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MEMORIAL DAY: My Respect & Gratitude

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Posted 5/22/2020 11:59 AM (GMT 0)

As Memorial Day weekend arrives ...

I want to convey my respect and debt of gratitude to all veterans ---- with sincere gratitude to the many VETERANS we have here, as readers and dedicated members.

To each and all of you ---- my true appreciation. I'm mindful of your sacrifice and service to this country.

May it always wave ... the RED, the WHITE, the BLUE !

A moment of respect, also, to members we have lost on Healing Well ... who became our friends and brothers, along the way.

Remembrance, honor, and respect -
Cyclone - # Iowa State University
Posted 5/22/2020 1:39 PM (GMT 0)
We REALLY need a "like" button.
Posted 5/22/2020 2:23 PM (GMT 0)
Cyclone, thank you. As an amateur historian, the roots of Memorial day are really interesting. My grandfather always called it Decoration Day, and it's roots go back to late in the Civil War (War between the States if you live below the Mason-Dixon line), as a day to decorate the graves of the lost and remember. It really became a way for all, no matter their previous allegiance, to come together and be united--something badly needed today.
Posted 5/22/2020 10:05 PM (GMT 0)
I agree we need a LIKE button. Hear, hear (or is it here, here?), and thanks just is not enough. But nonetheless, thank you to each and every veteran on this forum and everywhere, in perpetuity.
Posted 5/22/2020 11:21 PM (GMT 0)
Thanks Cyclone, And a big thank you to all the veterans! Don't know if it is appropriate but I would also like to give thanks to the people that put themselves on the front line during this pandemic so that we can continue to get groceries, gas, and medicine and health care and also our fire, police, and ambulance personnel!

Larry
Posted 5/25/2020 8:31 PM (GMT 0)

I valued Steve Hartman's contribution to the C.B.S. SUNDAY MORNING news feature over Memorial Day weekend ...

It featured his inspiring message, by playing "TAPS" by buglers and trumpeters across America on Memorial Day.

Sure enough, a neighbor just played "TAPS" in my neighborhood this afternoon, in honor of Memorial Day.

I always appreciate Steve Hartman's news features ... and his weekend feature on veterans, the gratitude we feel towards them all, and the playing of "TAPS" across America this Memorial Day meant more than words can say ...

Gratitude and respect, to our veterans here!
Cyclone - # Iowa State University
Posted 5/25/2020 9:31 PM (GMT 0)
Like.
Posted 5/26/2020 2:03 AM (GMT 0)

Cyclone-ISU said...

I valued Steve Hartman's contribution to the C.B.S. SUNDAY MORNING news feature over Memorial Day weekend ...

It featured his inspiring message, by playing "TAPS" by buglers and trumpeters across America on Memorial Day.

Sure enough, a neighbor just played "TAPS" in my neighborhood this afternoon, in honor of Memorial Day.

I always appreciate Steve Hartman's news features ... and his weekend feature on veterans, the gratitude we feel towards them all, and the playing of "TAPS" across America this Memorial Day meant more than words can say ...

Gratitude and respect, to our veterans here!
Cyclone - # Iowa State University

Posted 5/26/2020 2:53 AM (GMT 0)
Thanks Cyclone, being a veteran and remembering the hate and no thanks when I got back from Vietnam it warms my heart to read this. Not only no thanks, but took years to get approved for help because of agent orange. Thank God for Trump and his help in getting us veterans good healthcare. I haven't paid a penny for all the tests, meds, surgeries I have had..
Posted 5/26/2020 11:08 AM (GMT 0)
Cyclone,

It is good people like you who make it an honor to serve America. My journey began as a wise-a** Bronx kid who had his fill of school (for the time being). My dad taught at Pace University in Manhattan so I had a free ride - if I wanted it. My dad was vintage "old school," as am I (to this day and forevermore). He believed that if a child does not want to further their education, "machining" the child into college is counterproductive. Dad lived to see his only child graduate and go on to law school. In fact, he presented me my diploma in 1985 on the podium when Pace's graduation ceremony was held at Madison Square Garden. How glad I was that I could give him that moment. His words to me: ""I never thought I would live to see this day." It was a time to cry and I did.

It was 1966 and Vietnam was in high gear. Getting a job at my age (then 17 1/2) in New York was rough. Employers knew that you were ripe to be drafted and I was too young to get a drivers license. So I went to see the local Air Force recruiter and did it! My dad had to sign and, after assuaging mom's fears, did.

My Bronx attitude made me a bullseye for the drill sergeant's fist. Remember the basic training portion of "Full Metal Jacket"? I lived it. And Tech Sgt. Harold Barrett probably saved my life. He certainly turned a punk into a man.

War is far different from a John Wayne movie. There is little glory - - just death. I killed five VC before my 19th birthday. It was my duty and I did it. My job as an Aeromedical/Rescue Tech had me see some horrible things. We went down from helicopters at night. We made life and death decisions. Cutty Sark scotch and I became best buddies.

Memorial Day rings special to me. I lost several pals in battle. And it made me HATE the Vietnamese people.

Until I met Richard and his wife aboard a cruise ship decades later.

They were seated at an adjacent table. I knew from their facial features they were Vietnamese. After dinner one night, Richard asked me if I was a Vietnam Vet (I had a lapel pin on). Sarcastically, I replied "yeah." Without another breath he extended his hand and said "thank you for fighting for my family's freedom."

In that one instant, I realized that my hate was vile and unfair. And I left it at sea. Richard's family and mine exchange Christmas cards each December.

I will not get political - we all have a right to support whom we choose to. However, no one can deny that the respect and medical/psychiatric care for Veterans has been taken from the basement to the roof over the past three+ years. When I was mustered out, some people spat at Veterans and called us murderers. Today's level of concern and respect warms me. May it always be so. For it is the "right thing."

In 2001, I was employed by New York's Metropolitan Transportation Authority. On September 11th of that fateful year, I was on my way to a morning meeting as a member of a task force led by then-Mayor Rudolph Giuliani ( one of the best guys I can call my friend). The meeting was to convene at 7 World Trade Center.

By the Grace of God, the subway was late that morning. Irony had me emerge from the station in front of Pace University when the first hijacked plane hit. Was it an accident? That theory was set aside when the second plane struck. I remember standing alongside a young NYC cop and telling him: "Dear God, we are at war." For the next two weeks, I was involved in the rescue/recovery operation. See, I had started as a bus driver (still in undergrad then) and it was all hands on deck. I have signed dozens of affidavits since then certifying that former colleagues who developed several forms of cancer were, in fact, part of the rescue. I had a benign thymoma carved out of my chest four years ago. I never made a claim opining that the money should go to those who sorely need it. Now, it's my turn. Yes, what we breathed in and absorbed is recognized as a possible causation of prostate cancer.

God Bless those who made the ultimate sacrifice. For I thank them for my family's freedom.

All of us in this forum are Warriors and the klaxon is sounding. Now, let's all go Gung Ho and beat the crap out of prostate cancer.

Via our brotherhood - - we can do this!!! Via our brotherhood - - we WILL do this!!!

Fred - - Sergeant, United States Air Force (11 Oct 66 - 10 Oct 70)

Post Edited (NJFred) : 5/26/2020 5:38:04 AM (GMT-6)

Posted 5/26/2020 12:29 PM (GMT 0)
My grandfather, Dan Dermody of Trenton, Illinois, fought in France in World War One in the Battle of the Meuse-Argonne. He was wounded and then captured by the Germans. He saw the horrors of war. After he returned to Illinois, he wrote a journal of his war experiences, which he buried in a footlocker, but which was found after he died. We grandchildren have kept that journal alive and it is now available on the web. I was an inquisitive youngster, and I managed to hear nearly all of the stories in the journal before any of the other 14 grandchildren knew what Grandpa had been through. My wife and I have twice visited northeastern France, and we've walked the fields where he fought. We've stood by the grave of Corporal Christ Johnson, who was killed on October 9th, 1918, even as my Grandpa was yelling at him, warning him of a German machine gun. He was not an educated man, but this paragraph near the end of the journal is SO powerful that it gives me chills every time I read it. Here's his powerful statement about the war experience:

"Discharged from service, but not from the memories which constantly invade our minds. Ghosts of the past constantly parade before us whenever we close our eyes. Our minds gaze out over the battlefields at the lifeless, bleeding forms. Pale faces, half-starved, half-conscious, silent, grim, yet determined, they march -- the boys of battle. Determined youths with torn, muddy uniforms, marching through hell to either death or disablement. Life-long infirmities caused from wounds, poison gas, or nervous strain. All these pry at our minds. Dragged up through a clouded memory from a distant past these grotesque figures dance crazily amidst a hideous hell of glare from bursting shells. In our ears there is a din that gets louder and louder. Shells and bombs screaming and hissing through the air. Destruction and death."

And then he ends the journal on a more positive note: "The sweetheart I left behind became my wife when I returned. From this union came four children. I thank God for my family, for the grandchildren, who with their many interruptions keep my mind from wandering too far back.

Always in my heart, as in the hearts of many, many other men, is this fervent prayer: "God, please never let there be another war."

I'm sure many of us have relatives, distant or near, who have lost their lives in service to our country. We all should strive to keep thoughts of them in our hearts and honor them not only on Memorial Day, but in the way we choose to live our lives.

Post Edited (clocknut) : 5/26/2020 7:05:38 AM (GMT-6)

Posted 5/26/2020 1:05 PM (GMT 0)
NJFred and Clocknut -

Two of the most moving posts I have ever read on this forum, and so appropriate for Memorial Day. Thank you.
Posted 5/30/2020 9:03 PM (GMT 0)

clocknut said...
My grandfather, Dan Dermody of Trenton, Illinois, fought in France in World War One in the Battle of the Meuse-Argonne. He was wounded and then captured by the Germans. He saw the horrors of war. After he returned to Illinois, he wrote a journal of his war experiences, which he buried in a footlocker, but which was found after he died. We grandchildren have kept that journal alive and it is now available on the web. I was an inquisitive youngster, and I managed to hear nearly all of the stories in the journal before any of the other 14 grandchildren knew what Grandpa had been through. My wife and I have twice visited northeastern France, and we've walked the fields where he fought. We've stood by the grave of Corporal Christ Johnson, who was killed on October 9th, 1918, even as my Grandpa was yelling at him, warning him of a German machine gun. He was not an educated man, but this paragraph near the end of the journal is SO powerful that it gives me chills every time I read it. Here's his powerful statement about the war experience:

"Discharged from service, but not from the memories which constantly invade our minds. Ghosts of the past constantly parade before us whenever we close our eyes. Our minds gaze out over the battlefields at the lifeless, bleeding forms. Pale faces, half-starved, half-conscious, silent, grim, yet determined, they march -- the boys of battle. Determined youths with torn, muddy uniforms, marching through hell to either death or disablement. Life-long infirmities caused from wounds, poison gas, or nervous strain. All these pry at our minds. Dragged up through a clouded memory from a distant past these grotesque figures dance crazily amidst a hideous hell of glare from bursting shells. In our ears there is a din that gets louder and louder. Shells and bombs screaming and hissing through the air. Destruction and death."

And then he ends the journal on a more positive note: "The sweetheart I left behind became my wife when I returned. From this union came four children. I thank God for my family, for the grandchildren, who with their many interruptions keep my mind from wandering too far back.

Always in my heart, as in the hearts of many, many other men, is this fervent prayer: "God, please never let there be another war."

I'm sure many of us have relatives, distant or near, who have lost their lives in service to our country. We all should strive to keep thoughts of them in our hearts and honor them not only on Memorial Day, but in the way we choose to live our lives.

Thanks for the earlier link to your grandfather's journal; I've dipped into it and found it interesting reading. What a treasure for your family and others.
Posted 5/31/2020 10:48 AM (GMT 0)
These last couple of posts have me thinking about my Grandfather as well. He also served at the Meuse-Argonne offensive, as a corporal in the 10th Maine Artillery, 27th (I think) Infantry, the so-called Yankee Division. In 1917 he would have been 22 years old.

Like many of his comrades in arms, he came home, got married, and became a civilian. He joined the American Legion. He went to the Legion every friday night to play penny-ante poker and, I'm sure, talk about the things he couldn't talk to anyone else about. He taught his grandsons to fish, split firewood, and hit a baseball. After he passed, in 1984 at the end of June, it worked out that we buried him with full honors in his Legion commander's uniform on July 3.

It was only many years later, that I discovered that my father had never ordered his military grave marker from the Army. After an inquiry that seemed to take way too long, we were informed that too much time had passed since his death, and that the Army would not provide a marker. So, I ordered one for him from a local gravestone marker company and had it placed. Now, he gets a flag on his grave every Memorial day.

After he passed, when we cleaned out the house, we found a commemorative bottle of bourbon, celebrating 50 years since the founding of the American Legion, bottled in 1969 and never opened. It reappeared a few years ago, after my mother died in 2017. In the fall of 2017, that bottle was finally opened and tasted by some of the PC brothers from this group, at the GFMPH gathering that fall--and pronounced fit. We toasted the memory of Cpl. Ernest Stansfield, Artilleryman, master weaver, fisherman, lover of the Boston Red Sox and a good steak.
Posted 5/31/2020 5:45 PM (GMT 0)

halbert said...
These last couple of posts have me thinking about my Grandfather as well. He also served at the Meuse-Argonne offensive, as a corporal in the 10th Maine Artillery, 27th (I think) Infantry, the so-called Yankee Division. In 1917 he would have been 22 years old.

Like many of his comrades in arms, he came home, got married, and became a civilian. He joined the American Legion. He went to the Legion every friday night to play penny-ante poker and, I'm sure, talk about the things he couldn't talk to anyone else about. He taught his grandsons to fish, split firewood, and hit a baseball. After he passed, in 1984 at the end of June, it worked out that we buried him with full honors in his Legion commander's uniform on July 3.

It was only many years later, that I discovered that my father had never ordered his military grave marker from the Army. After an inquiry that seemed to take way too long, we were informed that too much time had passed since his death, and that the Army would not provide a marker. So, I ordered one for him from a local gravestone marker company and had it placed. Now, he gets a flag on his grave every Memorial day.

After he passed, when we cleaned out the house, we found a commemorative bottle of bourbon, celebrating 50 years since the founding of the American Legion, bottled in 1969 and never opened. It reappeared a few years ago, after my mother died in 2017. In the fall of 2017, that bottle was finally opened and tasted by some of the PC brothers from this group, at the GFMPH gathering that fall--and pronounced fit. We toasted the memory of Cpl. Ernest Stansfield, Artilleryman, master weaver, fisherman, lover of the Boston Red Sox and a good steak.

Beautiful, Halbert!
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