A few weeks ago the HOMETOWN HEROES show had me on the podcast to talk all things Operation Meatball and Bridge to History. It was a fantastic time with Larry, Rick, and Mary.
Some of the things we discussed included the origins of OM, what it has been like to keep up a correspondence with hundreds of WW2 vets over the years, and OM’s newest initiative the last year - BRIDGE TO HISTORY. You can listen through the link below. Let us know what you thought!
Vern was a spectacular human I used to have breakfast with once a month. At 98 he traded in his red Dodge Charger for something more age appropriate. But at 100 he bought an RV.
His early life during the Great Depression prepped him for war and the hundreds of days of consecutive combat he would experience after landing with the 29th Division on D-Day. It taught him survival and self-dependency.
“No matter how bad things got, my dad never took handouts or went on government welfare.” Vern would tell me proudly. “It was tough during the depression; we didn’t know how we’d get by - but Dad always provided.”
His father’s work ethic inspired and imbued in him a determination and tenacity for life that never left him till he died at 101.
I remember a couple of years ago when he had covid and double pneumonia; we were all pretty sure he was about to buy the farm. But Vern got it into his head that he wanted to be home for Christmas. Practically, this was an impossible wish. But impossible was not in his vocabulary. After exhausting the staff at the rehab center for nearly a month he was cleared, and Christmas Eve arrived at his home in Kerrville, Texas. It was a miracle, but in retrospect I should’ve expected nothing less from Vern.
With Vern, there was always a lot of conversation between the old war vets about what caliber pistol they preferred to carry. He told us once that when his wife would go into a store, he would spend his idle time in the car contemplating the quickest way to access his pistol out of the glove compartment if someone came up to him.
Other times he used to regale us with stories of war: how long he went without a shower (weeks at a time) and the pair of dry socks he kept in his waist band - sometimes what felt like the last element of civilization.
His memory for wartime detail was impeccable, his stories were uttered very matter-of-factly, without pomp and circumstance. Just as it was. And he didn’t glamorize it either.
But not all the stories of France were about the 23 year old who learned to kill and kill well. Sometimes they were just good old-fashioned human interest stories.
One day during a brief respite in fighting Vern and a few buddies went by a French farmhouse looking for something to eat or drink.
The farmer was outside kneading dough vigorously. His young son was standing by watching the proceedings.
“Suddenly the farmer stopped kneading, went around the corner of the barn and took a whiz.”
At this moment Vern’s story was interrupted by Warren - a combat veteran of the Italy campaign who was completely deaf. “Did what?” Warren yelled.
Vern yelled back, “Took a whiz! Wiz!”
Warren repeated the phrase to himself very loudly and chuckled in his iconic way. Everyone laughed.
Vern continued his story:
“The farmer finished “his business” and without much ado, wiping his hands on his shirt, went back to kneading the dough.”
Vern and his buddies looked on in horror and then and there decided not to eat any more French bread.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
Years ago my sisters and I assembled a list of things required if one wanted to “do the old person thing” well. A few things on the list included:
1. Always carry change in your pocket to jingle jangle.
2. Practice taking “Secret spy photos”
3. Always wear a few crumbs from the last meal - just in case.
4. Carry a few good stories and/or stale pick up lines in your back pocket.
5. Love big and never turn down hug.
What are some of your favorite old people-isms?
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
It’s Iwo Jima Flag Day… the anniversary of when that beautiful sight of inspiration appeared on the top of Mt. Suribachi after 5 days of fierce fighting. More heated battle was to continue, but it was a breath of fresh air to see old Glory waving proudly.
I’m still processing notes and interviews from last week’s reunion. It was an incredible time, and even after all these years (78 since the battle) I’m still blown away by the number of survivors that make their first appearance at the reunion, and stories I’m hearing for the first time from vets I’ve grown up with. It’s a wonderful family.
A little while ago I got off the phone with Roy Earle (right), our resident 4th Marine Division veteran and comedian. Roy landed 4th wave with a radio pack and wires to lay. It was no easy task and as bubbly, gregarious, and full of witty sayings as he is today, Roy still won’t go back to Iwo.
“I think those guys who landed in the first assault, those are the ones who don’t want to go back. We saw too much.”
“Even if I push you in a wheelchair?” I asked.
“I don’t think they have roads for wheelchairs on Iwo Jima. But you could carry me on your back!” His chuckle is well known and distinct.
Roy turns 99 in a couple of days. But he’s got some years left in him. I think a lot of that has to do with his perspective. One of his favorite sayings (and mine) is, “My philosophy is people have more fun then anyone.”
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
A year ago I was spending Christmas and New Years at the deathbed of my very dear friend Fred. Some of you might remember him - surrogate uncle to me, father figure to many, nomad friend, master storyteller, football coach, decorated war hero… the list goes on.
That period of time was very difficult. I basically lived at the VA for 2 ½ weeks. Without the support of his local “Fred’s Friends” I don’t know how things would have managed.
There was little sleep, little eating, and many, many long nights trying to help Fred as he struggled through the valley of the shadow of death.
It was hard. But it was also one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.
The gift of time.
More time with someone I loved.
I didn't get to be with either my grandfather or adopted Gramps when they were nearing death. Even in life I still craved more time with them.
But Fred gave that gift to me. For 2 1/2 weeks time paused. Life didn’t exist outside of the hospital. And life inside the hospital revolved around Fred.
I took voluminous notes throughout the entire experience. I didn’t want to forget anything. I witnessed the impact of a man who spent 98 years perfecting the art of friendship and giving. The repay was tenfold.
At a time when visitors were not allowed in the hospital, the staff (who had fallen in love with Fred) made exceptions and he had a revolving door of family and friends.
I feel like in many ways the last few weeks of Fred’s life mirrored the finale scene in the Frank Capra classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Just as George Bailey looked death in the face and wondered the meaning of life, there were some nights that Fred (in and out of lucidity), would ask me the same question. “Why.”
“I love you Uncle Fred.”
“Why?” He would say. “Why do you love me?” Or “Why do these people care?” “Why do I matter?”
And just like that last scene in the movie, (which makes me bawl my eyes out without fail every time), as his life came to a close, he was surrounded and engulfed by an outpouring of love. Friends and students Fred hadn’t talked to in upwards of decades reached out to tell him “thank you”. Thanks for the impact he had on their life.
How many times did I hear former football students tell him, “You’re the first man in my life to say I love you. And you showed me what it was like to have a father.”
How many times? I lost count.
It was a wonderful life.
Because of the nature of Fred’s sickness, he should have only lasted a short while. Every day the doctors would tell us it was a matter of time.
But Fred hung in there. And the phone calls and visits continued. It was like he was trying to give us all the extra time we needed with him.
Scotty McCreery sings about wanting, “5 minutes more.” But I got more than five minutes. I got 2 ½ weeks. The time we always wish we had, but are always a little afraid of receiving.
We like to think of the New Year as a fresh start. For me, 2022 started with the end of a life. But because of the gift Fred gave to his friends, I feel like it was that fresh start - a rebirth of life and inspiration. A deeper and more unrestrained appreciation for the value and gift of time.
Entering into 2023, we’re all carrying various joys and sadness from the previous year. But I hope we all remember to treasure the simple moments. Find happiness in the mundane. And always say, “I love you.”
As my dad reminds me, “We have all the time in the world, but no time to waste.”
Happy New Year. xx Liberty
Liberty and Fred on his 98th birthday
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
USS Arizona survivor, Lauren Bruner
Today is Pearl Harbor Day and I've seen some pretty wonderful and moving stories to commemorate this historic day. A couple of my nonagenarian dearies are currently over in Hawaii with Beyond the Call and I highly recommend you go follow their page. Tracie Hunter does simply wonderful things.
This morning on my way to work I was going through my mental rolodex of all the spunky and tenacious Pearl Harbor vets I've known over the years. I specifically choose those two adjectives as a descriptor because I've always felt like there was a certain extra quality and mettle to the veterans who survived the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
Many of them had signed up in the late 30s as a way to care for family, earn extra money, and have a bit of fun. My great-great Uncle, stationed at Clarke Field, Philippines, saw it as a way to escape a difficult home life and perhaps find some purpose.
Then tragedy struck, a "sneak attack."
They witnessed and experienced horrific things, (I remember my friend Lauren Bruner who suffered 70% burns on the USS Arizona), shaping the rest of their lives. But they were no quitters, responding with vigor and alacrity, the attack at Pearl Harbor gave them a drive unlike any other. In it to win it, they were the original fighting men of WWII.
uss arizona memorial. 81 years after the bombing of pearl harbor - the arizona is still leaking oil
Four years later, after fighting in fierce battles all over the Pacific - Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Tarawa, Peleliu, New Guinea, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and more, what do they identify as? "Pearl Harbor Survivors." It's a striking thought.
Now they are in their hundreds, and still returning to Pearl Harbor.
What menschen.
Some of the stories I've collected the last 15+ (really closer to 20) years would send the tears down your cheeks with LAUGHTER. The Pearl Harbor Veterans were among the first to teach me that that age has nothing to do with the maturity level. Which makes sense considering I've been called "Mom" many a time by a nonagenarian.
Pearl Harbor Survivor, Donald Long
"Stu, I think they should hook up a swing to float across the lobby and you should swing back and forth on it singing 'Remember Pearl Harbor' in your white uniform for all the hotel guests to hear." This was a suggestion made by 98 year old PBY Radioman, Don Long.
Full of as much charm, elegance, and humor as he had as a young 20-something in the war. Stu, the PH Survivor in question, responded only if Don would join him.
One of my favorite memories ever was a few years (and a different haircut) ago when I was privileged to go with the Best Defense Foundation as they took Survivors back to Hawaii for the anniversary of that Day of Infamy. One of the veterans I became closely attached to was Saxaphone player and member of the USS Dobbin Navy Band, Ira 'Ike" Schab. At the time I believe Ike was about 99 years old. His eyesight was very poor and unless you were very close, he could only make out colors and shapes generally. But he was determined to return to the island where his life changed forever.
To help him distinguish me from the rest of the blurry crowd, I made sure to wear a bright yellow watch every day so that he would know it was me. From there we struck up a great friendship. One afternoon in particular we were sitting together in the van en route to the next event. Because of his background in music I was eager to know his favorites.
"I know he's a little overrated at times, but I do love Artie Shaw." I told him. I took my phone out to play "Begin the Beguine" (my favorite), but 99 year old Ike beat me to the punch. Taking his hearing aid out of his ear and sticking it in my own ear, he proceeded to pull up Pandora and play the Artie Shaw channel.
I was dumbfounded.
The dichotomy of the moment, the anniversary, and "modern technology" in the hands of an almost centenarian musician. It was phenomenal.
Last Halloween at one of my monthly breakfasts, 101 year old K.P Platt (Schofield Barracks), presented a plastic spider ring to me and said, "With this ring I thee WEBB."
"K.P., I'm flattered, but what would Lorena say? You've only been married 76 years."
"True." He said. And gave Lorena a pinch.
Anyways, I run long and wax elephants at this point. But these are some of the memories I have for Pearl Harbor Day. Not just the tragedy and loss of the day, but also the character, optimism, and humor that was formed - BIRTHED that day, on December 7, 1941.
And for that, and their sacrifice, we are eternally grateful.
“It would be right to say that the helicopter’s role in saving lives represents one of the most glorious pages in the history of human flight.”
This past spring while in Vietnam, I discovered a new breed of crazy: The Vietnam Helicopter Pilot. They fondly call themselves “Rotorheads,” and will unblushingly tell you “I’m not perfect, but I’m a helicopter pilot which is better.”
For fear of offending the Marine’s muscles or the Paratroops jump boots, I won’t say the Helicopter pilot is the *craziest* of them all, but after a month spent traveling through Vietnam with this insane crew, perhaps I could get away with giving them the accolade of the most audacious of the trio?
One of these spectacular characters I became acquainted with during that time was Major General Patrick Brady, US Army.
At first glance, General Brady is tall, elegant, and has the demeanor of one used to being in the public eye. Spend a few minutes with him however, and you witness an irony to his smile and a wry sense of humor that’s on point (but doesn’t feel cliche).
He is a Rotorhead through and through.
50 plus years may have gone by since he committed the actions which gave him the Medal of Honor, but he still has the spunk and tenacity that carried him through the hottest days of fighting in Vietnam.
I witnessed this spunk returning from the Mekong Delta one afternoon this past April. In the lobby of our hotel, I was met with the most outrageous story that started with the General, a fellow Rotorhead, a Donut Dolly, and a few others ending up in the bed of a less-than fragrant Vietnamese farm truck in the backtracks of Vihn Long on a mission to lay a monument in honor of the late Major Charles Kelly.
At the time I was unfamiliar with Major Kelly’s heroics, but I was fascinated to learn more. Besides the obvious hilarity of the situation the General and company had found themselves in that afternoon, my bigger question was, what was the impetus for this elegant 85-year-old gentleman to make such an extremely arduous trip across the world to lay a monument? I am embarrassed to admit that at this point I far underestimated the chutzpah of the Rotorheads, and if I’d any inkling for their personal audacity, that in itself would have answered my question.
The next few weeks we spent in Vietnam, I listened eagerly as the General bantered with his old war comrades, telling stories that were far too outrageous to be created in the minds of man. Only the jungles of Vietnam, circa 1967, could come up with such tales.
And I also learned about Major Kelly.
I once read a book called, “Let Us Die Like Brave Men.” It was the short biographies of Civil War officers and soldiers who had used their dying breaths to encourage and inspire their men when the battle was thickest and the outcome darkest.
Major Charles Kelly
Different eras, different times, but Major Kelly was made of the same mettle.
Renowned for his fearlessness in the face of the enemy and willingness to proceed into every dangerous scenario if it meant the rescue of wounded Americans, Kelly’s last moments on earth became a rallying call.
Major Charles L. Kelly was Dustoff and Dustoff was “Combat Kelly.” The two became synonymous in Vietnam in 1964. As commander of the 57th Medical Detachment (Helicopter Ambulance), Kelly assumed the call sign “DUSTOFF.” His skill, aplomb, dedication, and daring soon made both famous throughout the Delta. The silence of many an outpost was broken by his radio draw, “…this is DUSTOFF. Just checking in to see if everything is okay.” And when there were wounded, in came Kelly “hell-bent for leather!
- Dustoff Association
On July 1, 1964, Major Kelly was flying into an LZ (landing zone) to pick up a load of wounded when he was notified over radio that the LZ he was attempting to reach was too hot from enemy fire and the mission should be aborted. His response was matter of fact: “When I have your wounded.” These were his final words. Immediately after, an enemy bullet struck him in the heart.
The next day, the same bullet that had killed Kelly was presented to Brady (then a Captain). The commanding officer flung it on the table and asked Brady if they would take note and dial down the “aggressive nature” of their flying.
Brady took the bullet, and looking at the officer responded, “We are going to keep flying exactly the way Kelly taught us to fly, without hesitation, anytime, anywhere."
Brady was more than words. Inspired by the gallant death of their leader, the “Dustoff pilots” continued to fly into the toughest situations “without hesitation,” saving innumerable lives that would otherwise have been lost.
On January 6, 1968:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty, Maj. Brady distinguished himself while serving in the Republic of Vietnam commanding a UH-1H ambulance helicopter, volunteered to rescue wounded men from a site in enemy-held territory which was reported to be heavily defended and to be blanketed by fog. To reach the site, he descended through heavy fog and smoke and hovered slowly along a valley trail, turning his ship sideward to blow away the fog with the backwash from his rotor blades. Despite the unchallenged, close-range enemy fire, he found the dangerously small site, where he successfully landed and evacuated two badly wounded South Vietnamese soldiers.
He was then called to another area completely covered by dense fog where American casualties lay only 50 meters from the enemy. Two aircraft had previously been shot down and others had made unsuccessful attempts to reach this site earlier in the day. With unmatched skill and extraordinary courage, Maj. Brady made four flights to this embattled landing zone and successfully rescued all of the wounded. On his third mission of the day, Maj. Brady once again landed at a site surrounded by the enemy. The friendly ground force, pinned down by enemy fire, had been unable to reach and secure the landing zone. Although his aircraft had been badly damaged and his controls partially shot away during his initial entry into this area, he returned minutes later and rescued the remaining injured.
Shortly thereafter obtaining a replacement aircraft, Maj. Brady was requested to land in an enemy mine field where a platoon of American soldiers was trapped. A mine detonated near his helicopter, wounding two crewmembers and damaging his ship. In spite of this, he managed to fly six severely injured patients to medical aid. Throughout that day Maj. Brady utilized three helicopters to evacuate a total of 51 seriously wounded men, many of whom would have perished without prompt medical treatment. Maj. Brady's bravery was in the highest traditions of the military service and reflects great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army.
At a veterans’ luncheon two Fridays ago, I heard General Brady pose the question, “What is a Hero?” to a room of over 400 veterans and family members. It is a good question.
Hero is a word Americans tend to banter about with alarming casualness. We worship “celebrity” and chase our 15 minutes of fame at all costs, trying to be the loudest in the room. But at the end of the day, it leaves you with the same emptiness as before.
The dictionary says that Hero is one who shows great courage. When General Brady received the Medal of Honor for his actions in Vietnam, it was America’s stamp of approval and notice that said, “This is a hero. This is a man who showed courage above and beyond.”
But General Brady doesn’t look at it that way, like many before who have received the same award, he chooses to deflect and says, “Major Kelly was a hero.”
Today he goes around the country, representing the Medal of Honor Foundation and educating children on Patriotism. Another word that has almost become archaic. But if you brush off the cynicism and doubt of the 21st century, you’ll find it to be a beautiful word.
“What is the most important thing for a teacher to teach? Science, engineering, accounting? What is it. It’s a simple answer, Patriotism. Democracy cannot survive unless we grow patriots. That’s not someone who says they love their country, that’s someone who supports and defends their country.” - Patrick Brady
Though (as he calls himself) a “reluctant soldier,” General Brady has a deep understanding of the meaning of patriotism. He’s witnessed it in red, white, and blue. He closed his talk the other week with a short story about one of these patriots - fellow Medal of Honor Recipient, Webster Anderson.
Over the course of a terrible night of fighting the Vietnamese on a hilltop in a storm, Anderson lost both of his legs and an arm. It turned out that Brady was his medivac pilot and he later learned that Anderson had received the MOH for his actions that night. “He thought I save his life. The physicians saved his life.” Brady said with deflection. They went on to become good friends and would speak at schools together.
“One day we were in a classroom in Oklahoma, and he wouldn’t sit down. He had these bad prothesis in those days and one arm, nothing but a cane. But he’d stand up, we’d prop him up to talk to the kids. And one of the kids raised his hand and said, “Mr. Anderson, knowing what you know now - that it would cost you two legs and an arm - if you had it to do over again would you?” And Webster said, “Kid, I’ve only got one arm. But my country can have it any time they want.”
And I’m sure those children sitting there looking at this great soldier (who was more plastic than flesh) will be forever impressed with what he told them and of the true definition of patriotism is and what I believe is the most important thing we can teach our children.”
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
In 6 weeks, I will be taking my first group of students over to Normandy for the inaugural Bridge to History Children's Program. To say I'm beyond excited is an understatement. In fact, it’s a dream come true.
During the last decade of my work with WW2 veterans, I have been continually inspired by the Europeans’ integration of their youth into all of their remembrance programs. They take their young children to their cemeteries, to their battlefields, to their war memorials; not just as spectators, but as participants in an experience which stays with the children as they grow, perpetuating a grateful nation that honors and remembers. This is how I was raised, and I can personally speak to the impact it had on me as a child.
I started Bridge to History because I want to give this experience to American children - children who have already shown through personal study and community initiative a genuine desire to learn and remember.
For our October program, I have 7 students, ages 9-13, and they are absolutely amazing kids! They've been working their tails off studying and preparing for this trip... writing essays, drawing maps, and connecting with their local community.
I can't wait to share more about these kids in the upcoming days. Their passion and enthusiasm at such a young age is genuinely inspiring to me.
One of my students, Adam, went on local TV last week to talk about the trip and why history is so important. At 9 years old, his understanding and grasp on the importance of history far surpasses many twice or three times his age! Watch the video below:
Over the course of our 9-day overseas bootcamp, B2H children will walk the battlefields, feel the sands of Omaha Beach between their fingers, climb in old German bunkers, meet our allied veterans of WW2, learn facets of military life, meet their young French counterparts, pay respects to the war fallen in special ceremonies at the cemeteries, and see how a nation responds to oppression and liberation.
We call the children “Bridge to History Ambassadors” because when the trip ends, their mission is only beginning. When the children return stateside, they will have been commissioned to take what they have learned and apply it to their lives at home. Some of this entails:
Giving presentations to local schools and clubs about their experience in Europe.
Getting connected with local veterans and recording their stories (from the viewpoint of a pre-teen… a completely different perspective than an adult).
Adopting the graves of local servicemen and recruiting 3 schoolmates to do the same.
And generally starting a buzz and generating interest from their peers.
We understand this is a big-ask for pre-teens, and Bridge to History will come along side our ambassadors, training them and helping facilitate these operations and encouraging them along the way.
Two of our October students, Ethan and Charlotte, at the grave of Audie Murphy
My goal is to ignite a sense of honor and remembrance in American children and set the tone for a life devoted to the perpetuation of our American heritage and honor the men and women who helped preserve it.
I cannot wait to take kids like Adam, to Normandy to experience first-hand the magic and mystery of walking in the footsteps of their heroes.
If you would like to support these amazing youngsters and their passion to save history for the next generation, go to:
All donations are tax deductible and go to bringing Adam and the (7) B2H students to Normandy.
If you are interested in sponsoring a Bridge to History Student Ambassador either in part or in full - you can go to www.Bridge2history.com or for more information, contact me at Liberty@Bridge2History.com.
1 student sponsorship (which is 1 student + parent/guardian) for the 9-day trip is $5,000. This includes airfare for student and parent, and an all-inclusive experience (transportation, guides, lodging, food, museums, and special activities) for 9 days in London, England and Normandy, France.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
For the last 8 years, Operation Meatball has worked to connect with thousands of WWII Veterans, share their stories, honor them, and remind them of the days when they were young and in the service of their country.
Our motto has been:
"Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today."
Up to now, our focus has been on honoring the living. Currently, the average age of the WWII veteran is 98, and this unusual chapter in our lives is rapidly closing. But our work is ongoing, if not just beginning. While continuing our initial objectives, we are so happy to announce the next step and our brand-new initiative:
Beginning this fall, we will be taking pre-teen students on an international adventure to London and Normandy for an immersive week of curated commemorative events honoring and remembering the legacy of WWII.
The students, our Bridge to History Ambassadors, will walk the battlefields and visit the graves of soldiers they've studied, meet veterans who were our allies during the war, form friendships with their French counterparts (grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the liberated), and personally host ceremonies honoring the memory of the war dead.
When our young ambassadors return home to America, they will have been commissioned to take what they have learned and use it to light the fire of a new generation of informed and grateful Americans.
To learn more, sponsor or nominate a child, go to:
The program officially starts next spring, but we are planning a pilot program for this fall. If you have a student between the ages of 8-12 who would be interested in joining us on the pilot program, we are accepting applications now at: Bridge2history.com. The student and guardian will have to have an up-to-date passport and flexibility.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
“I am extremely honored to have been elected to Operation Meatball’s Board of Directors. I am very excited to be part of Operation Meatball’s new direction to educate our younger generation on our history and the sacrifices earlier generations made to preserve our way of life and the freedoms we enjoy.
I have worked with Liberty for the past several years supporting our veterans on programs like Honor Flight, Red Shirt breakfasts ( WWII) veterans, and Veteran Appreciation dinners.
Under her strong, creative leadership, I see Operation Meatball having a significant impact on our youth and their appreciation for the men and women who wore the uniform of our country.
I have willingly committed my time and contributions for this most worthwhile endeavor, and I solicit your support.
Thank you,”
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
T O M || I was introduced to 1st Lt. Thomas Shaw on a winding road through the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam, somewhere in the vicinity of Anh Khe.
Before my trip to Vietnam I’d never heard of Lt. Shaw -a good-looking boy from Fond Du Luc, Wisconsin. But thanks to his former roommate and buddy, Jim Crigler, I now carry of piece of Tom’s memory in my heart.
From what Jim told me, Tom was everything good and kind and solid. The few months they roomed together in 1972 they became close friends and over time Tom mentored Jim, sharing his moral compass and life ideals with him:
1. Be courageous.
2. Be truthful.
3. Trust in God.
The friendship deeply affected Jim and one day the two made a pact - an oath - that on the off chance that either of them was killed the surviving friend would escort the body home to the family.
On April 27th, 1972 as Jim headed out on his first mission of the day he found a note from Tom. “Jim, Use your courage today to focus on what is right, not what is wrong. Live the truth. Trust in God! - Tom”
Jim returned from his final mission of the day to be greeted by the news that 1st Lt Thomas Shaw’s helicopter had crashed, killing him and a Warrant Officer, Claude Strothers.
It was devastating. But Jim held up his end of the pact - escorting the body of his friend and comrade HOME.
This wasn’t the last time Jim would be fulfilling his end of the bargain. On April 30th, 2022 (making his first return trip to Vietnam), Jim held a small memorial service on the side of the mountain - not far from his buddy had been killed 50 years & 3 days before.
In a strong, but not emotionless voice, Jim read letters from Tom’s family and shared his own memories and lessons he’d learned from the short life of the Fond Du Luc boy.
The tears don’t come as easy for me these days, but as the clouds opened and the rain started to trickle down I found myself wiping more than raindrops away from my face… in fact it was hard to stop the flow as I listened to the heartfelt sincerity of this genuine man who had traveled around the world - over 30+ hours of flying - to pay homage to a friend and mentor. BROTHERHOOD.
This to me was worth the trip.
I could go on. But for now I’ll just add that on Memorial Day this year I’ve been thinking about 1st Lt. Thomas Shaw. A good man. His name now reflects off of the Vietnam Wall in DC. I hope the next time one of you visit this special cenotaph you’ll pay Tom a visit. And remember him, not just on Memorial Day.
If you’d like to learn more about Jim and the distinctive and wonderful ways he is still serving his country, click through here: Mission of Honor – Vietnam Veteran writes a book and Paddles the entire length of the Mississippi River to right a wrong.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
I’ve known JP for most of my life, though there is some debate between us as to our actual meeting. Each time he introduces me to someone as, “I knew her when she was this tall,” gets shorter and my age gets younger. I keep telling him that eventually he’s going to claim to be the presiding midwife at my birth.
During the Vietnam War JP served with the 1st Cavalry Division as a helicopter pilot. And a dang good pilot too. But, in Vietnam you had to be good.
Fully acknowledging my redundancy, I can’t stress how special it was to visit these locations and listen to his southern drawl on about them. Places I still find exceedingly difficult to pronounce, much less spell- Phước Vĩnh, An Khê, Pleiku (probably because Vietnamese does not translate well into Texan), but are now cemented into my memory log with the visuals I took in and the dirt still imbedded in my boots (to clean or not to clean… That is the question).
These locations have largely been built up over the last 50 + years. In some cases built up, torn down, and built up again multiple times. Often times there’s a paved road where there used to be a tarmac made of Marston Matting (a perforated steel material that was used as makeshift runways and landing pads. Visualize flat legos fitting together like a puzzle)… Or locals dry their rice on cement sidewalks and grassy areas where we used to have hard back tents housing our boys.
(Incidentally - it was with amusement that a few times we saw farm trucks drive by with their sides encased in Marston mats from the war. Quite clever in fact as it converted the bed of the truck into a suitable way of carting animals or large and bulky items).
But even though there is little evidence of great military force that was once there, if you just sit still enough for a minute and imagine - it’s not hard to see the helicopters coming in and out and hear the purr of their turbos. And lemme tell you, it’s a beautiful noise.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
After nearly a month in Vietnam (nearly 2 weeks longer than planned for thanks to some complications getting back stateside), I’m home.
An adventure to say the least. I’ve been joking with some of the team that when I write my book of this last month I’m calling it, “And then there were none.” Or “Yes, we have no nachos: surviving the Hotel California of Hanoi.” (Que: “You can check out any time you like / but you can never leave.” )
For a hot minute, I was pretty sure a couple of us might take up citizenship in Vietnam - or just get deported. My visa actually runs out tomorrow. So either option was a possibility.
But y’all - you can’t buy an experience like this.
There’s so much to process from this trip, I’m afraid y’all will have to suffer through some of my ramblings in the near future. Vietnam is nothing like I expected. I’m so in love with the country, the culture, and the people. It’s cliche, but the best things are.
Our hotel staff at the Silk Path Hanoi made the last 10 days of “being stuck” absolutely delightful, and I feel as if I have a wonderful new set of friends. Which I do (we have already discussed plans of returning some day soon).
So bear with me while I have images and anecdotes to post.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
CÙ CHI TUNNELS || Yesterday we explored the former Vietcong Tunnels at Cù Chi.
These tunnel systems hosted upwards of 10,000 VC troops, and spread miles and miles under the ground of the unsuspecting Americans (very similar in fact to the tunnels at Iwo Jima).
One of the vets on the trip told me he knew a Marine, small of stature standing at 5 ft 2. Because of his height he was “volun-told” to become a tunnel rat- climbing down into these tunnels looking for VC, hoping not to find them. A terrifying prospect regardless.
Since the war, the tunnels have been slightly widened today to accommodate visitors who want to explore them. But for the most part they remain intact - as they were.
Highly effective. Very intimidating. Brilliant warfare.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
Technically it’s my second day and it’s almost midnight, but I’m still gonna say “Good morning, Vietnam.” And que some Creedence Clearwater Revival.
It’s been a seven year dream of mine to travel to Vietnam. My curiosity was first pricked on a flight from LA to Hawaii when I sat next to a salty old Marine and he told me about the time he spent three days in a fox hole in Nam, cold, tired, miserable, but mostly hungry.
For those three days, he sat in a layer of water that had filled the bottom of his fox hole. It felt as if his feet were rotting. Socks soaked through. He couldn’t move and could only speak in whispers for fear the slightest sound would give away their position to the Vietcong.
After three days of this misery, without eating, John came across a tin of crackers he had somehow missed. With loving care and exuberant excitement, he opened the tin and shared it with his buddy. It was the greatest meal he had in Vietnam.
He told me about the many trips he took back to Nam looking for the body of a friend of his, presumed to have fallen out of a helicopter while being shipped back in a body bag. John was in his late 60s at the time, no easy return trip. I was deeply impressed by his devotion and commitment to “No Man left behind.”
He never found his buddy’s body, but he found other remains on other battlefields and spent much of his life helping other vets and family members of KIAs find closure.
These conversations with the Gunny awakened my interest in Vietnam. They gave humanity to a war which you only ever hear the horrors of: the complexities, the political narrative, the hate, and the generic “our soldiers were treated poorly when they returned; how sad.”
It was a complex war. There are so many aspects I still can’t wrap my head around. But over the last several years, as my heart has been opened, and I understand more behind the Vietnam veteran, I also see beauty. Goodness. And compassion.
Why is it that so many Vietnam vets with the worst PTSD tell me what a beautiful country Vietnam is and how much they love the people?
Another line I have heard many times, and in fact again yesterday, was this, “When you’re in combat, you’re not fighting for your country, for your family back home, for the people you’re trying to help. You’re fighting for the man next to you.
All of these factors are coming together about a war that was really pretty recent… Not a war our grandfathers fought, but a war our *fathers* fought, a war our uncles died in.
This trip in many ways is for the Gunny, but also for the many Vietnam vets who are dear to my heart. On this trip, I hope to understand more, for their sake.
I’ve spent my life living and breathing the world of my World War Two veterans… but over the years, Vietnam keeps coming back to me - pricking my finger and whispering in my ear, “Do not forget us. Hold my hand and listen to my stories.”
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
A few weeks ago, I was in D.C. for my annual Iwo Jima Association Reunion. One of the nights, I took off with a couple of friends to explore the war memorials under the stars.
I’m no stranger to D.C. Growing up with family living on the outskirts, the memorials are my stomping ground. Yet no matter how many dozens of times I visit them, I still find magic there. Especially on nights when the crowds are gone, the city is “relatively” quiet, the bitter cold lends a crispness to the air, and you’re just left with your thoughts.
We meandered around a while, and on entering the area of the Vietnam Wall, I was struck by how unusually breathtaking it was tonight. The moon hit the names engraved on the wall, highlighting the thousands and thousands of young lads killed during that awful war.
From it’s conception, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund has done an exceptional job organizing and cataloging the names, making it quite easy to find your friend or relative on the wall through their website. Sometimes I wander down the wall, looking up names and reading their stories. If an image is attached to the bio, it immediately becomes evocative.
This evening, reading some of the names to myself, I suddenly remembered a promise I had made a little over a month and a half before.
Fred and me a few years ago after one of his many moves.
Over Christmas a dear friend and Iwo Jima Veteran, Fred Harvey, was in the hospital. It was a tough time, and there were many days when Fred struggled to know where he was and why he was sick. One night in particular, he was in a lot of pain and his memory was very incoherent. I tried to distract him by having him tell me stories from his childhood or life in general.
It worked pretty well. Fred, never one to pass up an opportunity to tell a story, found mental clarity enough to relate all sorts of little memories to me as best as he could patch together. On conclusion of the story, it was almost as if his mind would revert back, and I’d have to start explaining where he was again and why he was gonna be okay.
“Tell me about Ol’ Rip. Tell me about Jessie - your mom.” I’d say.
His eye would flicker, calmness would come over, and he would tell the story - exactly as he had told it every time since I first met him.
It was hard, but it was worth it for those moments of peace he had.
In the midst of all of this, one particular story seemed to stick in his mind more than anything else, and for an hour he related it over and over again.
It was the story of Danny Colgan.
Back in the 60s, Fred was coaching football at a high school in El Paso, Texas. It was the middle of the Vietnam War and the anti-war protesters and hippie movement had inundated the high school. The kids would come out with their signs and their chants, their anti-American speech, and their lack of self respect. It wasn’t a great time to be a teacher or a coach, but Fred knew hard times. His childhood had been a struggle to survive. Hardly out of his teens, Fred had almost lost his life on the volcanic island of Iwo Jima in the Pacific when he took two grenades and sat on a third. He knew hard times. But he loved his job and his kids. So he poured his life into them - regardless of the rising political tensions.
One of the most hard headed students was a kid by the name of Daniel “Danny” Colgan. It wasn’t that Danny couldn’t do the job (he had potential), he just wouldn’t. More often than not, he would find himself in trouble with the school administrators. Fred told me that sometimes during practice Danny would join the kids on the bleachers shouting and making noise, overall protesting anything they could think of.
The culmination came one day when Danny came to Fred’s office with the information that he had been expelled from the school. He was done.
Fred wasn’t shocked by the news, but he still wanted to help the kid out. He explained that, at the end of the day. the only one who was affected by Danny’s decisions was Danny himself. His future was in his own hands, and he couldn’t blame anyone else.
The next afternoon, Danny returned to Fred's office waving his enlistment papers for the Marine Corps.
“I’ve joined up.” He said.
“I thought you hated the war?” Fred asked.
“I know. But I’ve changed my mind. I want to be a Marine like you.”
“It’s not easy, you know,” Fred told Danny.
But Danny knew that. He also knew that there was a future for him in the Marines that he’d struggled to find elsewhere. Besides, he knew how proud Fred was of his service and he wanted to be like him.
Danny went off to boot camp. And Fred went back to coaching.
Some months later, Fred opened the paper to find that local El Paso boy, Daniel P. Colgan - Private First Class United State Marine Corps, had been killed on October 7, 1968 in the Province of Quang Nam, Vietnam. He was 20 years old.
There’s more to the story… how Danny came home draped in an American Flag. His death directly impacted the kids at the high school. Perhaps it didn’t put a halt to all the anti-patriotism, but it definitely sobered them up.
And Fred never forgot Danny.
Well fast forward to last Christmas. As Fred struggled with conscious thought and fighting the healing IVs, he told me the story over and over again. Except this time, he told me about the guilt he felt. That Danny’s death was his fault.
Clutching my hand with a crushing grip, he repeated again and again, “If it wasn’t for me, Danny would be alive. He joined because he wanted to be like me. I encouraged him. It’s my fault that he died. I’m responsible for Danny’s death.”
It broke my heart to see a 98 year old man still grieving so deeply over something out of his control that had happened 50+ years before. During WW2, Fred lost a lot of close friends and comrades in arms. But something about the loss of his young student seemed to be coming to the front of his mind as the brain tried to reconcile past events.
I tried to soothe him. “Fred,” I said, “It wasn’t your fault. Danny was always meant to be a Marine. Just like you. There was nothing that would change that.”
“But he wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t encourage him.”
“Fred - you didn’t have to encourage him. He wanted to be like you. You inspired him. It was his honor to die as a Marine, like the Spartans of old.”
“I have to tell his story. I have to tell people about Danny.”
“You have Fred. In your book. You talk about Danny.”
“I did?”
“Yes Fred.”
“Well I have to tell his story again. People need to know about Danny.”
“We will, Fred. And you know what - when we go to D.C. next month for the Iwo Jima reunion - we’ll go see Danny together at the wall.”
My buddy Fred didn’t make it. He passed away in the hospital two weeks later, and in the events surrounding, I forgot about Danny Colgan. That is until I wandered down the walkways of the Vietnam Wall.
I remembered Danny. And my promise to Fred.
“Hi Danny.” I said, touching his name on the wall. “Fred says hi. He was so proud of you. But you know that. He’s probably with you now. Semper Fi Marines.”
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
The other day we had the very special honor of hand delivering a Citation from the Maryland General Assembly recognizing the military service of WWII Veterans: Melvin Hurwitz and Jack Meyers.
An excerpt of the citation says,
Official Citation
from the Maryland General Assembly
Many thanks to Dan Cox for drafting and putting this special resolution through!!! The vets were so honored and pleased.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
Recently I was looking through an old binder of mine, trying to find some papers and I discovered the whimsical piece below clipped into an old letter from 1943 that I acquired a number of years ago. The letter is from a Private Howard Pelkey USMC, written home to his wife.
At first I wasn’t sure if Pelkey was the author, or if he’d just copied it down for his wife’s amusement. Turns out the piece “The Magnificent Amphibians” was written by the fabulous author and soldier, Marion Hargrove, and published in a 1943 edition of the Quantico Sentry.
Pelkey was actually quite a good writer himself, and during his time in the Marine Corps shared an extensive correspondence with his wife, often times decorating the envelopes with hilarious cartoons. At some point I’ll share some on here For now, I’ve transcribed the below for your reading pleasure. Prepare yourself for a few laughs.
By Cpl. Marion Hargrove US Army
The United States Marine is a military phenomenon who looks like a soldier, talks like a sailor, fights like a wildcat, and thinks like a princess of the royal blood. Always a modest fellow, the
Marine describes himself as a member of the best fighting outfit in the world.
The United States Marine, as any United States Marine will tell you with or without provocation, is the best looking, toughest, most intelligent, most polished and most valuable member of the armed forces. When he heard that one-third of the nation is poorly housed, poorly clothed and poorly educated, he knows which third it is. It is the Army and the Navy.
The sight of a full-dress Marine is a sight to dazzle the eyes of all who behold it. In any shortage of electrical power, you could suspend him from a lamp-post and he would provide enough light for all his duller looking compeers to read a newspaper at a distance of four blocks. This splendid spectacle – this symphony of blues and white, of reds and golds – is the Marine with the splendor of his personal beauty, his proud physique and his pretty phiz, to lend magnificence to the American scene.
The Marine is extremely proud that he is an amphibious creature. Get one of them to take off his shoes and what do you find? Web feet.
The Marine thinks of his barracks as a ship and he speaks of it in nautical terms. A wall is a bulkhead; a floor is a deck, to be holystoned rather than scrubbed. A latrine is a head. The Marine never goes upstairs; he goes up topside. When he gets up topside he isn’t upstairs on the second floor, but the second deck. And he didn’t get there by the stairs, he went up the ladder.
When a Marine is indoors or has no hat on, he doesn’t salute his officers. When he is outside and salutes, his officer smiles very pleasantly and says, “good morning” or some such thing as that. This is because the officer has a deep respect for the Marine. “There is a member of the most efficient fighting force in the world,” he says.
All is not peaches and cream in the life of a Marine though. He gets less liberty than a soldier and a three day pass doesn’t mean as much to him, since half that time must be spent in making himself as pretty as possible. When he leaves his barracks, he must pass the inspection of two full-length mirrors just inside the front door.
The remainder of his leave must be used to best advantage in informing his family, his girls, his old boss, and any other unprotected civilian he might capture just what a great and wonderful thing the United State Marine COrps is and how lucky the civilian is to know someone who is actually in it.
To make his spiel more effective, a good Marine will always have about him a fresh clipping headed something like, “Army Captain Goes Over HIll to Join Marine Corps” and at least one pad of notes to prompt himself on just exactly how the Marine Corps single-handedly won every battle in every war the U.S. has fought.
The Marine does not overlook the value of the Army and the Navy. He knows that they were organized and maintained to show, by contrast, the greatness, the wisdom, the courage and the beauty of the United States Marines.
This piece by author, Marion Hargrove, on the Marines can be found in Quantico Marine Sentry, Volume 9, Number 6, 16 July 1943
When he died at the age of 83, the LA Times described him as, “Marion Hargrove, the Army draftee from North Carolina who turned his misadventures in basic training into the humorous World War II bestseller “See Here, Private Hargrove… Hargrove, [was] a television and film writer whose credits include “Maverick” and “The Waltons” as well as the screen adaptation of Meredith Willson’s “The Music Man…. Inducted into the Army on July 18, 1941, Hargrove underwent basic training at Ft. Bragg, N.C. He wrote about his experiences for the Charlotte News in his column, In the Army Now -- gently humorous tales of sleeping through reveille, mistakenly saluting noncommissioned officers, learning his left foot from his right while marching and landing KP duty instead of a weekend pass. As he later put it, Pvt. Hargrove represented the type of soldier raw recruits should not emulate.”
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
There are lots of beautiful love stories out there in the world. Some true, some made up. Sometimes we prefer them fictionalized because our jaded culture says that if “a love that is too good to be true - it’s just that.” I would say otherwise. I’ve known many couples to survive the cynicism of society and go on to celebrate their 40th, 50th, 60th, even 75th wedding anniversary - and with a deepness of love and understanding that only comes from years of togetherness.
One of the most beautiful examples of this love was my friend Bill Madden. I met Bill at a Marine Corps Reunion back in 2015. It was his first time venturing out to a social event since the passing of his wife of 69 years, Phyllis, earlier that summer. The loss was still fresh in his heart and eloquent in his words. Following the reunion, my sister and I stayed in regular touch with Bill and in the (sometimes daily) emails we would exchange, he spoke often of her:
I miss her so much, especially in the evenings. There are so many things to do here, and many shows and musical acts come in every week that I can forget during the day, but the evenings are the worst.
He wondered what his purpose in life was now that she was gone. Sometimes the pain was so much he would ask me why it wasn’t possible to take things into his own hands. But he always ended his notes with gratitude at the years he was given.
You didn't know Phyllis - but to know her was to love her… Phyllis was not only beautiful but she was kind and compassionate, too.
Bill enjoyed the emails. His hearing had been blasted out on Iwo Jima when a mortar shell buried him alive - consequently making phone calls quite difficult. Besides, as a lover of the English language I think it was cathartic for him to write. At the reunion Bill had made reference to the story of how he wooed his wife and stole her from a sailor, so one day I asked him to re-tell the story for me and this is the following piece he sent:
A young and fresh Bill Madden, newly minted Marine.
“[This is] 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 I don't remember… I loved it, though. 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. Yes, she was a special person. Everyone who knew her, knew that.”
I did date Phyllis then, and we got along very well, but she still had connections with Slats and the two were corresponding. I knew I didn't have much time. If I didn't enlist at 17, I would be drafted later and possibly not get what I wanted, the Marines. I dated Phyllis as much as I could and told her that I loved her, but she was conflicted and I was afraid she would choose Slats over me.
Harry James and Helen Forrest in the 1940s
And that’s the story.
I do like to think that Slats knew what was coming for him… and the “bite” of the Dear John Letter softened. But who knows. The 69 years between Bill and Phyllis speaks for itself.
“I think Phyllis saw something in me that I hadn't seen in myself. I was so happy to have had her for so long. She had a choice to make, and I'm so glad she chose me. I don't know what I would have become without her.”
Once, when I had been worrying about him he wrote me:
“I will try to take care of myself, as you decree, but I do fight depression… I never had those thoughts when Phyllis was alive. Her smile would light up a room and make me want to live forever, but she's gone.”
Bill passed away a little over a year and a half later and was reunited with the love and sparkle to his life. I never met Phyllis but through Bill I feel like I have, and am a better person for it.
May we all find a companion in love like Bill did with Phyllis.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
A few days ago, these photos popped up on good ol’ Facebook memories. With the blessing and curse that is social media, I do appreciate reminders of past years. This particular memory struck especially home. 7 years. How has it been 7 years?? “How time flies” is an obnoxious cliché, but ever so true.”
Anywho, because the story behind the photo is one of my favorite stories I thought I’d share.
In July 2014, after the girls and I got home from Normandy I was scanning the news for all things D-Day commemoration. It was a big year for Normandy (if you’ll pardon my grammar), the 70th anniversary was nothing to sneeze at. The veterans were largely in their late 80s at the time and still considerably active. I don’t recall the exact number of vets expected to attend that anniversary, but from my personal experience - Normandy was abounding with these treasured octo and nonagenarians.
Consequently a lot of articles were floating around afterwards. Combing through the news, one piece in particular struck me: A story about a Texas veteran and his journey back to the D-Day beaches with his son.
That was my introduction to Charlie Alford, 1st Lieutenant with the 6th Armored Division.
Hosted by Doug Dunbar (CBS Dallas), the short biopic expressed all the feelings. Charlie’s first time back to his battlefields was evocative, hopeful, healing, sincere, and inspiring. I was so moved by the piece that I emailed it to my mom and said, “I wish there was a way I could meet this guy.”
Fast forward a few months, the girls and I were in Dallas for a Veterans Day luncheon. The luncheon, organized by Daughters of WWII, was spectacularly laid out. There were so many World War II‘s present, you wouldn’t believe it looking back. Even former President Bush joined us briefly to pay tribute to the veterans. The day would have been overwhelming, if it wasn’t so wrapped up in joy. The girls and I just took everything in as best as we could.
During the program I looked around and there, a table over from us, I saw Charlie. I knew him immediately from the news piece and I was so excited. I just wanted to meet him, shake his hand, and thank him for the tears his story had left in my eyes and the warmth that touched my heart.
Now that I think about it, I don’t remember who initiated the conversation… Whether it was Charlie or me (he had such a gregarious personality, always talking with everyone), but the little meet and greet turned into one of the most beautiful and treasured friendships. I don’t know how long we stood there chatting, but I do know we were one of the last to leave the ballroom.
I learned a lot from Charlie in the few years I knew him. He would call me up sometimes and say, “How are the Meatball girls doing?” And when the girls and I hosted our parties at the old car museum in San Marcus (despite the multi-hour drive), Charlie never failed to show up.
He laughed, he made jokes, some of them absolutely outrageous. But there was so much integrity to his character. And real nobility. Christian nobility. His life had definitely been affected what happened to him in the war, but it didn’t define him.
I remember one day he told us a story of dropping a pickle jar, and watching it shatter on the ground, and refusing to let the human anger that boils up at moments like that manifest in the form of cursing. His life had changed after becoming a Christian, and that including the words he used. I was profoundly affected by this simple account. And it always remains in the back of my mind for whenever I am inconvenienced.
So that is my story. A providential meeting. A beautiful friendship. And a blessed life.
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
Operation Meatball
Honoring Veterans and Connecting them with the Youth of Today
