Goodbye Bud

Goodbyes are hard. And there have been so many of late. But this one... 💔

Bud called me up a couple of months ago. Phone calls with him never lasted more than a minute - minute and half if he was feeling really chatty. But this time he stretched it out a little longer. He wanted to talk about our friendship over the years and what it meant to him. I was tearing up by the end (he had that affect on me). Gentle, kind, soft-spoken man that he was, this was an unusual display. It sounded like he was saying goodbye. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew in my heart this would be the last time. It was.

On Thursday it was my turn to say goodbye. Gathered together with his friends and fellow Marines, we gave Bud one final adieu. I patted his kind hands for the last time as he lay there so handsomely decked out in his uniform of the Corps, medals on his chest, American flag draped over his casket. He looked so fine.

Taps played. A gun salute was fired.

Goodbye Bud.

Semper Fi and farewell my wonderful, handsome Marine.

---

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

A Short Story for Easter

View fullsize

Easter was this past Sunday, but I wanted to share a little story I learned a few years back from my friend, the indefatigable Fiske Hanley. Fiske passed away last year at the age of 100. Anyone who ever came in contact with him, knows he was truly a legend. Still carrying gnarly physical reminders of his time under the Japanese Kempeitai, he was unflagging until the end and more often than not would be seen wearing his original jacket from the war (though perhaps unbuttoned to make up for the years and life he had experienced).

There are so many stories I could relate from my visits with Fiske… including some pretty humorous moments when we both traveled to Iwo Jima in 2015 for the 70th anniversary. But for today, here is a little piece I wrote in 2018 following a visit to his home in Fort Worth, Texas. It’s a simple story, but not an Easter has passed since that I don’t think of it.

---

Today Christian Day

A small, bent framed man entered a dank prison cell in Tokyo, Japan. He was carrying a few morsels of food for the bruised and bloodied prisoner within.

"You Christian?" He asked in broken English, placing the food on the ground.

"Yes." Answered the American flyboy, turned POW.

"Me Christian." Said the little man pointing to himself. "Today Christian day."

The American didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

"Today Christian day." The man repeated.

The American shook his head, then it struck home. “Christian Day.” April was coming Easter was April 1st. It must be Easter.

---

Last week I had the wonderful privilege of spending the afternoon with my fabulous and rugged friend, World War Two veteran and Japanese POW, Fiske Hanley. Mr. Hanley is amazing. At 98, he just goes and goes and goes. Showing me his calendar, I couldn't help but notice it was all marked up in red!

View fullsize

WWII B-29 Bomber

During the war, he served in the Army Air Corps flying the spiffy new B-29 bombers. A couple of years ago, the girls and I were attending an Iwo Jima reunion out in Wichita Falls, TX. The first day there we ran into Mr. Hanley. "What are you doing here?" We asked him. "You aren't a Marine."

"Nope." He laughed. "But I'm an honorary Marine." Then he pulled out a certificate from his jacket and said, "I bombed Iwo Jima a month before the Marines landed... most of our bombs missed the target and landed on the beaches and in the water. We killed a lotta fish. But, we did one good thing. The bombs that hit the beach created ready-made foxholes for the Marines when they landed in February. So you see, they made me an Honorary 'Marine Foxhole Builder.'" We all had a good laugh over this.

Little he know at the time of the bombings on Iwo Jima, that within just 2 short months, his entire war would take a drastic change. 

---

View fullsize

On March 27, 1945, Fiske Hanley's B-29 was shot down over Japan. He was forced to bail out and parachute onto Japanese soil. Out of his entire 10-man crew, just one other managed to parachute to safety.

It was only his 7th mission.

The story that follows of his capture and subsequent torture by the Japanese as a "Special War Criminal" is one of amazing courage.

Landing in a rice field, Fiske was met by a furious mob of Japanese civilians with farm tools and bamboo spears. He barely escaped with his life when the local police arrived and put the two Americans in a back of a truck. Then they headed to Tokyo for interrogation by the Japanese version of the Gestapo, the Kempeitai.

As an American B-29 Bomber, Fiske was considered by the Japanese to be a civilian killer and a war criminal. From then on he would receive "Special Treatment." This included regular beatings, opening his wounds so they could not heal, starvation, and solitary confinement. By the time he was liberated in August of 1945, Fiske had dropped from a healthy 175 pounds to a mere 96.

---

View fullsize

When I visited him last week, he related a remarkable story to me.

A few days after his capture, Fiske was lying in a single cell. He was in pain from untreated wounds he had received from his crash. Everything he had heard about the Japanese treatment of POWs told him to expect the worst. Considering the welcoming committee that had greeted his landing, the rumors weren't far from the truth.

The door opened, and a "Peon" came in carrying a stipend of food for Fiske. "I call him a peon," he told me, "Because he was the lowest of the low in Japanese society. Nobody cared about him."

The little man spoke in a whisper, "You Christian?"

"Yes." Said Fiske.

"Me Christian." Said the little man. "Today Christian day."

Fiske didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

"Today Christian day." The man repeated.

He still didn't understand, and the man repeated the phrase a few more times. Then it struck him, Easter was April 1st. It must be Easter.

Over the next few days of his captivity there, he found out that the little man's family had been converted by Christian missionaries a few generations back. But because of their social status (literally at the bottom of the totem pole), no one ever bothered to enforce the religion of the land on this simple Japanese family.

Fiske was only held at that prison for a short time, but all the while he was there, the little Japanese man brought him what ever extra things he could sneak in to the cell, helping to keep him alive.

"Easter is on April 1st this year." He added, 73 years later. 

As he told me this story, I couldn't help wondering about the missionaries. The seed they had planted generations ago would continue to grow quietly, until one day it would have direct (and possibly live-saving) impact on an American POW in 1945.

You never know what lives you will touch down the road... people who will not be born until you are long passed.

View fullsize

Liberation! Fiske is Far left, behind the guy in the white shorts.

Mr. Hanley would spend 6 months as a "Special" POW," enduring unending hardships... but this brief encounter was a spark of hope amidst all the darkness.

Virtual Iwo Jima Honor Walk

This weekend I am participating in the Best Defense Foundation virtual IWO JIMA HONOR WALK and I’d love for as many of you as possible to join.

I’ve said a hundred times, and I’ll say a hundred more: Iwo Jima is forever a piece of my heart. I was 7 years old when I met my first WWII veterans. One was a Marine Corps Colonel who had fought on the island. The other, his friend, was a P-51 pilot who flew off of Iwo Jima. Ever since, Iwo has been in my blood.

This year was the 76th anniversary, but it passed virtually unnoticed by the public. There were no reunions. No commemorations. And just a handful of local papers. But the few Iwo Jima Survivors who are left - they remember. And we will remember.

THIS IS WHY I’m walking to Honor my Iwo Vets on March 20.

My team is called, “FRANKS FRIENDS” for my dear friend and Iwo Jima Survivor, Frank Ponitsso USMC.

During WWII, Frank served in the 5th Marine Division and was in the first wave to storm the beaches of Iwo Jima. On the 12th day of battle he heard a marine call out “hit the deck.” Frank and two other Marines were struck by a mortar blast, but survived despite being seriously wounded. The last he remembered was receiving a shot of brandy from a corpsman after diving into his foxhole.

On being evacuated, Frank’s right arm was packed in ice, transported to a hospital ship, then Guam. A month later, gangrene set in, and his arm had to be amputated. For this great sacrifice, all he received was a Purple heart and a certificate from the government. But that didn’t matter to him. “The guys that deserve a Purple Heart are the ones that are buried there.” He told me.

And that’s how Frank lived his life. Always grateful. He passed away last winter, and the world lost one of its finest. I rarely use the word “hero”… because it’s a lot to put on someone. But Frank is my hero.

I’d love for as many of you as possible to join my team as we remember and honor the memory of Frank Pontisso on this 76th anniversary of Iwo Jima. Best Defense Foundation has put together a wonderful program. It’s completely FREE to sign up and participate. Though for a small donation, BDF has designed some some pretty great commemorative Iwo Jima merch which I highly recommend you include when signing up.

Iwo Jima Honor Walk - 76th Anniversary in Solana Beach, CA, Mar 20, 2021 - Events.com

To join my team, just click the TEAM button on the link below and enter FRANK’S FRIENDS in the Team Search button. It should pop up right away.

See ya virtually on March 20!

Short Reminiscence

If I’d known this time year that it was going to be the final Iwo Jima reunion, I don’t think I’d have changed a thing. I’ve thought of little else the last month. I just didn’t know what else to say that hasn’t already been said.

It was absolutely perfect.

There was this “last stand” feeling about it, even though we all made plans to meet up again the next year - 2021.

It’s weird not having my whole month blocked out and planned around the week in DC, galavanting around with my Marines, fighting over who pushes who in the wheelchairs, singing the Marine Hymn 10 times a day, and finding expired hearing aids batteries in my purse as a parting gift from my nonagenarians.

Semper Fi my Marines - till we meet again.

---

Related Reading

They Showed Up: The 75th Anniversary Iwo Jima Reunion — Operation Meatball

Photo Recap from Week of Iwo Jima — Operation Meatball

Hero of 2020: Sir Tom Moore

Last year Sir Tom gave, not just England, but the entire world the inspiration we needed to keep moving forward. Both figuratively and literally he showed us how to take each day at a time, and put one foot in front of the other.

“With stubbornness, courage and optimism, he was the right man at the right time. He was Britain as it needed to see itself: selfless, patriotic and undefeated - and never taking a backward step.”

The BBC has written beautiful piece recording his remarkable life. I highly, highly recommend taking a moment to read it.

Obituary: Captain Sir Tom Moore, a hero who gave a nation hope - BBC News

Grateful

Honestly y’all, putting these packages together the last couple of weeks has been the highlights of the holidays this year.

It’s one of the oldest cliches in the book that giving to others makes us feel happier. And this holiday season In particular it’s come through.

Just the satisfaction of making pretty little packages with all the Christmas fixins’ and knowing they’re going to some special folks.

Christmas is now over, but if you’re feeling blue there are still plenty of opportunities to spread the “Holiday cheer.” I may sound like a Hallmark Movie (definitely been watching too many of them) but a little something (chocolate is a great one) for your postal worker, the guys at the auto shop, or your Walmart greeter is a wonderful way to spread happiness - not just in the hearts of others, but yourself as well.

We're Back!

We’re back! After a multi-month sabbatical from the blog (largely induced by computer and technical problems), I’m hoping to get back into the regular flow of writing. I’ve certainly missed it. While things have been silent over the radio, we at Operation Meatball have carried on as best as possible in this new climate. With Honor Flight, annual Veterans events, luncheons, and breakfasts all cancelled for the immediate future due to Covid, it’s been tricky navigating how to serve and support our nation’s senior and elderly veterans while complying with the restrictions and safety measures.

But the work must carry on, and quite frankly our mission is more important than ever.

Through letters, phone calls, and grocery runs, we’ve done our best to stay connected with the veterans we’ve built friendships with over the years. Some of them have been unable to leave their rooms at assisted living since the first lockdown back in March, so you can imagine the need.

This spring, thanks to some very generous donations, we were able to send out over 100 care packages to veterans stuck at home. We received some very beautiful letters from the veterans in response, which I hope to share at a later date. 

With the Holidays in full motion, it is our plan to start putting packages together in the next week. If you know of a veteran in need of some encouragement or holiday cheer, you can email us at:

OperationMeatball@gmail.com

Subject line: Veteran Care Package

We would love to send them something! 

Happy December!!

Xx Liberty for the team

---

Bob the Geordie: Driving for the British Army in Normandy

Last weekend I was perusing old letters sent to me by my veteran friends years ago, back long before the girls and I ever started Operation Meatball. Some of them are short one-liners, others are lengthy multi page stories, all quite special to me. Since we could all use a good dose of positivity right now, I thought it would be fun to share some of the more lighthearted and cheery ones here over the next couple of weeks.

---

Picking out a first one to start the series was easy. In 2011, I met Englishman Bob Douglas, a character if ever there was one. One never quite knew what next was going to come out of Bob’s mouth, but whatever it was, you were pretty sure you wanted to be there to hear it. Bob also had that rare quality of being able to walk into a room of strangers and within minutes taken prisoner of everyone’s heart with his bright Geordie personality and riotous wit.

He passed away several years ago, shortly after his best mate died. They were inseparable, and their friendship is a story for another time. So without further ado, here is Bob's letter.

---

A Young “Bob” Douglas

July 19, 2011

Dear Liberty,

I must start this letter by saying that I was pleased to get your letter dated July 8th and that you and your family arrived home safe and well, also that my name is Bob. Please use it.

… At the moment I'm in fine fettle (Geordie slang for I'm in good health). I'll try to answer your questions as best as I van.

I was born January 13th 1925, my parents were like everyone else in New Gateshead (hard workers that scratched out a living). When I was 8 my mother died in childbirth with my youngest brother William, (oor Willy - more Geordie for "Our Willy"). I thought that I was 1 of 10, but later found out that I was 1 of 18, this is because both parents married twice. All of my life my brothers and sisters died. There is only Willy and myself left.

I was called up when I was 18 years old in 1943. Everyone had to do their duty back then, I done my training as a soldier then the Army found out that I was a driver in civilian life, so they made me a driver. Two weeks before we went to Normandy I was taken off driving duty for special training. When it was done I didn't go back to driving. I landed in Normandy on D-Day + 9 and was in the front line for a couple of weeks, when I was told to report for driving duty again. When my C.O. saw me he exclaimed, "Douglas! I thought you were dead." It turned out that the driver that took my place was called John Douglas and he had just been killed.

With Bob in Normandy in 2011

Yes I have lost a lot of friends in France, Belgium, Netherlands, and Germany. I was one of the lucky ones, I was wounded by a piece of shrapnel and then sent straight back to the front. I think that I was under the hand of God. I always hoped to see my family again when I was out there. A week after hostilities ceased my father died. I was given 2 weeks compassionate leave. By the time I got home, he had been buried a week. I met my future wife on this leave.

I went back to my Regiment (which was being disbanded at this time), I was put into the South Lancashire Regiment and sent to Palestine for two years. I corresponded with my wife to be. I returned home and married in 1947, we had a son (Robert) in 1948 and a daughter (Ann) in 1949.

Sincerely yours,

Bob

Photo Recap from Week of Iwo Jima

Over the last 15 years, the Iwo Jima reunions have been a huge part of my life. And honestly, it's almost hard to remember a time "pre-Iwo."

One of the questions I often get asked at these reunions is, "What is your connection? Was your grandpa a Marine at Iwo? Why are you here??"

The truth is that while I have no blood connection to this epic battle or even the Marine Corps, growing up around these stalwart fellows I have somehow amassed quite a family of adopted uncles and cousins and grandpas.

They set rules like any family. Several years ago, Jubilee, Faith, and I were cornered by a couple of Iwo survivors and told: On no circumstances we were allowed to bring our boyfriends to future reunions *without* their full approval of the young lads... "and he has to call us first, so here's my number." They were dead serious.

But while bf approval might be tough to get... their love has been unconditional; always there to check in on us girls and make sure "things are okay."

Maybe it sounds corny, maybe it sounds like an, "Ah that's cute.." It is cute, but it's also the truth.

Sometimes we only get together once a year, but for that one week this adopted family of mine proves once again why the family crest the motto is: Semper Fidelis / Always Faithful.

They Showed Up: The 75th Anniversary Iwo Jima Reunion

It was a whirlwind week in D.C. for the 75th Anniversary Iwo Jima Survivors Reunion, and even though it was a few weeks ago now, I can still hardly believe it's over.

The reunion had a record number of Iwo Jima veterans: with the final count being over 55.

It was a different type of reunion for me this year. Many of the friends whom I had become close with over the years passed away in the last 15 months. It was a weird feeling not having them present, and there were several moments when I half expected one of them to just come walking through or be wheeled in, laughing and declaring the attention of the room in a bellowing Marine Corps voice.

But on the other hand, meeting so many new veterans who were making their VERY FIRST REUNION absolutely blew me away (and is literally bringing chills to my arms as I write). At one point, I was standing in the lobby of the hotel, and EVERYWHERE Iwo Jima hats were walking around - with some of the wearers looking too young to have even served in World War 2.

But they had indeed.

Fighting in one of the most iconic battles in American history, 75 years later they showed up.

A little older, a little hard of hearing, a little more wobbly on the knees, but with the same enthusiasm and Esprit de Corps; ready to share memories with one another, and remember the comrades they had loved dearly and left on that island of Volcanic Ash.

To the veterans of Iwo Jima: Thank you for showing up. You showed up in 1945 when it mattered most, and you showed up in 2020 because - 75 years later - it still matters.

---

Iwo Jima Veteran Highlight

Norman L. Baker

Iwo Jima Survivor

Submitted by Suzanne B. Baker

Beloved husband, father, friend, war hero, scientist, publisher and historian. Norman courageously volunteer to defend our country in World War II and bravely fought in the Battle of Iwo Jima, later on the front lines of the Korean War. Professionally, Norman was an accomplished aerospace engineer who worked on the Bomarc Missile Program and the Space Shuttle Program. Sought-after historian and guest lecturer, Norman author the number of books on the American Colonial Period. 

Honoring: Sgt. Paul Allen Berryman

Submitted by Sgt. Berryman’s sister, Martha Ann Berryman

Sgt. Paul Allen Berryman // 5th Division 28th, Iwo Jima. 5th generation Texan.

My much older brother Sgt. Paul Allen Berryman, 5th Marine Division, 28th Marine Regiment died March 1st, an anti-aircraft gunner on Iwo. 

How I wish our father could have seen such images as those which are being found nowadays, cemetery footage, others, and Meatball--Papa kept every scrap & photo & their years of daily letters, treasuring the trunks & boxes.

Our father brought Paul's remains back to be buried in Texas; it took about. 3 years. Papa grieved all his life for Paul--they had such plans together "after the war"--daily letters of WW2 with details--intending a large orchard, their hardware store, "Berryman & Son." A sweetheart, Nell, to become wife, her letters adding to plans, to "run the store."  

Our father shared many sweet memories with me about Paul's childhood, their funny adventures, intense interests, so I grew up almost "knowing" Paul, and grateful to take part in what was left of their dreams, Papa & me together, decades of honoring Paul, planting & tending their pecan orchard. 

-Martha Ann Berryman

---

Paul & our father's last visit in late January 1945, about a week before Paul shipped out to Iwo Jima. They toured San Diego, enjoying the Zoo, other places together & with Paul's friends in his unit.

Paul wrote enthusiastic letters about his stay in Wellington, New Zealand, hoping he & our father could visit again..."after..."

The much prized Shellback certificate.

Paul (??) in his gunnery--or similar--per War letter, Paul died from an enemy grenade into his gunnery foxhole.

Our father, photograph on March 1945 day of receiving War Dept. telegram, an alter for Paul.

Our father's shadow cast over Paul's burial flowers-- a symbolic gesture of one last afternoon together. I saw Papa was weeping as he took the photograph.

Paul's rose granite gravestone, me sitting on curbing c. 1948.

Updates for Operation Meatball Regarding the Covid-19

Hello Friends,

As we have received some questions regarding Operation Meatball's activities over the next few months in connection to the Corona Virus, we just wanted to send you all a little update.

Though many of our spring plans have unfortunately been cancelled due to government travel and gathering restrictions, we still plan on carrying on as much as we can in a modified way.

This means we will be conducting check-up phone calls on veterans to make sure they have everything they need, we'll be publishing more regular articles and blog posts, and our veterans will continue to receive Mail Call - something especially important right now as most of our Seniors are restricted to their homes and retirement communities.

To our 2020 donors, keep an eye out in the mail the next couple of weeks as we are sending out little Thank you's for everything you helped us accomplish the first few months of this year.

To each and every one of you: Thanks for all of your awesome support and we will continue to keep you posted.

- The Meatball Girls

Week of Iwo Jima 75: Cecil Burlingame USMC

View fullsize

Sent in by his daughter, Marie Hampton

---

This is my Dad.  He turned 21 on the day he enlisted. He said the other guys called him "Grandpa". I wasn't born until he was 54 but he had one hell of a life before my brother and I came along. 

“He was at Guadalcanal and taken off that island by JFK. He told us he was up to his knees in the ocean before the boats came along. 

He received 2 Purple Hearts.  Never did get the bullet out of his calf.  He was also at IWO JIMA.  (Our personalized license plate said that for years).

He loved his reunions and all of his buddies. He was the best.  I miss him every day and he was gone way too soon. Semper Fi

---

If you have a family member who served on Iwo Jima, we would love for you to send in a photograph and short paragraph telling their service story. You can send it to:

OMVeteranStories@gmail.com

We will be sharing stories and photographs highlighting our Iwo Jima Veterans over the anniversary month an would LOVE to include you family’s hero.

A Chosin Marine

I’m always on the lookout for Chosin Reservoir vets. One of my very best friends was a Chosin Marine, so they hold a special place in my heart.

I met Ken yesterday at the Marine Corps Museum in Quantico. I had noticed his cap while going through the “Cold Room,” and was pretty sure he was “one of the few.”

If you aren’t familiar with the museum, the cold room (I don’t know if that’s it’s name, but that is what I know it by) is in the Korean War exhibit and is literally like walking into a refrigerator. There are wax figures depicting the Marines surrounded at Chosin, and audio to give you the experience of being there. The detail is incredible down to the tootsie roll wrappers under one of the GI’s shoes (that’s a story for another time). Did I mention it’s cold?

I asked Ken what he thought about it. He said going through there was emotional, but worth the whole trip up from Florida.

“I lost a lot of guys”

Ken told me that he’d joined the Marine Corps in 1948, fresh out of high school. He had hoped to be a Marine Aviator, since he had earned his pilots license at 16. But by the time the Marine Corps finished up with him at Paris Island, the Korean War had broken out and he was shipped overseas.

“I was a squad leader... and I lost a lot of guys. When they started sending replacements over, I would tell them to only give me their first name. I didn’t want to know their last name. I didn’t want to be friends with them. Because I knew they weren’t going to last long... And a lot of the replacements were killed a day or two after arriving.”

"Marines sit covered with ice and snow in this handout photograph taken at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir in North Korea in December of 1950.” - Frank Kerr/US Marine Corps/AP

It’s been a long life since Chosin… Ken is now 90. But the memories are still really fresh for him, as with so many other veterans of the Korean War. I asked him what he thought about the fact that a lot of people skip over it. It’s something that he feels very personally.

“When they talk about wars, they say World War I, World War II, and the Vietnam war. They just forget there’s a Korean war.”

But thankfully Ken knows he’s not forgotten. Twice he’s been over to his old battlefields with the Korea Revisit Programs and the gratitude he felt and received from the people of South Korea brought tears to his eyes.

Exploded like a mortar

This last story I’ll leave you with is a humorous one. As said before, the temperatures at Chosin were unbelievably cold, down to -40° temperatures. This meant the food was in a constant state of being frozen.

Once in a while, Ken told me that he would procure a little lighter or kerosene tin to heat up his canned goods... he would cut the lid off his can, and then put the heat underneath it. When the heat came through, the food inside would explode from the can “like a mortar” - and he would have to go running after to catch it.

I’m so grateful for the short meeting with this sweet man. I really recommend y’all take a few minutes to look up the Chosin Reservoir and study the Korean War a little bit in case you ever run across one of these dear veterans. It’s 100% worth it.

---

Korean War Book Reccomendations

Devotion: An Epic Story of Heroism, Friendship, and Sacrifice - Adam Makos

Colder Than Hell: A Marine Rifle Company at Chosin Reservoir - by Joseph R. Owen

Give Me Tomorrow: The Korean War's Greatest Untold Story - by Patrick K. O'Donnell

Remembering the Forgotten War : Korea, 1950-1953 - by History Book Club

Week of Iwo Jima 75: Museum of the Marine Corps

This morning I made a quick trip down Quantico to the Marine Corps Museum. They had some special displays and programs out for the anniversary of Iwo Jima, including both flags that were raised on Mt. Suribachi, February 23, 1945 (75 years ago tomorrow).

I am going to be back here next week with my vets… But I couldn’t resist an opportunity to visit the museum.

If you are in the Northern Virginia area, I highly recommend you visit the museum this week if you’re able.

It’s well worth your time (admission is free) and there’s so much to see, especially with the big anniversary.

19 on the 18th

Bill Madden

USMC

#WeekofIwoJima75 // Bill Madden (sweetness & gentleness personified) turned 19 on February 18, 1945.

The next day, February 19, his world changed forever.

“Liberty,” he said when I turned 19, “I had my 19th birthday sitting on a ship off the coast of Iwo Jima, not knowing if I would ever hit the age of 20."

Bill was severely wounded. But he lived to see his 20th birthday. And his 30th. And he continued to celebrate until his 90th year.

Bill Madden is one of the reasons I will always remember February 19 and Iwo Jima.

---

If you have a family member who served on Iwo Jima, we would love for you to send in a photograph and short paragraph telling their service story. You can send it to:

OMVeteranStories@gmail.com

We will be sharing stories and photographs highlighting our Iwo Jima Veterans over the anniversary month an would LOVE to include you family’s hero.

Introducing: Week of Iwo Jima 75

Week of Iwo Jima: 75 Years

This week begins our countdown to the annual Iwo Jima Association of America reunion.

Iwo has been a HUGE part of the Operation Meatball world and my own personal world the last 15 years. And this year is extra special as it is the 75th anniversary, bringing the circle completely round as we begin the last of the Iwo Jima commemorations. Sure, there will be more Iwo events in the future, but none like the 75th…. after all, even for the youngest and most athletic survivor, 75 years is a long time ago.

For the next week leading up to the reunion, we will have short posts on our blog and Facebook to help you get to know the veterans and survivors of this battle a little better. As well as sharing some personal anecdotes from my own experience growing up with these vets.

---

Iwo Jima Veteran, Ira Rigger. Ira served with the Naval Construction battalion (SeaBees) during WWII. “SeaBees Can Do!”

We started our #WeekofIwoJima75 yesterday in Washington, D.C. at the National World War II Memorial. Commemorating 75 years to the day (February 19, 1945) since the landings on Iwo Jima, with keynote speaker General Mark Milley, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

General Miley gave an effective speech about the anniversary of this epic battle, a battle personal to him as his own father served as a Navy Corpsman on Iwo. [you can watch his speech here]

We look forward to sharing with you more about this iconic battle in American history!

---

If you have a family member who served on Iwo Jima, we would love for you to send in a photograph and short paragraph telling their service story. You can send it to:

OMVeteranStories@gmail.com

We will be sharing stories and photographs highlighting our Iwo Jima Veterans over the anniversary month an would LOVE to include you family’s hero.

“They died to save their country and they only saved the world.”

View fullsize

Memorial Day Special from the Operation Meatball Archives // July 28, 2014

Have you ever heard someone say, “When I die, put this on my gravestone.” You probably have. Chances are you have even said that yourself a couple of times. But have you ever stopped to really consider how you will be remembered after you die?

For as long as I can remember, my father has always made it a very important part of our education to bring us to cemeteries, and the older the cemetery, the better. This has always a special part of family trips for me, even when I was very little. Some of my favorite memories of the New England coast are visiting the graves of the founding fathers and mothers of America. This is not because I have a weird fascination with death or anything else macabre and dark, but because I love learning about the men and women who shaped history. Multi-generational families can be found buried in one plot, such as the John Adams family and the Cotton Mather family. Then there is Cole’s Hill in Plymouth which holds the graves of many Pilgrims including William Bradford and William Brewster, as well as the grave of missionary Adoniram Judson, all men who left legacies that have lasted hundreds of years.

View fullsize

There 4,648 men buried in the Bayeux War Cemetery. The majority of them are from the United Kingdom.

Today, you can learn about anyone or anything on the internet if you just type it in. If you are more patient you can read about your subject of choice in books, letters, journals, newspaper articles, sometimes even film and documentaries. Yet I have found a very intimate way to get a personal glimpse into someone's life is to look at their gravestone. What is written on someone’s gravestone is the final statement that will be read about them for the next 200 years. The person might have been long forgotten, but their epitaph, the words on the stone marking their remains, will give testimony to their life in one way or another. 

When I am dead and in my grave, 
And all my bones are rotten. 
While reading this you'll think of me 
When I am long forgotten!

As in all writing, the spectrum between profound, morbid, mundane, humorous, and even absurd exists on gravestones. This grave from Nova Scotia takes on a bit of the tongue in cheek: 

Here lies Ezekial Aikle:
Age 102
The Good Die Young  

And not all are truthful. The Noah Webster’s 1828 Dictionary says of the word epitaph, “The epitaphs of the present day are crammed with fulsome compliments never merited. Can you look forward to the honor of a decorated coffin, a splendid funeral, a towering monument--it may be a lying epitaph.” 

Sometimes, if you pay attention, a phrase, a quote, or even as much as a sentence can give the reader an especially distinctive and even profound summary of that person's life. Were they of noble character? Or a villain? Were they loved by family? Or did they die lonely? What is written on that stone could very well be the ultimate summation of that person's life.

View fullsize

At the centre of this peaceful cemetery a solitary rock monument is covered in wreathes and notes from the families of the fallen.

One of the most moving aspects of our time in Normandy was visiting the Omaha Memorial and Bayeux War Cemeteries. Both were special and unique. At Omaha were rows and rows of plain white crosses, with only the name, date, state, and regiment. It was magnificent in its simplicity. But the British War Cemetery in Bayeux surprised me by its beauty. Walking into it was truly like walking into a piece of England. It had a peacefulness and tranquility about it that was enhanced by the well tended gardens surrounding each grave and going on down the uniform rows. There are 4,648 men of varying nationalities buried in this cemetery, but the majority of it is made up of the flower of England’s youth. 

There was so much to take in, but the most poignant part for me was to see the inscriptions that were written on almost all of the graves- quotes or last messages from the family of the deceased. Of the 4,116 English, Scottish, and Canadian soldiers buried there, there is not much we know, who they were, what were they like, etc. But what we do know is this, what is written on their epitaphs tells us a story that is one of the greatest and most powerful stories that has ever been told: A loving son, a brother, or husband did his duty for God and country and willingly sacrificed his life for the lives of his loved ones and future generations. 

View fullsize

"He asked life of thee, and thou gavest it him.Even length of days for ever and ever." Lt. Patrick Shaw, age 22, Royal Armored Corps.

“Greater love,” says the Bible, “hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.” This was the text for many a gravestone. I wish that I could write an article on each epitaph, and the meaning and essence of what they communicate to future generations like you and me. But alas for time. Instead, I have included below some of the epitaphs that most struck me. Some are elaborate, others more plain, but they each communicate a message; of bravery and courage, of love and heartbreak, sometimes very personal. 

Signalman P.H. Ellis’s grave spoke of a loving mother: “My Only Child, he gave his all. Till We Meet Again -Mother.” Somewhere in England, the mother of P.H. Ellis lived out her life without  grandchildren to renew her youth because her son “gave his all.”

For Private S. Coles of the Royal Army Medical Corps it was a a duty well done: “He died his country to defend, A British soldier’s noble end.”  

The wife of A. Fishwick, Royal Engineer, would always remember her husband as one who:  “Gave his heart to home, His soul to God. Fought for King and country wife and baby.” 

View fullsize

"I've anchored my soul in the haven of rest, in Jesus I'm safe evermore." W. A. Hill, age 22, the Green Howards

Many Englishmen were still remembering the futile losses of the first World War; thought to be the “war to end all wars.” But it was not; and it is very probable that the suffering and the bloodshed was in the forefront of the minds of those who inscribed “He made his sacrifice for us. Grant it is not in Vain” on the grave of Royal Dragoon R.J. Colley after his death. 

A very beautiful one that can ring true to the heart of every Englishman was Royal Marine, J.R. Rigby’s: “There’s some corner of a foreign land that is forever England.”

As a lasting memory to Lieutenant T.W.R. Healy of the RAF, it was chosen to have this inscription written on his grave: “I have fought a good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith.”  Would that all could say as his stone said, for truly he had. 

It would take a long time to properly go through and catalogue all the epitaphs which were written in that cemetery, but, certainly, one of the ones which moved me the most was the grave of Paul Abbott Baillon of the Royal Air Force who died November, 1940, age 26. His grave simply stated, “One of the few.” That one simple phrase communicated more about valour and heroism than a thousand words in the Telegraph or Wallstreet Journal could have. What do I mean by this, and what does it mean, “One of the few?”

View fullsize

Royal Air Force Pilot Officer Paul Abbott Baillon: "One of the few"

P.A Baillon: One of the few who had so gallantly defended England during her darkest hours when invasion seemed imminent, and the hope of a empire nearly gone. One of the few RAF pilots (544 to be exact) who gave their lives during the Battle of Britain. One of Churchill’s few. The few he spoke of when he would make the remark that would forever go down in the annals of history, “Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few.” Yes. P.A. Baillon RAF, was “one of the few.”

As I write this now, in retrospect, and remember the words I read on these markers, words of the courage of youth, the heartbreak of a wife, the love of a mother for an only son, and the duty of a soldier, this verse from the poet G.K.Chesterton keeps coming into mind. “They died to save their country and they only saved the world.” How true this statement is. They died to save their England. Our boys died to save America. And instead, they saved the world. What beauty in their sacrifice. What can we do to pay them back in some small way for the sacrifice they made? There  is nothing we can do to fully repay it, but we can try by remembering these men, the veterans of WWII. 

View fullsize

Along the top of the Bayeux Memorial frieze is this latin inscription: "We, once conquered by William, have now set free the Conqueror’s native land". It is a fitting epitaph.

How grateful I am for this little look into their lives and character as I read these epitaphs. Stop in a cemetery and take a look. 

English Graves

Were I that wandering citizen whose city is the world,
I would not weep for all that fell before the flags were furled;
I would not let one murmur mar the trumpets volleying forth
How God grew weary of the kings, and the cold hell in the north.
But we whose hearts are homing birds have heavier thoughts of home,
Though the great eagles burn with gold on Paris or on Rome,
Who stand beside our dead and stare, like seers at an eclipse,
At the riddle of the island tale and the twilight of the ships.

For these were simple men that loved with hands and feet and eyes,
Whose souls were humbled to the hills and narrowed to the skies,
The hundred little lands within one little land that lie,
Where Severn seeks the sunset isles or Sussex scales the sky.

And what is theirs, though banners blow on Warsaw risen again,
Or ancient laughter walks in gold through the vineyards of Lorraine,
Their dead are marked on English stones, their loves on English trees,
How little is the prize they win, how mean a coin for these—
How small a shrivelled laurel-leaf lies crumpled here and curled:
They died to save their country and they only saved the world.

G. K. Chesterton

Wanting Nothing More Than to Live

I posted a short version of this story on our Facebook several weeks ago, but I wanted to share the extended version here for you, our lovely readers.

“This was not here during the war.” Andre, a 94 year old WW2 veteran with a slight French accent, said looking around. He had a slightly frustrated tone in his voice. We had picked up our luggage and were walking through the Guam International Airport to the exit. The drab airport infrastructure was almost an insult to his artistic memories of how everything had looked during the war.

“This is just the airport.” I said. “Wait ‘til we get outside.”

“Aha!” Andre declared excitedly as we walked through the exit doors of the airport into the damp humidity of Guam. “This heat I remember. Now it feels like I am back.”

---

This past March, at the invitation of the Best Defense Foundation, I joined their veterans of the Pacific for the anniversary of the Battle of Iwo Jima. We spent the first several days on the island of Guam exploring the old battle locations. One of the veterans returning for the first time since WW2 was TEC 5 Army Engineer, Andre C. It had been nearly 75 years since Andre was on Guam. His outfit (the 1885th Aviation Engineer Battalion) had the vital responsibility of building the airfields for the B-29s returning from their bombing missions.

View fullsize

A B-29 flying over North Field, Guam, one of the airfields the 1885th built. PC: Pacific Air Force

Shortly after our team arrived at the hotel in Guam the first night, Andre and I and a couple of others wandered down to the beach to get a taste of the ocean air and feel the sand in our toes.

I was quite interested to see how the changes in the island would affect him. With each veteran making his first pilgrimage back it’s different. Sometimes their response is profound, sometimes it’s emotional, and honestly sometimes it’s just like any trip to the grocery store. It just depends on the personality. Andre was a commercial artist after the war, and, though long retired, he is still very much an artist in how he views life.

As we walked along the shore, shoes in hand, dragging our feet through the sand, Andre shared with me story after story of the first few months he had spent in a combat zone. While the sights have changed over the last 75 years, the memories and smells came flooding back to him. Just a couple of miles up the coastline from where we stood lay Haputo Beach, the place where Andre had encountered some of the most memorable moments of his war.

Of course, true artist that he is, Andre is incapable of telling a story bare bones. Instead, he thinks. He contemplates. Then he paints for you glorious word pictures: Not just the sights, but also the colors. Not just the sounds, but also the smells. Down to the textures of the wet and humid jungle air he marched through on water patrols. He vividly recalled the air to be so thick and muggy that the sweat gathered at his elbows, slowly dripped down to his wrist, off his fingertips, and into the contents of the open ration box he held in his hand. "I didn't care." Andre said shrugging. "I was too tired. Too exhausted."

Among the stories, Andre also described his fears - not so much of death, but of failing his fellow soldiers, and a moment of serene peace he experienced one night. A moment so perfect that as he stared up at the bright Guam stars, he truly understood, for the first time, what it meant to live. Not just to survive, but to live, to breathe, to have a future. And most of all, to want to live. More than anything else in the world. A desire. To stay. Alive.

We walked and talked for probably an hour. I have no idea how long it was actually. Those first moments of awe and wonder a veteran experiences returning to an old war-zone, recalling the days and months when as a young boy he was forcibly, by war, transformed into a man - those are the moments for which there is no timer or price.

---

Related Reading

Marines, Soldiers, and Sailors: Home from the Islands

Back to the Island

Support Operation Meatball

Touching History: Why Scars Matter

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

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian."

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

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

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember, with advantages,

What feats he did that day.”

William Shakespeare, “Henry V”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

But why do scars matter?

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

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

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

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

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

---

Donate