boys inside. This lasted for days, but there was nothing we could do." 

When 16 year-old Harmon Moody turned on the radio that afternoon and heard the fateful words, "Pearl Harbor has been bombed," he felt a cold chill inside of him. While most Americans had never heard of this place before, he knew only too well. For two weeks, Harmon and his family anxiously awaited news of their beloved brother and son. Two of the longest weeks imaginable. When it did come, it was what they feared most. Robert Moody was one of the 2,403 casualties of the bombing, and one of the 900+ who would forever sleep beneath the waters of Pearl Harbor in their graceful tomb, the U.S.S. Arizona. Today, if you visit the Arizona Memorial and look into the waters, you'll see a strain of oil seeping from the sunken ship, what they call the "Black Tears" or "Tears of the Arizona." It is a beautiful remembrance of the brave, brave, Americans who perished there. 

But the end of the story doesn't come until 1945. Inspired by his brother's death, Harmon enlisted in the Navy as soon as he was able, and served in the Pacific Theatre. Nearly four years later, on September 2, 1945, Harmon's ship was stationed in Tokyo Bay just after the Japanese surrender, performing escort operations for the occupation. An apropos ending to a tragic, yet beautiful story. 

Mr. H, a veteran of the Pacific Theatre, brought these newspapers to the luncheon. His mother had collected and saved these for him while he was away at war, and he only uncovered them last year. The paper on the left is dated March 1942, and the one on the right is VJ Day, 1945 - both historic dates.

A few months ago, I was listening to a series of lectures on Ancient History. The professor was English and had a bit of a stutter, but he absolutely captivated the audience by the way he allowed them to "experience history" with him. Ancient History at that. That is how it feels to talk with these dear WWII veterans. America just commemorated 75 years since Pearl Harbor, yet to me it certainly doesn't feel like it's been 75 years. Of course, I wasn't there 75 years ago, but you talk to enough of the fellows who were there, and it is no longer something that happened in the past, but something we are participating in as we listen. I clearly remember when the the Twin Towers were bombed. I was 5. But I can also vividly see the little boy on the street corner selling papers that said Bataan had fallen. Or the casualty reports coming in on the Battle of the Bulge, and walking down the street afterwards and seeing the blue and gold stars in the windows of the neighbors. Most especially though, I can see the Victory Day parades of 1945. The crowds, the happiness, the tears. I've shed tears myself... even though I wasn't there. 

Maybe my sense of time and proportion is all off, or maybe we can genuinely experience history in this second-hand way. After spending the last week talking with veterans about Pearl Harbor, it certainly feels that way to me.

The Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day Luncheon was brought to a close by Faith singing "Remember Pearl Harbor" and "Sentimental Journey." It it always a joy to hear Faith sing, but today we had an additional treat. After the first few notes came out of her mouth, she was joined by nearly everyone of our WWII, Korean, and Vietnam veterans singing with her. It was a priceless moment and a touching way to close out the day. 

"Where were you on December 7?"

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"The Punchbowl Cemetery" (National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific) in Hawaii

Everyone my age knows where they were when the Twin Towers were attacked. Pretty much everyone my parents' age can remember what they were doing when President Reagan was shot. And if you ask anyone over the age of 75, they will no doubt be able to tell you where they were when they heard Pearl Harbor was bombed. This is a favorite question of mine to ask. The answers are as diverse as they are interesting. The last couple of days I have made a few phone calls to veterans around the country to ask them where they were on December 7, 1941.

One Marine told me that at the time his family was living in the Panama Canal zone where his father worked as a civilian contractor on the American base there. Coming out of church Sunday morning, they were disturbed to hear every siren, bell, horn, and whistle in the Canal zone going off. As the Military personnel dashed to their respective places, he spotted a Marine in brilliant dress blues run by. Only age 15 at the time, he determined he would enlist in the Marine Corps and wear that uniform. He never got the uniform, but he did join the Marines and go on to fight at Iwo Jima. 

One Korean War vet told me he was 11 years old when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Like many others, he’d never heard of the place before, so for the rest of the war, he closely followed the fighting in the Pacific and European theatres on a large map of the world.

Another friend didn’t find out until the Monday afterward. He was working in his family’s fields when a neighbor came over to tell them the news. They didn’t have a radio in the house, so they piled into their little car to hear the latest bulletins on the car radio. 

There are countless other stories like these. Of course, the stories from the Pearl Harbor survivors themselves are some of the most interesting. Hearing why they had joined up in the first place to serve in peace time, what they were doing the days prior to the infamous bombing, and what happened to them next. 

Tomorrow, we remember the 75th anniversary of Pearl Harbor. So tonight, the girls and I are driving up to Dallas so we can spend the day hearing many more accounts like these at a Pearl Harbor memorial event. We look forward to sharing some of the stories with you afterward. 

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. 

Toccoa Currahee Military Weekend

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Toccoa, Toccoa... one of the sweetest and most darling places in America.

The last several months have been pretty busy with life in general. After looking at the blog and realizing it had been nearly 2 months since the last post, we figured it was time to do some catch-up work. So, instead of going too far back, I'll just start with Currahee Military Weekend. 

In the beginning of October, the town of Toccoa, Georgia hosts their annual Currahee Military Weekend in honor of the men who trained at Camp Toccoa in WWII. These men were United States Paratroopers. One paratrooper we talked to once said, "We were the baddest of the bad, and the biggest troublemakers." That is for sure. It seems that most of the stories they tell end up with fistfights or an attempt to capture a town single handedly (encouraged not a little by the belief that one paratrooper was more than equal to at least half a dozen regular Army men). But paratroopers are also known for their fierce camaraderie. You may be a stranger, but if you wear the jump wings, you are family, and they'll stick to you through thick or thin. This bond is something almost unexplainable to an outsider. 

Part of the unique history of Toccoa is Currahee Mountain. It was originally used as a significant element of the paratrooper's training (running up and down in full gear), but since then has grown in legend, especially after it was immortalized in the TV mini-series "Band of Brothers." Since we first visited Toccoa in 2014, we have tried to make it a point of running the mountain each time. Now, I've run several half-marathons over the years and found them to be in varying forms of difficulty. But nothing compares to Currahee. The famous quote, "3 miles up, 3 miles down," pretty much summarizes the intensity of the mountain. It is no cakewalk. However, putting all difficulty aside, it has to be one of the most inspiring places I've ever run. To know that every step you take is in the exact footsteps of the paratroopers. The paratroopers who dropped into Normandy in the early hours of June 6, 1944. The paratroopers who earned their name bravely defending Bastogne. And the same paratroopers who eventually stormed Hitler's elite getaway -the Eagles Nest. It is a pretty awe-inspiring thought, and definitely the only thing that gets me to make it to the top of the mountain and back. 

Singing old love songs with sweet paratroopers and listening to riotous stories of hospital escapades is pretty much the best. Besides, who doesn't love a paratrooper?!

Singing old love songs with sweet paratroopers and listening to riotous stories of hospital escapades is pretty much the best. Besides, who doesn't love a paratrooper?!

Over the course of the weekend, veterans who trained at Camp Toccoa in WWII come back (some for the first time since they trained in 1943!), and there are book signings, chatting, music, parades, and everything possible to make the time fabulous. Toccoa is a small town, but it has a heart as big as Texas. We knew after the first day there that we had quite lost our hearts to this darling place. 

One of the best parts is reconnecting with old friends. And one of the best surprises for us was in the form of these two WW2 vet cousins. We had met them the first year we attended, and had just the best time with them, chatting about Gene Autry and Tank Destroyers (a great combination, don't you think?). 

L-R: Liberty, Garnett, Jubilee, DeWitt, and Faith at Toccoa's Currahee Military Weekend

L-R: Liberty, Garnett, Jubilee, DeWitt, and Faith at Toccoa's Currahee Military Weekend

Garnett (left) was on a Tank Destroyer and had his fair share of experiences over in Europe. His descriptions of tank battles and coming upon German concentration camps ("you could smell them miles and miles away") were remarkable. Interestingly, one of the men in his crew had been born and raised in Germany before coming to America. One day they were going through a small German town and this buddy pointed out, "This is the town where I grew up. That window is where my Aunt lives."

His cousin DeWitt (right) was with the Engineers in Italy. However before going overseas, when he was 16, he had hitchhiked 300 miles from Demorest to Brunswick, Georgia to work with his uncle at the shipyard there. They are quite the pair of cousins!

On Sunday morning, a memorial service is held at the Camp Toccoa Currahee Memorial. It is a beautiful ceremony complete with honor guards and taps. Following this comes a highlight of the week, breakfast at the local diner with the veterans. One of the lovely veterans we met was paratrooper Bill Galbraith. Mr. Galbraith jumped with the 101st into Normandy on D-Day, and then again into Holland for Operation Market Garden. On September the 18th, 1944, the day after landing in Holland, he was severely wounded and shipped off for treatment. His recovery ended up being a long, tedious, and painful process. To combat the pain, he concentrated on memorizing poetry, good hearty poetry though, the likes of Robert Service and others similar. Well, as Robert Service is a favorite in our house, we talked at great length about this, Mr. Galbraith reciting numerous poems perfectly from memory. It was absolutely fabulous. There are more stories from Mr. Galbraith, but that's for another time.

Currahee Military Weekend 2016 left us with many wonderful memories. We listened to stories that made us cry, as well as stories that made us hold our sides with laughter. We sang old love songs with 90 year-old paratroopers who are still young at heart; and we talked about their war-time buddies -some who came home, and a few who didn't. Last but not least, we remembered the 6,000 soldiers who trained at Camp Toccoa and forever became "Toccoa Men." 

"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?

Two years ago today...

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Two years ago today we had our first experience with Honor Flight. To say it was amazing is an understatement. It was life-changing. For one week we met and greeted the HF's coming in to the WWII Memorial in DC, handing out roses, hugs, handshakes. And that was only the beginning. In some ways it seems like so much longer than two years (in the very best way!), but then it's as clear as if it were yesterday. It was the start of many wonderful memories; meeting some of the dearest people on earth. The Honor Flight family is truly one of a kind. Below is what we wrote after the first day of Honor Flight:

““We arrived in Washington DC last night.This week we have the privilege of welcoming World War II veterans coming in on honor flights to visit “their” Memorial, the National World War II Memorial. There will be hundreds this week. “We will never see another gathering of veterans of this number again.”

We visited the memorial with a very special guide, John W. McCaskill, a National Park Service representative and World War II historian we met three years ago in Pearl Harbor. His passion for honor and history is simply infectious. He walked us around the beautifully lit memorial with zeal and enthusiasm, explaining every aspect: The eagles, the fountain, the emblems, the gold stars, the bas reliefs, and on and on. Today we will greet veterans at the airport and at the memorial.” (September 23, 2014)”

36th Infantry "T-Patch" Reunion: San Antonio

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Spiffy dinner dates, and a fabulous time at the 36th Infantry Division "T-Patchers" Reunion this weekend... On the bus yesterday at Ft. Sam, our friend Mr. Dietrick pointed out the places he grew up, hunted rabbits, and took training. Other vets shared stories of meeting famous Generals in Africa, the Italian campaign, POW status, and lots more. So happy to have been with these great men. Below are some of the highlights we shared on Instagram.

We're at Fort Sam Houston today with the 36th Infantry Division Reunion for commemoration of the Invasion of Salerno in 1944! Interesting note: The chapel the service was held in is the same chapel where Mr. Dietrick's brother's funeral service was held in 1940. His brother was accidentally killed when his gun misfired as he was coming off guard duty. That was 76 years ago.
Just found this one from the 36th Infantry Division Reunion last week... Meet the Scarborough brothers. We mistook them for twins (as everyone else did) but they're actually 6 years apart! John, the younger (left), doesn't like this so much but he's a good sport. Both served in the 36th, one in WWII, the other during the Korea War. Together they make a pretty cute set of brothers who kept us in stitches of laughter the whole time.
Exploring the museum at Fort Sam Houston. Mr. D. is explaining how the weapons worked.
A fabulous dinner banquet celebrating and remembering the men of the 36th Infantry Division.

Welcome Home Soldier

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Last year we witnessed something very special and unique at the WW2 Memorial in DC. While waiting for the next HF to arrive, the daughter of the veteran pictured came up to us and asked if we would give her father a rose. Of course we were delighted to. After talking with them a few minutes we learned he had come to the memorial with his entire extended family for a very special reason: 

Master Sergeant James William Holt was a son, husband, brother, and father, all in one when he went Missing in Action during the Vietnam war in 1968. Over the years his family never knew what happened to him. His children grew up and had children of their own and life went on. Then one day his remain were recovered. We spoke with his widow briefly, and she was a lovely lady. It was very moving to hear this story. After all those years, she finally had closure and peace. Sergeant James Holt's family had now come from all across the country for a special burial service at Arlington National Cemetery, 47 years after his death. Welcome home soldier.

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.