The Children Take Normandy: Bridge to History Launches

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When I was in the single digits, my dad took my siblings and me to Bunker Hill in Boston, Massachusetts. He lined us up and told us to, “Hold until you see the whites of their eyes,” then Charge! There were no Redcoats in front of us. Nothing but a grassy hill and an old monument, but, when we charged, we gave it all our 6, 7, and 8 year old hearts could give. We saw the Redcoats and the fate of the American Revolution rested on US at that moment. I never forgot it.

A little over a week ago, the inaugural Bridge to History Children’s Program wrapped up in Normandy, France. We spent 9 days adventuring through the Churchill War Rooms of London, England, retaking the beachhead at Bloody Omaha, laying wreaths to our fallen Allies at their last resting place, recalling the bravery of the Bedford Boys, learning about French culture through the local school children, and driving the backroads of Normandy in WWII Jeeps and trucks.

Without a doubt, this was a life-changing trip. Not just for the students, but for the parents and for me.

To experience Normandy and D-Day through the eyes of a 9 year old is something else. Untainted by the madness of world politics, there is a purity to their perspective.

“Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: “What does his voice sound like? What games does he like best…” They ask: “How old is he? How many brothers does he have?… How much money does his father make?” Only then do they think they know him. If you tell grown-ups, “I saw a beautiful red brick house, with geraniums at the windows and doves on the roof,” they won’t be able to imagine such a house. You have to tell them, “I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs.” Then they exclaim, “What a pretty house!”

The Little Prince by Antoine De Sainte-Exupery

The tactile nature of climbing in old German bunkers, through trenches, or the gun emplacements of Longues-sur-Mer, brought to life what the children had been reading about their whole lives.

They visualized what adults can’t see. They played war, and they were fighting the Germans again. But when taps came over the speakers at Colleville American Cemetery and the flag was lowered, they held a salute. No one told them to. They just knew.

Over the next few weeks, I will be recapping Bridge to History and sharing writings from the children - my student ambassadors to history.

They came well prepared, ready to engage, and through the fire hydrant of learning they received, they left with new goals and dreams of how to preserve history.

Our legacy starts with the children. They are the future. After the 9 days I spent overseas with my students, watching them embrace history so fully, I feel re-inspired. To hear 9 year-old Dyche tell me he wanted to bring his children to Normandy, and 12 year old Charlotte declare she never wanted to wash her hands again after holding an original photo of the Bedford Boys on Omaha Beach… it makes me smile. They get it.

B2H

Bridge to History‘s inaugural Children’s World War II Boot Camp is complete! If you followed along on Instagram or Facebook and saw any of the photos and videos, you will have a glimpse of just how fantastic it was. These kids – my students - were enthusiastic and engaged and articulate and so much fun! I’m so proud of how hard they worked and what great energy they gave to everything they saw, and everyone they met.

If you have been encouraged or inspired by what you have seen, and if you would like to see this program continue, would you donate to Operation Meatball today? This is a volunteer run nonprofit organization. No one takes a salary. Everything goes to cover our expenses. Whether it’s $20, $200, or $2000, every penny will help us get the next program rolling!

The Rotorhead

/ Operation Meatball/
“It would be right to say that the helicopter’s role in saving lives represents one of the most glorious pages in the history of human flight.”
— Igor Sikorsky
 
 

This past spring while in Vietnam, I discovered a new breed of crazy: The Vietnam Helicopter Pilot. They fondly call themselves “Rotorheads,” and will unblushingly tell you “I’m not perfect, but I’m a helicopter pilot which is better.”

For fear of offending the Marine’s muscles or the Paratroops jump boots, I won’t say the Helicopter pilot is the *craziest* of them all, but after a month spent traveling through Vietnam with this insane crew, perhaps I could get away with giving them the accolade of the most audacious of the trio?

One of these spectacular characters I became acquainted with during that time was Major General Patrick Brady, US Army. 

At first glance, General Brady is tall, elegant, and has the demeanor of one used to being in the public eye. Spend a few minutes with him however, and you witness an irony to his smile and a wry sense of humor that’s on point (but doesn’t feel cliche).

He is a Rotorhead through and through.

50 plus years may have gone by since he committed the actions which gave him the Medal of Honor, but he still has the spunk and tenacity that carried him through the hottest days of fighting in Vietnam.

I witnessed this spunk returning from the Mekong Delta one afternoon this past April. In the lobby of our hotel, I was met with the most outrageous story that started with the General, a fellow Rotorhead, a Donut Dolly, and a few others ending up in the bed of a less-than fragrant Vietnamese farm truck in the backtracks of Vihn Long on a mission to lay a monument in honor of the late Major Charles Kelly.

At the time I was unfamiliar with Major Kelly’s heroics, but I was fascinated to learn more. Besides the obvious hilarity of the situation the General and company had found themselves in that afternoon, my bigger question was, what was the impetus for this elegant 85-year-old gentleman to make such an extremely arduous trip across the world to lay a monument? I am embarrassed to admit that at this point I far underestimated the chutzpah of the Rotorheads, and if I’d any inkling for their personal audacity, that in itself would have answered my question.

The next few weeks we spent in Vietnam, I listened eagerly as the General bantered with his old war comrades, telling stories that were far too outrageous to be created in the minds of man. Only the jungles of Vietnam, circa 1967, could come up with such tales.

And I also learned about Major Kelly.

“When I have your wounded”

I once read a book called, “Let Us Die Like Brave Men.” It was the short biographies of Civil War officers and soldiers who had used their dying breaths to encourage and inspire their men when the battle was thickest and the outcome darkest.

Major Charles Kelly

Different eras, different times, but Major Kelly was made of the same mettle.

Renowned for his fearlessness in the face of the enemy and willingness to proceed into every dangerous scenario if it meant the rescue of wounded Americans, Kelly’s last moments on earth became a rallying call.

Major Charles L. Kelly was Dustoff and Dustoff was “Combat Kelly.” The two became synonymous in Vietnam in 1964. As commander of the 57th Medical Detachment (Helicopter Ambulance), Kelly assumed the call sign “DUSTOFF.” His skill, aplomb, dedication, and daring soon made both famous throughout the Delta. The silence of many an outpost was broken by his radio draw, “…this is DUSTOFF. Just checking in to see if everything is okay.” And when there were wounded, in came Kelly “hell-bent for leather!

- Dustoff Association

On July 1, 1964, Major Kelly was flying into an LZ (landing zone) to pick up a load of wounded when he was notified over radio that the LZ he was attempting to reach was too hot from enemy fire and the mission should be aborted. His response was matter of fact: “When I have your wounded.” These were his final words. Immediately after, an enemy bullet struck him in the heart.

The next day, the same bullet that had killed Kelly was presented to Brady (then a Captain). The commanding officer flung it on the table and asked Brady if they would take note and dial down the “aggressive nature” of their flying.

Brady took the bullet, and looking at the officer responded, “We are going to keep flying exactly the way Kelly taught us to fly, without hesitation, anytime, anywhere."

Brady was more than words. Inspired by the gallant death of their leader, the “Dustoff pilots” continued to fly into the toughest situations “without hesitation,” saving innumerable lives that would otherwise have been lost.

 
 

On January 6, 1968:

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty, Maj. Brady distinguished himself while serving in the Republic of Vietnam commanding a UH-1H ambulance helicopter, volunteered to rescue wounded men from a site in enemy-held territory which was reported to be heavily defended and to be blanketed by fog. To reach the site, he descended through heavy fog and smoke and hovered slowly along a valley trail, turning his ship sideward to blow away the fog with the backwash from his rotor blades. Despite the unchallenged, close-range enemy fire, he found the dangerously small site, where he successfully landed and evacuated two badly wounded South Vietnamese soldiers.

He was then called to another area completely covered by dense fog where American casualties lay only 50 meters from the enemy. Two aircraft had previously been shot down and others had made unsuccessful attempts to reach this site earlier in the day. With unmatched skill and extraordinary courage, Maj. Brady made four flights to this embattled landing zone and successfully rescued all of the wounded. On his third mission of the day, Maj. Brady once again landed at a site surrounded by the enemy. The friendly ground force, pinned down by enemy fire, had been unable to reach and secure the landing zone. Although his aircraft had been badly damaged and his controls partially shot away during his initial entry into this area, he returned minutes later and rescued the remaining injured.

Shortly thereafter obtaining a replacement aircraft, Maj. Brady was requested to land in an enemy mine field where a platoon of American soldiers was trapped. A mine detonated near his helicopter, wounding two crewmembers and damaging his ship. In spite of this, he managed to fly six severely injured patients to medical aid. Throughout that day Maj. Brady utilized three helicopters to evacuate a total of 51 seriously wounded men, many of whom would have perished without prompt medical treatment. Maj. Brady's bravery was in the highest traditions of the military service and reflects great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army.

At a veterans’ luncheon two Fridays ago, I heard General Brady pose the question, “What is a Hero?” to a room of over 400 veterans and family members. It is a good question.

Hero is a word Americans tend to banter about with alarming casualness. We worship “celebrity” and chase our 15 minutes of fame at all costs, trying to be the loudest in the room. But at the end of the day, it leaves you with the same emptiness as before.

The dictionary says that Hero is one who shows great courage. When General Brady received the Medal of Honor for his actions in Vietnam, it was America’s stamp of approval and notice that said, “This is a hero. This is a man who showed courage above and beyond.”

But General Brady doesn’t look at it that way, like many before who have received the same award, he chooses to deflect and says, “Major Kelly was a hero.”

Today he goes around the country, representing the Medal of Honor Foundation and educating children on Patriotism. Another word that has almost become archaic. But if you brush off the cynicism and doubt of the 21st century, you’ll find it to be a beautiful word.

“What is the most important thing for a teacher to teach? Science, engineering, accounting? What is it. It’s a simple answer, Patriotism. Democracy cannot survive unless we grow patriots. That’s not someone who says they love their country, that’s someone who supports and defends their country.” - Patrick Brady

Though (as he calls himself) a “reluctant soldier,” General Brady has a deep understanding of the meaning of patriotism. He’s witnessed it in red, white, and blue. He closed his talk the other week with a short story about one of these patriots - fellow Medal of Honor Recipient, Webster Anderson.

Over the course of a terrible night of fighting the Vietnamese on a hilltop in a storm, Anderson lost both of his legs and an arm. It turned out that Brady was his medivac pilot and he later learned that Anderson had received the MOH for his actions that night. “He thought I save his life. The physicians saved his life.” Brady said with deflection. They went on to become good friends and would speak at schools together.

 

“One day we were in a classroom in Oklahoma, and he wouldn’t sit down. He had these bad prothesis in those days and one arm, nothing but a cane. But he’d stand up, we’d prop him up to talk to the kids. And one of the kids raised his hand and said, “Mr. Anderson, knowing what you know now - that it would cost you two legs and an arm - if you had it to do over again would you?” And Webster said, “Kid, I’ve only got one arm. But my country can have it any time they want.”

And I’m sure those children sitting there looking at this great soldier (who was more plastic than flesh) will be forever impressed with what he told them and of the true definition of patriotism is and what I believe is the most important thing we can teach our children.”

 

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

What is Bridge to History

/ Operation Meatball/

In 6 weeks, I will be taking my first group of students over to Normandy for the inaugural Bridge to History Children's Program. To say I'm beyond excited is an understatement. In fact, it’s a dream come true.

During the last decade of my work with WW2 veterans, I have been continually inspired by the Europeans’ integration of their youth into all of their remembrance programs. They take their young children to their cemeteries, to their battlefields, to their war memorials; not just as spectators, but as participants in an experience which stays with the children as they grow, perpetuating a grateful nation that honors and remembers. This is how I was raised, and I can personally speak to the impact it had on me as a child.

I started Bridge to History because I want to give this experience to American children - children who have already shown through personal study and community initiative a genuine desire to learn and remember.

For our October program, I have 7 students, ages 9-13, and they are absolutely amazing kids! They've been working their tails off studying and preparing for this trip... writing essays, drawing maps, and connecting with their local community.

I can't wait to share more about these kids in the upcoming days. Their passion and enthusiasm at such a young age is genuinely inspiring to me.

One of my students, Adam, went on local TV last week to talk about the trip and why history is so important. At 9 years old, his understanding and grasp on the importance of history far surpasses many twice or three times his age! Watch the video below:

Over the course of our 9-day overseas bootcamp, B2H children will walk the battlefields, feel the sands of Omaha Beach between their fingers, climb in old German bunkers, meet our allied veterans of WW2, learn facets of military life, meet their young French counterparts, pay respects to the war fallen in special ceremonies at the cemeteries, and see how a nation responds to oppression and liberation.

We call the children “Bridge to History Ambassadors” because when the trip ends, their mission is only beginning. When the children return stateside, they will have been commissioned to take what they have learned and apply it to their lives at home. Some of this entails:

  • Giving presentations to local schools and clubs about their experience in Europe. 

  • Getting connected with local veterans and recording their stories (from the viewpoint of a pre-teen… a completely different perspective than an adult).

  • Adopting the graves of local servicemen and recruiting 3 schoolmates to do the same. 

  • And generally starting a buzz and generating interest from their peers.

We understand this is a big-ask for pre-teens, and Bridge to History will come along side our ambassadors, training them and helping facilitate these operations and encouraging them along the way. 

Two of our October students, Ethan and Charlotte, at the grave of Audie Murphy

My goal is to ignite a sense of honor and remembrance in American children and set the tone for a life devoted to the perpetuation of our American heritage and honor the men and women who helped preserve it.

I cannot wait to take kids like Adam, to Normandy to experience first-hand the magic and mystery of walking in the footsteps of their heroes.

If you would like to support these amazing youngsters and their passion to save history for the next generation, go to:

All donations are tax deductible and go to bringing Adam and the (7) B2H students to Normandy.

 
 

SPONSORSHIP

If you are interested in sponsoring a Bridge to History Student Ambassador either in part or in full - you can go to www.Bridge2history.com or for more information, contact me at Liberty@Bridge2History.com.

1 student sponsorship (which is 1 student + parent/guardian) for the 9-day trip is $5,000. This includes airfare for student and parent, and an all-inclusive experience (transportation, guides, lodging, food, museums, and special activities) for 9 days in London, England and Normandy, France.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

INTRODUCING: Bridge to History

/ Operation Meatball/

For the last 8 years, Operation Meatball has worked to connect with thousands of WWII Veterans, share their stories, honor them, and remind them of the days when they were young and in the service of their country.

Our motto has been:

"Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today."

Up to now, our focus has been on honoring the living. Currently, the average age of the WWII veteran is 98, and this unusual chapter in our lives is rapidly closing. But our work is ongoing, if not just beginning. While continuing our initial objectives, we are so happy to announce the next step and our brand-new initiative:

The Bridge to History Children’s Program:

Connecting Our Future to the Past

Beginning this fall, we will be taking pre-teen students on an international adventure to London and Normandy for an immersive week of curated commemorative events honoring and remembering the legacy of WWII.

The students, our Bridge to History Ambassadors, will walk the battlefields and visit the graves of soldiers they've studied, meet veterans who were our allies during the war, form friendships with their French counterparts (grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the liberated), and personally host ceremonies honoring the memory of the war dead.

When our young ambassadors return home to America, they will have been commissioned to take what they have learned and use it to light the fire of a new generation of informed and grateful Americans.

To learn more, sponsor or nominate a child, go to:

The program officially starts next spring, but we are planning a pilot program for this fall. If you have a student between the ages of 8-12 who would be interested in joining us on the pilot program, we are accepting applications now at: Bridge2history.com. The student and guardian will have to have an up-to-date passport and flexibility.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Welcome General Parker!

/ Operation Meatball/

We are thrilled to announce the addition of a new board member and team activist at Operation Meatball, Bob Parker, Major General, USAF, (Ret).

General Parker has been a friend and supporter for many years, and we are so grateful and honored to have his participation and wisdom as Operation Meatball moves into it’s newest and most exciting chapter.

 

A message from General Parker:

“I am extremely honored to have been elected to Operation Meatball’s Board of Directors. I am very excited to be part of Operation Meatball’s new direction to educate our younger generation on our history and the sacrifices earlier generations made to preserve our way of life and the freedoms we enjoy.

I have worked with Liberty for the past several years supporting our veterans on programs like Honor Flight, Red Shirt breakfasts ( WWII) veterans, and Veteran Appreciation dinners.

Under her strong, creative leadership, I see Operation Meatball having a significant impact on our youth and their appreciation for the men and women who wore the uniform of our country.

I have willingly committed my time and contributions for this most worthwhile endeavor, and I solicit your support.

Thank you,”
— Bob Parker, Major General, USAF, (Ret).
 

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Tom Shaw: Memorial Day Remembrance

/ Operation Meatball/

T O M || I was introduced to 1st Lt. Thomas Shaw on a winding road through the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam, somewhere in the vicinity of Anh Khe.

Before my trip to Vietnam I’d never heard of Lt. Shaw -a good-looking boy from Fond Du Luc, Wisconsin. But thanks to his former roommate and buddy, Jim Crigler, I now carry of piece of Tom’s memory in my heart.

From what Jim told me, Tom was everything good and kind and solid. The few months they roomed together in 1972 they became close friends and over time Tom mentored Jim, sharing his moral compass and life ideals with him:

1. Be courageous.

2. Be truthful.

3. Trust in God.

The friendship deeply affected Jim and one day the two made a pact - an oath - that on the off chance that either of them was killed the surviving friend would escort the body home to the family.

On April 27th, 1972 as Jim headed out on his first mission of the day he found a note from Tom. “Jim, Use your courage today to focus on what is right, not what is wrong. Live the truth. Trust in God! - Tom”

Jim returned from his final mission of the day to be greeted by the news that 1st Lt Thomas Shaw’s helicopter had crashed, killing him and a Warrant Officer, Claude Strothers.

It was devastating. But Jim held up his end of the pact - escorting the body of his friend and comrade HOME.

This wasn’t the last time Jim would be fulfilling his end of the bargain. On April 30th, 2022 (making his first return trip to Vietnam), Jim held a small memorial service on the side of the mountain - not far from his buddy had been killed 50 years & 3 days before.

In a strong, but not emotionless voice, Jim read letters from Tom’s family and shared his own memories and lessons he’d learned from the short life of the Fond Du Luc boy.

The tears don’t come as easy for me these days, but as the clouds opened and the rain started to trickle down I found myself wiping more than raindrops away from my face… in fact it was hard to stop the flow as I listened to the heartfelt sincerity of this genuine man who had traveled around the world - over 30+ hours of flying - to pay homage to a friend and mentor. BROTHERHOOD.

This to me was worth the trip.

I could go on. But for now I’ll just add that on Memorial Day this year I’ve been thinking about 1st Lt. Thomas Shaw. A good man. His name now reflects off of the Vietnam Wall in DC. I hope the next time one of you visit this special cenotaph you’ll pay Tom a visit. And remember him, not just on Memorial Day.

If you’d like to learn more about Jim and the distinctive and wonderful ways he is still serving his country, click through here: Mission of Honor – Vietnam Veteran writes a book and Paddles the entire length of the Mississippi River to right a wrong.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

JP: Moments from Vietnam

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I’ve known JP for most of my life, though there is some debate between us as to our actual meeting. Each time he introduces me to someone as, “I knew her when she was this tall,” gets shorter and my age gets younger. I keep telling him that eventually he’s going to claim to be the presiding midwife at my birth.

During the Vietnam War JP served with the 1st Cavalry Division as a helicopter pilot. And a dang good pilot too. But, in Vietnam you had to be good.

Fully acknowledging my redundancy, I can’t stress how special it was to visit these locations and listen to his southern drawl on about them. Places I still find exceedingly difficult to pronounce, much less spell- Phước Vĩnh, An Khê, Pleiku (probably because Vietnamese does not translate well into Texan), but are now cemented into my memory log with the visuals I took in and the dirt still imbedded in my boots (to clean or not to clean… That is the question).

These locations have largely been built up over the last 50 + years. In some cases built up, torn down, and built up again multiple times. Often times there’s a paved road where there used to be a tarmac made of Marston Matting (a perforated steel material that was used as makeshift runways and landing pads. Visualize flat legos fitting together like a puzzle)… Or locals dry their rice on cement sidewalks and grassy areas where we used to have hard back tents housing our boys.

(Incidentally - it was with amusement that a few times we saw farm trucks drive by with their sides encased in Marston mats from the war. Quite clever in fact as it converted the bed of the truck into a suitable way of carting animals or large and bulky items).

But even though there is little evidence of great military force that was once there, if you just sit still enough for a minute and imagine - it’s not hard to see the helicopters coming in and out and hear the purr of their turbos. And lemme tell you, it’s a beautiful noise.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Leaving Vietnam

/ Operation Meatball/

After nearly a month in Vietnam (nearly 2 weeks longer than planned for thanks to some complications getting back stateside), I’m home.

An adventure to say the least. I’ve been joking with some of the team that when I write my book of this last month I’m calling it, “And then there were none.” Or “Yes, we have no nachos: surviving the Hotel California of Hanoi.” (Que: “You can check out any time you like / but you can never leave.” )

For a hot minute, I was pretty sure a couple of us might take up citizenship in Vietnam - or just get deported. My visa actually runs out tomorrow. So either option was a possibility.

But y’all - you can’t buy an experience like this.

There’s so much to process from this trip, I’m afraid y’all will have to suffer through some of my ramblings in the near future. Vietnam is nothing like I expected. I’m so in love with the country, the culture, and the people. It’s cliche, but the best things are.

Our hotel staff at the Silk Path Hanoi made the last 10 days of “being stuck” absolutely delightful, and I feel as if I have a wonderful new set of friends. Which I do (we have already discussed plans of returning some day soon).

So bear with me while I have images and anecdotes to post.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

H Ô I • A N |

/ Operation Meatball/

H Ô I • A N || Inescapably beautiful. Walking down the streets of Ancient Town the sensoria is overwhelmed with colors, smells, languages, tactile sensations, and a beauty that almost feels manufactured.

Mopeds packed 3, 4, and 5 passengers strong, balancing every imaginable thing possible or impossible that can be carted on two wheels.

Meats, rice, noodles, fish, all spread out on ground mats or stands alongside the street. Ancient mamas squatting and swatting flies away.

Fat little children (I call them Buddha Babies) running around the street in frilly frocks and suits, holding onto their mothers with one hand and a Bánh Dúa (coconut cake) in the other. Powder sugar covering their faces.

Shops of every imagination - leather, tailoring, purses, clay works, baskets, coffee, salons, model shops… miscellaneous dogs sleeping in the sun.

An old woman: toothless, wrinkled, skin turned hardened to leather by decades working in the rice patties - now she sells small clay whistles in a doorway. She is not beautiful, but if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then she is beautiful to me.

Colors, vibrancy, smells, noises… it’s glorious. I’m in love with Vietnam and the people.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Cù Chi Tunnels: Vietnam

/ Operation Meatball/

CÙ CHI TUNNELS || Yesterday we explored the former Vietcong Tunnels at Cù Chi.

These tunnel systems hosted upwards of 10,000 VC troops, and spread miles and miles under the ground of the unsuspecting Americans (very similar in fact to the tunnels at Iwo Jima).

One of the vets on the trip told me he knew a Marine, small of stature standing at 5 ft 2. Because of his height he was “volun-told” to become a tunnel rat- climbing down into these tunnels looking for VC, hoping not to find them. A terrifying prospect regardless.

Since the war, the tunnels have been slightly widened today to accommodate visitors who want to explore them. But for the most part they remain intact - as they were.

Highly effective. Very intimidating. Brilliant warfare.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Good Morning, Vietnam

/ Operation Meatball/

Technically it’s my second day and it’s almost midnight, but I’m still gonna say “Good morning, Vietnam.” And que some Creedence Clearwater Revival.

It’s been a seven year dream of mine to travel to Vietnam. My curiosity was first pricked on a flight from LA to Hawaii when I sat next to a salty old Marine and he told me about the time he spent three days in a fox hole in Nam, cold, tired, miserable, but mostly hungry. 

For those three days, he sat in a layer of water that had filled the bottom of his fox hole. It felt as if his feet were rotting. Socks soaked through. He couldn’t move and could only speak in whispers for fear the slightest sound would give away their position to the Vietcong.

After three days of this misery, without eating, John came across a tin of crackers he had somehow missed. With loving care and exuberant excitement, he opened the tin and shared it with his buddy. It was the greatest meal he had in Vietnam.

He told me about the many trips he took back to Nam looking for the body of a friend of his, presumed to have fallen out of a helicopter while being shipped back in a body bag. John was in his late 60s at the time, no easy return trip. I was deeply impressed by his devotion and commitment to “No Man left behind.”

He never found his buddy’s body, but he found other remains on other battlefields and spent much of his life helping other vets and family members of KIAs find closure.

These conversations with the Gunny awakened my interest in Vietnam. They gave humanity to a war which you only ever hear the horrors of: the complexities, the political narrative, the hate, and the generic “our soldiers were treated poorly when they returned; how sad.”

It was a complex war. There are so many aspects I still can’t wrap my head around. But over the last several years, as my heart has been opened, and I understand more behind the Vietnam veteran, I also see beauty. Goodness. And compassion. 

Why is it that so many Vietnam vets with the worst PTSD tell me what a beautiful country Vietnam is and how much they love the people? 

Another line I have heard many times, and in fact again yesterday, was this, “When you’re in combat, you’re not fighting for your country, for your family back home, for the people you’re trying to help. You’re fighting for the man next to you.

All of these factors are coming together about a war that was really pretty recent… Not a war our grandfathers fought, but a war our *fathers* fought, a war our uncles died in.

This trip in many ways is for the Gunny, but also for the many Vietnam vets who are dear to my heart. On this trip, I hope to understand more, for their sake. 

I’ve spent my life living and breathing the world of my World War Two veterans… but over the years, Vietnam keeps coming back to me - pricking my finger and whispering in my ear, “Do not forget us. Hold my hand and listen to my stories.”

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

The Daniel Colgan Story

/ Operation Meatball/

A few weeks ago, I was in D.C. for my annual Iwo Jima Association Reunion. One of the nights, I took off with a couple of friends to explore the war memorials under the stars.

I’m no stranger to D.C. Growing up with family living on the outskirts, the memorials are my stomping ground. Yet no matter how many dozens of times I visit them, I still find magic there. Especially on nights when the crowds are gone, the city is “relatively” quiet, the bitter cold lends a crispness to the air, and you’re just left with your thoughts.

We meandered around a while, and on entering the area of the Vietnam Wall, I was struck by how unusually breathtaking it was tonight. The moon hit the names engraved on the wall, highlighting the thousands and thousands of young lads killed during that awful war.

From it’s conception, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund has done an exceptional job organizing and cataloging the names, making it quite easy to find your friend or relative on the wall through their website. Sometimes I wander down the wall, looking up names and reading their stories. If an image is attached to the bio, it immediately becomes evocative.

This evening, reading some of the names to myself, I suddenly remembered a promise I had made a little over a month and a half before.

Fred and me a few years ago after one of his many moves.

Over Christmas a dear friend and Iwo Jima Veteran, Fred Harvey, was in the hospital. It was a tough time, and there were many days when Fred struggled to know where he was and why he was sick. One night in particular, he was in a lot of pain and his memory was very incoherent. I tried to distract him by having him tell me stories from his childhood or life in general.

It worked pretty well. Fred, never one to pass up an opportunity to tell a story, found mental clarity enough to relate all sorts of little memories to me as best as he could patch together. On conclusion of the story, it was almost as if his mind would revert back, and I’d have to start explaining where he was again and why he was gonna be okay.

“Tell me about Ol’ Rip. Tell me about Jessie - your mom.” I’d say.

His eye would flicker, calmness would come over, and he would tell the story - exactly as he had told it every time since I first met him.

It was hard, but it was worth it for those moments of peace he had.

In the midst of all of this, one particular story seemed to stick in his mind more than anything else, and for an hour he related it over and over again.

It was the story of Danny Colgan.

The Danny Colgan Story

Back in the 60s, Fred was coaching football at a high school in El Paso, Texas. It was the middle of the Vietnam War and the anti-war protesters and hippie movement had inundated the high school. The kids would come out with their signs and their chants, their anti-American speech, and their lack of self respect. It wasn’t a great time to be a teacher or a coach, but Fred knew hard times. His childhood had been a struggle to survive. Hardly out of his teens, Fred had almost lost his life on the volcanic island of Iwo Jima in the Pacific when he took two grenades and sat on a third. He knew hard times. But he loved his job and his kids. So he poured his life into them - regardless of the rising political tensions.

One of the most hard headed students was a kid by the name of Daniel “Danny” Colgan. It wasn’t that Danny couldn’t do the job (he had potential), he just wouldn’t. More often than not, he would find himself in trouble with the school administrators. Fred told me that sometimes during practice Danny would join the kids on the bleachers shouting and making noise, overall protesting anything they could think of.

The culmination came one day when Danny came to Fred’s office with the information that he had been expelled from the school. He was done.

Fred wasn’t shocked by the news, but he still wanted to help the kid out. He explained that, at the end of the day. the only one who was affected by Danny’s decisions was Danny himself. His future was in his own hands, and he couldn’t blame anyone else.

The next afternoon, Danny returned to Fred's office waving his enlistment papers for the Marine Corps.

“I’ve joined up.” He said.

“I thought you hated the war?” Fred asked.

“I know. But I’ve changed my mind. I want to be a Marine like you.”

“It’s not easy, you know,” Fred told Danny.

But Danny knew that. He also knew that there was a future for him in the Marines that he’d struggled to find elsewhere. Besides, he knew how proud Fred was of his service and he wanted to be like him.

Danny went off to boot camp. And Fred went back to coaching.

Some months later, Fred opened the paper to find that local El Paso boy, Daniel P. Colgan - Private First Class United State Marine Corps, had been killed on October 7, 1968 in the Province of Quang Nam, Vietnam. He was 20 years old.

 
 

There’s more to the story… how Danny came home draped in an American Flag. His death directly impacted the kids at the high school. Perhaps it didn’t put a halt to all the anti-patriotism, but it definitely sobered them up.

And Fred never forgot Danny.

Well fast forward to last Christmas. As Fred struggled with conscious thought and fighting the healing IVs, he told me the story over and over again. Except this time, he told me about the guilt he felt. That Danny’s death was his fault.

Clutching my hand with a crushing grip, he repeated again and again, “If it wasn’t for me, Danny would be alive. He joined because he wanted to be like me. I encouraged him. It’s my fault that he died. I’m responsible for Danny’s death.”

It broke my heart to see a 98 year old man still grieving so deeply over something out of his control that had happened 50+ years before. During WW2, Fred lost a lot of close friends and comrades in arms. But something about the loss of his young student seemed to be coming to the front of his mind as the brain tried to reconcile past events.

I tried to soothe him. “Fred,” I said, “It wasn’t your fault. Danny was always meant to be a Marine. Just like you. There was nothing that would change that.”

“But he wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t encourage him.”

“Fred - you didn’t have to encourage him. He wanted to be like you. You inspired him. It was his honor to die as a Marine, like the Spartans of old.”

“I have to tell his story. I have to tell people about Danny.”

“You have Fred. In your book. You talk about Danny.”

“I did?”

“Yes Fred.”

“Well I have to tell his story again. People need to know about Danny.”

“We will, Fred. And you know what - when we go to D.C. next month for the Iwo Jima reunion - we’ll go see Danny together at the wall.”

 
 

My buddy Fred didn’t make it. He passed away in the hospital two weeks later, and in the events surrounding, I forgot about Danny Colgan. That is until I wandered down the walkways of the Vietnam Wall.

I remembered Danny. And my promise to Fred.

“Hi Danny.” I said, touching his name on the wall. “Fred says hi. He was so proud of you. But you know that. He’s probably with you now. Semper Fi Marines.”

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

"A Touch of Texas"

/ Operation Meatball/

Clyde and hs wife reunited after the war

As a Texan, one of the things we take pride in is stories of other Texans. The below anecdote is one of my favorites. Written by local Wichita Falls boy, Clyde Fillmore, who spent 46 months in a Japanese POW camp in the Pacific.

He wrote an excellent memoir in later years that included images he drew while a prisoner. The photo is Clyde and his wife, reunited for the first time in late 1945.

The official description of the photos from the UTA Library is: “After 46 months of waiting, Captain and Mrs. Clyde C. Fillmore were reunited at the Texas & Pacific Railway Station in Fort Worth, Texas. As a member of the Lost Battalion, Captain Fillmore's whereabouts were unknown to everyone, including his wife. The captain was recently liberated from a Japanese prison camp. He is dressed in a military uniform. Mrs. Fillmore is wearing a blouse, blazer, and a skirt. The couple are natives of Wichita Falls, Texas. They are standing in front of the train, kissing.”

Some time I’ll share more stories from his book. It’s worth the time. But here is a whimsical story that captures the impact of Texans in WWII. I say impact tongue and cheek. I’m pretty sure the fellow in the below story had more trauma to unpack from his time surrounded by Texans than the actual pow experience.

Excerpt from “Prisoner of War” by Clyde Fillmore

"You remember that when we left Singapore in January of 1943, we were forced to leave nine men who were too sick to travel. Well, of these nine, eight were from Texas; the other one hailed from Massachusetts. It isn't difficult to imagine this one fellow's plight nor imagine his misery as he was forced to listen to eight loyal Texans day after day.

In 1944, a B-29 was shot down over Singapore, and three of the survivors eventually found themselves with the nine Americans. The prisoner from Massachusetts was elated and approached them almost with prayerful expectancy. Alas! They were all from Texas.

When the war ended another B-29 came in to take them to Calcutta for hospitalization, where we met them once more. However, the prisoner from Massachusetts had not given up hope, so when the big plane landed, he rushed up to the pilot, a young first lieutenant, and asked him where he came from. In an unmistakable drawl, he answered, "I'm from Texas."

Hope had, by this time, almost died, but being a rather stubborn individual, he did not give up so easily. After about an hour in the air he noticed that the navigator was a full blood Chinaman. He sidled up to him and asked in a faltering voice, "And how long have you been away from China?"

Came the answer, "Why, I'm not from China; I was born in San Antonio, Texas!"

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

State of Maryland Honors WWII Veterans

/ Operation Meatball/

The other day we had the very special honor of hand delivering a Citation from the Maryland General Assembly recognizing the military service of WWII Veterans: Melvin Hurwitz and Jack Meyers.

An excerpt of the citation says,

Resolution in Dedication and Memorial by Delegate Dan Cox, Candidate for Maryland Governor (submitted for drafting and vote December 7, 2021

“To recognize the 80th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor and the lasting bond between the State of Maryland and the World War II Veteran Community;

Whereas, three World War II veterans of the European Theatre representing Maryland have traveled to Pearl Harbor today for the 80th anniversary, and include Corporal Wilbur "Jack" Myers, age 98, from Hagerstown, Maryland; SSgt Melvin Hurwitz, Age 96, from Frederick, Maryland; and Lieutenant Adolph "Ade" Chwastyk, age 95, from Silver Spring, Maryland;

Now, therefore, be it remembered:

That the Maryland House of Representatives, on December 7, 2021, the 80th anniversary of the December 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii—

(1) Pays tribute to the members of the Armed Forces of the United States and civilians who died in the attack.

(2) Acknowledges the role of the USS Maryland and residents past and present of the state of Maryland who served in branches of the United States military, and defended our nation against the hostile forces during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

(3) Offers thanksgiving to God for the ultimate military victory of the United States against our enemies in the great conflict of the Second World War.

(4) Appreciates the role of the WWII veteran support community like Operation Meatball and The Best Defense Foundation and many others, responsible for the ongoing care and honor of these national treasures - those last surviving warriors of all military branches who defended our freedom in the European and Pacific theatres of the Second World War.

(5) Honors the thousands of men and women of the Armed Forces of the United States who paid the ultimate sacrifice and gave their lives in defense of freedom and liberty during World War II.

Official Citation

from the Maryland General Assembly

Many thanks to Dan Cox for drafting and putting this special resolution through!!! The vets were so honored and pleased.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Texas in WWII

/

On this day, 186 years ago, Texas formally declared her independence from Mexico, creating the Republic of Texas. Though not an "official" government holiday, the State of Texas does recognize it, as well as most Texans, either by the re-reading of the Declaration or a general observance. 

For the birthday of Texas, I thought I'd share with you some interesting facts related to her involvement in World War Two. 

Did you know that, of the 16 million American men and women to serve in WWII, over 750,000 of them were from Texas??

“Texans enlisted or were drafted in excess of the percentage of the nation’s population. Although the state had 5 percent of the United States population, it provided 7 percent of those who served in the armed forces.

Texas A&M University alone provided more officers for the armed forces than both of the military academies combined. Secretary of the Navy, Frank Knox, later declared that Texas had contributed a larger percentage of men to the armed forces than any other state. By the end of the war, 750,000 Texans, including 12,000 women, served in the armed forces.”
— Texas Historical Association

A "Few" Notable Texans to serve in World War Two

James Earl Rudder, well known as the beloved commander to lead "The Boys of Point Du Hoc" during the D-Day Invasion was a Texan by birth, born in Eden, Texas, a hop-skip away from San Angelo. His story is an exceptional one, leading his men gallantly from D-Day on, all through Europe and into Germany. After the war, Rudder returned home to a full career including becoming President of Texas A&M University in 1965. 

Dwight D. Eisenhower, Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force (SCAEF) in the European theatre during WWII and later President of the United States, was born in the small town of Denison, Texas. Ike's "D-Day speech," given out on leaflets and read  to the troops on the eve of June 6, 1944, is probably one of the most famous speeches of WW2. It started out, "Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force: You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you."

Audie Murphy, the most decorated soldier of World War Two American history, had a humble beginning picking cotton in the cotton fields of North-East Texas. When Pearl Harbor was bombed, he enlisted, lying about his age to get in. Fighting through Italy, Southern France, Belgium, and Germany, he became one of the brightest Stars in Texas' military history, coming home with many decorations including the Medal of Honor - America's highest military award for valor. After the war, he became quite popular in the movies, including starring in his own biographical piece, "To Hell and Back." 

The Magnificent Amphibians

/ Operation Meatball/

Recently I was looking through an old binder of mine, trying to find some papers and I discovered the whimsical piece below clipped into an old letter from 1943 that I acquired a number of years ago. The letter is from a Private Howard Pelkey USMC, written home to his wife.

At first I wasn’t sure if Pelkey was the author, or if he’d just copied it down for his wife’s amusement. Turns out the piece “The Magnificent Amphibians” was written by the fabulous author and soldier, Marion Hargrove, and published in a 1943 edition of the Quantico Sentry.

Pelkey was actually quite a good writer himself, and during his time in the Marine Corps shared an extensive correspondence with his wife, often times decorating the envelopes with hilarious cartoons. At some point I’ll share some on here For now, I’ve transcribed the below for your reading pleasure. Prepare yourself for a few laughs.

The Magnificent Amphibians

By Cpl. Marion Hargrove US Army

The United States Marine is a military phenomenon who looks like a soldier, talks like a sailor, fights like a wildcat, and thinks like a princess of the royal blood. Always a modest fellow, the 

Marine describes himself as a member of the best fighting outfit in the world.

The United States Marine, as any United States Marine will tell you with or without provocation, is the best looking, toughest, most intelligent, most polished and most valuable member of the armed forces. When he heard that one-third of the nation is poorly housed, poorly clothed and poorly educated, he knows which third it is. It is the Army and the Navy.

The sight of a full-dress Marine is a sight to dazzle the eyes of all who behold it. In any shortage of electrical power, you could suspend him from a lamp-post and he would provide enough light for all his duller looking compeers to read a newspaper at a distance of four blocks. This splendid spectacle – this symphony of blues and white, of reds and golds – is the Marine with the splendor of his personal beauty, his proud physique and his pretty phiz, to lend magnificence to the American scene.

The Marine is extremely proud that he is an amphibious creature. Get one of them to take off his shoes and what do you find? Web feet.

The Marine thinks of his barracks as a ship and he speaks of it in nautical terms. A wall is a bulkhead; a floor is a deck, to be holystoned rather than scrubbed. A latrine is a head. The Marine never goes upstairs; he goes up topside. When he gets up topside he isn’t upstairs on the second floor, but the second deck. And he didn’t get there by the stairs, he went up the ladder.

When a Marine is indoors or has no hat on, he doesn’t salute his officers. When he is outside and salutes, his officer smiles very pleasantly and says, “good morning” or some such thing as that. This is because the officer has a deep respect for the Marine. “There is a member of the most efficient fighting force in the world,” he says. 

All is not peaches and cream in the life of a Marine though. He gets less liberty than a soldier and a three day pass doesn’t mean as much to him, since half that time must be spent in making himself as pretty as possible. When he leaves his barracks, he must pass the inspection of two full-length mirrors just inside the front door. 

The remainder of his leave must be used to best advantage in informing his family, his girls, his old boss, and any other unprotected civilian he might capture just what a great and wonderful thing the United State Marine COrps is and how lucky the civilian is to know someone who is actually in it. 

To make his spiel more effective, a good Marine will always have about him a fresh clipping headed something like, “Army Captain Goes Over HIll to Join Marine Corps” and at least one pad of notes to prompt himself on just exactly how the Marine Corps single-handedly won every battle in every war the U.S. has fought. 

The Marine does not overlook the value of the Army and the Navy. He knows that they were organized and maintained to show, by contrast, the greatness, the wisdom, the courage and the beauty of the United States Marines. 

This piece by author, Marion Hargrove, on the Marines can be found in Quantico Marine Sentry, Volume 9, Number 6, 16 July 1943

When he died at the age of 83, the LA Times described him as, “Marion Hargrove, the Army draftee from North Carolina who turned his misadventures in basic training into the humorous World War II bestseller “See Here, Private Hargrove… Hargrove, [was] a television and film writer whose credits include “Maverick” and “The Waltons” as well as the screen adaptation of Meredith Willson’s “The Music Man…. Inducted into the Army on July 18, 1941, Hargrove underwent basic training at Ft. Bragg, N.C. He wrote about his experiences for the Charlotte News in his column, In the Army Now -- gently humorous tales of sleeping through reveille, mistakenly saluting noncommissioned officers, learning his left foot from his right while marching and landing KP duty instead of a weekend pass. As he later put it, Pvt. Hargrove represented the type of soldier raw recruits should not emulate.”

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

The Upside of a Dear John Letter

/ Operation Meatball/

There are lots of beautiful love stories out there in the world. Some true, some made up. Sometimes we prefer them fictionalized because our jaded culture says that if “a love that is too good to be true - it’s just that.” I would say otherwise. I’ve known many couples to survive the cynicism of society and go on to celebrate their 40th, 50th, 60th, even 75th wedding anniversary - and with a deepness of love and understanding that only comes from years of togetherness. 

One of the most beautiful examples of this love was my friend Bill Madden. I met Bill at a Marine Corps Reunion back in 2015. It was his first time venturing out to a social event since the passing of his wife of 69 years, Phyllis, earlier that summer. The loss was still fresh in his heart and eloquent in his words. Following the reunion, my sister and I stayed in regular touch with Bill and in the (sometimes daily) emails we would exchange, he spoke often of her:

I miss her so much, especially in the evenings. There are so many things to do here, and many shows and musical acts come in every week that I can forget during the day, but the evenings are the worst.

He wondered what his purpose in life was now that she was gone. Sometimes the pain was so much he would ask me why it wasn’t possible to take things into his own hands. But he always ended his notes with gratitude at the years he was given.

You didn't know Phyllis - but to know her was to love her… Phyllis was not only beautiful but she was kind and compassionate, too. 

Bill enjoyed the emails. His hearing had been blasted out on Iwo Jima when a mortar shell buried him alive - consequently making phone calls quite difficult. Besides, as a lover of the English language I think it was cathartic for him to write. At the reunion Bill had made reference to the story of how he wooed his wife and stole her from a sailor, so one day I asked him to re-tell the story for me and this is the following piece he sent:

A young Bill Madden, fresh Marine.

A young and fresh Bill Madden, newly minted Marine.

“[This is] a picture to show me the ring she bought with money I sent her from overseas because I didn't know what to get her for some special day, a birthday, Christmas, or something I don't remember…  I loved it, though.  My Marine buddies fell in love with her from her picture and said they were going to write to her and take her away from me.  I said ok, just try, and I gave them her address.  Several of them did write to her, but she turned them down diplomatically, as I knew she would.  Yes, she was a special person.  Everyone who knew her, knew that.”

How Bill Steals Phyllis from Slats and Lives Happily Ever After

“[Phyllis] was a year ahead of me in school and a year older. I wasn't daunted by that because she had such a wonderful personality and was beautiful, too, and I wanted to know her better. Most people in school want nothing to do with those who are younger and in lower classes than they are in, but she wasn't like that at all.  She always greeted me with a smile and treated me like everyone else, but there was no relationship or dating for us in high school.

She was a cheerleader and very popular, but she had no strong ego. She treated everyone the same. In her senior year she dropped out of cheerleading so someone else could have the position. Many girls wanted to do it, but there were only so many slots, and she had done it for two years, so she gave them hers. That's just the way she was. She was the only one to do that, also.

She had so many traits like that, that I couldn't help falling in love with her very early. Of course, that love which some would call "puppy love," was not reciprocated at the time. I never tried to date her in high school. Besides, I didn't have any money and no car. I did work at a gas station after school, but I didn't make much and had to buy my own books and some of my clothes. She did say later that every time she turned around in school, I was there, and I must admit that I did try to be there with her as often as I could. I couldn't stay away from her.

She dated senior boys and some boys who were out of school already, but she wasn't really serious about any of them. I thought I could still have a chance later when I could get a job and have some money for dating. I still didn't have a car, though.

There was one person I saw her with more than any other, Roy, or "Slats" Matz. I so envied him. He was tall, had a good job, good clothes, and a nice car. 

How could I compete with that?

I was a senior at that time, but wanted to get out so badly.  I did neglect a few of my studies in my senior year but still was salutatorian when I graduated two months after I was 16 (I had started school at age four but shouldn't have.  I was always the youngest in my class). Anyway, I didn't know what to do, until Slats went into the Navy and left me my chance. 

During my senior year my parents finally bought a used car. It wasn't much, a '33 Chevy, and this was the 40's. The war was on, and I knew that I wanted to join the Marines, as my brother already had. He was a paratrooper, called Para Marines at the time. I wanted to join Carlson's Raiders but couldn't enlist until I was 17. I worked at the Ball Band Rubber Company for a dollar an hour which I thought was a tremendous wage at the time. Ball Band switched from making tennis shoes to making rubber bullet proof gas tanks for bombers. I saved my money and could then date Phyllis while Slats was off to the Navy, a fortuitous happening for me.

I did date Phyllis then, and we got along very well, but she still had connections with Slats and the two were corresponding.  I knew I didn't have much time. If I didn't enlist at 17, I would be drafted later and possibly not get what I wanted, the Marines. I dated Phyllis as much as I could and told her that I loved her, but she was conflicted and I was afraid she would choose Slats over me.

Finally, I enlisted at 17 and was sent to San Diego to train at Camp Pendleton. Slats was also in California, but at Los Angeles. He invited Phyllis and her girlfriend, Fern Rogers, to go out there and stay with an aunt he had there so he could see her. He knew I had been dating Phyllis and I think he wanted to counter that.  Well, she was conflicted, so she agreed to go out there with Fern and stay with his aunt for a while. But she also wrote to me and wanted to see me, too, and to make up her mind after that. She told me to come there on a day that Slats did not have time off, but "the best laid plans of mice and Marines gang aft agley."  Slats got someone to take his duty place on the day I was to take Phyllis out.  

Harry James and Helen Forrest in the 1940s

I had hitch hiked to LA and was going to take a cab wherever the girls wanted to go, but we ended up, all four of us, in Slats' aunt's car and headed for the Hollywood Palladium where Harry James was playing and Helen Forrest was singing. I was not too happy with the arrangement, and neither was Slats, much less Phyllis.

We got to the Palladium, had some drinks, and listened to that heavenly music of James and Forrest. I quickly asked Phyllis to dance before Slats had a chance to. I was still a teenager and didn't dance very well, but I would have done anything to get her alone for a while so we could talk. Well, we danced, talked, and when the song was over we stayed till the next one and the next one before we got back to the table with Fern and Slats.

He was not happy a bit. 

I must say here, that Slats was a nice guy. I liked him a lot, but this was war over the woman we both wanted to marry. I would have done almost anything to get her to marry me instead of him. That's how love works, I guess.

I got one more dance during the playing and singing of "Stardust," which became our song. In the 40's all bands ended their evening with that song. I still have great memories every time I hear that melody, and I hum it to myself every time I think of Phyllis. Then, I'm happy, and then I'm sad.  I loved her so much.

She decided that night that she would choose me to marry over Slats. Later, I found out she wrote him a "Dear John'' letter.  When our son Jim heard that he was incredulous.  He said,  "What?  You sent a sailor a 'Dear John letter' when he was overseas?" 

She said, "Yes I did, and if I hadn't, you wouldn't even be here."

And that’s the story.

I do like to think that Slats knew what was coming for him… and the “bite” of the Dear John Letter softened. But who knows. The 69 years between Bill and Phyllis speaks for itself.

“I think Phyllis saw something in me that I hadn't seen in myself. I was so happy to have had her for so long. She had a choice to make, and I'm so glad she chose me. I don't know what I would have become without her.”

Once, when I had been worrying about him he wrote me:

“I will try to take care of myself, as you decree, but I do fight depression… I never had those thoughts when Phyllis was alive. Her smile would light up a room and make me want to live forever, but she's gone.”

Bill passed away a little over a year and a half later and was reunited with the love and sparkle to his life. I never met Phyllis but through Bill I feel like I have, and am a better person for it.

May we all find a companion in love like Bill did with Phyllis.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

Harmonica Pete

/ Operation Meatball/

Harmonica Pete was an American patriot and a class act.

The girls and I "bumped" into Pete back in 2014 when we were on the same flight over to Belgium for the anniversary of the Bulge. Pete immediately captured all our hearts as serenaded us on his harmonica during the flight and afterwards waiting for our baggage.

Later that week Pete shared with me the excitement he had to be back in Belgium. Not just because it was where he'd served as an Army Medic 70 years before, but because this was where both his parents had served nearly 100 years before during the Great War, the War to End all Wars.

The years that followed I'd get occasional calls from Pete that would always start with him playing a chorus of his favorite music on the harmonica, then in a deep and youthful voice, "This is Harmonica Pete." Just my favorite.

In the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling, he says to "Fill the unforgiving minute with 60 seconds worth of distance run." If you knew Pete or followed his regular adventures in the news, you would agree with me that Pete filled every minute with 61 seconds.

Thanks for the memories.

Peter B. DuPré

May 12, 1923 - January 18, 2022

US Army || World War Two

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Remembering Sgt John Edwards

/ Operation Meatball/

A few days ago the little world of Operation Meatball took a personal hit when we lost board member and dear, dear friend Sergeant John Edwards USMC.

Camp Pendleton 2017

John/Gunny/Top… was an impeccable Marine, a brilliant mind, and the most reliable of humans - epitomizing the Marines motto Semper Fidelis. He has been a standard in my mind of what a Marine looks like.

Whenever I think of my first meeting with John, I get the biggest grin. I was sat next to him on the flight from Honolulu to Guam a number of years ago. Before the plane took off, he started the conversation by telling me that if I was a dull companion for the flight he would have to partake of his whiskey flask. 7 1/2 hours later, after talking all sorts of subjects (from the Marine Corps greats to philosophy to how to solve the orphan problem in America), our flight landed and John turned to me and with a wry grin said, “Well look, I didn’t even have to touch my flask.”

From then on he was my hero and we became wonderful friends.

“Liberty - Remember the two USMC mottos 1. Semper Fidelis 2. 240 years of tradition unhampered by progress. We are the only service that has two. ”
— John Edwards

Having John, someone I admired so much, as a board member was just one of the greatest honors for me. I have many little memories I shall treasure… as I know each of his friends share with me, as well as the countless lives he touched. I would’ve loved to have made the trip to Peleliu with him and experience that magic which I heard so much about from others. But I’m pretty sure I’m okay missing out on his specialty: Spaghetti MRE.

Semper Fi Top.

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

The Marble Orchard

/

“Speak that name, read the accomplishments of that member, lay that wreath, and say thank you. And it will change your heart like nothing else that you have ever done.”

Judy Carlile

This last Saturday morning, I drove over to Fort Sam Houston Cemetery. A few days before, I had been reminded that Wreaths Across America was happening on the weekend. For years I’ve seen photos and heard from my friends what a magical experience this is, and I wanted to be a part of it. 

Each year, the Saturday or two before Christmas is allocated as Wreaths Across America Day. Thousands and thousands of Americans gather in the local and National Military Cemeteries across the United States to lay wreaths on the graves of our servicemen. Throughout the year, donations are raised and wreaths are sponsored to give each marble epitaph a token of our gratitude.

At Fort Sam alone, there are roughly 175,000 graves, this includes family members of deceased servicemen. This year, the local San Antonio chapter of WAA laid over 62,000 wreaths, an absolutely tremendous effort. 

When I arrived, it had already been pouring rain for hours. The highways were flooded at points, and I wasn’t sure what the turn out would be. Rain is a good excuse to stay home, but I underestimated the pluck of my fellow Texans. The cemetery was crowded. Packed to the gills. Men, women, children, babies, grandparents, military, civilians, every walk of life.

Before the crowds were released, a brief ceremony took place at the pavilion. Craig Russell of Seguin shared the real meaning behind why we were gathered that day.

“I am not a Chaplain, but I am a man of deep abiding Faith. And in Deuteronomy 32:7 it says, “Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past. Ask your father and he will show you, your elders, and they will tell you.’… It is built into the fabric of humanity that we reflect God’s image when we remember. We bear the torch of God’s love as those to remember. We have come here today to Remember.

We are here to remember the sacrifices of those… that have gone before us. To remember that Freedom is not Free. And to inspire the next generation to be those that also remember. It is in remembering that we preserve the fragile democracy that we are a part of. It is in remembering that connects us to our past. It is in remembering that keeps the flame of Freedom alive in the present.”

As the rains beat a tattoo on our heads, the crowds moved to the massive trucks holding boxes and boxes of wreaths. Mutual misery causes conversation. As the long lines crawled forward, we discussed the obvious topic: the rain, and I recommended channeling the Marine Corps at Chosin.

The local Boy Scouts wrestled the rain and wind in their light ponchos, and I watched many an umbrella take flight. Every form of carrying device had been employed to transfer the wreaths from the trucks to the grave: walking canes, umbrellas, baby strollers, small wagons, long arms, even broom sticks. I love a bit of American ingenuity.

One of the mac trucks delivering the wreaths

“Do you think there'll be any wreaths left when we get to the truck?” was the question of the hour.

“Don’t worry! With 62,000 wreaths, I think there’s plenty to go around.”

My new friends didn’t enjoy the rain shower as much as I did. “Let’s just make one trip and call it a day,” they said.

I couldn’t resist, “Are you sure y’all aren’t Air Force??”

Immediately a couple in line ahead of us turned and declared, “Hey! The Air Force goes outside sometimes!”

Before going out, the crowd had been encouraged to, “Speak that name, read the accomplishments of that member, lay that wreath, and say thank you.”

Later I watched two little girls take this to heart. One laying a wreath on the grave, her sister said a quiet prayer. “Dear Soldier —- thank you for your service to our country. Thank you for protecting my family. We will always remember you. Amen.”

An older man walked down the line of graves with an arm of wreaths. Before laying a wreath, he recited the name, rank, and military branch. A salute. A “Thank you for your service,” and he moved on to the next one.

A father and his two little boys made their way up and down the rows. The three year old danced around the graves looking at the wreaths, trying to make out the letters inscribed on the stone. The father read the names aloud to his older son. When he came across a USMC he stopped and made note of it.

“Here’s a Marine, son,” he said. 

“Are you a Marine?” I called out from several graves down.

“Yes,” he says. “Oorah.”

“Semper Fi!” I respond.

I ask him to take a photo for me. “Do you know the person?” He asked.

No I don’t.

“My son is somewhere in this cemetery,” he tells me.

On any day, these sights would be touching, but in the pouring rain, there was an intangible beauty. No rush. No hurry. No fight against the inclement climate. Just time standing still, as each grave received it’s honor and remembrance. 

While the grave merely holds the frail and empty remains of our loved ones, their epitaphs etched in marble above represent a legacy.

Lucian Adams

SSGT, US Army World War Two. 

October 25, 1922 - March 31, 2003

Purple Heart

Bronze Star 

Medal of Honor

A full life summed up in a couple of words. The last of their accomplishments. How they are to be remembered.

Sometimes I jest that my fondest memories over the years have taken place in old battlefields or cemeteries while all heaven broke loose and threatened a second flood. But it’s also kind of true.

 “Those of you that are gathered here today, you came here to take care of each other; to be a part of a legacy; and to remember.” -Craig Russell

I left Fort Sam inspired. And invigorated. I watched my community come together and perform a simple but massive task in less than desirable conditions.  And it was done united, with a smile. 

This is America. This is our heart. 

I strongly encourage you to participate in Wreaths Across America next year. As the inestimable Judy Carlile said, “It will change your heart like nothing else that you have ever done.” 

Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today