A Short Reflection

Seven years ago this January I received a call that I consider one of those key moments in your life that changed everything.

“Hello Liberty… Your family was recommended to me by a WWII Veteran Bill Schott. Would you and your sisters be willing to come and sing for my veteran lunch group this month?”

Kevin (the man calling) organized a monthly WWII veteran luncheon he paid for out of pocket. Starting out he had just gathered a few WWII vets together, but within a year his roster boasted well over 80 WWII veterans. It was his way of giving back to the veterans that gave so much in WWII.

The girls and I jumped at the request. A few months before we’d been introduced to Iwo Jima Survivor Bill Schott. He’d captured our hearts almost immediately, and I’d been looking for an excuse to get back up to Fort Worth for a second visit.

Sometimes looking back in life you see moments that changed the course of your life. This was one of those pivotal moments. After the first luncheon we were completely in love.  Our “one-time” trip turned into 7 years of attending these luncheons.

And playing hostess to the vets turned into deep lifelong friendships.

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How many hours did we spend in the car commuting from San Antonio to Forth Worth? I have no idea. Even when we moved to Colorado briefly, the 14 hour drive to Texas didn’t deter us from visiting our adopted family of veterans.

We grew up with the vets while they grew old. We watched the luncheons expand in size as the WWII guys began to dwindle in number.

How many times did we say goodbye each month, not knowing it was a final goodbye. One last squeeze of the hand, or a quick “hug for the road.”

Every meeting ended with “Sentimental Journey,” the entire room joining in. One month, the song was replaced with a different oldy from the war. In the uproar that followed, one would have assumed we’d been selling government secrets to the Russians.

One year we all took a boisterous trip to New Orleans to visit the National World War Two Museum. Perhaps Nola with a bunch of octogenarians doesn’t sound wild, but then you don’t know the energy of these guys and their taste for life.

I’m a little sentimental today because Friday was the last luncheon of the year. There will be another one in January, but I don’t take it for granted anymore.

In the moment it’s hard to know when you are making a decision that will change your life. It’s why one really has to be willing and available at all times. Open hands, open heart.

Looking back 7 years I can't imagine what my life would be like today if I hadn’t taken that call. Definitely missing some of the brightest color and the dearest of friendships one could ask for.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

80 Years Since Pearl Harbor

I have so many reflections on a day like today. It’s a Tuesday, but no ordinary Tuesday. 

80 years ago today the world changed forever. We all know the story of how early in the morning of December 7, 1941, America was brutally attacked by the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service in a less than honorable sneak strike. 

The consequences of this action resulted in the deaths of 2,403 American servicemen and 68 civilians, sparking America’s entry into the Second World War.

I don’t want to retell a history that has already been told many times, and by far more adequate writers. Instead, here are a few random thought threads I’ve had today.

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I remember the first year my family and I went to Pearl Harbor. I had just turned 15. Still on a high from Normandy and the D-Day celebrations that summer, I had been a strong advocate for getting to Hawaii for the 70th. We all considered it to be the last big finale to remember this historic moment in American history. Little did I underestimate the tenacity of the Pearl Harbor Survivors to continue making the long pilgrimage each year. 

If Normandy was my adult baptism into the world of WWII, Pearl Harbor left the final touches. I came home from that trip inspired and amazed. 

In the days leading up to the 7th, our hotel was literally crawling with veterans. Looking back it’s hard to believe. If my memory recalls, there were over 100 Pearl Harbor Survivors in Hawaii for the 70th anniversary, not to mention the countless other veterans of World War Two that had shown up to pay tribute.

Today I read that somewhere between 20-30 Survivors were present for the 80th, and just about 100 total still alive. If you consider that it’s been 80 years - it’s still impressive.

In 2011, one veteran I met in the lobby of our hotel told a crazy story about a bomb that hit his ship. It landed not too far from his position, and to the shock and surprise of his fellow shipmates, the bomb didn’t explode. It was a dud. Putting caution to the wind, they rushed over to examine it. Indelibly engraved on top were the words USN 1915. Surplus we had sold the Japanese and they were now returning - with interest.

Another veteran left an indelible mark on my heart as he recalled listening in horror to the pounding on the walls of the USS Arizona by the sailors trapped below. For days. There would be 1,177 casualties from that ship. Homes that would never be the same,  and a memory that would never leave the ears of the witnesses to the sinking.

But my memories with the Pearl Harbor guys aren't all serious… 

A couple of years ago, I was privileged to return to Pearl Harbor with The Best Defense Foundation and their veterans. In the group were two vets new to me, Donald Long and Stu Hedley. They were a duo if ever I’ve met one. Don was tall, elegant, charming, and had a way with words that would capture anyone’s heart. Stu was known around the world for his empathy, quick wit and iconic greeting, “Alooooha.” Together, they were ready for vaudeville. 

I remember the afternoon we arrived at our hotel in Hawaii, Don looking up at the high ceilings and elaborate Christmas decorations remarked, “Stu, I think they should place a swing up there [pointing with his cane], and you should sit on it and swing back and forth across the lobby singing ‘Remember Pearl Harbor.”’

The visual image was just outrageous. Stu got a kick out of it. Thankfully, this idea never came to fruition.

Our morning elevator rides were something else. In the corner window above the floor numbers, a little hula girl would dance every time someone stepped into the elevator. The first ride up, Don remarked that the girl was shaking her hula skirt at Stu. Stu, a terribly good sport, went along with it. This routine continued every time we got on the elevator. My friend Cindy and I were in stitches watching these two (almost 100-year-olds) crack jokes about Stu’s romance with the hula dancer in the window like they were back in high school.

At the end of the trip, Don presented Stu with a hat that had a hula girl neatly embroidered on it, the perfect ending to a perfect trip.

The adventures of Stu and Don would make a great little book. They both died within a few weeks of each other. I loved my conversations with Don over text, and I still have a precious voicemail from Stu.

Don wasn’t very good at accepting compliments. When I told him goodbye in person the last time, I hugged him tightly and said how much I would miss our chats and intellectual discourses. “Now look, Liberty,” he said in his elegant tone of voice, “I know you tell that to all the boys.” But his eyes twinkled. And if he knew how much he was truly missed, I know he would be flattered. 

Thank you Don and Stu for the laughs and love.

And to my Pearl Harbor Survivors: We will always remember you. 

Facebook Memories: Charlie Alford

A few days ago, these photos popped up on good ol’ Facebook memories. With the blessing and curse that is social media, I do appreciate reminders of past years. This particular memory struck especially home. 7 years. How has it been 7 years?? “How time flies” is an obnoxious cliché, but ever so true.”

Anywho, because the story behind the photo is one of my favorite stories I thought I’d share.

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In July 2014, after the girls and I got home from Normandy I was scanning the news for all things D-Day commemoration. It was a big year for Normandy (if you’ll pardon my grammar), the 70th anniversary was nothing to sneeze at. The veterans were largely in their late 80s at the time and still considerably active. I don’t recall the exact number of vets expected to attend that anniversary, but from my personal experience - Normandy was abounding with these treasured octo and nonagenarians.

Consequently a lot of articles were floating around afterwards. Combing through the news, one piece in particular struck me: A story about a Texas veteran and his journey back to the D-Day beaches with his son.

That was my introduction to Charlie Alford, 1st Lieutenant with the 6th Armored Division.

Hosted by Doug Dunbar (CBS Dallas), the short biopic expressed all the feelings. Charlie’s first time back to his battlefields was evocative, hopeful, healing, sincere, and inspiring. I was so moved by the piece that I emailed it to my mom and said, “I wish there was a way I could meet this guy.”

Fast forward a few months, the girls and I were in Dallas for a Veterans Day luncheon. The luncheon, organized by Daughters of WWII, was spectacularly laid out. There were so many World War II‘s present, you wouldn’t believe it looking back. Even former President Bush joined us briefly to pay tribute to the veterans. The day would have been overwhelming, if it wasn’t so wrapped up in joy. The girls and I just took everything in as best as we could.

During the program I looked around and there, a table over from us, I saw Charlie. I knew him immediately from the news piece and I was so excited. I just wanted to meet him, shake his hand, and thank him for the tears his story had left in my eyes and the warmth that touched my heart.

Now that I think about it, I don’t remember who initiated the conversation… Whether it was Charlie or me (he had such a gregarious personality, always talking with everyone), but the little meet and greet turned into one of the most beautiful and treasured friendships. I don’t know how long we stood there chatting, but I do know we were one of the last to leave the ballroom.

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I learned a lot from Charlie in the few years I knew him. He would call me up sometimes and say, “How are the Meatball girls doing?” And when the girls and I hosted our parties at the old car museum in San Marcus (despite the multi-hour drive), Charlie never failed to show up.

He laughed, he made jokes, some of them absolutely outrageous. But there was so much integrity to his character. And real nobility. Christian nobility. His life had definitely been affected what happened to him in the war, but it didn’t define him.

I remember one day he told us a story of dropping a pickle jar, and watching it shatter on the ground, and refusing to let the human anger that boils up at moments like that manifest in the form of cursing. His life had changed after becoming a Christian, and that including the words he used. I was profoundly affected by this simple account. And it always remains in the back of my mind for whenever I am inconvenienced.

So that is my story. A providential meeting. A beautiful friendship. And a blessed life.

The original article is no longer available, but above is a segment Doug Dunbar did following Charlie’s passing in 2017. Incidentally, when this facebook memory popped up I was also reminded it would have been Charlie’s 100th Birthday.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Our American Birthright: Veterans Day 2021

Roy Huereque and Donald Long, two veterans who left a lasting impact on me.

A few weeks ago, a conversation I had led me to contemplate the birthright that is given to us as Americans. Birthright is kind of an archaic word, but absolutely invaluable. It is our inheritance, our legacy, a rightful privilege we receive at birth. Our birthright as Americans gives us the gift of freedom. Freedom to self regulate and self govern. With that freedom comes responsibility. The responsibility to tend to, care for, and protect our birthright.

“To whom much is given, much is required.”

This birthright, our freedom, has to be guarded. We all share the responsibility, true, but it’s not equally divided. Our military carries the burden of protection in a different manner than the civilian. Our military holds the line for the rest of us. A few men and women volunteer to make particular sacrifices and develop distinct disciplines so that the rest of us do not have to.

And that’s why we have a Veterans’ Day. To honor their service, their sacrifice, their discipline, their burden, and to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not hero worship. It’s recognizing that they have taken our place in line and made themselves available to protect America on behalf of the rest of us. Some years patriotism is in vogue, and other years it’s blacklisted. But our veterans stick it out, carrying the standard with pride. And for this, I will always be grateful.

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A few years back, I listened as a veteran told me the story of a day when time stopped for him. Beneath the skies of Belgium, he watched the snow fall slowly and melt into nothingness on the open and exposed brain of the young paratrooper he held in his arms. He had tried to save the boy, but the surrounding snow was already stained red with the life of the young man.

The veteran was old, but still strong. I held his hand as he reflected on this painful memory. He was gentle, kind, and sincere. He had carried a Medic’s bag in the war instead of a rifle because he wanted to save life, not take away.

The entirety of our friendship, I never once heard him complain. His presence was like a warm hug. His sense of humor was charming. I cried bitterly when he died. But I never forgot that conversation.

“Liberty,” he had said in a smooth Virginia accent, “I love this country so much. As horrible as it all was, I would do it all again. At 95 it would be my greatest honor to take up arms for my country. That’s how much I love her.”

There was no pomp in what he said. No clichés. It was pure and simple.

He loved America.

For him to have that experience, just one in many nightmarish experiences he had suffered, it was worth it. Worth it if it meant I - ME - Liberty Phillips - did not have to. That was it.

There is so much chaos in the world. So much disillusionment, hurt, pain, and so on. But I am convinced a grateful heart is a happy one. Gratitude doesn’t mean ignorance. Gratitude is choosing to not allow suffering and hardship to define who you are, and who you will be.

I am grateful for my veterans. My military family. For all it entails. “So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love…. And Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Happy Veterans Day.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Celebrating the Marine Corps Birthday with a Short Run

Mission Accomplished

Run With Purpose, Finish With Pride

Happy birthday my dear, dear Marines. I must still love y’all loads because I ran another 26.2 miles for you and only you.

It was a different Marine Corps Marathon than in past years - they cancelled their in person somewhat last minute -but nevertheless, it was an amazing experience. Exhausting yes, I went straight from a long days work to hitting the pavement (and let’s not even get into my training regime) but at the same time exhilarating and thrilling.

It sounds corny, but the miles passed quickly as I went through my USMC memory box and pulled out mental tokens all the fine Marines I’ve known... Marines who adopted me as family and “helped to raise me” as I like to tell people jokingly, tho it’s mostly true.

Also the fine Marines we lost in August...

Anyways... I can hardly walk right now, but it feels good to feel this bad. Happy birthday.

Semper Fi and Hugs my Marines.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

See ya later Cliff

It’s been about a week since we lost Clifford Goodall. What a doll he was. Everyone knows Cliff definitely charmed his way all around the world. His DDay story is a special one - landing with 7th Naval Beach Battalion on Omaha beach and surviving.. I don’t know how many time he returned to Normandy in subsequent years, but every time he was met with so much love and gratitude from the people of France. They adored him.

Once in Normandy I was traveling with a different group, but at nearly every ceremony Cliff happened to be sat in front of me. It was pretty chilly that year, so I kept badgering him into taking blankets and heating packs, making sure he had enough water, snacks, and chocolate. He finally declared, “Do you think you’re my mother!” To which my answer was, “Of course!”

My last in-person visit with Cliff was at a paratrooper reunion of all places. I was thrilled to have him there as a reinforcement against all the crazy paras. It was a good time.

So many more little anecdotes. Cliff will be missed. But he left us with a wonderful book of memories. ❤️

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

They Went With Songs to the Battle, They Were Young: Heart Thoughts on Afghanistan

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"They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them."

I’ve tried to write this so many times, but I'm speechless. Everyone is speechless. In a world full of noise, there are so few words at a time like this.

Watching the catastrophe in Afghanistan the last few weeks has felt surreal. I've wanted to share my support, but I’ve struggled to find words - my heart is so broken over the situation. It feels so personal.

Over the last two weeks, I've thought about all the great guys I've known over the years who fought and lost friends in Afghanistan and are now left questioning everything. I've thought about the families who will forever have a gold star engraved on their hearts, and a beautiful little girl I met once, 4 - maybe 5 years old, who wore a Marine Blues dress in honor of the daddy who was never coming home. And I've wondered about the fate of those who are now left behind.

With a heart full and few words, I've prayed a lot. Checked in on my friends who served over there. And I’ve prayed a lot more.

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Thursday, when the bombing report came in, we were celebrating my brother's 20th birthday. As the names started to trickle out and then the official list was released, I can't tell you how many tears I shed seeing their faces, names, and ages. I'm still crying.

Kids. Marines the SAME AGE as my brother. 20 years old. Infants at the start of this war.

Too young to drink. But old enough to die.

Now that they've been brought home, I'm afraid of the apathy that will follow. It always does. The news of tomorrow will overshadow the headlines of today. Soon people will forget about the debacle of the last few weeks, and if they don't forget, they will be uncomfortable remembering.

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But it's good to be uncomfortable. It's important. While our lives resume, the families of those 13 will never be the same. Let's not allow ourselves to become apathetic.

Image from Nicole Gee’s instagram

For me, while I look for other ways to help, I will continue to pray for the comfort of the grieving and the safety of those now left abandoned in Afghanistan. I will pray for the Soldiers and Marines coming home, and for the health and well being of those who served previously and are now dealing with feelings of betrayal and loss.

As nightmarish as the last few weeks have been, I do believe there is some hope in the rubble. Amidst the scenes of heartbreak and disaster, we have been inundated with reminders of the individual courage of the American serviceman and their willingness to unselfishly sacrifice ALL at a moment's notice.

"Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die."

6 days before she was killed in the line of duty with her fellow Marines, Nicole Gee posted a photo on her instagram holding an infant and captioned, "I love my job."

At the cost of their lives, we have been reminded that American patriotism still exists.

Thank you for your service to this country.

- - - - - - - -

Marine Corps Staff Sgt. Darin T. Hoover, 31, of Salt Lake City, Utah

Marine Corps Sgt. Johanny Rosariopichardo, 25, of Lawrence, Massachusetts

Marine Corps Sgt. Nicole L. Gee, 23, of Sacramento, California

Marine Corps Cpl. Hunter Lopez, 22, of Indio, California

Marine Corps Cpl. Daegan W. Page, 23, of Omaha, Nebraska

Marine Corps Cpl. Humberto A. Sanchez, 22, of Logansport, Indiana

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. David L. Espinoza, 20, of Rio Bravo, Texas

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Jared M. Schmitz, 20, of St. Charles, Missouri

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Rylee J. McCollum, 20, of Jackson, Wyoming

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Dylan R. Merola, 20, of Rancho Cucamonga, California

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Kareem M. Nikoui, 20, of Norco, California

Navy Hospitalman Maxton W. Soviak, 22, of Berlin Heights, Ohio

Army Staff Sgt. Ryan C. Knauss, 23, of Corryton, Tennessee.

What We Know About The 13 U.S. Service Members Killed In The Kabul Attack

"Sure a rough mission for us today.”

It’s been a couple of years since I mentioned my friend, Lt. Vince Losada... he was something else. His life and death was a book. I don't need an excuse to talk about him, but I figured Purple Heart Day is a pretty good one.

As you can see in the photo (my last one with him), Vince earned his Purple Heart at a pretty high cost - his arm.

On March 15, 1945 Vince was returning from his 25th mission on the beautiful B-17 Flying Fortress "the Big Drip Jr." Their mission had been Oranienburg, Germany. Within moments of dropping the first bombs the "Big Drip Jr." was attacked by flak that was "intense and very accurate." One burst of flack hit Vince, seriously cutting up his back and severing his right arm above the elbow. He told me that the arm was only attached by a string.

A tourniquet was applied and morphine pumped into him, but it didn’t look good and they had a long flight home. The “Big Drip Jr.’s” pilot later wrote, “The underside of the plane from the cockpit to the tail was covered with Vince’s blood from this wound."

After considering flying to Russia, they decided to risk the trip back to England. By a miracle, Vince made it.

"The flight surgeon told us that another fifteen minutes would have been fatal."

Photo credit: http://www.487thbg.org/ & Vince Losada

Boyd Smith, the waist gunner, wrote the next day,

“I think he will pull through. He has a lot of grit and Thank God for letting us get him back.... Sure a rough mission for us today.”

Thanks to Boyd's quick work applying the tourniquet, and the freezing altitude at which they were flying (which coagulated his blood and kept him from bleeding to death), Vince pulled through. He was 20 years old.

Photo credit: http://www.487thbg.org/ & Vince Losada

I never once heard Vince complain or consider himself to be less fortunate than others. In fact he was one of the most self-sufficient and optimistic people I've ever known (and a darn good driver too). So many lessons to be learned there.

Really, there are so many more incredible stories for Purple Heart Day. But I just wanted to share this one about Vince. Because he was my friend. And represented so well all that Purple Heart award stands for, including humility, integrity, and a wicked good sense of humor.

Thanks Vince. We miss you loads.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Flag Day

June 14th. Flag Day. It’s one of those days which comes and goes and if you know you know. Little did Congress know that day in 1777 that the flag they adopted would become such a profound symbol for freedom throughout the world. Fought over, bled over, at times misunderstood, other times a beacon of hope for the oppressed; one day those stars and stripes even reaching to the moon.

Through out military history, flags are everything. Lose the flag and you lose the battle. From the Romans to the present day, the stories of bravery and sacrifice for “the flag” are countless. During our own Civil War, I can think of at least half a dozen stories from both sides where life was willingly given for a scrap of cloth.

“The Iron Brigade” by Don Troiani (one of my very favorite artists)

At the battle of Gettysburg, a 21 year old Colonel in the Confederate Army picked up the colors after 12 standard bearers before him had been either killed or wounded. Colonel Burgwyn became the 13th. His last words, “The Lord’s Will be done."

During the same battle, a standard bearer on the Union side was captured and spent over 500 days as a Prisoner of War. To prevent the flag (riddled with 72 bullet holes) from being taken from him, Sgt. Sheppard wrapped it around his body under his worn clothing, and kept it successfully hidden until his release at the end of the war. In later years he is reported to have said that his farm and the flag were the two things he valued most. And he would give up the farm before the flag.

Since that summer day in 1777, there have been numerous iconic paintings and photos taken which represent the meaning behind our flag. There’s the Spirit of 76’ painting, Washington crossing the Delaware, The Flag raising at Iwo Jima, the Moon landing, Raising the Flag at Ground Zero, and many more. Beautiful and awe-inspiring images.

Yet despite it’s glorious history, the Stars and Stripes continue go in and out of fashion.

In the classic American biopic Yankee Doodle Dandy, Jimmy Cagney (who portrays the brilliant playwright and composer George M. Cohan) gives this line:

“It seems whenever we get too high hat and too sophisticated for flag-waving some thug nation comes along and decides we're a pushover all ready to be blackjacked. And it isn't long before we're looking up mighty anxiously to be sure the flag is still waving over us.”

A number of years ago, a Navy veteran who had served aboard a carrier in WWII related stories from the 60s and 70s when just wearing an American Flag pin was considered offensive. One morning his office had been trashed because of it. At the time it was hard for me to imagine anything like that. But lately I feel like we’re trying on that “high hat” for size.

I’m not blind to America’s faults. She certainly has many. However, I am too aware of the cost it took to get us here and the Divine hand of Providence that guided us through the numerous ups and downs the last 245 years, to take something like the flag for granted. A symbol for Freedom, Emancipation, and Liberty.

So here's to our nation: she's young, she's growing too fast, she makes a lot of mistakes, but somehow she does manage to keep her people free. May she always.

- Ella Bishop “Cheers for Miss Bishop”

Here’s my final anecdote. It’s a story I have shared in the past, but will always be one of my favorites.

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“Rockets Red Glare” By Abraham Hunter

The Bombs Bursting in Air

Many years ago at a Marine Reunion in San Antonio I met Colonel Tom Kalus, an epic Marine who had participated in two of the greatest moments in Marine Corps history: the Battle of Iwo Jima in World War Two and the Chosin Reservoir Campaign during the Korean War.

Both events were brutal and at high cost. But they were part of a greater effort to return the freedom and liberty’s of those who it had been ruthlessly stripped.

When I first met the Colonel , upon introducing myself as “Liberty” - my birth name - he asked, “Do you remember the lines in the National Anthem - about the 'rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air?”

“Of course.” I replied.

“When I was on Iwo,” he said, “About the 3rd or 4th night, the Japanese gave us a real hard shelling. One of the wisecracks in my foxhole said, 'Hey look, it's like in the song, the bombs bursting in air.’”

Kalus didn’t pay much attention at the time, but a few years later he was again fighting for his life against frostbite and a fierce enemy at the Chosin Reservoir in Korea.

His story continued.

“One night at Chosin,” he said, “The 7th Marines were bravely taking a hill and the Chinese were giving them everything they'd got. The sky was filled with explosions and fireworks. I remembered what the Marine had said on Iwo, 'and the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.' At that moment I realized that I was seeing what Francis Scott Key had seen when he wrote the Star Spangled Banner."

The Marine got teary-eyed as he finished by saying that he could never listen to the American Anthem again without thinking of those fearful nights at Iwo and Chosin.

To this day, whenever I hear our national anthem played I think of the Colonel, those Marines, and the hope those words had given him, and so many millions of others around the world.

The Flag that flew over Fort McHenry in 1814

“O say can you see, by the dam’s early light. What so proudly we hailed at the twilights last gleaming.
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

Happy Flag Day.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Memorial Day: The Unknown Grave

Of all the gravestones in a military cemetery the ones marked, "Known Only to God" seem to me to be the coldest and most lonely. Without name, date, or epitaph they are easy to overlook, especially when surrounded by multitudes of more relatable grave markers.

But just like it's neighbor, underneath this lonely, unmarked cross lies the mortal remains of some woman's child; the light of her eyes and hope for the future, cut off in the bloom of his life. He might be 18 years of age, or he could be 29. Like his name, we don't know. Only God knows.

There he will lie until the end of time, sleeping peacefully surrounded by his comrades in arms, at rest from the wars of the world and the struggles of men. But for his mother and loved ones, they will never know it for this soldier sleeps in peace, known only to God.

For this reason I have always felt compelled to stop and pay my respects to these unknown. Lay a hand on the stone and whisper “Soldier, I will remember you.”

My great-great uncle, Private Israel Goldberg, lies in one of these lonely unmarked graves in Manilla. I think about him often and hope that on a day like this someone will remember his unknown grave. Walk by it, touch it, maybe leave a flag or a flower. And wonder who the brave fellow is that rests below.

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

To all the Unknown Graves today, “Soldier, we will remember you.”

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Memorial Day with Roll Call

Grateful for spending an early Memorial Day with these 19 national treasures in Fort Worth yesterday.

Years ago when we first started going to Roll Call, the WW2 veterans were in their 80s, with an average monthly attendance of about 75 vets, sometimes capping out at 90 (almost hard to believe now we ever had that many WW2's in one room!). It's a little different now. The first veteran I ran into yesterday as he cheerfully walked in (without a cane or walker) announced to me he was 100. And the Korea and Vietnam War caps have replaced the WW2 and Pearl Harbor ones.

But the fighting spirit is the same. And as one dimpled 95 year old told us yesterday, "I'll see you next month!"

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Goodbye Bud

Goodbyes are hard. And there have been so many of late. But this one... 💔

Bud called me up a couple of months ago. Phone calls with him never lasted more than a minute - minute and half if he was feeling really chatty. But this time he stretched it out a little longer. He wanted to talk about our friendship over the years and what it meant to him. I was tearing up by the end (he had that affect on me). Gentle, kind, soft-spoken man that he was, this was an unusual display. It sounded like he was saying goodbye. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew in my heart this would be the last time. It was.

On Thursday it was my turn to say goodbye. Gathered together with his friends and fellow Marines, we gave Bud one final adieu. I patted his kind hands for the last time as he lay there so handsomely decked out in his uniform of the Corps, medals on his chest, American flag draped over his casket. He looked so fine.

Taps played. A gun salute was fired.

Goodbye Bud.

Semper Fi and farewell my wonderful, handsome Marine.

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Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

A Short Story for Easter

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Easter was this past Sunday, but I wanted to share a little story I learned a few years back from my friend, the indefatigable Fiske Hanley. Fiske passed away last year at the age of 100. Anyone who ever came in contact with him, knows he was truly a legend. Still carrying gnarly physical reminders of his time under the Japanese Kempeitai, he was unflagging until the end and more often than not would be seen wearing his original jacket from the war (though perhaps unbuttoned to make up for the years and life he had experienced).

There are so many stories I could relate from my visits with Fiske… including some pretty humorous moments when we both traveled to Iwo Jima in 2015 for the 70th anniversary. But for today, here is a little piece I wrote in 2018 following a visit to his home in Fort Worth, Texas. It’s a simple story, but not an Easter has passed since that I don’t think of it.

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Today Christian Day

A small, bent framed man entered a dank prison cell in Tokyo, Japan. He was carrying a few morsels of food for the bruised and bloodied prisoner within.

"You Christian?" He asked in broken English, placing the food on the ground.

"Yes." Answered the American flyboy, turned POW.

"Me Christian." Said the little man pointing to himself. "Today Christian day."

The American didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

"Today Christian day." The man repeated.

The American shook his head, then it struck home. “Christian Day.” April was coming Easter was April 1st. It must be Easter.

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Last week I had the wonderful privilege of spending the afternoon with my fabulous and rugged friend, World War Two veteran and Japanese POW, Fiske Hanley. Mr. Hanley is amazing. At 98, he just goes and goes and goes. Showing me his calendar, I couldn't help but notice it was all marked up in red!

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WWII B-29 Bomber

During the war, he served in the Army Air Corps flying the spiffy new B-29 bombers. A couple of years ago, the girls and I were attending an Iwo Jima reunion out in Wichita Falls, TX. The first day there we ran into Mr. Hanley. "What are you doing here?" We asked him. "You aren't a Marine."

"Nope." He laughed. "But I'm an honorary Marine." Then he pulled out a certificate from his jacket and said, "I bombed Iwo Jima a month before the Marines landed... most of our bombs missed the target and landed on the beaches and in the water. We killed a lotta fish. But, we did one good thing. The bombs that hit the beach created ready-made foxholes for the Marines when they landed in February. So you see, they made me an Honorary 'Marine Foxhole Builder.'" We all had a good laugh over this.

Little he know at the time of the bombings on Iwo Jima, that within just 2 short months, his entire war would take a drastic change. 

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On March 27, 1945, Fiske Hanley's B-29 was shot down over Japan. He was forced to bail out and parachute onto Japanese soil. Out of his entire 10-man crew, just one other managed to parachute to safety.

It was only his 7th mission.

The story that follows of his capture and subsequent torture by the Japanese as a "Special War Criminal" is one of amazing courage.

Landing in a rice field, Fiske was met by a furious mob of Japanese civilians with farm tools and bamboo spears. He barely escaped with his life when the local police arrived and put the two Americans in a back of a truck. Then they headed to Tokyo for interrogation by the Japanese version of the Gestapo, the Kempeitai.

As an American B-29 Bomber, Fiske was considered by the Japanese to be a civilian killer and a war criminal. From then on he would receive "Special Treatment." This included regular beatings, opening his wounds so they could not heal, starvation, and solitary confinement. By the time he was liberated in August of 1945, Fiske had dropped from a healthy 175 pounds to a mere 96.

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When I visited him last week, he related a remarkable story to me.

A few days after his capture, Fiske was lying in a single cell. He was in pain from untreated wounds he had received from his crash. Everything he had heard about the Japanese treatment of POWs told him to expect the worst. Considering the welcoming committee that had greeted his landing, the rumors weren't far from the truth.

The door opened, and a "Peon" came in carrying a stipend of food for Fiske. "I call him a peon," he told me, "Because he was the lowest of the low in Japanese society. Nobody cared about him."

The little man spoke in a whisper, "You Christian?"

"Yes." Said Fiske.

"Me Christian." Said the little man. "Today Christian day."

Fiske didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

"Today Christian day." The man repeated.

He still didn't understand, and the man repeated the phrase a few more times. Then it struck him, Easter was April 1st. It must be Easter.

Over the next few days of his captivity there, he found out that the little man's family had been converted by Christian missionaries a few generations back. But because of their social status (literally at the bottom of the totem pole), no one ever bothered to enforce the religion of the land on this simple Japanese family.

Fiske was only held at that prison for a short time, but all the while he was there, the little Japanese man brought him what ever extra things he could sneak in to the cell, helping to keep him alive.

"Easter is on April 1st this year." He added, 73 years later. 

As he told me this story, I couldn't help wondering about the missionaries. The seed they had planted generations ago would continue to grow quietly, until one day it would have direct (and possibly live-saving) impact on an American POW in 1945.

You never know what lives you will touch down the road... people who will not be born until you are long passed.

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Liberation! Fiske is Far left, behind the guy in the white shorts.

Mr. Hanley would spend 6 months as a "Special" POW," enduring unending hardships... but this brief encounter was a spark of hope amidst all the darkness.

Virtual Iwo Jima Honor Walk

This weekend I am participating in the Best Defense Foundation virtual IWO JIMA HONOR WALK and I’d love for as many of you as possible to join.

I’ve said a hundred times, and I’ll say a hundred more: Iwo Jima is forever a piece of my heart. I was 7 years old when I met my first WWII veterans. One was a Marine Corps Colonel who had fought on the island. The other, his friend, was a P-51 pilot who flew off of Iwo Jima. Ever since, Iwo has been in my blood.

This year was the 76th anniversary, but it passed virtually unnoticed by the public. There were no reunions. No commemorations. And just a handful of local papers. But the few Iwo Jima Survivors who are left - they remember. And we will remember.

THIS IS WHY I’m walking to Honor my Iwo Vets on March 20.

My team is called, “FRANKS FRIENDS” for my dear friend and Iwo Jima Survivor, Frank Ponitsso USMC.

During WWII, Frank served in the 5th Marine Division and was in the first wave to storm the beaches of Iwo Jima. On the 12th day of battle he heard a marine call out “hit the deck.” Frank and two other Marines were struck by a mortar blast, but survived despite being seriously wounded. The last he remembered was receiving a shot of brandy from a corpsman after diving into his foxhole.

On being evacuated, Frank’s right arm was packed in ice, transported to a hospital ship, then Guam. A month later, gangrene set in, and his arm had to be amputated. For this great sacrifice, all he received was a Purple heart and a certificate from the government. But that didn’t matter to him. “The guys that deserve a Purple Heart are the ones that are buried there.” He told me.

And that’s how Frank lived his life. Always grateful. He passed away last winter, and the world lost one of its finest. I rarely use the word “hero”… because it’s a lot to put on someone. But Frank is my hero.

I’d love for as many of you as possible to join my team as we remember and honor the memory of Frank Pontisso on this 76th anniversary of Iwo Jima. Best Defense Foundation has put together a wonderful program. It’s completely FREE to sign up and participate. Though for a small donation, BDF has designed some some pretty great commemorative Iwo Jima merch which I highly recommend you include when signing up.

Iwo Jima Honor Walk - 76th Anniversary in Solana Beach, CA, Mar 20, 2021 - Events.com

To join my team, just click the TEAM button on the link below and enter FRANK’S FRIENDS in the Team Search button. It should pop up right away.

See ya virtually on March 20!

Short Reminiscence

If I’d known this time year that it was going to be the final Iwo Jima reunion, I don’t think I’d have changed a thing. I’ve thought of little else the last month. I just didn’t know what else to say that hasn’t already been said.

It was absolutely perfect.

There was this “last stand” feeling about it, even though we all made plans to meet up again the next year - 2021.

It’s weird not having my whole month blocked out and planned around the week in DC, galavanting around with my Marines, fighting over who pushes who in the wheelchairs, singing the Marine Hymn 10 times a day, and finding expired hearing aids batteries in my purse as a parting gift from my nonagenarians.

Semper Fi my Marines - till we meet again.

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Related Reading

They Showed Up: The 75th Anniversary Iwo Jima Reunion — Operation Meatball

Photo Recap from Week of Iwo Jima — Operation Meatball

Hero of 2020: Sir Tom Moore

Last year Sir Tom gave, not just England, but the entire world the inspiration we needed to keep moving forward. Both figuratively and literally he showed us how to take each day at a time, and put one foot in front of the other.

“With stubbornness, courage and optimism, he was the right man at the right time. He was Britain as it needed to see itself: selfless, patriotic and undefeated - and never taking a backward step.”

The BBC has written beautiful piece recording his remarkable life. I highly, highly recommend taking a moment to read it.

Obituary: Captain Sir Tom Moore, a hero who gave a nation hope - BBC News

Grateful

Honestly y’all, putting these packages together the last couple of weeks has been the highlights of the holidays this year.

It’s one of the oldest cliches in the book that giving to others makes us feel happier. And this holiday season In particular it’s come through.

Just the satisfaction of making pretty little packages with all the Christmas fixins’ and knowing they’re going to some special folks.

Christmas is now over, but if you’re feeling blue there are still plenty of opportunities to spread the “Holiday cheer.” I may sound like a Hallmark Movie (definitely been watching too many of them) but a little something (chocolate is a great one) for your postal worker, the guys at the auto shop, or your Walmart greeter is a wonderful way to spread happiness - not just in the hearts of others, but yourself as well.

We're Back!

We’re back! After a multi-month sabbatical from the blog (largely induced by computer and technical problems), I’m hoping to get back into the regular flow of writing. I’ve certainly missed it. While things have been silent over the radio, we at Operation Meatball have carried on as best as possible in this new climate. With Honor Flight, annual Veterans events, luncheons, and breakfasts all cancelled for the immediate future due to Covid, it’s been tricky navigating how to serve and support our nation’s senior and elderly veterans while complying with the restrictions and safety measures.

But the work must carry on, and quite frankly our mission is more important than ever.

Through letters, phone calls, and grocery runs, we’ve done our best to stay connected with the veterans we’ve built friendships with over the years. Some of them have been unable to leave their rooms at assisted living since the first lockdown back in March, so you can imagine the need.

This spring, thanks to some very generous donations, we were able to send out over 100 care packages to veterans stuck at home. We received some very beautiful letters from the veterans in response, which I hope to share at a later date. 

With the Holidays in full motion, it is our plan to start putting packages together in the next week. If you know of a veteran in need of some encouragement or holiday cheer, you can email us at:

OperationMeatball@gmail.com

Subject line: Veteran Care Package

We would love to send them something! 

Happy December!!

Xx Liberty for the team

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Bob the Geordie: Driving for the British Army in Normandy

Last weekend I was perusing old letters sent to me by my veteran friends years ago, back long before the girls and I ever started Operation Meatball. Some of them are short one-liners, others are lengthy multi page stories, all quite special to me. Since we could all use a good dose of positivity right now, I thought it would be fun to share some of the more lighthearted and cheery ones here over the next couple of weeks.

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Picking out a first one to start the series was easy. In 2011, I met Englishman Bob Douglas, a character if ever there was one. One never quite knew what next was going to come out of Bob’s mouth, but whatever it was, you were pretty sure you wanted to be there to hear it. Bob also had that rare quality of being able to walk into a room of strangers and within minutes taken prisoner of everyone’s heart with his bright Geordie personality and riotous wit.

He passed away several years ago, shortly after his best mate died. They were inseparable, and their friendship is a story for another time. So without further ado, here is Bob's letter.

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A Young “Bob” Douglas

July 19, 2011

Dear Liberty,

I must start this letter by saying that I was pleased to get your letter dated July 8th and that you and your family arrived home safe and well, also that my name is Bob. Please use it.

… At the moment I'm in fine fettle (Geordie slang for I'm in good health). I'll try to answer your questions as best as I van.

I was born January 13th 1925, my parents were like everyone else in New Gateshead (hard workers that scratched out a living). When I was 8 my mother died in childbirth with my youngest brother William, (oor Willy - more Geordie for "Our Willy"). I thought that I was 1 of 10, but later found out that I was 1 of 18, this is because both parents married twice. All of my life my brothers and sisters died. There is only Willy and myself left.

I was called up when I was 18 years old in 1943. Everyone had to do their duty back then, I done my training as a soldier then the Army found out that I was a driver in civilian life, so they made me a driver. Two weeks before we went to Normandy I was taken off driving duty for special training. When it was done I didn't go back to driving. I landed in Normandy on D-Day + 9 and was in the front line for a couple of weeks, when I was told to report for driving duty again. When my C.O. saw me he exclaimed, "Douglas! I thought you were dead." It turned out that the driver that took my place was called John Douglas and he had just been killed.

With Bob in Normandy in 2011

Yes I have lost a lot of friends in France, Belgium, Netherlands, and Germany. I was one of the lucky ones, I was wounded by a piece of shrapnel and then sent straight back to the front. I think that I was under the hand of God. I always hoped to see my family again when I was out there. A week after hostilities ceased my father died. I was given 2 weeks compassionate leave. By the time I got home, he had been buried a week. I met my future wife on this leave.

I went back to my Regiment (which was being disbanded at this time), I was put into the South Lancashire Regiment and sent to Palestine for two years. I corresponded with my wife to be. I returned home and married in 1947, we had a son (Robert) in 1948 and a daughter (Ann) in 1949.

Sincerely yours,

Bob

Photo Recap from Week of Iwo Jima

Over the last 15 years, the Iwo Jima reunions have been a huge part of my life. And honestly, it's almost hard to remember a time "pre-Iwo."

One of the questions I often get asked at these reunions is, "What is your connection? Was your grandpa a Marine at Iwo? Why are you here??"

The truth is that while I have no blood connection to this epic battle or even the Marine Corps, growing up around these stalwart fellows I have somehow amassed quite a family of adopted uncles and cousins and grandpas.

They set rules like any family. Several years ago, Jubilee, Faith, and I were cornered by a couple of Iwo survivors and told: On no circumstances we were allowed to bring our boyfriends to future reunions *without* their full approval of the young lads... "and he has to call us first, so here's my number." They were dead serious.

But while bf approval might be tough to get... their love has been unconditional; always there to check in on us girls and make sure "things are okay."

Maybe it sounds corny, maybe it sounds like an, "Ah that's cute.." It is cute, but it's also the truth.

Sometimes we only get together once a year, but for that one week this adopted family of mine proves once again why the family crest the motto is: Semper Fidelis / Always Faithful.