The white stones on the beach at Omaha, Sword, Juno…
A cliff at Ponte du Hoc, France
A paratrooper named Maurice.
A radioman named Jeff.
A patrol leader named Chris.
The two kids on the front page of today’s Free Press.
A private contractor.
Two pilots.
A young kid who’s girlfriend cried so hard she could not stand.
A sailor who fixed the batteries even after his C.O. said it couldn’t be done. He worked three days with no sleep. He sleeps with his Dolphins on his chest.
And everybody else who ever drew a pay check from their uncle, Sam.
I am fortunate enough to know a man who survived both D-day and the battle of the bulge. Fascinating man and unbelievable odds to have survived those 2 moments in history. I do not want to mention his name in a public forum like this but many of you would recognize his voice from his long career in the media doing voiceovers. Now even in his late 70’s or early 80’s he still does good work as the narrator on the Forensic Files.
My Dad. 3 tours of Vietnam as a pilot and lived to tell about it. One tour in KC135’s, and two in choppers. That’s right, fixed wing and rotors. Lost an engine, but nobody on his chopper died that day.
With the first post I was thinking only interms of D-Day in WWII. However taking Vietnam into account I should mention my father. He took a shrapnel wound on top of his shoulder while he was sleeping during the Tet offensive in 1968. If it had been ~6" over it would have hit his head and I would have never been born.
To my 87 year old friend Ted who flew over 30 missions over Europe in a B-17 bomber. When I finally got him to talk about it he opened my eyes to true bravery and valor, as I never served. He still cries a little when he tells me the story of how his plane got shot up on Christmas day, losing part of his crew. Over 50 years later, Christmas day is still sad for him.
To that guy in Bagdad that posted the other day talking about the 147 degree temperature and the 50 lbs of gear and armor he had to carry on patrol - I salute you. You are an extreme Ironman, a stud, a badass mofo, and I thank you for your service and for keeping the USA safe.
My Grandfather, carrying the white flag, in Verdun:
He was an ambulance driver, originally horse-drawn, then cantankerous motor driven trucks. He made it back to the states, obviously, since I’m here! My brother has his uniform and helmet. I’m pretty sure it’s the one in this photo (It smells - old wool.)
I only knew him when I was a little kid, but, I fondly remember that he was a total bad ass!
Smelled like one too!
Before he died he showed me his war medals,his sword and pistol he used.
He always hated the war,wasn’t proud of the medals…he was showing them to point out that killing will always be wrong,but there is honor in serving for the greater good.
I think I got my endurance genes from him.
I wish he lived to see my daughter born.
Carl, Jack, Hawk, Torbert, Chief Weber and all the other guys I lost touch with.
The smell of jp-5
Driving a ship the size of a small town.
The crew of the USS Stark, we were too far away but we tried.
The taste of steaks and corn on the beach on Diego Garcia.
The senseless murder of a shipmate on board the USS Constellation over his poker winnings.
The face of the nameless Interenal Affairs investigator that put the perpatraitors of the above in Leavenworth.
The sounds and smells of Olangapo City.
The breath of the guy who tried to mug me in Mombasa Kenya.
The horror of the watching the Kenya Military Police deal with the mugger.
Waking up to the sound of the Phalanx close in system ripping off a couple thousand rounds live fire. I still don’t know why or at what, but I think I’m glad it works.
Watching a manta ray as wide as an 8-boat (landing craft, tank) swimm out from under the boat at night.
And finally the friends I miss, the ones I’ve lost, and being thankful that these are the memories I have and not the ones that some of the combat vets have.
Capt Patrick “Frenchy” Rapicault, friend, peer, leader, Marine, father, and all around great guy…killed last fall in Al Anbar province, Iraq.
Sgt Thomas Houser, friend, leader, Marine, former member of my Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team (FAST) platoon…killed in Iraq while living his dream in Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance…he is sorely missed.
These two are just the nearest and dearest to me…there are MANY others…
I will remember my father ( though still alive) and his many friends and troops. I am seeing him again in July when we will head to Buckingham Palace where he receives his M.B.E Medal from Queen Elizabeth, my 5 yr old son will join us. It is a 12,000 mile round trip for a man who has served for over 30 years in Bomb Disposal and been to more areas of the world than he cares to talk about. Over the years we have seen friends leave our shores and not return, thankfully my father has. He is 53 and my hero- Captain Brendan Touhey M.B.E.
“If you pull on a uniform you are a hero, nothing can ever take away the sacrifice you prepare to make for your fellow man” Anon.
My Dad who passed away in Feb of 2002, 6 weeks after my wedding. He was a WWII veteran, and I love him dearly. I still cry over missing him at least one time a week. But I know he is with God now, probably talking with Moses (as he always wanted to).
Also, honour all of the men and women who have given their lives and serve: in honour of freedom, personal rights, humanity, democracy, this country, its values, and for all of us who cherish it and enjoy its offerings.
Those who were a part of D-Day, Pearl harbour, Vietnam, the Korean War, WWI, WWII, The Gulf War, Iraq, and all others…I cannot imagine what they went through.
America is beautiful and gracious–what we have people died for.
Holmes, Melvin D. … USMC … PFC … 10/23/1983 … IL … Chicago, IL
My big godbro was killed in the Marine Barracks Bombing in Beirut, Lebanon. He was killed by the same animals that organized the worst terrorist act in American, if not World History. Over 20 years and these sick SOB’s are still out there. He was 19. I was just a kid but I remember bowling with him before he shipped out to San Diego for the 2nd time. He promised that he would be back to take me to play hoop but I never saw him again. Still sucks when I think about him all messed up. When I saw the barracks on the news, as they removed bricks, and the bodies of these kids I hoped and prayed that he was ok. No, I knew that he was ok because he was young and strong, nothing like this could happen to him but…
6’3 1/2, articulate, a good looking lady’s man, and could jump over the moon. Man I looked up to him. I’ll Never Forget! RIP
The white stones on the beach at Omaha, Sword, Juno…
To all the young guys who landed on French Beaches on June 6, 1944.
A big thanks to you from France.
My Grandparents keep telling us that whatever one may think of G.W. Bush and war in Iraq, we should always be thankful to the US for having kicked nazidom out of Europe.
I am too young to understand what war means, but I respectfully concur.
CW3 John Murphy - Plankholder in 1st SFG CIF TM, we were both fathers of 3 boys, he fought panceratic cancer for 2yrs. Right up to the day things turned terribly bad he talked about trying to get into the fight in OEF, he didn’t care where or how. I’ve got the prayer card from his funeral with me here in Afghanistan and hope to leave on some high mountain top.
MAJ Ed Murphy - just happened to be another “Murph” I knew as a CPT in the 82d. Killed in the CH-47 helo crash earlier this yr in Afghanistan. found out about it the day I got here from a mutual friend.
As an Englishman I am unsure if Memorial Day is exclusively about the WWs or all conflicts but rest assured that on June 6th I shall be proud and humbled to pay tribute to those brave men and women in the forces that fought and served to allow us to enjoy the life and freedom we do today.
