Laughing Wolf

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Help Honor A True Hero

If you don’t know the name Rick Rescorla, you should.  Go here to learn more.  Then, go here and sign the petition.  Then, spread the word.  Remember his service, remember that so many live because of him.  Then, let us honor him as best we can, and remember his example in our own lives.

LW

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Rob

Jim at Parkway Rest Stop notes that it’s been a year.  Hard to believe.  I didn’t get to meet him in person but once, and that for far too short a time, but am damn glad I did.  Rob gave me a lot of encouragement (and some grief) via comments and e-mails, something that means even more than it did at the time—and that was a lot even then.  You are missed. 

LW

Monday, May 28, 2007

Memorial Day Reposts:  2006 Pt. 4

Originally Published 29 May 2006

Memorial Day—Remember Them All

From the War of Independence to the War on Terror, from the open field to battles away from publicity’s light—remember this day all who have made the ultimate sacrifice, for freedom is never free. 

LW

A Day of Remembrance, and Thanks

Today is a special and unique holiday.  It is a day of giving thanks, not for all blessings, but for one.  It is a day not of fireworks and revelry, but of quiet celebration.  It is a day not focused on an event, but on the people who have made the events of our lives, and the freedom in which we—and others elsewhere—live them, possible

It is not a day for politics, causes, or debates and any who would make it so do nothing but show ignorance and contempt for those Men, male and female, who are the focus of this day.  Such creatures who would hijack and defile this day with such crass self-interest and -absorption are but soulless shells bereft of dignity, integrity, courage, and honor.  They are unworthy of any strong emotion, even contempt; are worth contemplation this day merely for comparison to and with those we honor; and, deserve only pity, for they too could have been Men. 

For today, we honor those who have stood in defense of our freedom; and, most of all, we honor those that fell so doing.  Most have indeed been male; but, more than many realize have been female.  From Molly Pitcher to the women who masqueraded as males to fight in that war between the states; from those that disguised themselves to sail on ships of wood and sail to those that fight this day we have always been blessed with women of courage, integrity, and bravery.  Gender matters not; nor does it matter if one stepped forward or was summoned, for all answered the call.  They joined that thin coloured line, and stood fast.

What cowards would abandon, and tyrants destroy, they saved.  Their shoulders have truly held our skies suspended, and their blood has paid the price of freedom for us and for others. 

The ideals, the slogans, and ultimately even home and hearth were not why they stood.  When the bugles call, the bullets fly, and the bombs burst such things become of minor import.  What matters then is love and duty.  Not a duty to some higher power or state; rather, the duty one has to one’s brother in arms.  What shell they inhabit means naught at such a time, and what they were before means less than nothing at all.  The only thing that matters then is that they are with you and you with them, and the love and duty that exists between at that moment is all.  They will not be failed.  So Tommy steps forward unto the breech, Molly takes over the cannon and fires, and unsung heroes step forward into the fire.

Some walk among us now.  Others lie with Brothers amidst peaceful grass.  Still more rest where they fell, unmarked on land or sea. 

Today is not a day for torrents of praise or empty posturing.  It is a day for but two words and two actions. 

Those two words are “Thank You”; and, the two actions are to say them to those who have stood and stand among us, and to remember those who stand in memories forever green.  They saved things not for the sum of pay, but for each of us and all who come after.  They saved them for the higher things, and for that Band of Brothers to which they for eternity belong.

Take the time today.  Quietly say the words to those who serve, be they old or be they young.  Take time throughout the day and remember their sacrifice, and most especially remember those who have paid the ultimate price for freedom and are not here in flesh to hear your words. 

LW

Memorial Day Reposts:  2006 Pt. 3

Originally Published 28 May 2006

Memorial Day, Part 3

The adage that an army travels on its stomach is only partly true.  You see, any military lives or dies on its logistics:  food, fuel, ammo, spare parts, replacements, and more.  Keeping any group supplied is critical, for not only can you not afford to screw up your logistics but you also have to know that the enemy is going to do its best—if it has a brain—to hurt your logistics efforts as much as possible.  My Uncle James knew of that first hand.

A lot of people don’t know that in WWII, the Marines in the Pacific Theatre had much of their logistics taken care of by the Army.  It was Army supply ships and people that allowed the Leathernecks to do their island hopping.  I know of it because of Dad and Uncle James. 

My father’s family had members in every branch there was, and Uncle James had gone into the Army.  In an unusual move for the Green Machine, they picked up on his organizational and managerial abilities and actually put a round peg into a round hole, and put him into supply and logistics.  Not just any supply and logistics, but those for the Marines. 

Despite it not being a combat slot, logistics was not a safe haven.  At some point late in the war, the fleet was being replenished and Uncle James was there on a supply ship when a kamikaze attack took place.  Thinks looked very grim as one headed in straight for his ship, making it through the fighters and the flack.  Just as Uncle James said he was reverting to training and trying to dig a foxhole in the steel deck of the ship, fire from the New Jersey took out the plane seconds from impact.  Dad and James met up at a later date, and Dad asked him about the incident.  James discussed it and how thankful he was for the fire that took it down.  Dad looked at him, smiled, and said “You’re welcome.” Yes, it was Dad on the quad 50s that took down that plane, knowing that if he didn’t, he would lose a brother. 

Dad wasn’t there at another time and place, when the ship James was on went down.  He survived, but was in the water for a long time, long enough for some algae/fungal growth to get into his lungs.  He was rescued, went back to work, survived the war, and even became National Commander of the American Legion later in life.  That sinking, however, ended up killing him as they never could get rid of the stuff in his lungs, and it ultimately was a major factor (as I was told) to the heart attack that killed him.  I am glad he made it as long as he did, for he told me of things that otherwise might have been lost, and taught some valuable lessons.

Those who make sure that the sharp end has what it needs oft get overlooked, but are a major target even today.  How many people in the Someone You Should Know section were involved in supply runs?  How many of the unsung heroes (especially in the Old Media) were involved with logistics as primary or secondary duty.  On sea, in the air, or on land, supply will always be a target.  Remember them this day, from those who labored to get food and supplies to Washington’s troops to the 507th Maintenance Company, to those who put themselves at risk today to get food and more to the troops wherever they are. 

Memorial Day Reposts:  2006 Pt. 2

Originally Published 27 May 2006

Memorial Day, Part 2

My father never flew with me.  It had nothing to do with my skills, well maybe a little to do with a sideways (crab) approach witnessed by Mom, but a lot more to do with an older brother, a friend, and Admiral Spruance. 

My Uncle Sam (real name) was one of Dad’s older brothers, and I suspect the one he most admired and somewhat modeled himself upon.  This is an uncle who has a bit part in the original “Ten Commandments” and apparently had some involvement with the chariot wreck at the start of the pursuit scene.  At what would now be considered a far too young age, Uncle Sam went off to WWI, and ended up flying those newfangled aeroplanes.  That was in a day when the plane itself could be much more dangerous than the enemy, being but bits of wood and fabric that might or might not hold together.  While he enjoyed flying from various accounts, I have a suspicion that his matter-of-fact descriptions of such may have cooled Dad’s thoughts of following in those particular footsteps. 

The next nail in the coffin was a boyhood friend of Dad’s, who became a pilot and flew some of the early dive bombers.  I think it may have been during Dad’s first hitch in the Corps that they met up near DC, and he invited Dad to go up with him.  I think Dad thought it would be fun, let them spend some time together, and see DC and surroundings from a new perspective.  The latter was quite true, as it turned out. 

In those days, before truly good bombsights came out, the most accurate way to put ordnance on target was considered to be dive bombing.  This entailed putting the plane in a very steep dive, as steep as the structure could stand, and then releasing the bomb at the lowest possible point that would allow the plane to pull up and not hit said target itself.  Keep in mind that this must be done in a bouncing bucket of bolts that is buffeted by winds and is being shot at by anyone and everyone in the vicinity of the target… Easy it was not, but it did provide accuracy not possible with carpet bombing from higher altitudes. 

Budgets being very tight back then, the practice bombs were bags of flour.  To this day, I have no good idea what Dad was expecting, other than a nice ride, maybe a reasonable descent and release of bombs, and the beauty of watching that flour spread out over the target.  What he got, from his description, was a full-up pushing-the-edge demonstration of precision bombing of a snag in the Potomac river not very far from DC (no airspace restrictions then).  Dad remarked that he had a very good view of the floor of the plane, as that was where he got when the plane went straight down—at least according to him.  He was honest enough to admit that his friend found Dad’s reaction rather amusing (and no doubt as planned). 

I suspect another nail, though never discussed, was my Uncle John.  John was a B-29 pilot on Tinian, and he paid a different price after the war.  Dad and John were able to see each other a fair bit towards the end of the war, as Admiral Spruance spent a lot of time at Tinian.  Dad never talked much about John, or the demons he faced later, but I do know that they discussed the flights and what all happened. 

The final nail, however, was an incident with Admiral Spruance.  While I can’t find much on it, the Admiral apparently had learned to fly and did what was necessary to keep up his certifications and such.  One such flight found Dad invited to go with him.  Now, as bodyguard and orderly, Dad (or those under him) were supposed to be with the Admiral pretty much 24/7, but there is not much they can do to protect from gravity and cranky mechanical constructs, so flying was not usually an area where they went.  For some reason, however, Dad was invited along with the Admiral went up in a P-38, and from some phrasing used one time, I suspect the Admiral did it as a bit of informal challenge, perhaps wanting—as pilots often do—to have some fun. 

If you have ever seen that twin-tail devil, aside from some training aircraft they did not have two seats.  What they did have was a sort of shelf that went back behind the pilot.  While OSHA and the safety nannies would have fits today, that is where Dad found himself, looking out over the Admiral’s shoulder.  Looking out over that shoulder and up, according to him, at people on the deck of the New Jersey, against which the Admiral decided to make a mock attack.  Dad swore he did not know how they managed to avoid going into the side of the ship, but they did.  Nor would I ever accuse my father of embellishing a story a bit, but he maintained that he could clearly make out faces of those along the rails watching.  From his mutterings, the Admiral may have just been getting warmed up too.  Not sure, but what I do know is that from that day forward, Dad apparently declined any offers to go up.  Come to think of it, he avoided commercial aviation as much as possible too… Dad was remarkably unamused when later, without knowing the story, I chose that plane as my favorite fighter from WWII and wanted to fly in one. 

Dad did not talk a great deal about certain things, but we did share a few moments and I came to know of his respect for those that did fly.  The suicidal bravery of the pilots at Midway, whom he respected and came to yet another level of respect courtesy of the Admiral.  The bravery of those who pressed home other attacks he watched later in the war.  The dedication of the ground-support craft who went in on bombing and strafing runs in support of his fellow Marines as they went island-to-island, often going in low, and even slow, against the enemy so as to protect the troops no matter the danger to themselves.  He respected the fighters who tried to keep the enemy at bay, and would come in after them even within the defense zone of the ships, and risked being hit by the fire put up by Dad and others at the enemy they pursued.  And what fire it was, for everything could and would open up at need.  When the Admiral was on the New Jersey, Dad’s battle station was the quad-50 on top of the 16-inch turret up forward, a fact I discovered when I built a model of the New Jersey as a child, and seeing it opened up something within him long closed. 

I think he saw that same spirit in the chopper pilots in Nam, who would risk all to make a pickup or give fire support, and I know reports from Desert Storm reached that same place within. He may not have flown, but he knew the price paid by those who did, and he saluted them in his own way. 

He accepted my explanation of the crab, as it had been caused by the instructor killing the engine a mile or so out from the airport and telling me to make it.  I did, with plenty to spare including a certain amount of pilot ego and panache, which resulted in my coming in sideways for the last part so that I could kick it out and touch down just past the overrun.  I was left to surmise a bit, but he apparently recognized something in me, and had had enough of pilots gleefully showing him what plane and pilot could do.  A pity, as I would have loved to give him a nice boring ride just to make a point; then again, that may have been why as well. 

Remembering this, and all the pilots who have served so well, from the skies above the trenches to the support for Iraqi Freedom where still today they give all going in close to support those on the ground, is a part of Memorial Day.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Memorial Day Reposts:  2006 Pt. 1

Originally Published 26 May 2006

Memorial Day, Part 1

I never knew my Uncle Foster, and the image above is the memory I have of him.  I’ve seen pictures of him at various ages, right up until he was in uniform.  There is one of him with a very lovely lady, his girlfriend who may have also been his fiance. 

Foster was the last of 15 children in my Dad’s family, and as such reports were that he was a touch spoiled and indulged—at least for the first part of his life.  His life, and the lives of the others, were forever altered by the Great Depression.  They were prosperous until then, but afterwards lost almost all they had, along with my grandfather.  They fell back on the farm they owned, worked it, and got by.  In point of fact, they did okay for those days and times.  There was food on the table, a roof overhead, clothes to wear, and the occasional treat. 

The stories I have of Foster vary, though I think I have enough to have a fairly good picture.  Most of the sources were biased, especially my Dad.  There we had an odd mix of things, from the usual things brothers carry about each other to a strong pride. 

It was from Dad that I first came to truly know that I had an Uncle Foster.  I had seen the entry in the family tree, and maybe a picture or two, but Dad made him real one night at a restaurant.  Growing up, eating out was a rare treat, and my seven- or eight-year-old self was chowing down on what passed for Chinese at that time in my hometown (the first real Chinese restaurant with real Chinese did not open for several more years if memory serves).  Dad made some remarks about how Foster had loved Chinese food (and maybe culture a bit too, the memory fades) and how my enthusiasm reminded him very much of a dinner with Foster in Honolulu.  There were a few more comments, then he closed down as he often did in regards the war and other painful subjects. 

Being the meek and biddable soul that I am, I began to hunt for more, for I would know of this man to whom I apparently bore some striking similarities.  We both loved Chinese food and more, had dreams of flight, and… what more?  Knowing that Dad was a tough nut to crack, even then, I went and started asking relatives, for they were more forthcoming and I could use what I learned to get Dad to talk more.  There was not nearly as much as I would like, for I quickly found out that the reason I knew him not was that his life was cut short. 

When the war came, Foster went into the Navy and into Naval Aviation.  From what I have been able to learn, he may have had a gift as a pilot, though he apparently told Dad that if he and his crew did not make it back it would probably be because of his navigation.  I can empathize with that a bit, as dead reckoning is hard enough on land, much less over water far from shore. 

The meal Dad mentioned that night was, I think, the last time Dad saw his baby brother alive.  By rare chance, they were both in Honolulu at the same time, and went out for dinner.  They apparently had a good time, with Foster very much enjoying the food.  I suspect Dad did too, though not quite as much, and afterwards, well, he never did have a taste for it again. 

It was towards the end of the war, and Foster’s unit went forward and did some of the last conventional raids on Japanese harbors.  Dad was forward deployed with Admiral Spruance, and got the news.  Foster and his crew did not return from a raid.  The ship with Foster’s CO was in the same harbor, and the Admiral had arranged for Dad to go talk to the CO, but orders came and the ships must leave, so the discussion was by radio. 

The raid went well, though the target well defended.  From what I have heard, Foster took his plane in, and placed load on target.  It was coming out that something went bad, and his plane went down.  The others in the squadron reported that it angled down in such a way that indicated the pilot was dead, or unconscious, at the controls.  The gunners/others never had a chance to get out before it went in, and none came up after it did.  Dad felt, possibly guiltily, that such was for the best given what the Marines had found in regards the treatment of prisoners by the Japanese.  Such was but one of the reasons the Marines were glad to oblige those who chose to fight to the death… Foster’s death shook him, and hit hard.  So hard that despite the many gifts he received after the surrender, he gave it all away and took nothing home that would remind him of the war. 

So, a few years ago, I found myself at the Punchbowl.  A request to the guardians of that place saw me in, and my taxi driver willingly took down his sign from his roof for commercial vehicles are not allowed in that hallowed space, and waited without charge while I walked.  I walked and I searched, and I found:

It seems strange that such a simple marker could bring a tear to an eye for a man never met; nor that such a journey would move a taxi driver who had probably seen it all and heard it all.  Yet that marker is a cenotaph to all who fell and will not come home until the sea shall give up her dead.  For Foster was but one of many who so fell, and is honored in that place. 

May she look down them all, those who fell then and those who fall now.  May she gather them up and guide them to the Green where the light awaits them all. 

This is one part of what Memorial Day means to me. 

LW

BTW, should any read this who served with Foster, please do drop me a line.  For I would know more, for good or for ill, of this man. 

Memorial Day Reposts:  2005 Pt. 2

Originally Published 30 May 2005

Memorial Day

Today we remember those who have fought over the years so that we are free to celebrate this day.  Those who by their service, and even by their deaths, make possible posts such as these; who have made possible the debates/hystrionics that are the hallmark of the modern Congress; who have allowed those who scream about the jackboot of oppression and modern Nazi’s to do so without discovering the real meaning of same; and, who have made it possible for freedom’s sweet ring to spread to the dark places of the world.  Where once there was darkness, today there is light where there was none and the gleaming of a new and better dawn in so many more. 

The price they have paid has been of blood, toil, tears, and sweat.  It may simply have been serving their time, or, it may well have been a far greater sacrifice.  Read this moving post to get some idea of the ultimate price, and its aftermath. 

Take the time to thank them all.  There are less than 30 veterans of WWI left, and the number of WWII veterans dwindles each day.  Acidman notes the passing of Eddie Albert.  I wonder how many people know he served in WWII, and even earned the Bronze Star for rescuing wounded Marines at Tarawa?  Korea and Vietnam vets dwindle too… Take the time today, and every day, to thank a vet because without them, there would be no vestige of freedom left this day. 

Thank them.  Then help spread the light of freedom around the world, to honor them for their service and to help do yours.

Memorial Day Reposts:  2005 Pt. 1

Originally Published 28 May 2005

Memorial Day:  Doing Good

This Memorial Day Weekend, take the time to do some good for the people who have fought, and are fighting, so that you can have this holiday weekend. 

As for me, if you scroll down on the right you will find a graphic for Soldier’s Angels.  I can’t say enough good about that organization and the wonderful people within it.  Blackfive has a good list of ways to help as well. 

Take the time.  Help them out, and if you know a veteran thank them for their service. 

Memorial Day Reposts:  2004 Pt. 4

Originally Published 31 May 2004
Many of the links are broken, and some blogs no more, but maybe you can find some the stories somewhere, for they are well worth finding, reading, and saving for the future.

So Many Good Memorial Day Posts

There is no way to list all the good posts out there.  I will list a few, and may add to it as the day goes on.  Kleenex alert on all.

Start here with Sgt. Hook

Then go here to Castle Argghhh!

Then take a moment to go here, and spend time with Little Dude putting up flags

And don’t forget to check out what is listed here by Da Goddess

Blackfive also lists some things here, and shares a memory here

Sgt. Mom weighs in here

Winds Of Change shares a story of love here

Misha posts in his own inimitable style here

The Bellicose Women (and guy—not quite sure how I feel about that yet have their say as well here

Andrew Case shares a memory of his Grandfather here

Another memory is shared here

Among her many posts this weekend, I particularly like this one from Jen

Ith brought yet another tear to my eye with this and this is nice too

And, don’t forget Lileks

Or Teresa

SDB also has a damned good piece here

Finally, Tammi makes a very good point here.  How many towns today, or anytime this weekend, will have a parade?  How much coverage before, during, and after did it get?  There was a time when we all stopped and took part, the veterans marched, the scouts and bands paraded, and we remembered.  The lack of such today is a trend we must, irregardless of politics, reverse. 

Others are already doing a far better job of collecting things, so I will simply say go here and here.  Another good one is here.

Go explore, read, and think.  Take a moment from the joys of the day, and thank those that died so that we could live.  Light a candle, fly a flag.  This is their day, and we should remember, and we should celebrate.  Do both, and be safe. 

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Memorial Day Reposts:  2004 Pt. 3

Originally Published 1 June 2004

Memorial Day In Iraq

Kleenex Alert.  Go read this post at Blackfive to hear and see how Marines celebrated Memorial Day in Iraq.  It will put a tear in your eye, and make you proud too. 

Memorial Day Reposts:  2004 Pt. 2

Originally Published 30 May 2004

Memorial Day 2004

Today is the official day of memory, the day when we memorialize all those who fought to keep America free and safe, most especially those who died. We give ourselves the holiday tomorrow, but today is the day.

What I would like to do for this special day is tell part of the tale of eight brothers, of four in particular. Of the older four brothers, I know that my Uncle Sam fought in the First World War. Yes, I did have a real life Uncle Sam, a wonderful man who was good to me and may well have been the brightest of the eight. My Dad felt he was, and looked up to him, and I will not debate his wisdom this day. I believe Uncle Sam may have flown in that conflict, and I know that he walked away from aviation. That may or may not have something to do with being able to walk away from an event or events, but I am not sure. I think some of the remaining three older brothers may have served in the military, but again I am not sure.

I do know the youngest four served in WWII, and I know none of them lived to see the memorial dedicated.

My Uncle James was in the Army, and Dad occasionally teased him about being a supply sergeant (not his real rank). Dad and his older brother had a bit of competition and something I don’t know how to describe. They loved each other and stood up for each other, but there was a bit of rivalry there as well. Again, I don’t know as much about his service as I really should, especially given that James was one of the rare breed of Army types that served in the Pacific. He got needed supplies to the forward units, going forward to do so. I do know that he had one ship shot out from under him, and that he spent many days in the water. It was there that he picked up an algae that got into his lungs, and was with him until the day he died. That infection probably didn’t help his heart any, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

James narrowly missed having a second ship shot out from under him, when a kamikaze attack came in at the fleet. This was towards the end of the war, and Dad was on another ship nearby. After the battle, Dad asked James if he had seen the plane that was headed for his ship. Indeed he had, and James told Dad he had done his best to dig a foxhole in the deck, up until someone had shot the plane out of the sky. Dad just looked at him and said “You’re Welcome.” You see, my Dad was bodyguard and orderly to Admiral Spruance, and his battle station was often a quad 50 on top of one of the 16-inch gun turrets on the New Jersey. Dad had indeed seen the plane going at the supply ship his brother was on, and shot it out of the sky. Dad could pick on James, and James on Dad, but heavens help anyone else who ever tried.

My Uncle John was in the Pacific as well, but he was Army Air Corp. He was flying bombers, big bombers, and took part in many a raid on Japan. For those with knowledge of history, he flew of Tinian in the latter stages of the war, and was present when the atomic bombs came through. I don’t know very much about him at all, and have no memories of him that I can recall. He lived away from the rest of the family after the war, and he had a tendency to drink. How much the war did or did not play into that I do not know, but his drinking was such that Dad did not feel it wise for me to meet him. Word was that he did well in the war, but I wish I had known more than just a very rare voice on the phone.

John and Dad spent a lot of time and effort letting the family know that Dad was alive at one point. Admiral Spruance used both the Indianapolis and the New Jersey as flagships, and when it came time to take the Hiroshima bomb out, the Admiral and the high command decided on the Indianapolis to transport it, because it was one of the fastest ships in the fleet. When this came up, Dad was home on leave in Georgia, and found himself ordered to get to San Francisco in two days time. He almost made it, and almost got court martialed for not making it, but that is a story for another day. In all the confusion of unloading the bomb at Tinian, the Admiral’s detail was left on the Indianopolis, and were not retrieved until the ship was clearing the harbor. Dad and his small command went over the side on cargo nets onto the Admiral’s barge – and the Indianapolis went to the bottom a few hours later.

All the family knew was that Dad was on the Indianapolis, per those amazing orders, and they did apparently think him dead. Security being what it was, Dad and John could not say things directly, but wrote a LOT of letters with the date writ large and strong emphasis on “Cliff and I had lunch today” and “John and I had supper today” so that the family would know he was alive and okay. It was not the first time something like this was necessary, since in his first hitch in the Corps Dad was the sole survivor of his unit courtesy of a naval gunnery demonstration gone awry.

Uncle Foster was the baby brother to John, Cliff, and James. Like Johh (and Sam) he went into aviation, but Naval aviation was his calling. He flew bombing and torpedo missions against Japan, and had always joked to Dad that if anything happened to him and his crew, that it would probably be the result of his bad navigation. Foster loved Chinese food and apparently was quite interested in Chinese culture. Dad one time remarked when I was quite small, that I liked Chinese food and fried rice as much as had Foster. When I asked about this, he changed the subject and got real quiet for a while, and had some suspicious something get in his eye.

Of the four, Foster was the only one who did not make it home. It was one of the last raids on Japan before Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It was a raid on a well defended port, and his plane went in. Admiral Spruance found out, and had made arrangements for Dad to go talk to Foster’s commanding officer, but movement orders changed and all Dad could do as the ships sailed apart was talk with the man on the radio. Foster made it in and he and his crew apparently put their load in on target. Then or just afterwards, however, it appeared that the plane was struck hard, and that rounds had struck and killed Foster. They suspected this because the plane went into the drink at an angle that was common with a dead pilot slumped over the controls. None of his crew made it out, and it was unknown if they were killed when the plane was riddled, or when it hit. No bodies were ever recovered.

John made it home, went into sales, and apparently did fairly well at it. James made it back and went into politics, becoming tax commissioner for the county where he grew up. He also became National Commander of the American Legion, and during the stumping for that got zinged by Sam and Dad (don’t know if any other brothers were there, but John may have been). They got tired of long winded speechifying and got up and left to go to the bar. Sometime after this, James finally turned around to introduce – a group of empty chairs. He was unamused. Dad and Sam thought it was pretty good and noted that James shortened his speeches after that. The trick James used of drinking ginger ale, sometimes with just a dab of Coke added to make it darker, and acting like it was bourbon and branch while out politicking is one I have used myself. Dad, obviously, made it home too.

A few years ago, business took me to Hawai’i and I had the chance to do some of the standard tourist stuff. I also did one thing that is not too standard, I hired a taxi and went to The Punchbowl.

At first, the guardians there were shirty about the taxi, seems I was supposed to go rent an expensive car to go there, but after I explained what I was doing, and why, they relented. We dismounted the taxi sign off the top of the car, and were allowed on in. The driver took me to a point and waited, telling me not to worry about time or meter, this was something special. I climbed the steps, and I went in and through that place. I walked until I found

this, something concrete to which I could place my hand, something more solid than the memorial plaque in the family plot. Something to which I could link my heart and spirit, so that he and his sacrifice were made real to me in a way I had never known before.

There are pictures I have of John, James, Dad, and Foster. Each with family, friends, spouses, and such. There is one of Foster with his girlfriend (fiancé?), a woman about whom I would very much like to know more, much as I would love to know more about the men in his crew and their families. For I would know the Fosters, the Chances, and all the others who have given so much for so many. The inscription at the bottom of the picture sums it all up for me

Thank you Dad, James, John, Sam, and Foster for your service. Thank you Foster and thank you Foster’s crew, for laying so costly and wonderful sacrifice on the Altar of Freedom. Thank you all who gave your all, so that I and others have the opportunity and the responsibility to live free. May we be as unstinting in our efforts and our sacrifice as you were with yours. Thank you all. I remember you this day.

Go thou, gentle reader, and do likewise. Remember and honor them all.

Memorial Day Reposts:  2004 Pt. 1

Originally Published 26 May 2004

A Memorial Day Post You Must Read

Kleenex alert. Go read this post at Blackfive. To Blackfive, all I have to say is thank you for sharing that.

LW

Memorial Day Reposts:  Memorial Day 2003

Originally Posted 26 May 2003

Memorial Day
Today is not a day of shopping, of frivolous pursuits commercial or otherwise. It is not a day like any other, for today is the day we remember those who paid Freedom’s ultimate price.

We remember and we salute those who served, and those currently serving, in our Nation’s armed forces. For they serve to protect our freedoms from foreign threat. They walk in the dark places of the Earth, they dive deep, and they orbit overhead ever vigilant, ever ready often far from hearth and home.

This day, we must especially remember those who never made it home, back to family and friends. Freedom demands more than eternal vigilance, it demands sacrifice and for it to grow and thrive does indeed call for it to be nurtured with the life blood of patriots. To those patriots, in uniform and out, who gave of themselves so that others could indeed live, we salute you.

Far they fell
Through cold and heat
Silence and clamorous bell
In the end, all too neat
Gold stars on windows tell

Lest we forget the price that is paid so that you and I can speak freely, and live our lives as we think best, go you this day and remember those who also paid. Thank a family by Gold Star marked, for they gave dearly of all they had.

Content copyright C. Blake Powers and the individual authors. Comments become the property of C. Blake Powers and may be altered, edited, deleted, and used by C. Blake Powers or the individual authors without restriction or recompense.