Paratrooper, Toccoa, Currahee

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We just wrapped an incredible weekend in Toccoa, Georgia with the Bridge to History Ambassadors studying all things Paratroopers.

One of the key aspects of the B2H program is continued mentorship and investment into the community when they return from their trip to Normandy. This weekend kicked off our first official Bridge to History Stateside Program and it couldn’t have been better.

If you have ever watched the TV show Band of Brothers or read anything about Dick Winters and the 101st in Normandy, then I am pretty sure Toccoa has popped up on your radar at some point. Nestled in the beautiful back country of northeast Georgia, Toccoa during WWII was home to the 101st Airborne. This is where the soldiers trained to become Paratroopers. They hiked the infamous Currahee Mountain. And it was here they were forged into the fighting force that would become a helping hand to the liberation of Europe.

This past weekend, Bridge to History Ambassadors from 2022, 2023, and 2024 flew and drove in from all over the country to spend a couple of days learning about these brave men of WWII.

Sleeping in the rebuilt WWII barracks at the base of Mount Currahee (on the exact location of the original camp) the ambassadors and their parents had a packed couple of days. Here are a few highlights:

“3 Miles Up, 3 Miles Down”

After a great tour at the Camp Toccoa at Currahee Museum, the ambassadors embarked on the hike up the mountain. Historically, the paratroopers would run this mountain on almost daily basis regardless of weather conditions. In Band of Brothers it infamously depicts a spaghetti dinner followed by a rigorous run up the mountain. The outcome? Yes - what you are probably thinking is correct.

The B2H ambassadors were grateful to just be hiking the mountain minus the spaghetti dinner. And they performed it with gusto.

Honoring Our Veterans

Saturday afternoon WWII veteran Andy Negra joined the Bridge to History crew for lunch and a special “fireside chat” about his experiences with the 6th Armored Division in Europe during WWII.

Andy is two months shy of 100 years of age. His spirit is effervescent. His perspective on life beautiful. And the love he still carries for his late wife (of 72 years) is inspiring.

For well over an hour, he shared his stories of the war, starting off with his childhood during the Great Depression.

Andy had called me a few days before the trip and asked what the ages of the students in attendance would be.

“10-12” I told him.

“Good.” He said, “That’s the age I was during the depression. I’ll tell them a bit about that for starters. They can relate better being similar ages.”

Andy didn’t shy away from talking about Buchenwald Concentration Camp. With careful tact, he told the students what he saw and the impact it had on his 21-year-old self.

It’s important to teach kids about the realities of war in an age-appropriate way. Film makes war glamorous. It’s easy for a 12-year-old history buff to see the uniforms and the tanks and the firearms and get excited. This is natural.

But this is why we discuss all aspects of war. Good and bad. People forget the atrocities that happened in the concentration camps. And when you forget, you repeat. It’s never too early to start teaching the value of life and honor and integrity.

“Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
— George Santayana, American philosopher (1863-1952)

Andy is a very special example of the character of the WWII generation. He is a national treasure. His life mission is to continue to educate the next generations about their legacy as Americans.

With his 100th birthday coming up, he told me that he just got his first passport last year. “I have 8 years left on it, so I plan on using it for the next 8 years.”

Our afternoon with Andy was a treat and a genuine honor. These boys will never forget it. I’d made my heart so happy to see the focus and attention they paid him (shout out to Winston who asked such superb questions it made Andy stop in his tracks with admiration).

Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Connecting the Ambassadors to the communities and local veterans groups is a very important part of Bridge to History Program. It means that the students have to take what they learned and implement it in the real world.

Our last night in Toccoa, VFW Post 4346 welcomed us as their guests for the evening.

When I initially reached out to the VFW about having the kids come over and have dinner and meet some of the vets, Post Commander James Williams didn’t skip a beat. “Of course!”

Williams and VFW Auxiliary President, Li’el Cohen were our gracious hosts taking meal orders and chatting with the group. Several veterans of various wars also joined our students, mingling and sharing war stories. The collective life experience in the room was incredible and the couple of hours we shared with them was just the tip of the iceberg.

One veteran of Vietnam shared an incredibly moving story of his battle with PTSD and how he learned to overcome it rather than be overcome himself. Another Navy vet had us chuckling with laughter and admiration as he passed his Navy decorated prosthetic leg around for our viewing pleasure.

Eventually we had to go back to camp, but it was hard to say goodbye. Each of the little ambassadors expressed how much they had enjoyed the evening.

Everyone talks about Southern Hospitality, but I gotta say - there’s something just a little bit extra special about Georgia hospitality. When I first stepped foot in Toccoa 10 years ago - it felt like home to me. 10 years later, it still feels that way.

Throughout the entire weekend, the B2H ambassadors and their parents experienced the very best of Toccoa hospitality. They learned about the Paratroopers through the history they left behind, and the firsthand accounts of the Toccoa folks who grew up with those paratroopers when they returned for reunions. They hiked Mt. Currahee with gusto - “3 Miles Up, 3 Miles Down.” They honored the memory of Toccoa Paratroopers who had been killed in action. They met with veterans, heard their stories, took notes and listened with their whole hearts. The students even got to help out a little at Camp Toccoa at Curahee. And they went home with full and happy hearts.

My desire is that this weekend added to the flame of interest and excitement they carry for understanding our American history and legacy. I hope they will continue to read and study and come back to Toccoa. It’s a special town with a rich history. We have so much to learn from it.

I would like to thank Steve Latham, Brad Rettig, and Camp Toccoa at Currahee, Inc.. for hosting us in their World War II barracks at the base of Mount Currahee, the same location as the original camp! They have done a phenomenal job rebuilding the barracks and provided the ambassadors with a special tour and history lesson on the paratroopers that trained at Toccoa.

I’d also like to thank Dale Moseley, Brenda Carlan, Lyn Hack, Pat Turner and the Currahee Military Museum for making our afternoon visit to the museum with Andy absolutely perfect and always going above and beyond to give young people the opportunity to learn about the history of Toccoa.

And many many thanks to VFW Post 4346 for an absolutely delightful evening. We cannot wait to come back and share this experience with more Bridge to History ambassadors and their families.

Bridge to History is a program of OPERATION MEATBALL. To learn more, participate, or donate click here:

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Old Folks + The Sea Captain

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Norman Rockwell

I’ve always had an absurd habit of taking notes about everything on anything - receipts, gum wrappers, banquet tickets, and used index cards. My phone is filled with random letters and notes, oftentimes voice texted rapidly at redlights on the drive home from an old timer's breakfast, a hospital visit, or a house check in. Usually written train of thought. Little things I want to remember.

These notes catalogue the ordinary days with my vets. The ones that don’t make it on “the gram” because they are too precious or just too - ordinary. But then I remember that this is how it all started, the driving force behind Operation Meatball. More than just a record of war, but a desire to give my future children and descendants a glimmer into what it was like to grow up surrounded by the last veterans of WWII: the charm, the humor, the idiosyncrasies… the ups and the downs. The beautiful moments and the sad ones. The phone calls, letters, and even text messages. What does a friendship look like between a 17-year-old girl and a 95-year-old man? One just beginning to experience life, the other in the twilight of his years - a few moments left before sunset.

There’s an old song from the 1930s called “Old Folks.” It’s the tale of one of the last Civil War vets. 

“Everyone knows him as old folks

Like the seasons he comes and he'll go

Just as free as a bird and as good as his word

That's why everybody loves him so.

Always leaving his spoon in his coffee

Tucks his napkin up under his chin

And his own corn cob pipe is so mellow, hits right

But you needn't be ashamed of him”

The song (look it up: Bea Wain “Old Folks”) is delightful and gives a peak into the crossover of the antebellum and pre World War era. It was actually introduced to me by a WWII vet who had heard it as a little boy and had come to the realization that he was now “Old Folks.”

One of the last civil war veterans

Next year, Operation Meatball will be turning 10 years old. In the spirit of this, I want to start sharing some of these little memories and nuggets. I’ll warn you - they are scribbles… but they tell a little of the story of my Old Folks. And they are some of my favorite memories.

The Sea Captain

Norman Rockwell

Last year one of my OG vets passed away. RW was a fascinating old sea captain who had taken a cold call from 17-year-old me, inviting him to the first event my sisters and I ever hosted.

I was nervous. Very nervous.

But he very sweetly calmed me down. “Honey,” he said in a raspy voice “Take a few breaths while I go get a pen and paper.” He listened to my pitch about why he needed to come to my party and accepted. We were steady friends after that.

He was brilliant. Always reading, always improving his mind. Before his health failed, he was reading Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire for the 3rd time. The Sea Captain also gave me some of the best life advice I ever received, “Liberty, the most important word you need to learn is ‘No.’”

In the last few weeks of his life as he valiantly fought hospice (trying to make it to 100) I would go out to visit him as regularly as I could. My poor attempts to cheer him turned into a form of therapy, and I always left feeling refreshed and renewed. A parting gift from The Sea Captain. 

Here are a few notes from one of my visits… a couple of weeks before he passed away.

Scribbled notes from 2022:

“The Sea Captain is sitting in his chair. Wrapped up in blankets. He hasn’t eaten hardly at all. He’s frustrated because he’s an active man. His whole life he’s been active. And now he feels weak and unable. I sit and chat with him for a few minutes. I remind him we’re supposed to talk about Lord Nelson and his lady friend. My note regarding this from last visit is still on his desk. “Talk to Liberty about Lord Nelson next visit.”

After I’m there for a few minutes he starts to tell me about Lord Nelson. Initially he says he’s too tired… But the storyteller in him can’t resist the opportunity. His stories are interrupted by WW2 Marine and Peleliu survivor, Mac and his wife Maggie. Maggie is impeccably dressed. Floral shirt, blue blouse, denim jeans rolled up and cuffed at the bottom. Her hair is perfectly coiffed. Mac looks good himself in gray joggers. They are a charming couple, married 76 years. They sit down and try to talk with the Sea Captain for a while but it’s a little bit chaotic. No one can hear anything. All the old people are deaf. But they sit and chat. Go over the ailments. Talk about breakfast. Before they leave, Maggie offers to make anything for The Sea Captain to eat (rumor has it she’s a spectacular cook).

I sit and talked with The Sea Captain a little bit longer. Hardly has Mac and Maggie left and he picks up the story exactly where it was interrupted. He finishes the story… Discussing the life of love of Lord Nelson and the triangle relationship he had. He’s tired. I offered to read to him. I list off of number of books in his library. Most of them he’s ready many times over - like 1776 by David McCullough.

We settle on Gulliver‘s travels. He adjusts himself and closes his eyes. I read several pages out of Gulliver‘s travels. Periodically The Sea Captain readjusts himself. His hands are cold so he puts them under the blanket. Then he gets warm and he takes him out. He stretches his legs. He’s stiff. I offered to rub his foot for him. It’s itchy. And stiff. I tell him my dad used to exchange foot rubs for cartoons. I rub his feet for a few minutes. I keep reading Gulliver’s travels. He goes in and out of dozing… But I know he hears it.

Finally, I have to get up and go. I tell him I’ll come back. I watch him drink a little bit more of the shake. I gave him a big kiss on the forehead. He brightens up and squeezes my hand. He tells me he’s looking forward to me coming back tomorrow.

As the days got shorter for the Sea Captain, it became harder for him to move to his library (which, by the way was fitted out in proper nautical style), so some mornings I’d just sit at the end of his bed and read him papers, show him old war time postcards, or help him put his socks and shoes on -even if he wasn’t going anywhere. A common element I’ve witnessed at the deathbeds of so many of my beautiful seniors is the desire to maintain one’s dignity as long as they are cognitive. Sometimes this means something as simple as combing the hair.

I remember the day my Marine Fred died, his niece and I (unaware it was the final day), decided that after two and a half weeks at the VA it was time to give him a shave. I’d never seen him with scruff before that time. Fred wasn’t able to communicate much, but his face expressed appreciation.

March 4, 2022
I popped in to see The Sea Captain for a few minutes before going to work. Timing was good… I helped him put his socks on and his shoes on. I really treasure little things like this. It makes you feel good to help out someone who can’t help themself. And I feel like they’re small decencies. I remember Colonel Skardon (A Bataan Death March Survivor) talking about his friends who would rub his feet for hours to help with the pain when he was in the hospital. Small decencies.

I sit at the end of his bed and we talk. I throw the ball for the dog. The dogs run around like crazy animals… One ball goes too far and the dog takes out a fake plant. He laughs. We talk a little bit about Bill Mauldin‘s cartoons… The whimsy of Willy and Joe. Then we just talk about stuff in general. Finally, I have to go. I hate to say goodbye… Situations like this I never know if it’s the last. But I tell him I’ll be back. I have a marathon this weekend… But after that I will be home. And I’ll come see him. He says, “thank you. No really… Thank you so much.”

I give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him I’ll be back soon. I say maybe I’ll bring so-and-so. He’s a good egg. RW says, “as opposed to rotten egg?” I say, Yes, we throw the rotten eggs out.”

Perhaps these notes and recollections seem mundane. A lot of life is mundane. I like mundane. It causes you to sit ad be still. Enjoy. Breathe. Take a few moments to see life through the eyes of someone who has already lived so much of it.

The day the Sea Captain died

The Sea Captain went home to be with his Christ and his beloved wife today. He missed his wife of 71 years so much. When I was talking with him yesterday, he kept staring ahead and saying, "Liberty, Isn't she so beautiful. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” At first I thought he meant the watercolor painting on the wall. But then I remembered his eyesight was almost completely gone. He was blind. It was then I knew then he was going home soon - to be with his “great lady.” So much - but so little is known about the passing of life. We hear "rumors". But we'll never know till it's our turn. Still - little moments like this make death beautiful. Almost like God sends his emissary to walk the last few steps of life, fear free.

I miss my intellectual chats with the Sea Captain… discussing all things Ceasar, the Gallic Wars, George Washington’s particular sense of humor and the pros and cons of one crossing the Rubicon. We had fun, but I was definitely left with a lot of homework. The Sea Captain gave me a list of books to read, including Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. “Take your time. It’s a difficult book. I don’t normally like audiobooks, but Decline might be a good one to listen to,” he says. I have a painting hanging on my wall of Lord Nelson’s ship, “The Victory.” It reminds me of him.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite things the Sea Captain told me: At one of the last old timers breakfasts he made it to, he got into a debate with a retired Army General. The Army was advocating getting rid of scoring in a particular field of competition. “Too much pressure. People shouldn’t be forced to get the highest scores,” was the opinion.

Despite being 99.5 years old and not feeling par to the course for some time, this line of reasoning fired the Sea Captain up. “Why not?!” He rebutted with energy. “Why shouldn’t we try to be the best. Doesn’t matter if we can’t be, but we should at least try.”

And I agree.

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking."

John Masefield

O P E R A T I O N M E A T B A L L

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Introducing: Week of Iwo Jima 75

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Week of Iwo Jima: 75 Years

This week begins our countdown to the annual Iwo Jima Association of America reunion.

Iwo has been a HUGE part of the Operation Meatball world and my own personal world the last 15 years. And this year is extra special as it is the 75th anniversary, bringing the circle completely round as we begin the last of the Iwo Jima commemorations. Sure, there will be more Iwo events in the future, but none like the 75th…. after all, even for the youngest and most athletic survivor, 75 years is a long time ago.

For the next week leading up to the reunion, we will have short posts on our blog and Facebook to help you get to know the veterans and survivors of this battle a little better. As well as sharing some personal anecdotes from my own experience growing up with these vets.

Iwo Jima Veteran, Ira Rigger. Ira served with the Naval Construction battalion (SeaBees) during WWII. “SeaBees Can Do!”

Iwo Jima Veteran, Ira Rigger. Ira served with the Naval Construction battalion (SeaBees) during WWII. “SeaBees Can Do!”

We started our #WeekofIwoJima75 yesterday in Washington, D.C. at the National World War II Memorial. Commemorating 75 years to the day (February 19, 1945) since the landings on Iwo Jima, with keynote speaker General Mark Milley, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

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General Miley gave an effective speech about the anniversary of this epic battle, a battle personal to him as his own father served as a Navy Corpsman on Iwo. [you can watch his speech here]

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We look forward to sharing with you more about this iconic battle in American history!

If you have a family member who served on Iwo Jima, we would love for you to send in a photograph and short paragraph telling their service story. You can send it to:

OMVeteranStories@gmail.com

We will be sharing stories and photographs highlighting our Iwo Jima Veterans over the anniversary month an would LOVE to include you family’s hero.

“They died to save their country and they only saved the world.”

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Memorial Day Special from the Operation Meatball Archives // July 28, 2014

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

Back to the Island

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When I went to Iwo Jima in 2015 with my dad, it fulfilled a dream I'd had since I was 8 years old. It completely changed my life, and I was pretty sure that my first time there would also be my last time.

But next Monday, I will be helping escort 6 veterans (including one of my dearest of friends) back to Iwo Jima, Guam, Saipan, and Tinian. I'm still waiting for reality to hit. But I am deeply grateful to the Best Defense Foundation for this opportunity to re-live those childhood dreams all over again and in the company of such heroes.

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Consequently, I have been studying like a madman in preparation. I feel like the word "excited" is an inadequate one to describe how I feel about returning to Iwo and making my first trip to Saipan and Tinian. The history of these islands is one that I feel so deeply connected to.

Iwo was my first introduction to WW2 when I was 6 or 7 years old. And some of the first stories of war I ever heard were from veterans of Saipan who described what it was like to watch the poor brainwashed natives take their own lives by jumping the cliffs rather than fall into the hands of what they had been told were "cannibal Americans."

Over breakfast one morning, a Marine (*see endnote) showed me a picture of the first Japanese he ever killed and the cave where he was wounded by a grenade. Another one showed me the volcanic ash that was still in his hands.

I have shared tears with hearty Marines who were making their first return to the battlefields; some of whom had left an arm, a leg, and hardest of all - their best friend.

But it wasn't just a rollercoaster of hardcore memories that makes my connection so deep. Along the way, I was a adopted by this special group of fighting men and given a second family. My Marine Corps family. All these extra uncles who declared I had to run any boyfriends by them for approval first, swore to protect me (in various forms of Marine Corps terminology), and were there to help me through some pretty rough times.

Mt. Suribachi (2015) with Sgt. John Coltrane

Mt. Suribachi (2015) with Sgt. John Coltrane

Going back to Iwo is pretty personal to me. More than the dress blues (which are gorgeous btw), more than the battle facts and statistics - because honestly, none of the adopted uncles are statistics to me - my Marines are living, breathing human beings who went through hell, but still managed to go on and live normal lives.

So what is the word I’m looking for to describe how I feel? Grateful? Heart-full? Thoughtful? Exuberant? I don't know. For now, just consider these words to be the placeholders until I do find the right one.

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** Note: The story of that Marine and the photo is not a story of the glorification of death… rather it is part of a beautiful story of forgiveness. When the Marine showed me the photo (one his buddy had taken), he was still angry with the Japanese. He had 70 years angst and bitterness built up that was coming to a climax. By showing me the photos, he was trying to share his story and find clarity in the mental conflict he was still fighting. He needed answers. All week I spoke to him about this, and others did as well… tskaAnd incredibly, the day we went to Iwo Jima, he was able to go up to a Japanese veteran and shake his hand. It was the first Japanese man he'd been willing to talk to since the war. The rest of the trip following that, he was happy and light-hearted. A month later, he passed away. I think he had finally found the deep peace and forgiveness he needed.

"The Bonnet of an American Jeep" [Special from the Operation Meatball Archives]

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[From the Operation Meatball archives: January 5. 2015]

My sister Faith recently received a letter from English veteran Ernie Covil whom we met while in Normandy three years ago (2011), and then again this past June (2014). Our delight at seeing Mr. Covil after three years was quite unbounded. After the trip, Faith wrote him and sent some of the pictures we had taken. The letter he wrote back was of such interest that we thought we would share some of it with you, as the timing of it is also perfect. 

As many of you may know, this past month has been the 70th anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge, one of the most significant battles of WWII. There were tremendously high casualty rates on both sides, but in the end, the Battle of the Bulge was a decisive benchmark for the Allies as the push to Berlin and winning the war. Here is an excerpt of Mr. Covil’s letter telling a little of his time during the months of December '44 through the beginning of '45.

About my time in the Army, I was called upon on April 1, 1943, age 18. After six weeks infantry training I was then moved into my new regiment as a Lorry Driver into the R. A. S. C. (Royal Army Service Corps). My job was to supply ammunition, food, petrol from the beach to the front line or wherever it was wanted. When Antwerp was taken and the port made workable, the ships were able to bring supplies in, we were moving them from there. That saved the long journey back to Normandy (the roads had been shelled, bombed and it was hard going). Working out of Antwerp, this made things better and carried on back to parts of France through Belgium, Holland, and Germany.

While in Belgium, I was sent to an American transport unit in the Ardennes. It was snowing and cold. I enjoyed my Christmas Dinner on the bonnet of an American Jeep. On leaving the American Unit I went back to the British lines, moving along through to Lubeck, Hanover, Hamburg, and nearly into Berlin. A few miles this side of Berlin, the British and American lines stopped and let the Russians take Berlin. On my way through we were very lucky; we only lost three men, which was nothing to what some units lost. But three is three, to many it is someone’s life gone.

I loved all 40's songs. My most loved one at the time was Vera Lynn’s, "We’ll Meet Again." Of the best bands - must be Glenn Miller. There was no band better to dance to, not even today. When the war finished in Germany I was then sent to Egypt [and] Palestine. From there I came home and was demoted (discharged) September 1947."

The history of the Battle of the Bulge and the siege of Antwerp are both fascinating. If you are interested in reading more about it, I would recommend Mr. Federer's article as a very good summary. 

Greater Peoria Honor Flight / May 8, 2018

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The month of May was truly Honor Flight month for Operation Meatball. Immediately following the Chino Air Show (which I talked about last post), OM began a whirl-wind trip to Peoria, Illinois.

Just a few weeks earlier, I had received a text from my dear friend (and Operation Meatball board member) Phyllis Piraino of Greater Peoria Honor Flight that they had a spot for me on their May 8th Flight. I was beyond ecstatic. As you all know, I LOVE working with Honor Flight, and there are few hubs I'd rather fly with than Greater Peoria. They were our very first Honor Flight nearly four years ago, and because of that, we share a special bond with them. 

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Notes from May 7:

 

Nearly 4 years ago we met our first Honor Flight at the WWII Memorial: Greater Peoria Honor Flight (GPHF). Today I got to see our very first Honor Flight vet, Bob L-, and tomorrow I fly out with GPHF for their V-E Day Honor Flight. Excited doesn't even begin to describe it. But it's a start. We have a bright and early start in the AM, so DC peeps: stay tuned for some pretty happy vets about to head your way!

 
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The night before a trip, GPHF hosts a Pre-Flight Dinner. This is a wonderful opportunity for the vets to get together, meet, break the ice, give any final information for the trip the next day, and enjoy a hearty meal!

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The details that go into this dinner are numerous. In fact, this is one of the things we first noticed about GPHF which sets it apart: their attention to detail and community effort. It isn't a millionaire who sends the vets to D.C., it is the hard work of the local community. During the last school year alone, students from grade schools in Peoria raised $106,480 to send their heroes, the veterans of the Greater Peoria area, to DC!! This is just incredible.

From the adorable goody bags decorated by local children, to the incredible pre-flight dinner, the veterans can't help but feel completely loved and honored for their service.

Flight Day!

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Mornings are early with Honor Flight, but the energy is always high enough to make up for it. First comes check-in, then photos, followed by the easiest trip through security that you'll ever experience. 

Popping around, asking the vets if they were ready for the day, I heard from one of our Korean War vets that he had already had the most wonderful time, and he didn't know how it could get better. "Wait a minute! You can't say that," I told him. "It's 4:30 am in the morning, and we haven't even left Peoria yet." But he insisted. His cup was almost filled up with the happiness he had experienced in the last 24 hours. "Just you wait..." was all I could tell him, and I had to leave him contentedly thinking it couldn't get better. 

Coffee and donuts provided by the Salvation Army, the National Anthem played by two darling little girls on the violin, and we are off!! 

Arrival in DC!

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Whenever an Honor Flight lands in D.C., the entire terminal is notified, and everything is put on hold to greet these heroes with handshakes, clapping, even a little music. Of course, the vets are not expecting this, and I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of moist eyes among the group.

National World War Two Memorial

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First Stop: The National World War Two Memorial for the May 8, V-E Day Program. This was extra special for our group as we had 7 World War Two veterans on this flight who were invited to participate in the ceremony. 

Photo credit: Greater Peoria Honor Flight

Needless to say, the memorials never get old ~ each visit is a new experience, a new memory. But visiting the WWII Memorial with WWII vets, and on such a significant anniversary as May 8, the end of World War Two... it's really hard to beat that.

Some of the WWII vets presented the wreaths for the VE Day ceremony.

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Sunny and warm, but a perfect day. And these two kept us smiling the entire day.

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I always love to see the veterans getting together and chatting... no longer strangers.

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Two of our WWII,s. 

Photo Credit: The fabulous Tami Stieger 

Photo Credit: The fabulous Tami Stieger 

Surprise visit from a few of my BWI Brownies!

The Vietnam Wall

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Each memorial holds a special significance to me... the Vietnam Wall is no exception. For the sake of time, I'll just share one story with you from this emotional memorial...

Notes from May 12 / A highlight from Greater Peoria Honor Flight's trip on Tuesday was visiting the Vietnam wall with our Nam vets. I was able to help Archie find a few of his friends' names (many of them childhood friends)... but the most touching moment came when he told me the story of an officer of his who's name is on the wall:

It was Friday the 13th. Archie and 12 other men were on a patrol in Vietnam. Communications were poor and before he knew it they were being fired on - by their own men. They had unknowingly run into a brother unit who took them for VC. In a matter of moments, every man in his 13-man patrol was wounded, and the officer (fresh out of OTS) was killed. It is one of the tragic accidents of war, and sadly there are too many stories similar to Archie's.

Each visit to the wall is uniquely special... but this is one I will remember for a long time. 

Air Force Memorial

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I ended up spending the entire time at the Air Force Memorial listening as this kind and gentle man, Mr. Avery, explained to me how meaningful this whole experience had been for him. At the end of the day, as we disembarked from the plane back in Peoria, his eyes were full of tears. No words needed to translate that.

Welcome Home

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Moving forward because it's impossible to capture every moment in one blogpost (those of you who suffered through our post[s] several years ago when the girls and I were guardians for two 95 year-old Air Force vets know what I'm talking about)... The Welcome-Home.

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I've never teared up at a Welcome-Home before. But I certainly did here (I'll just blame it on Mr. Avery for getting me started). I walked down the line taking photos of the countless people holding signs, cheering the veterans, hugging and kissing, thanking the veterans, the bagpipes, the families greeting their loved ones... I'm still getting chokey thinking about it.

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Honestly, this was the best Welcome-Home I've ever been to. I'm not good at estimated numbers, but I can say that the entire airport terminal was packed (and I mean PACKED) with people. 

The entire day was a magical one for our vets, and I'm afraid I've only been able to give you a few inadequate highlights. The work that goes into each flight is just enormous, and I can't say enough about the whole GPHF crew, who are really the heart and soul of this Honor Flight hub! And the biggest hug and thanks to Phyllis for including me! 

Finally, the number one word that comes to mind with Honor Flight is Healing. Whether it is tough memories that won't fade, or possibly hard feelings over long overdue recognition, these dear men, who served our country in good times and in bad, come home with a new feeling of respect, healing, and value. 

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Chino Planes of Fame Airshow / May 5-6, 2018

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Liberty with WWII Veteran, George Ciampa at the Planes of Fame Air Show

Liberty with WWII Veteran, George Ciampa at the Planes of Fame Air Show

The first weekend in May, I was invited out by the Veteran's History Project to the Planes of Fame Airshow in Chino, California. This event has been on my bucket list for several years now, and it did not disappoint!! My friend, Don Baer, head of the Veteran's History Project, had tirelessly worked for months to bring together a stellar group of guest veterans which included such names as:

Dick Cole: the last surviving Doolittle Raider
Lauren Bruner: USS Arizona Survivor
Ed Lopez: WW2 & Korean War P-47 Pilot
Doc Pepping: Combat Medic with the 101st Airborne Division
Sarge Lenticum: Vietnam veteran who served 3 tours with the 101st Airborne
Muriel Engelman: Army Nurse - Battle of the Bulge
Bob Friend: Tuskegee Airman
Vince Speranza: 101st Airborne - Battle of the Bulge, and many, many more.

D-Day veterans, Pearl Harbor veterans, Air Corps, Flying Tigers... The years, the history, the experience, all gathered together, under one tent. It was spectacular. 

Each day the tent would fill with spectators of all ages, excited to meet Living History. Little children who just wanted to shake the hand of a veteran, retired servicemen and women who wanted to talk aviation with the WWII ace, the airborne reenactor who wanted to meet the original Paratrooper, and then the random sightseer who was there for the planes and hotdog stands, knowing little about history or WWII, but left filled with respect, admiration, and a new understanding of the sacrifices made for our country. 

Vince Speranza (101st Airborne WWII) talks with P-47 Pilot, Ed Lopez

I didn't see much of the air show (typical for me) as I ended up spending most the time chatting away with the veterans. How could I not?? It was such a fabulous opportunity to visit with men from all areas of the war.

I shared a few words, and a few laughs with USS Arizona survivor, Lauren Bruner, the first afternoon. Mr. Bruner had a dramatic escape from this tragic ship, suffering 73% burns.

A few months after Pearl Harbor, despite his terrible injuries, his knowledge and abilities were needed, and he was called up by the Navy. Four years later, his war ended in Tokyo Bay with the surrender of the Japanese.  

Wilbur Richardson: B-17 Ball Turret Gunner - 30 missions.

Sometimes I wonder if Doc Pepping is the reason the sun comes up every morning. His cheerful personality and hilarious sense of humor makes him a delight to be around. During the war, Doc parachuted into Normandy on D-Day serving as a combat medic with the 101st Airborne. 

It's always great to see our friends from the Airborne Demonstration Team!

WWII Veteran, Vince Speranza, keeping the attention of these young fellas. 

WWII Veteran Larry Stevens surprised us with a visit to the Veteran's tent. After chatting a few minutes with Mr. Stevens, I learned that he was in the same bomb group as the uncle of a close family friend. From then on we were buddies. Mr. Stevens is another man who helps the sun to rise in the morning with his grateful, cheerful, optimistic personality. After meeting him, it was impossible to stop smiling.

Veterans Ed McMullen (Flying Tigers) and Col. Dick Cole waiting to be presented with a special award from the Chinese government. 

Mr. and Mrs. McMullen. Mr. McMullen was a B24 nose-gunner who flew "the hump" in the China-Burma-India theater with the 308th Heavy Bomb Group, "Flying Tigers." Meanwhile Mrs. McMullen worked as a Riveter at a Lockheed defense plant. She had one brother serving in the Pacific and the other at the Battle of the Bulge. Thankfully, both made it home. Mr. and Mrs. McMullen have been married for over 70 years and are just as precious as can be.

Jack Gutman, a Navy Corpsman not only at the D-Day Invasion of Normandy, but also the Battle of Okinawa in the Pacific. 

WWII and Korean War veteran, Ed Lopez sits behind his impressive medal display. 

Last photo, but definitely not the least!! My new friend, Bob Friend. On day 1 of the air show, Mr. Friend and his daughter were the first to arrive. So I got to spend a good half hour chatting away before the rest of the group arrived, followed by the crowds. During the war, Mr. Friend served with the elite Tuskegee Airmen. But though we talked a good deal about his service in the war, hearing about his fascinating and hilarious family was really the icing on the cake. Couldn't have been a better start to the air show weekend.

It was a smashing weekend at Chino. Many, many thanks to Don Baer and the team of the Planes of Fame - Veteran's History Project who worked tirelessly all weekend (and long before) making it an awesome experience for the veterans and spectators. 

Survival, Loyalty, and Faith: The Story of Ben Skardon

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Photo Credit: Ken Scar

In early February of 1945, the war in Europe was wrapping up. By May, the Germans had surrendered, and there was "a hot time in the town of Berlin when the Yanks [went] marching in.” The jubilation of the freed countries of Europe was unbounded.  

But for Ben Skardon and the remaining veterans of Bataan, it looked hopeless. After surviving a brutal march, cattle cars of death, multiple Japanese prisoner camps, disease, and starvation, by early December 1944, Ben Skardon and 1600 other POWs had been crammed into the hold of the Japanese passenger/cargo ship, Oryoku Maru.

“Sitting for days… Each man sitting between the legs of the man behind him. Thus began a 47 day nightmare of horrendous inhumanity and barbarisms. The lack of air and water. The confined space. The constriction of movement produced near panic.”
— Ben Skardon

En route to Japan, the Oryoku Maru was attacked by US Navy planes from the USS Hornet. Unmarked and unidentifiable as a POW ship, the Navy planes had no idea they were bombing their own men. The ship was sunk and 270 POWs were killed. Loaded onto another cargo ship, the Enoura Maru, Skardon and his fellow POWs were again hit by friendly fire in the harbour of Takao, Formosa, killing another several hundred men.

Among those killed was Otis Morgan, a man to whom Skardon owed his life. Morgan and another man named Henry Leitner had worked tirelessly to keep Skardon alive when he lay sick and dying of starvation and disease. Trading what few valuables they had left (including Skardon’s Clemson Ring), they managed to bribe the guards for the necessary items to keep their friend from death’s door.

Henry Leitner and Otis Morgan (PC CBS News)

When Skardon succumbed to the tortuous sufferings brought on by Beriberi (a vitamin deficiency disease which causes nerve inflammation and heart failure), Morgan and Leitner spent hours around the clock wiping his eyes and rubbing his feet to help reduce the pain. During a time when it was “every man for himself” to survive, the three men had stuck together to keep each other alive.

But even their close friendship could not prevent Morgan from becoming one of the hundreds of casualties of the Hell Ships. When the ship docked on January 30th, of the 1,619 POWs brought aboard in the Philippines, hardly 500 had survived the barbaric 47 day crossing.

“Survival, Loyalty, and Faith,” Ben Skardon told an auditorium of people gathered to hear him speak 76 years later. "Survival: To maintain life, to endure. Loyalty: To family, to friends, to country. Faith: In the fellow man and the Almighty God." Those were the keys to his existence during the unthinkable experiences he had endured as a prisoner of the Japanese.

PHoto credit: CBS news

Despite all odds, Ben Skardon (now a retired Army Colonel) had survived. He had survived one of the greatest tragedies in American history. But why had he survived when so many others had died?

In his speech two weeks ago at White Sands Missile Range, he explained how he never gave up. Once a man had given up the hope and fire inside of him to survive, Skardon explained, it was very rare that that man would live to see another sunrise.

To live without Hope is to Cease to live.

~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The loyalty of his friends and to his country had also kept him alive. Morgan and Leitner never got to see their homeland again, but because of the sacrifices they made for their friend, their names will never be forgotten - not by Ben Skardon.

On March 18, 2018, for the 11th time, 100 year old (“100 and 7/10," he corrects me) Ben Skardon made his annual pilgrimage to White Sands Missile Range for the Bataan Memorial Death March. After a weekend meeting the marchers, encouraging them for the difficult task they were about to undertake, and sharing personal experiences from Bataan, Col. Skardon set out on his own Bataan Memorial March.

He doesn’t have to. After all, he is over 100 years old… but he feels obligated. An obligation that is 76 years old. Leitner and Morgan did not have to exert themselves to save Skardon’s life, but they did. And now, Col. Skardon feels it is a small thing to march in their honor.

Proud to March with ben's brigade and wear a my great-uncle's photo

In past years, Col. Skardon has marched 8.5 miles of the rugged desert terrain. Nearly 7 of those miles are dubiously sandy, uneven, and difficult for the average person, much less a senior. But Col. Skardon has been defying the term “senior” for years, continually proving the mettle which helped him to survive his years of imprisonment.

This year, as the members of Ben’s Brigade gathered for the annual pre-march dinner, I asked a few of them if the Colonel would be going the whole 8.5 miles. “It’s hard to know… but we’re hoping for 3 miles” was the general response.

“I’m going to go as far as I can,” the Colonel told me.

The next morning, the marchers, the veterans, and Ben’s Brigade gathered for the opening ceremonies. It was an electric atmosphere. The Bataan Memorial Death March is no easy marathon, and every one of the participants either knew that or figured it out pretty quick. Having completed the whole 26.2 miles last year, I can tell you the feeling among the marchers is just enough excitement to get them up in the morning, but just enough nerves to question the sensibility of the venture they are about to embark upon.

Members of Ben's Brigade, including Col. Skardon's nephew, Sgt. Hooper Skardon

But all those nerves disappear when, moments before they cross the start line, the marchers are greeted by Bataan Death March survivors, ready to shake their hands and wish them well before heading into the New Mexico desert. It is an utterly inspiring sight. Over and over again my throat choked and I teared up as I watched the marchers, wounded warriors, ROTC, active military, veterans, and civilians pause to shake the hands of the very men who were the reason for this memorial march.

wounded warriors shake the hands of bataan survivors moments before they head out to the grueling New mexico desert

“Good job. We’ll see you in 26 miles!” The veterans would say, and off the marchers would go.

When the last man crossed the start-line, Ben’s Brigade formed up.

“Oosh,” said Colonel Skardon, a command his Japanese guards would holler out for the prisoners to “keep moving.”

At mile 1, we halted. “If you want to cheat,” said the Colonel in his refined southern accent, “You can’t. We’ve got the record right here.” The Colonel says that if you take a photo with each mile marker, it's proof that you didn't cheat.

By mile 2, we began to hit the sand.

Mile 3, the sand was beginning to get rough. The Colonel made his mile stop and announced, “We’ll wait here 30 seconds. One, two, three, four, five, Oosh!” We continued.

Col. Skardon at mile 5

Never a complaint, occasionally throwing out a piece of humorous advice, or offering a witty comment, Colonel Skardon pressed on.

“The voices spoke,” he said, as he rested a hand on the mile 4 marker, “but I have prevailed. I’m gonna try one more mile… before I take the night.” He added with a twinkle, “You know what that means? If you get into that damn automobile, you get bayoneted…. but me, I’m the commander. You’ll be in front of me.” His announcement complete, with a chuckle and a mischievous grin, he ordered the well-known command, “Oosh!”

After completing 5 miles, Colonel Skardon took a seat in the car that followed behind us over the sandy desert terrain. He left us with this parting, “I have some urgent business to take care of, but I’ll join you at 7.”

Before too long we were re-joined by the Colonel, and by the time we reached the finish-line, he had completed nearly 7 miles. I can’t quite tell you what an incredible feeling it was to watch 100.5 year old Bataan Death March survivor (or should I say “year-young” after the feat he completed) cross his personal finish line. Inspiring? Oh 100%.

During the march, I had contemplated the life of this man, listened to stories from his family and friends, and watched him put one foot in front of the other, unfaltering in spirit.

Colonel beverly skardon crosses his personal finish line at the bataan memorial death march

Despite age, memories, a full life, this man who had marched the same trail and endured the same horrors of Bataan which took my great uncle's life had just completed another yearly pilgrimage, “as a tribute and honor to my Clemson friends,” Otis Morgan and Henry Leitner. “Two and a half years in the prison camp and we became like brothers." For his brothers he marched.

A true testimony to his character and the 3 rules he had given us the day before, “Survival, Loyalty, and Faith.”

For someone like Colonel Skardon, “inspiring” just begins to describe him. But marching with him was inspiring. To me, to the members of Ben’s Brigade, and to every single one of the marchers who shook his hand.

Moments after  Colonel Skardon led the group past the finish line, Ben’s Brigade broke out into the Clemson Cadence:

1-2-3-4
C-L-E-M-S-O-N
T-I-G-E-Rrrrrr-S!
Fight Tigers, Fight Tigers, Fight, Fight, Fight!

A most appropriate ending for this memorable day.