Memorial Day

HEROES UNAWARE
By Mark A. Wright, HMC(SS)
22 June, 2000

I first saw him on a park bench
I’ve seen him every day
Sitting in a shady grove
Where my children come to play
Sometimes he feeds the birds and squirrels
Or whittles little toys
Sometimes he just sits and smiles
At the laughing girls and boys
And I never paid him any mind
‘Till one day just this year
I noticed that he wore a frown
And on his cheek … a tear.

Well I asked him why he seemed so down
He looked up, began to say
I lost half my friends 60 years ago today
He told me of the terror
As he fought to reach dry land
By the time the beachhead was secure
Half his friends lay in the sand

That was just in one long day
He fought on for 4 years more
And the 60 years from then to now
Have not dimmed His sights of war

He said they have reunions
Just to keep in touch and share
And for each comrade who has gone on
They leave an empty chair

Well, His park bench has been empty now
About 6 months or so
And if I’d never took the time
Then I never would’ve known
That sitting on that simple bench
With bread crumbs and little toys
Was a man who gave his all
To guarantee my daily joys

http://www.usmemorialday.org/

http://www.remember.gov/

We pause to remember those who died

With so much courage, so much pride

They’ll never come back, yet memories endure

To remind us of freedom: fragile, pure

We’re worthy of their sacrifice if we pause each day

Not just on the last Monday in May

©John T. Bird, copyright 2006

http://www.honorflight.org/

Last month my family and I observed a wreath laying/dedication at the Pacific WWII memorial in Washington D.C. We were unsuspecting tourists

A group of WWII veterans from Ohio had gathered together and made the trip to D.C. to pay tribute to all those they had served with and to remember those who had paid the ultimate sacrifice and to acknowledge the daily passing (a rate of 1200 a day-by many accounts)of their fellow WWII Veterans.

Some walked independently, some pushed in wheel chairs, most had on Honor Flight tee-shirts near all had their military caps-noting their branch of service….This procession was profoundly moving. The lone bag pipe player in Celtic garb played “Amazing Grace” followed by the Veterans. I can say, I had tears in my eyes and my heart in my throat as I watched. It was very noble and sacred.

I thought of all the Veterans and their families and of the recent passing of my own father in law, who had served in the Navy and in the Pacific fleet during WWII and of the young men and women who are currently serving and of those who have been killed giving their lives to protect and defend– real people who gave so much of themselves for all that makes our country great.

6 boys 13 hands

Each year I am hired to go to Washington, DC, with the eighth grade class from Clinton, WI where I grew up, to videotape their trip. I greatly enjoy visiting our nation’s capitol, and each year I take some special memories back with me. This fall’s trip was especially memorable.

On the last night of our trip, we stopped at the Iwo Jima memorial. This memorial is the largest bronze statue in the world and depicts one of the most famous photographs in history — that of the six brave soldiers raising the American Flag at the top of a rocky hill on the island of Iwo Jima, Japan, during WW II.

Over one hundred students and chaperones piled off the buses and headed towards the memorial. I noticed a solitary figure at the base o f the statue, and as I got closer he asked, “Where are you guys from?”

I told him that we were from Wisconsin “Hey, I’m a cheese head, too! Come gather around, Cheese heads, and I will tell you a story.”

(James Bradley just happened to be in Washington, DC, to speak at the memorial the following day. He was there that night to say good night to his dad, who had passed away. He was just about to leave when he saw the buses pull up. I videotaped him as he spoke to us, and received his permission to share what he said from my videotape. It is one thing to tour the incredible monuments filled with history in Washington, D.C., but it is quite an other to get the kind of insight we received that night.)

When all had gathered around, he reverently began to speak. (Here are his words that night.)

“My name is James Bradley and I’m from Antigo, Wisconsin My dad is on that statue, and I just wrote a book called “Flags of Our Fathers” which is #5 on the New York Times Best Seller list right now. It is the story of the six boys you see behind me.

“Six boys raised the flag. The first guy putting the pole in the ground is Harlon Block. Harlon was an all-state football player. He enlisted in the Marine Corps with all the senior members of his football team. They were off to play anothe r type of game: A game called “War.” But it didn’t turn out to be a game. Harlon, at the age of 21, died with his intestines in his hands. I don’t say that to gross you out, I say that because there are people who stand in front of this statue and talk about the glory of war. You guys need to know that most of the boys in Iwo Jima were 17, 18, and 19 years old - and it was so hard that the ones who did make it home never even would talk to their families about it.

(He pointed to the statue) “You see this next guy? That’s Rene Gagnon from New Hampshire. If you took Rene’s helmet off at the moment this photo was taken and looked in the webbing of that helmet, you would find a photograph… A photograph of his girlfriend. Rene put that in there for protection because he was scared. He was 18 years old. It was just boys who won the battle of Iwo Jima. Boys. Not o ld men.

“The next guy here, the third guy in this tableau, was Sergeant Mike Strank. Mike is my hero. He was the hero of all these guys. They called him the “old man” because he was so old. He was already 24. When Mike would motivate his boys in training camp, he didn’t say, ‘Let’s go kill some Japanese’ or ‘Let’s die for our country.’ He knew he was talking to little boys. Instead he would say, ‘You do what I say, and I’ll get you home to your mothers.’

“The last guy on this side of the statue is Ira Hayes, a Pima Indian from Arizona. Ira Hayes was one who walked off Iwo Jima . He went into the White House with my dad. President Truman told him, ‘You’re a hero.’ He told reporters, ‘How can I feel like a hero when 250 of my buddies hit the island with me and only 27 of us walked off alive?’ So you take your class at school, 250 of you spending a year together having fun, doing everything together. Then all 250 of you hit the beach, but only 27 of your classmates walk off alive. That was Ira Hayes. He had images of horror in his mind. Ira Hayes carried the pain home with him and eventually died dead drunk, face down at the age of
32. (ten years after this picture was taken).

“The next guy, going around the statue, is Franklin Sousley from Hilltop, Kentucky. A fun-lovin’ hillbilly boy. His best friend, who is now 70, told me, ‘Yeah, you know, we took two cows up on the porch of the Hilltop General Store. Then we strung wire across the stairs so the cows couldn’t get down. Then we fed them Epsom salts. Those cows crapped all night.’ Yes, he was a fun-lovin’ hillbilly boy. Franklin died on Iwo Jima at the a ge of 19. When the telegram came to tell his mother that he was dead, it went to the Hilltop General Store. A barefoot boy ran that telegram up to his mother’s farm. The neighbors could hear her scream all night and into the morning. Those neighbors lived a quarter of a mile away.

“The next guy, as we continue to go around the statue, is my dad, John Bradley from Antigo, Wisconsin, where I was raised. My dad lived until 1994, but he would never give interviews. When Walter Cronkite’s producers or the New York Times would call, we were trained as little kids to say “No, I’m sorry, sir, my dad’s not here. He is in Canada fishing. No, there is no phone there, sir. No, we don’t know when he is coming back.” My dad never fished or even went to Canada. Usually, he was sitting there right at the table eating his Campbell’s soup. But we had to tell the press that he was out fishing. He didn’t want to talk to the press.

“You see, like Ira Hayes, my dad didn’t see himself as a hero. Everyone thinks these guys are heroes, ’cause they are in a photo and on a monument. My dad knew better. He was a medic. John Bradley from Wisconsin was a caregiver. In Iwo Jima he probably held over 200 boys as they died. And when boys died in Iwo Jima, they writhed and screamed, without any medication or help with the pain.

“When I was a little boy, my third grade teacher told me that my dad was a hero. When I went home and told my dad that, he looked at me and said, ‘I want you always to remember that the heroes of Iwo Jima are the guys who did not come back. Did NOT come back.’

“So that’s the story about six nice young boys. Three died on Iwo Jima , and three came back as national heroes. Overall, 7,000 boys died on Iwo Jima in the worst battle in the history of the Marine Corps. My voice is giving out, so I will end here. Thank you for your time.”

Suddenly, the monument wasn’t just a big old piece of metal with a flag sticking out of the top. It came to life before our eyes with the heartfelt words of a son who did indeed have a father who was a hero. Maybe not a hero for the reasons most people would believe, but a hero nonetheless.

We need to remember that God created this vast and glorious world for us to live in, freely, but also at great sacrifice.

Let us never forget from the Revolutionary War to the current War on Terrorism and all the wars in-between that sacrifice was made for our freedom.

Remember to pray praises for this great country of ours and also pray for those still in murderous unrest around the world.

God Bless You and God Bless America

REMINDER: Everyday that you can wake up free, it’s going to be a great day.

PS . One thing I learned while on tour with my 8th grade students in DC that is not mentioned here is that if you look at the statue very closely and count the number of “hands” raising the flag, there are 13. When the man who made the statue was asked why there were 13, he simply said the 13th hand was the hand of God.

(my friend Pat - a Marine mom (her son is on a repeat deployment) sent me this)

THE FINAL INSPECTION

A Soldier stood and faced God,

Which must always come to pass.

He hoped his shoes were shining,

Just as brightly as his brass.

“Step forward now, Soldier,

How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek?

To My Church have you been true?”

The Soldier squared his shoulders and said,

“No, Lord, I guess I ain’t.

Because those of us who carry guns,

Can’t always be a saint.

I’ve had to work most Sundays,

And at times my talk was tough.

And sometimes I’ve been violent,

Because the world is awfully rough.

But, I never took a penny,

That wasn’t mine to keep…

Though I worked a lot of overtime,

When the bills got just too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,

Though at times I shook with fear.

And sometimes, God, forgive me,

I’ve wept unmanly tears.

I know I don’t deserve a place,

Among the people here.

They never wanted me around,

Except to calm their fears.

If you’ve a place for me here, Lord,

It needn’t be so grand.

I never expected or had too much,

But if you don’t, I’ll understand.”

There was a silence all around the throne,

Where the saints had often trod.

As the Soldier waited quietly,

For the judgment of his God.

“Step forward now, Soldier,

You’ve borne your burdens well.

Walk peacefully on Heaven’s streets,

You’ve done your time in Hell.”

~Author Unknown~