Return to the Black Sands of Iwo Jima pt. 1

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One year ago today, I stepped onto the runway on Iwo Jima Island for the first time. It was a surreal moment for me. 11 years before, I had first really learned about this terrible battle and it impacted me tremendously. A little later, when my brothers (then 10 & 12) returned from going to Iwo Jima with my Dad for the 60th, I told myself I would visit the island some day. Now, at 18 years old, it was actually happening. And the experience was unlike any I've ever had. 

Now, if you've read any of the previous things I've written about Iwo Jima, you'll know the story and it's characters mean an awful lot to me. This time, however, I'm going to tell you a little about when this dream of an 8-year old girl finally came true, and I made the journey to an island of bravery, courage, and sacrifice, called Iwo Jima. 

The whole experience of getting to Iwo Jima is a story in itself. Preparations, passport anxieties (doesn't that always happen?!), surprise blessings, surprise complications. But in the end, it all worked out, and on March 16, 2015 after a fabulous send-off, we flew out of LAX airport with nearly 30 Iwo Jima veterans and an enormous amount of family of veterans, friends, relatives, and the like; all going to pay respect and remember.  

Airport buddies! Both 3rd Marine Division guys.

Our flight was made up into two 7+ hour flights. Despite the great length of the travel time, it ended up becoming one of the highlights of the trip.  On the first flight from LAX to Honolulu, I had the great pleasure of sitting with a wonderful Vietnam vet who has been traveling to Iwo Jima for the last 15 years. For 7-hours straight, we talked and talked, covering almost as many miles as our plane.

The next flight from Honolulu to Guam, I spent standing in the back of the plane chatting with the veterans and others who congregated there, or walking up and down the aisles meeting the other members of our tour. Carrying an April edition of the 1945 LIFE Magazine featuring Iwo Jima was a great conversation opener for the vets. They thumbed through the pages, telling me various facts about the pictures and articles in it. The 7 hours flew by as everyone got to know each other in this wonderfully relaxed way; and some pretty remarkable stories were swapped before the "fasten seatbelt" sign came on for landing. 

Hafa Adai! The traditional Chamorro (Guam) welcome

We arrived in Guam sometime pretty late on the 17th. Of course our hours were all mixed up since we had passed the international dateline and were now 15 hours ahead of the rest of America. Tired as we were, the entire group was welcomed to the hotel with a delightful reception. 

The next few days were spent traveling to various historical spots on the Island of Guam. Among our group we had many veterans who took part in the fighting for Guam in 1944. Several had been back over the years, but for those coming back for the first time, it was a stirring experience.

One of those to be making a first return trip was the last Iwo Jima Medal of Honor recipient Hershel W. Williams. In previous years, he had refused to return to these battlefields as the memories were too painful, but as the 70th anniversary approached, he decided that it was time. Like the other veterans returning for the first time, there were many emotions and memories that came back to Mr. Williams.

Hershel W. Williams MOH with his great-grandson on Iwo Jima

One afternoon we had made the trip up to Nimitz Hill and the Admiral's home there. After some commentary and talks outside, everyone went in to the Admiral's house for refreshments, and I found myself with Mr. Williams, his friend, an entirely empty portico, and a spectacular view of nearly all of Guam.

After a few moments of silence, Mr. Williams began to talk about his first experience of combat on Guam. It was more stream of consciousness spoken aloud than an intentional conversation with either me or his friend. He told us of those first nights in combat when the slightest noise made your hair stand on end. The expectation of any moment hearing the blood curdling, "Banzai!" charge and the suicide attacks that immediately followed. When they finally did come, it was when least expected. Charging at you in the dark they screamed, "Die Marine! Die Marine!" Jumping into the foxholes they fought a fierce hand to hand combat. A comrade fell or an enemy was killed. I hardly breathed for fear of breaking his stream of thought. These were memories that had remained on a dusty shelf for 70 years, but now, looking over the very landing beaches and locations where he had fought and distinguished himself, they came flooding back. His reverie ended, but the memory of this moment will stick with me. 

Jim Skinner, USMC 

Another morning on Guam, one of the veterans, Jim Skinner, came up to me with a book of photos from his time in the Marine Corps. He had been telling me about it over the last few days, and I was quite eager to see it. For probably half an hour, we looked through the book, and he told me about each picture. They were all great. Pictures of his girlfriends, Marine Corps buddies, training, family, and all the general photos you would find in an old military photo book. But there were two that stuck out to me the most. Turning the page he said, "This is a picture taken right before I killed my first Jap... and this picture is right after. You can see there he is in the corner of the picture." He didn't take glory in these two pictures as if they were trophies of war, but saw them as they were, a photographic documentation of one of the most life-changing moments in the career of a combat soldier: the first time he kills. Mr. Skinner is another story in itself. A story of bitterness and redemption. He passed away two months after our trip to Iwo Jima. 

Lt. General Snowden with Naval radioman Tsuruji Akikusa 

I would be greatly remiss if I did not mention Lt. Gen. Snowden, the real driving force behind the return trips to Iwo Jima. General Snowden, an Iwo Jima veteran himself, through his gracious relationships with the Japanese government over the years, made it possible for American veterans, families, and friends to travel to Iwo Jima to pay respects and remember. A remarkable man with a very commanding presence, he talked to the entire group before we flew to Iwo, strictly admonishing them as to how our behavior and attitude should be on the island, as it was entirely a gift given to us by the Japanese to make this trip.

The day before we flew to Iwo, to better prepare everyone, Military Historical Tours (the groups which makes these trips to Iwo Jima every year) hosted a symposium on the battle of Iwo Jima. By then, more attendees and veterans had trickled in, and we had quite a crowd. The symposium was most excellent and couldn't have been more informative. During the afternoon, I listened in on some of the veterans' interviews that were taking place in the hotel. This was uniquely special because the the vets being interviewed were about to make their first trip back. On the edge with excitement and apprehension, they talked freely about their experiences during the war, their reasons for going back, and their fears and hopes of what the morrow would bring. Healing? Closure? 

Iwo Jima 71 years later

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Iwo Jima. It's hard to put into words the meaning behind those 7 letters. I think for most people, it's an interesting assortment of vowels and consonants. One Iwo veteran told me, "A 50-something year-old once came up to me and said, 'What does "I Survived I-W-O" stand for?' Realizing it was pointless to explain, I just told her, 'It means, "I Survived the International Women's Organization"."

(l-r) Gene Bell -3rd Marine Division, Liberty, and Ken Jarvis, son of an Iwo Jima veteran. I am holding Mr. Jarvis' father's license plate which says, "Iwo J 1945."

The reality is they ARE letters that stand for something - They spell out the names of the nearly 7,000 boys who never left the island and 20,000 others who became casualties of war. The Battle for Iwo Jima was long, bloody, and hard. But when those Marines saw the first plane emergency-land on the secured airstrip, they knew that, as costly as it had been, it was completely worth it.

Last weekend, I (Liberty) had one of the greatest pleasures and honors of my life attending the reunion for the 71st anniversary of the Battle of Iwo Jima held in Arlington, Virginia. For the last 11 years, Iwo Jima has held a unique and special place in my thoughts. Something about this particular battle has wrapped it's way around the strings of my heart, and as time goes on, it only becomes tighter. When Admiral Nimitz said, "Among the men who fought on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue," he was only speaking the truth. The Marines in this battle fought with a persevering endurance so strong, against an enemy so fierce who seemed to stop at nothing to achieve the complete defeat and humiliation our brave boys and beautiful country of America. But despite the odds, our fellas overcame and the battle was declared our victory. 

The Iwo Jima veterans at the WWII Memorial

If you speak to an "Iwo Jima Survivor" today, they won't tell you much. There are just some things that even now, 71 years later, cannot be repeated. A veteran of the Korean War described it perfectly when he said, "People ask you about 'what war is like,' but the minute you start telling them, they don't want to know. They can't handle it. They don't know what it's like to see [hundreds] of dead men. . .all the time. They can hardly bear to see one dead person all cleaned up in a casket." 

But on occasion, they do open up, and when they do, it is an emotional experience. This past weekend, among the humorous and lighthearted anecdotes of "those good ole' days in the Corps," I spoke with several Marines who shared some very personal stories with me. Their words and accounts were told with almost an angst at speaking of things so sacred and tender. Tender because they have lain buried deep in their thoughts for 71 years. And few will ever understand. 

Hearing the stories as I did, so real and raw, it is hard for me even now to repeat them. Partly because of how close I feel to these stories and the ones telling them. I was not there to experience them, but it is almost as if I could experience it all through the eyes of the veteran; and in their voices hear the sounds of battle, the tension of the combat, the smell of gunfire, the loss of friend and comrade. Waiting for a night attack. A close call. Then another one. Until the point where they no longer took note. On and on and on. Then, a brief respite. Only to be repeated again and again. For the veteran of this living nightmare, tears dried up many years ago. . .or at least they don't come as easily now. He just looks back on it all with a contemplative solemnity. Maybe wondering at the high price spent for freedom. But for the listener, this "second-hand" experience of what war is like brings many new tears. Tears of sorrow, compassion, and gratitude. A fuller understanding. . . but also a recognition that the enormity of it will never be fully grasped.

Two of my 5th Marine Division friends. Mr. Harvey (left) was in the Paramarines prior to joining the 5th Division. Mr. Lauriello (rt) experience 37 brutal days on Iwo.

Another reason the retelling is so hard is the fear that repeating the stories will cheapen the sacrifice. It can happen that we become so accustomed to tales of bravery that we are desensitized to the depth of pain behind it. We forget that the boy who died on the beach moments after landing, took a bullet for his friend behind him, and that friend has carried the memory with him for 71 years. The memory of a life cut off in his prime: no family, no future, no life. Not even a minute more. When a day rarely passes without recalling this scene to mind, a 30-second mention by a TV news-anchor just does not seem to do the memory justice. 

Regardless, their stories must be repeated. They must be passed on so that the sacrifice of our courageous boys will not only continue in our memory, but also be remembered in our deeds and actions. Their lives purchased an extra 71+ years of freedom and prosperity for us here in America. May we never do anything to soil the purity of the blood that was shed for our country. Please, never forget Iwo Jima.

"The Three Musketeers," "Squadron 95," and their grand little adventure in D.C., part 2

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Liberty and Mr. Virden at the World War Two Memorial

Liberty and Mr. Virden at the World War Two Memorial

continued...

Our first stop: The World War Two Memorial. Though the Korean War Memorial gave it a close run for it’s money, the WWII Memorial will always be my favorite memorial because of it’s history, the significance, and the memories which we have there. Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill had never visited it before, and I think they enjoyed every minute of it, despite the fiercely cold blasts of wind that seemed to appear just for us.

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We arrived early enough that morning to escape some of the crowds, but not before a school field trip surrounded some of our fellas, shaking hands, taking pictures, and thanking them. Jubilee and I took Mr. Covill to some of the places on the walls where it marked the locations he had served, the main one being Tinian Island. Though little known today, Tinian Island holds a significant part in WWII that changed the entire course of history. Mr. Covill, after gallivanting all over the world as an electrical engineer for the Air Force, would end up spending one year on Tinian, during which the war came to an end. 

Mr. Covill pointing to Tinian Island, where he was stationed for 1 year during the war. 

Liberty with Mr. Jeff Miller, cofounder of the Honor Flight program

Liberty with Mr. Jeff Miller, cofounder of the Honor Flight program

When the Enola Gay was on Tinian to be loaded with her precious cargo, Little Boy, the first Atomic bomb, he said, “I didn’t help load it, but I watched it and they had to open both bombay doors it was so large.” He laughed when I asked him if it was hard to sleep knowing such a bomb was just next door. “Of course not because we had no idea what it was!” But I bet it made the hair stand up on his neck when he learned about it afterwords. 

While we were at the memorial, Mr. Jeff Miller, the cofounder of the Honor Flight program came out and spoke with our veterans. It was a beautiful thing to see him talking with the vets. Over the years since Honor Flight first came about in 2004, Mr. Miller has seen his vision grow as thousands and thousands of WWII Veterans have taken trips to the WWII Memorial, making dreams come true and showing honor to a generation of men set apart from all others. It meant a lot to all of the veterans that he came out to speak with them personally, and many were in tears as they thanked him for his vision to see our veterans honored. 

It should be noted that one of the mottos of the trip was, “If you aren’t on the bus on time, you might find yourself on a bus with hoards of teenagers and school kids.” So after our allotted time, we hustled to the bus to head to the next stop: the Vietnam and Korean War memorials. These are stories in themselves. But since I am trying to stick to Mr. Covill and Mr. Virden right now, we’ll have to come back later. 

The Air Force Memorial was definitely one of the most memorable parts of the trip. We’d never been before, and though it is a magnificent piece of architecture, what made it so special was that it was dedicated to men like Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill, our flyboys. 

Liberty and Mr. Virden at the Air Force Memorial

Liberty and Mr. Virden at the Air Force Memorial

Wheelchairs were pretty much required considering the length of the day, so to keep Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill on their toes, every once in a while we’d swap out “wheelchair duty” and see how long it would take for them to notice. I took Mr. Virden and pushed him around, admiring the height of the memorial, chatting here and there about the Air Force, etc.

Mr. Virden at the Air Force Memorial

Mr. Virden at the Air Force Memorial

Up to this point, when we had asked Mr. Virden where he had served during the war, he was quite insistent that he'd stayed stateside flying transports. As the day went on, we managed to pull a little more out of him, learning that he had indeed flown transports, not just stateside, but to the Pacific regions too. This was something. What did he carry? We had to ask, of course. The answer: everything. Paratroopers on their training jumps, equipment, cannons, even live monkeys. After the war he stayed in for a total of 21 years, making a career of it.

As I pushed his wheelchair, he asked to get a closer look at one of the memorial walls. As he read it -a list of Air Force Combat and Expeditionary Operations during the Korean war- he bit his lip and said, "I flew those three up there." It was obvious there was more to it than just flying, so I asked him what he was transporting. "Supplies and ammunition in... and severely wounded out..." I learned then that every single day from June 1950 to January 1951, Mr. Virden would make the trip from Japan to Korea. Supplies in, wounded out. Every. Single. Day.

Mr. Covill at the Air Force Memorial

Mr. Covill at the Air Force Memorial

Mr. Virden never got near enough to the combat to experience it, though the sounds of battle were loud and clear, but he saw plenty of it in the faces and damaged bodies of the American boys he carried out. An almost never ending number that must have seemed hopeless at times because he never knew how many of them, some too young to shave, would survive. Though this conversation at the Air Force Memorial was in reality only a moment, it drove deeper the somber reality that war is a terrible, terrible thing, and you don't always have to be in the middle of the action to get a front row seat to its horror. 

Following the Air Force Memorial, we stopped briefly at the Iwo Jima Memorial - no doubt, one of the most beautiful monuments in D.C., a masterpiece of work and an unceasing reminder of American freedom.

The climax of the Honor Flight for most of the veterans was the Changing of the Guard at Arlington National Cemetery. 

Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown, Arlington

Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown, Arlington

This has been often talked and written about, and most people make a point to visit it, so I won’t go into the details here. Suffice it to say, it is a remarkable and moving event to watch, only made more so by the fact that we were surrounded by veterans, not just of our Honor Flight, but two other Honor Flights, equaling nearly 200 veterans. Just beautiful!

The last stop was a new memorial, the American Veterans Disabled for Life Memorial. This meant a lot to some of the fellows who have been carrying their injuries, internally and externally, for their entire life. Speaking to one of the veterans at this memorial, we learned that his son was the first U.S. casualty in Afghanistan. He was coming on this honor flight, not just for himself, but in memory of his beloved son. 

Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill at the American Veterans Disabled for Life Memorial

Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill at the American Veterans Disabled for Life Memorial

But as all good things, even the best, must come to an end...or at least take a pause, our wonderful trip was drawing to a close. After a delightful tour of D.C. (in which -as Mr. Virden pointed out- we must have passed the Pentagon a dozen times), we traveled back to the airport for our return journey.

Though ready to get home, I think we were all a bit somber at the thought of leaving our new dear friends. At the beginning of this brief trip to D.C., we were all strangers, gathered together from various parts of Austin and the surrounding cities. But by the time we arrived home (as cliche as it sounds), it truly felt like we were all family -the entire group. 

Dinner, a water cannon salute, the delightful plane ride home chatting with a few of the veterans about our favorite radio shows from the 40s and 50s, another water cannon salute in Austin, and then the de-boarding - We were almost home, but not yet. There was one more surprise waiting for the veterans of Austin Honor Flight #30. After everyone was off the plane, we lined up again and proceeded out of the terminal (by now pretty empty because of the hour). Waiting at the end of the terminal, by the front doors, was a crowd of family and friends ready to welcome these heroes home. Upon seeing the crowd a split second before they all bellowed out "Welcome Home," two or three of the Vietnam veterans walking behind us declared, "Oh no! Not again!" But their grinning faces said otherwise. 

"Squadron 95." A little tired and bleary-eyed, but very happy. Our last photo together before saying goodbye.

Whoever said, “It takes an army to move an army,” was not exaggerating. The team from Austin Honor Flight (as always), gave a magnificent weekend to the veterans of WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. The work they put into every detail was tremendous, but worth every bit to see the faces of the men they were honoring. 

 It was a long-time dream come true for Jubilee, Faith, and me to be Honor Flight Guardians, and we are so grateful for the opportunity that Austin Honor Flight gave us to participate in this special event. As we have said a hundred times (and will say another hundred), the experience of escorting these dear veterans to their memorials, and for the first time, is truly unlike any other. The friendships we made will hopefully continue on past the Honor Flight, and the memories will last forever. One warning however: Once you've got the Honor Flight bug, it is impossible to get out of your system. 

Thus ends the story of "The Three Musketeers, Squadron 95, and their grand little adventure in D.C."

Post script: The name the, "Three Musketeers" came from Mr. Virden. Despite growing up in a family with six sisters, we quite dumbfounded him at times by our antics, thus he bequeathed us this charming name. 

"The Three Musketeers," "Squadron 95," and their grand little adventure in D.C., part 1

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The last few months we've been a bit thin on the blogging part of Operation Meatball, mainly due to an increased busyness with work and life; so for anyone who has stuck around this long, we're going to try and catch you up on a few of the things OM has been doing this fall. To start off, one of the highest points of the year was our first Honor Flight as guardians. 

Now, if you’re not already familiar with Honor Flight, you should definitely google it, or go back and read some of the previous things we’ve written on it, because the Honor Flight program is one of our favorite organizations out there. Seriously, it is top of the list. Over the last year and a half we have had the privilege of spending time at the WWII Memorial to greet especially large numbers of Honor Flights and this is an experience like none other.

But to date, none of us had yet had the opportunity to go as guardians with an Honor Flight, which we knew would be the creme de la creme. Then, through a remarkable providence (and quite out of the blue), the opportunity arose for Jubilee, Faith, and me to became official Honor Flight Guardians with Austin Honor Flight. We were given the date and told that the three of us were to be assigned to two WWII veterans, both 95 years of age. Well, you can imagine the excitement and anticipation this gave us. By the time we arrived at the airport on the travel day, we were quite busting at the seams.

(l-r) Faith, Mr.Covill (95), Liberty, Mr. Virden (95), and Jubilee. All set and ready to go!

(l-r) Faith, Mr.Covill (95), Liberty, Mr. Virden (95), and Jubilee. All set and ready to go!

When we thought we could hardly wait any longer, our veterans arrived and we were introduced to our two “dates” for the weekend: Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill. With some time to kill before boarding, we pummeled our new friends with five thousand questions. We learned quickly that they were both Air Force veterans, one an electrical engineer, the other a pilot. Well, with such similarities (not to mention years) Jube, Faith, and I immediately determined that we would have to adopt a nickname for our delightful little party of Texans. This would be forthcoming, but it was time to head out.

For the last flight of the season, Austin Honor Flight took a group of about 37 veterans: 7 WWII, 6 Korean War, and 24 Vietnam veterans. Added to that were the numerous guardians and staff of Austin Honor Flight, making quite a nice size group of wonderful individuals. 

Jubilee and Mr. Covill

One of the best parts about Honor Flight is the great lengths they go to “showing honor to whom honor is due.” Many of the veterans (WWII, Korean, and Vietnam alike), who traveled with us had never been properly thanked or shown the appreciation due them for the services they gave to their country. Because of this there were many scars that, though somewhat healed over time, still occasionally flared up and caused sores; whether it was guilt about comrades who never made it home for the WWII vets, horrible memories of the fierce fighting in Korea for an unacknowledged war, or bitterness felt by the Vietnam vets for the shameful way they were treated after returning home from a war that they didn’t fight of their own volition. However, this was just about to change, and boy did they have a surprise in for them!

As we made our way past security, we all lined up to head to the departure gate. Suddenly, the magnificent drones of the bagpipes announced to everyone, “let the party begin.” (p.s. for those who don’t love the bagpipes, I’m afraid you are missing out on a bit of heaven). Now, if you have ever had to walk from one end of an airport terminal to the other, believe me it is a long and tedious walk. But this day it wasn’t; for crowding every single inch of the terminal were hundreds and hundreds (maybe even a thousand) of clapping, cheering, crying, hurrahing, and more clapping people. Literally, not a single person was left out. The love shown to the veterans was unequaled.

When we got to the gate, there were a few more Honor Flight ceremonial formalities to go through, including the singing of the National Anthem. If there was anyone who made it through the parade of honor without shedding a tear -no longer. It would be safe to say that there was hardly a dry eye in our entire group of veterans. How can you resist a tear or two when you are surrounded by brothers in arms who are all devoted to their country, all singing her anthem so gloriously and with such passion! 

One of the Vietnam veterans later told me that the parade through the Austin Airport terminal was the highlight of the trip. Why? Because the physical and verbal abuses he had received from his fellow Americans after returning home from Vietnam were such that he wanted nothing to do with most people. In the last few years, when our soldiers returned from the Eastern fighting, he felt bitter and frustrated by the way they were received. It did not seem fair that they were welcomed home as heroes, and he still had to carry the shame of his war in Vietnam. But that was now changed. Walking down the terminal that day, he was greeted with probably the greatest expression of love and appreciation he had ever received, and it was from the people in his own hometown. The healing process had begun. 

Faith and Mr. Virden shortly before we departed the Austin Bergstrom International Airport

Faith and Mr. Virden shortly before we departed the Austin Bergstrom International Airport

If I were to go into every story from the Honor Flight, every person we met and talked with, it would take forever for me to write it up, and for you to read it. But hopefully, over time, I want to write up the stories in smaller, more chewable parts. Stories like, “The Granger Boys,” as we called them: a set of five friends from Vietnam who grew up together, served together, and would not go on the Honor Flight unless they could go together. Then stories like a sniper from the Battle of the Bulge, a special Korean War veteran, and oh, about 6 dozen more stories. 

Jubilee and Mr. Covill, about to board the Southwest Airlines flight. 

On arriving in D.C., the Honor Flight was greeted by more crowds and crowds of cheering people. Our veterans somehow managed to survive this, and as we gathered on the bus to go to the hotel, we were indeed a very merry group. Mr. Covill turned to me and said with great boyishness, “I’m so excited!” 

Liberty, Mr. Covill, and Jubilee

Dinner at the hotel was a great experience. The veterans were invited to stand up and share a story with us if they wished. Some did and some DID. I think excitement must loosen the tongue. There were more than a few moments of hilarity, but also a few near-tear jerker moments. One of the veterans had only shortly before learned that a close friend from the war in Vietnam, whom he had not seen in 40 years, was traveling on the same trip! Coincidences don’t happen, and the joy at this long lost friendship now found was very exciting to see.  

As the evening came to a close, our two dear veterans were in high spirits with great anticipation for the following day's events, but ready for a bit of rest (and so were we!).

Liberty, Mr. Virden, and Faith. TOO early in the morning! 

Liberty, Mr. Virden, and Faith. TOO early in the morning! 

In the morning, at breakfast (an early breakfast! This was on military time!), we announced to Mr. Virden and Mr. Covill that we had decided on a name for our little group. Considering their Air Force background, similar ages, and the size of our group, we had agreed that there was no better name than “Squadron 95.” Neither of them seemed to mind, so it stuck. For the rest of the trip whenever we had to go anywhere it was, “Let’s go, Squadron 95.” 

Read Part 2 here: The Three Musketeers," "Squadron 95," and their grand little adventure in D.C., part 2

Happy Birthday America!

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Happy Birthday America! Thank you France for sending Lafayette! Thank you England for giving us a 1000 years of heritage before our independence (and our National Anthem, the best in the world!). Most of all, thank you God for our country.

“The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more. You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost Us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not.”
— John Adams in a letter to his wife Abigail Adams, July 3rd, 1776

A Slightly Tardy Review of Our 70th VE Day / Memorial Day Party

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Last month, for the 70th anniversary of VE Day, and in remembrance of Memorial Day, Jubilee, Faith, and I decided it was time we held another party for our WWII Veteran friends in the area. In December, when we had the commemorative dinner, we held it at Dick's Classic Garage and Car Museum in San Marcos, Texas. The location was great and the museum spectacular, so we decided this was the place to have our party again.

It was a wonderful occasion of celebrating the allied Victory in Europe, 70 years ago, and remembering also those who paid the ultimate sacrifice with their lives so that victory and freedom, not just in Europe, but all throughout the world, might be treasured.

So instead of telling you a lot of little details about this and that -- who wore what, how many guests, what they ate etc. (just like you'd read in an old newspaper wedding announcement) -- I'll just let the pictures tell the rest! 

Click Here for the Pictures

Thanks to Dick's Classic Garage and Museum for the use of their wonderful, wonderful venue; and many thanks to Trent Sherrill Photography for filming and capturing the afternoon for us! 

A Couple Thoughts on Memorial Day

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There are so many thoughts I have on Memorial Day: Of noble lives that never lived past their 21st birthday; of beautiful lives that have recently passed on to eternity, of the few who still remain; and of the memories that will be left when all are gone. I didn't used to think of Memorial Day, a day of remembrance, like that - partly because I was too little and partly because I just didn't understand. The truth is that we will never understand, but we can grasp at parts, bits, and pieces. My realization came a couple of years with the last WWI veteran, Frank Buckles. I had written a letter and was planning to meet him, if possible, but it was too late. Mr. Buckles passed away just a little after his 110th birthday, and just before I sent me letter. 

A few months ago, my family and I visited the National Museum of the Pacific in Fredericksburg. It must have been 10 years since we had last been there, and we were enjoying seeing the expanded exhibits.  While walking through the section on the Battle of Okinawa, I pressed a button for short oral histories, not knowing what to expect, and what I heard was deeply stirring to me.

Burt Cooper had been a medic during the Battle of Okinawa. One day he was taking care of a young Marine. The boy didn't have long to live, and both knew it. So, distraught, he said to Cooper, "I'm an orphan. I don't have any brothers or sisters. When I die, who will there be to remember me? Who will know what I did?" Cooper told him, "Don't worry. I will remember you."

Across the aisle from the boy lay a Gunnery Sergeant, a "big ugly Marine who everybody loved." When Cooper came over to him, the Marine said, "Doc, who will remember me when I die. No one knows be back home. Who will remember me?" Again Cooper  said, "Don't worry. I will remember you." Within a day or so, both the orphan and the ugly Marine died. Cooper finished his oral history, "Ever since then, not a day has passed that I have not thought of the orphan or the GySgt. And if I don't remember during the day, I think of them when I lie in bed at night." Thanks to Burt Cooper, those two brave Marines will never be forgotten.

My dad wrote something for Memorial Day that was so perfect and beautifully written that I had to include it here.

“The Twilight Men: For some years now our family has lived in a world of twilight men - the sun is setting for all of them. They know this. That is why many of them are spending some of their last moments saying goodbye to friends they left behind more than seventy years ago. The names of those friends are etched in the stones before them. To the hundreds of thousands that look on these stones each year, those names are impersonal reminders of a battle that took place long ago. But to the twilight men, the sight of the etchings produce images in their minds of boys who were flesh and blood - souls of inestimable value. They can see their faces and hear their voices and feel once again a brotherhood shared in the midst of world changing events.

This is what is on the mind of these twilight men before it is their turn to leave. These memories are more fresh than yesterday’s news. For so many long years they have remained silent. Because who could possibly understand their feelings, joys, hardships, and bonds they experienced with those left behind? They are too personal. Too sacred. But in their dreams the twilight men are eighteen year-old boys again walking with their brothers on distant shores. Theirs is the kind of steely brotherhood only forged in the furnace of warfare. And those of us who are privileged to walk among them one last time, look for moments to capture glimpses of those memories, feelings, and experiences. We feel an urgency to do so before the sun sets and to communicate to others the value of lives well spent.”

Never forget. Never stop remembering. When you look to the future and plan what the next 10, 15, 20 years will be for you, remember this: that someone had to give up his future so you can live yours.  This is a noble thing, and should not be forgotten.

2014 WWII Veterans Dinner

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At the beginning of this month, my sisters and I had one of the greatest privileges we have ever had. The occasion was a special commemorative WWII veterans’ dinner hosted by Operation Meatball and held at Dick’s Classic Garage in San Marcos, Texas. The setting was perfect.

To begin with, Mr. Dick Burdick, the Texas businessman who started the non profit museum and collected the vintage cars, is a WWII veteran himself. We were thrilled to have him and his wife join us! And the dinner tables were actually set right in the middle of some of the most beautiful vintage vehicles dating from 1929 through the 1950s, including a 1948 Tucker, a 1929 Duesenberg, and a 1931 Packard roadster. The veterans told us that being around all those cars, some from their childhood and young adult life, was a wonderful highlight of the evening. 

Our 15 World War II guests came with family and some with friends. Several veterans wore uniforms, many brought pictures of themselves as young soldiers at war. What a handsome bunch.

We had representatives from the Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force (Air Corps), Privates to Colonels, who fought in every corner of the war. Several had served in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. One survived the Bataan Death March. One was a concentration camp liberator. One returned thirty years later to the island he had served on as a missionary. Each one had a priceless story. 

Over the course of the evening, Faith sang so many wonderful 1940s classics like “Meet Me in St. Louis,” “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” “Begin the Beguine,” “Lili Marlene,” and “I’ll Be Seeing You,” among many others. A number of the men piped in and sang along to the delight of everyone!

Honor joined Faith singing “Don’t Fence Me In,” and Virginia sang the duets,  “Under the Bamboo Tree” and “Que Sera Sera.” Faith closed off the evening with the medley, “Bless ‘Em All,” “The Siegfried Line,” and “Kiss me goodnight, Sergeant Major” and finally, the favorite, “We’ll Meet Again.”

For dinner we served ham with pineapple and cloves, twice baked potatoes, broccoli, and Caesar salad. Honor, Providence, and Virginia served angel food cake with berries and whipped cream for dessert. During dessert, we took a microphone around to every table for each veteran to introduce himself and give a short history of his time during the war. It simply is inadequate to say that this was moving. This part was a priceless gift that these dear men gave to those of us listening. 

Our guest speaker for the evening was the distinguished Monsieur Maurice Renaud, all the way from France, who was a little boy during the events of D-Day. He captivated our attention with the moving story of his father who served as Mayor of Sainte Mere Eglise as the 82nd Airborne descended into his town, and of his mother, now called the Mother of Normandy, who spent the rest of her life tending to the graves and contacting family members of the deceased.

(see here for more of the Renaud story) The very first book written on DDay was written by Mr. Renaud’s father, Alexandre Renaud.

In a very meaningful surprise toward the end of the evening, Mr. Renaud and his friend, Mrs. Cathy Soref, of Operation Democracy, gave us three beautiful commemorative coins, one from the Amis des Vétérans Américains, one from the village of Sainte Mere Eglise, and one from D-Day 2014. We were overwhelmed. 

It was a treasured evening which we are still reflecting on and absorbing. We are keeping in touch with our new veteran friends and look forward to sharing more stories with you. We are so grateful for the support of many of you and appreciate your investment in our effort to tangibly demonstrate honor and gratitude.  We hope to do this again. 

For more photos from the evening: WWII Veterans Dinner Gallery

Photo credit: Trent Sherrill Photography and our dad.

Remember Pearl Harbor!

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Three years ago today, I was under a great tent looking out onto the beautiful Bay of Pearl Harbor. Just a few yards from me, I watched a very dashing 89 year old man with his fiancee dancing to the music of the 1940s.

Mr. Gery Porter, and his lovely fiancée. 

He later introduced himself to me as Mr. Gery Porter and shared his story as the National Secretary and Treasurer for the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association. His regret was palpable as he explained that this was the very last gathering because too many had died and the association had decided to disband. The next evening, my family and I watched Tora Tora Tora, at a special showing of the film, followed by personal accounts from survivors. That weekend, we ran into our friend Zane Schlemmer with whom we had spent time earlier that year in Normandy.

Faith sang one of Mr. Schlemmer's favorites, "We'll Meet Again".

He was dressed in the uniform of the Second World War and was as spry and energetic as could be. He gave my sister Faith his Hawaiian lei after she sang to him, and she still has it, dried and framed, on her dresser. 

That same day we spent the better part of a very beautiful hour with Mr. Harold Dove. This very kind Pearl Harbor veteran put his arms around my brothers and sisters and hugged them, sharing his own memorable stories and letting us know how much he delighted to be around children. 

Mr. Dove loved the children.

Today is Pearl Harbor Day, the 73rd anniversary of a date that will be forever remembered as “a day which will live in infamy.”  Our friends Mr. Porter, Mr. Schlemmer, and Mr. Dove have now passed away, and they are not the only ones. Their faces and their stories are forever in our memory. I remember them as gallant older men who talked as if they had the hearts of boys. But I picture them as the young men which they once were, who had to assume an uncommon maturity well beyond their years.

Today as I think of them, I consider it a great honor to have met and now be able to share their names with you. I was hardly fifteen years old in 2011 in a sea of more than a thousand people, hundreds of whom had been survived the attack at Pearl Harbor. For many of these frail men, it seemed as if the finality of the occasion brought some form of relief. It was time for someone else to remember and tell the stories.

It was a long journey for America from December 7, 1941 to September 2, 1945. For nearly four terrible years America was at war with the world. Here we are now, just days away from the 70th anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge, months away from the 70th anniversary of Iwo Jima, and only 6 months from VE Day. I don’t feel the relief experienced by some of these aging heroes. I feel urgency because of the ever narrowing window of opportunity to see their faces and hear their stories.

Veterans Day 2014

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There are many special holidays and memorials throughout the year, but some of my favorite include the days when we remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice for us. Veterans Day is unique because not only is it a day when the people of America stop and say "thank you" to our military, but it is a day when those who did come home stop and remember their friends and brothers they left behind. It is a day to pay respect to the dead who understood the cost of liberty and freedom and were willing to pay the ultimate price for it. 

Something that bothers me, though, is that no sooner are these holidays and memorials over, than we move on with our lives and forget our gratitude. It's easy to "thank a veteran" on the one day in a year set aside by our government to remember these men, but it's a little more difficult to put our smart phones down and pay attention to the world around us, including the old man in the grocery store wearing a cap that says to the world, "I may be old; I may be slow; I may be hard of hearing; but I was once one of the guys who stormed the beaches of Iwo Jima or Normandy or Sicily." 

So thoughts for Veterans Day (and I know we are a week late... but it is still important): don't have November 11 be the only day in the year that you think about these dear men who are such heroes. At least remember to stop and talk with them when you see them. A simple acknowledgement, handshake or hug, and comment of appreciation goes a lot further than you might think. 

The Power of the Epitaph: Why the Bayeux War Cemetery Continues to Inspire

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here lies Ezekial Aikle:
Age 102
The Good Die Young  

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

English Graves

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

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

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

G. K. Chesterton

Monsieur Renaud's Dedication of the Allied Airborne Monument

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Over the course of the 70th anniversary of DDay in Normandy, my sisters and brothers and I were able to participate in many ceremonies honoring the men of D'Day. None left such an impact on us as the unveiling of the Allied Airborne Monument in St. Mere Eglise. 

The Monument to the Allied Airborne which liberated the town of St. Mere Eglise on June 6th, 1944.

The massive granite monument itself is quite striking. I was nearly moved to tears looking at the sheer number of killed and wounded. But it was the dedication that had the most powerful affect. Given by Monsieur Maurice Renaud, President of the AVA (Friends of American Veterans), it was in its entirety a most comprehensive expression of gratitude as he spoke for all of the people of St. Mere Eglise. Indeed, Monsieur Renaud's words even reckoned back to the speech President Ronald Reagan gave at Pointe du Hoc on the 40th anniversary of DDay, paying special attention to the importance of the soldiers' sacrifice. 

photo credit: http://www.avanormandie.org

Monsieur Renaud said, “We chose to engrave the numbers of their casualties on on this monument because it illustrates the amount of courage and sacrifice of these elite soldiers. This monument is more than a slab of granite etched with military insignias and the numbers of killed and wounded soldiers. It is the reaffirmation of a promise. That promise is simple. NEVER FORGET. Never is a big word. It is infinite. In so being , it is also eternal, like the Airborne spirit.”

Monsieur Maurice Renaud (right). Photo credit: http://www.avanormandie.org

Monsieur Renaud's passion and gratitude is better understood in the context of his family. He comes from a legacy of honor and service, demonstrated by and passed on to him by his parents. 

Madame Simone Renaud "Mother of Normandie".

His mother, Madame Simone Renaud, is known at the "The Mother of Normandy." She made it her mission to identity and care for the graves of the fallen America soldiers. A documentary film was made about her life, and she is deeply loved by thousands of American mothers, daughters, wives, and sweethearts. 

Monsieur Alexandre Renaud, Mayor of St. Mere Eglise (centre left)

His father, Monsieur Alexandre Renaud was the Mayor of St. Mere Eglise at the time of the invasion. Following the liberation of St. Mere Eglise by the paratroopers, he wrote a letter to General Charles de Gaulle speaking of the bravery of the Americans and asking, “If it would be possible to solicit General de Gaulle, who knows what bravery means, to give to these brave soldiers, who first of all, defeated the Germans on French soil, the Citation which gives them the right to wear on their uniform the French Fourragere. I believe that their sacrifice will feel lighter to them if they get the right to put on their regiment flag this sign of the French gratitude. In their coming battles, these paratroopers will fight with even more bravery with pride to be the airborne troops which France distinguished as: 'Bravest among the Brave.'”

During the ceremony, the square was packed with thousands of people, all there to honor the Allied Paratroopers.

As he concluded his dedication, Monsieur Renaud spoke a few words which perfectly summed up the entire purpose of our family's trip: “A day will soon come when no one who fought in the battle of Normandy will be among us. At some point after that, no one who has even a personal connection to the Liberation will be here to speak as a firsthand witness. Today, we immortalize the bravest of the brave; The Paratroopers, who paid for our freedom, our future, with their lives; seventy years ago. As the monument says: ‘They gave all of their tomorrows so we could have our today.'"

Please click through these links below and read M. Renaud's entire dedication speech as well as the letter his father sent General Charles de Gaulle. They are well worth your time. 

http://www.avanormandie.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Discours-Anglais.pdf

http://jumpcommander.com/airborne/?p=131

Why We Must Remember!

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You may have seen it in the news this past week: WWII veteran Jack Schlegal, renowned for having shared a beer with Patton after having his purple heart pinned on, passed away just days after returning from France for the 70th anniversary of DDay. But there have been many others as well: 93 year-old Roy Rowbotham of the Royal Artillery, one of York’s “Magnificent Seven”, 89 year-old Harry Chappell of Barnsley England, and 89 year-old Charlie St. Germain of Canada whose older brother was killed in Italy in 1944. Each of these men died within days of coming home; Charlie didn't even make it home. He died in a hospital in France. 

At the grave of Theodore Roosevelt Jr who survived the D-Day landing only to die of a heart attack on July 12, 1944

After reading the articles about these losses, I am more firmly convinced than ever of the shortness of the time we have left with these men. It is estimated that between 400 to 500 veterans die every day. Those are not numbers. Those are four hundred individuals who fought for you and for me, shed blood for us and have now passed away into eternity. Four hundred different stories of sacrifice made which will never again be able to be repeated. Four hundred men to whom it is too late to say, “Thank you.” And all this is happening every single day. 

"Rest my dear one, you task is done. You died for your country and it has won." The grave of S.H.R. Turner at the British War Cemetery in Bayeux.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but this is so important to me. I did some rough calculating based off of the last World War I veterans, and I estimated that in the next 10 years, almost all of the World War II veterans will have passed away. In 15 years, there will be just a few dozen at most still alive, and in approximately 20 years, we will be able to count the remaining veterans on one hand. This may sound like plenty of time to some, but for me it isn't. I am 17 years old now. When I am 30, I will have to search very hard to find any World War II veterans that are still with us. Only 30 years old and after that -gone for ever. There will be no direct link left to those known as the “Greatest Generation."

The grave of Texan Lieutenant John D. English, 751st Bomb Squadron at Omaha Cemetery.

If I sound a bit on the depressing side, it’s only to plead with you to take every opportunity you have of connecting with this last link. We don’t have anyone left from the “War to End All Wars,” World War I. There is no one left who can give a first hand account of what really happened. 

My children are going to grow up in a world where they will never have the chance to thank the men who shed blood for them on the beaches of Normandy. 

"The King called. He answered. The King of Kings called. He answered." Grave of C.E.A Cox at the British War Cemetery in Bayeux.

So here is my plea, in honor of all the men who fought for us: some who died many years ago, and some who are still here to tell their stories, please find the veterans near you and talk to them. Ask them questions. Record their voices. Write down their stories. Because soon, too soon, it will only be a memory. 

“Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations. Ask thy fathers and they will tell you, the Elders and they will show you.” Deuteronomy 32:7

Virginia writes down the names of our fallen heroes at Omaha Beach Cemetery.