Posted on 05/22/2003 9:41:42 PM PDT by redrock
"Remembering The Reason For Memorial Day "
Memorial Day is the day we remember and honor those who lost their lives fighting for our nation. The men and women we remember on Memorial Day demonstrated the highest form of faith in the triumph of good over evil. Just as they had a mission, we, too, have a mission: To teach the young people of today to respect America’s values.
History teaches us that our faith in freedom -- readily backed up by our resolve to defend freedom -- has made America -- and the world -- a better place. Today, 179 of the world’s 193 sovereign states elect their lawmakers. That means the earth is covered by democracy in greater proportion than water; it’s covered by 93 percent democracy. Clearly, those who made the Supreme Sacrifice for freedom did so for a victorious cause.
History teaches us that the world will never run out of threats to freedom. Hitler is no more. We won the Cold War. But our world must contend with Milosevic in Kosovo and Hussein in Iraq. China has an up side and down side -- a growing appreciation for the free market, but a disturbing aspiration for nuclear and strategic supremacy. Clearly, future generations may be called upon again to sacrifice for freedom.
If we teach young people correctly, they will willingly serve in the U.S. armed forces, the defense of freedom will continue and democracy will flourish worldwide.
I often tell others about Danny Flynn, a young Marine. His story helps me reaffirm a young person’s faith in the perseverance of a free people.
Private First Class Flynn drove a personnel carrier during the War in Vietnam. He had been in Vietnam for 19 days when he volunteered to take a sick buddy’s tour of duty. On that fateful night, May 25, 1968, a rocket killed Flynn. He was 20 years old.
Flynn was a native of Kings Park, New York. He was buried with full military honors at Pinelawn Cemetery there. He was awarded the Purple Heart posthumously. A Kings Park baseball field was named in his honor. But the most important tribute to Flynn is carried out by a local middle school. They keep hope alive by teaching young people how important Memorial Day is.
Every year, 5th and 6th graders write letters to Flynn’s mother. Through the battlefield death of Danny Flynn new generations are learning about patriotic values. Their notes to Flynn’s mother are short, but poignant. “When I say the Pledge of Allegiance, I will remember Danny Flynn,” writes one student. “Bringing books to the Kings Park Library will help me focus on the sacrifice Danny Flynn made for me,” reflects another.
The children of that middle school wouldn’t understand Memorial Day if someone hadn’t taught them that freedom isn’t free. They continue to learn that America’s fallen heroes expressed their faith in democracy by committing the most selfless act of all.
Each of us must instill in young people the importance of Memorial Day. We should also ask God -- in our daily prayers -- to continue to bless America. If we do these things, America’s faith in freedom, justice and democracy will remain intact. So, too, will the blanket of freedom that our honored dead bequeathed to us.
Butch Miller is the National Commander of the 2.8 million-member American Legion, the nation’s largest wartime veterans organization. He resides in Woodbridge, Va.
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"
Semper Fidelis, Corey "
Corey DePooter deserved to become a United States Marine. He deserved to grow up, too. But he never got the chance to do either: He was one of the kids murdered in the Columbine library.
Yet DePooter's brave acts that terrible day exemplified the best that the U.S. Marine Corps represents.
The 17-year-old had gone to the library to study during his lunch break, a remarkable act of self-discipline. When the shooting started, DePooter stayed calm and soothed other terrified students, displaying extraordinary coolness under fire.
Most courageous of all, young DePooter then used his own body to shield two other students from the barrage of bullets. That's how he died: protecting his friends.
On the battlefield, a warrior who sacrifices himself for his comrades is called a hero. In certain cases, such valor merits the hallowed Medal of Honor, the highest commendation the United States bestows.
But DePooter wasn't in battle, just at school, when all that he loved - the family he brought so much joy, his enchantment with fly fishing - was stolen from him. He never got his opportunity to join America's elite military service.
The Marines, however, have embraced him. In a rare move, the corps on Wednesday made DePooter an honorary Marine. The unusual recognition is fitting.
DePooter's study of the history of the Marines surely had taught him that the corps values loyalty, courage and personal honor. No one can say whether those studies, and his longstanding ambition to become a Marine, already had led him to internalize the high standards that the corps expounds. Doubtless, though, DePooter's bravery under fire was as much as the Marines could have demanded from one of their own.
The Marine Corps' hymn says the streets of Heaven are guarded by United States Marines. Perhaps Corey Depooter is there, finally clothed in his longed-for dress blues.
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"
Rest in peace, Billy"
Billy Scott, age 52, is dead.
The docs down South Carolina way say Billy died as a result of wading through too much Agent Orange. You know, that poison the Pentagon and those other liars at the VA said was less harmful than raindrops.
Yet another casualty from that dumb, dumb war that will probably burn in our souls and our memories until all Vietnam vets, their children and their children's children are dead.
Billy was a deeply religious, 20-year-old boy back in '69 when I met him. A jewel. A warm, wonderful human being who'd cut his teeth on "thou shall not kill." When he was drafted for that bad war, he registered as a conscientious objector -- he was willing to do his duty and serve his country, but not as a trigger-puller.
In Vietnam, Billy carried a medical bag rather than a rifle, and although he seemed no taller than a fire hydrant and not much heavier than a down pillow, he was all stout heart, braver than the bravest. He was a combat medic in my Hardcore Recondo Battalion (4/39th Infantry) down in the Mekong Delta, and he loved and was dedicated to the soldiers he was charged to care for. After his first week with the Hardcore Battalion, Billy became a quiet legend. On the battlefield, he was everywhere. When one of his boys went down, he always somehow got to him. Neither land mines, bullets nor a bunker full of enemy machine guns spitting out green death could stop him.
When that dreaded cry of "Medic" sounded, you could count on Billy -- he always got there. Stopping the bleeding, preventing shock, comforting the wounded with that soft, gentle South Carolina drawl: "Yuh'll be all right, ol' buddy. Jus' lay back heah in muh arms and let Billy look after you." All the while bullets would be cutting the grass around "Little Billy," as we called him. He never flinched, just did his sacred duty.
On March 13, 1969, the night Capt. Eugene R. Spiegle died along with two other Delta Company soldiers -- the same hellacious night 19 other soldiers were cut up by bullets and shrapnel -- Billy was the only "Doc" with his besieged and surrounded unit, and once again he did his thing. Pumping life into broken teen-age bodies. Keeping his boys alive. Ignoring the incoming stuff. Crawling, running, doing whatever had to be done, always exposed to enemy fire.
When Capt. Spiegle took a chest-full of bullets, Billy kept him alive by performing a tracheotomy with his pocketknife in the dark while under attack. Spiegle almost bit off one of Billy's fingers while he was clearing the fallen captain's blocked airways. As Billy patched up his skipper, a Viet Cong soldier fired a full magazine of AK-47 slugs at him -- but somehow missed.
Someone, something besides Lady Luck, had to have been watching over Billy as he looked after his particular flock of the young men who do the dying in the horror shows our so-called civilized world calls conflicts.
Combat medics are the most valiant Band of Brothers ever to grace a battlefield. They're usually the most visible targets -- out in the open on the same ground where their patients just got hit. Medics don't wait for a miracle to pull the wounded to a safe shelter -- they are that miracle that pulls, slides, drags and packs shattered bodies out of danger. And they risk their lives performing other miracles as well -- relieving pain, administering morphine and getting IVs going to pump life back into broken fighters.
Selfless and serving beyond good sense, countless medics have died in the line of duty in all our wars, trying to save not just their buddies but every boy fallen during battle.
"Little Billy" was one of the best of the best of the most courageous men I've known on the killing field, and I know I speak for all the Hardcore soldiers whom Billy touched. We loved his gentle ways, his lion heart, his total, selfless dedication to his soldier brothers.
I'm sure there's a special place in heaven for combat medics. Bet a buck, Billy has a front-and-center seat. He damn-well earned it.
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"
THE LOST PATROL"
28-29 January 1966
A glimpse of the lush green valley gave no indication of the fierce fighting within. On the 28th day of January 1966, fog lay thick over the valley. Four honorable Americans headed out to assist a troubled outpost. Three of these men were part of an A-team that had just arrived at Tra Bong days earlier. One of the men was part of the previous team and was due to return home the following day. He accompanied the patrol because he was familiar with the area as he had been there longer. Daddy, the senior medic, was on the patrol to care for the wounded at the outpost. The patrol was accompanied by about 100 Montagnards.
As they proceeded down the valley, they found themselves coming under sniper fire and eventually under full attack by a NVA regiment surrounding them on three sides. They radioed the base camp at Tra Bong, A-107, and advised they were under attack. Unfortunately, the patrol had gone further down the valley than initially planned and now were out of range for the camp to be of much assistance. Of the ammunition the camp had to help the men, much had been sabotaged. The team members at A-107, and several surrounding SF camps, dug in for the night, listening and waiting helplessly. Unprepared for the ensuing battle, with little ammunition and no map, the patrol faced certain defeat.
First down the valley was Captain John P. Fewell, Jr. Whether Fewell was killed that day or later is uncertain, what is known is that he was captured. Fewell's scant remains would be returned to his family many months later.
SGT Donald J. "Jake" Jacobsen was following Fewell. His body was found surrounded by dead VC and several of his yards.
SSG Earl F. Brown and SFC Elmer "Joe" Reifschneider survived the first attack and from their makeshift aid station made a last stand. As night fell, their ammo depleted, their fate was clear. The men destroyed their personal belongings to keep them from falling into enemy hands. Joe would have left that day to return to his family. Both men had little girls awaiting them back home. It brings some peace to know that they died together.
The valley was hot and the team couldn't move in until the following day. The team met a few stragglers, all Montagnards, coming out of the valley. They told the team that the Americans were all dead and that the captain had been captured. Yes, BacSi Brown was dead. He had about 25 wounded and wouldn't leave them. Daddy's body was found propped up as if sitting. A teammate would later say that he appeared to be spinning a yarn for his listeners. Another teammate would recall how neatly trimmed his mustache was even in death.
Unable to coax a medevac into the valley that day, the Mike force carried Daddy and Joe and some of the other bodies out on bamboo sticks used as litters. The medevac flew in the following day to recover most of the remaining bodies.
Not the happy ending I wish for . . .
not the greatest memory of a Daddy . . .
but it's all I've got.
Nearly 30 years later, I tracked down the remaining team members of A-107. All eight remaining members of the original A-team returned home:
James C. Carroll (deceased 1992)
Lewis Herman (deceased 1991)
Homer L. Barnes (whom I have yet to reach)
Cam Gamble, Jr. (whom I have yet to contact)
Raymond Morris
Ray Hause(nfluck)
Richard Norwood
Pablo Olivarez
Paul Sheppard
Ray Morris, Ray Hause, Rich Norwood, Pablo Olivarez and Paul Sheppard have all been in touch with me and shared their memories with me. Rich and Pablo have traveled to West Virginia to meet me and I met up with Paul at a Special Forces convention at Ft. Bragg. Bill Buford, a member of the Mike force who retrieved the bodies, has also contacted me. It is because of these men, you are reading this.
Were it not for these wonderful men, I would not know Earl Brown --
the soldier, the medic, the proud warrior!
Thank you, my brave heroes, for sharing my Daddy with me!
(Mel, 1/01)
And of all the threads I've done...this one is my favorite.
It shows that many of the young DO remember and Honour those who paid the price.
Memorial Day is approaching.....
Never forget.
redrock
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redrock
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redrock
redrock
Bears repeating.....every day.
redrock
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