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| Topic: Love & thanks ~ to our beloved Soldiers... - part 2 | |
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sun 08/10/08 09:00 AM
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Rapunzel, you have the most inspiring posts! Wishing all our heroes love and prayers of safety! Oh, thank you Sweetie...  I was running low on stories to post...  and then i found a few more Patriotic Websites  packed with beautiful stories and poems... Wishing all our heroes love and prayers of safety! |
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did you happen to read the poem I posted that I wrote a long time ago?
I have a journal entry too, but I have to find that diary. |
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America The Land of the Free How can this be? America started under British Rule, and would never be free. With thirteen small colonies we survived it all. The Indians, French, British, and even the snow storms that pilled up so tall. Each war America has fought, had a lesson to be taught. That a big heart filled with pride, made a stronger opponent run and hide. Freedom was precious to the fore fathers here. The British war machine we no longer would fear. A new nation was born with military might; it would never run from a fight. America Land of the free, and home of the brave. Our new war machine had nations to save. We have stood tall for over 230 years. If an enemy sees our flag with all its glory, for his very life he fears. Old Glory has been all around this globe, and many have fought for the right To be free. Today, I thank our veteran’s, without you this would not be. Against all odds you gave us that right, and our enemy knew you put up one Hell of a fight. By Randy Ward |
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A little poem I wrote a while ago: I have never met A woman more beautiful than her. Her tall, graceful posture Her sweet, beautiful smile This goddess of beauty and strength She stands there, proud and strong Her flowing ebony hair falling free in the tradition Of Native Americans Her eyes, glittering sky blue like that of the Europeans Her nose strong and bold of the Africans Her skin the olive tan of a middle-eastern princess Neck long and graceful as an Egyptian's Shoulders strong and broad of the South Americans Fingers long and graceful as are those of Asian artists and scribes Her body so perfect, so strong It had to be that on an Irish mother Her waist made to hold her many children Her legs so strong to hold the many weights on her shoulders Her feet are bare like that of the Caribbeans, Dancing in the sands. Who is this woman of such immense beauty? Of divine strength and grace? Who could this symbol of life and love and the embodiment of all things Beautiful Possibly be? What is her Name? America. And she is my mother too this one, Myriah??? it is very good & exceptionally creative
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did you happen to read the poem I posted that I wrote a long time ago? I have a journal entry too, but I have to find that diary. are you speaking of the poem i just posted in the above entry???
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yes, but I have a blog too. Would you like it?
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sure...
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July 4th, 2003. My country turned 227 years old. I had just celebrated my 4th month of marriage, my 3rd month of pregnancy and my 23rd birthday. And all I could do was cry.
"Why?", you may ask. "Why is this young'n crying on the 4th of July? This is a time of celebration, life and laughter. Not of tears." I cried not because I was sad or experiencing a hormone change, but because my heart was swollen with pride. The pride of freedom, the pride of camaraderie, the pride of a union of nations together in harmony. THE PRIDE OF BEING AN AMERICAN! I love being American. I belong to a nation of Nations. Where no matter who you are or where you come from, there is always room for you. The land of immense opportunity. Home of the free. America. She's beautiful beyond belief! From her immense sky scraping towers to her dusty arid deserts. From her breath-taking and peaceful mountains to her roaring, thunderous shores. from Harlem to Chinatown, East L.A. to Miami Beach. Hollywood, Dolly wood, Never land to Graceland... New York, Chicago, Reno and Las Vegas. South to North, East to West, this country is more beautiful than words can describe. And she always has open arms. She takes in the weak, the tired, the poor and the hungry. She is definitely the nation of Nations. She carries all of us on her shoulders. If God was a country, he would be America. We have helped other countries fight wars, rebuild, feed their hungry, educate their peoples and aide in their health and well- being. We have continuously tried to do what so many have wished for and help make peace. And when threatened and attacked, we struck back with a unity so powerful, evil doers have realized they are no match for the force that is called America. We have put down our differences and we come together as a family. We should be proud. America has given birth to millions of wondrous and awesome peoples, from Abraham Lincoln to John F. Kennedy. Neil Armstrong to Bill Gates. Harriet Tubman to Rosa Parks. From Frances Scott Key, who wrote the most powerful song of courage to Lee Greenwood, who wrote a beautiful song of pride. George Washington Carver, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr, Shaquille O'Neil, Micheal Jordan, Magic Johnson, Denzel Washington, Halle Berry. From the movie "The Color Purple" in which Blacks are treated horribly to "Bruce Almighty" where Morgan Freeman plays God. This country has grown so much so quickly. She is certainly an amazing lady! A country so immersed in culture it is hard to believe that there are still racists! But every beautiful thing has a dark side. But nonetheless, I am proud to say America has stuck together and come out on top every time! |
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sun 08/10/08 09:42 AM
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 <<< thinking of you Wiccan Cowboy & Jesse >>> ...  stationed there with all of your comrades at Fort Benning Georgia Now... <<< Love and Blessings & Many Thanks to All of You >>> Nessa  Military Fathers, Mothers & Sons June 15, 2007 Recently at Fort Benning, Georgia, I stood with a friend and proud mom whose family history and mine are intertwined for the rest of our lives. This was the second time she and I had stood with pride and honor for a son. The first was on a sunny, but chilly day in February, 2004, at Fort Polk, Louisiana when my husband and I met Barbara Maggard, wife to U.S. Army 1st Sgt R. Maggard of the 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment/2nd Squadron/Eagle Troop. The unit our son Sgt Patrick Tainsh deployed with on April 1, 2003 to Iraq, but returned without as he came home to us alone beneath the flag of his nation after his death in Baghdad, February 11, 2004. We had come together at the Fort Polk chapel for a meaningful memorial service held for Patrick and PFC Ramirez who had also died in the same ambush. In late April 2004 the heroic, unsung 2nd ACR minus eight returned to Fort Polk, a post where many from Fort Benning have trained. In September we received a call from 1st Sgt Maggard. On a road trip with his family from Fort Polk toward Georgia, they wanted to visit us. Within days, the Maggards with their then seventeen year old son and twelve year old daughter sat with us inside our home. During the visit the 1st Sgt's stories about Patrick brought laughter and pride. But before that visit ended, we all shared tears after my question of what happened the night of February 11, 2004. We heard the story, retold in my book, Heart of Hawk, while also learning from the 1st Sgt that both he and CO Captain Corn, who had already contacted us, were both holding Patrick when he died. Our son, the cavalry scout and COs gunner who had cleared the area to save them and others after an ambush. Actions during which Patrick, at the onset, had been mortally wounded by an IED explosion, and that subsequently led to his receiving, posthumously, both the Bronze and Silver Stars. But nothing made my husband, a USMC Sgt Major (retired), more proud than learning from the 1st Sgt that Patrick had always said he wanted to make his dad proud, and just as his dad , wanted to become a Sgt Major. Was this hard for all of us to talk about? Yes. Was it a catharsis for each of us? Yes. Was it a gift? Most certainly. 1st Sgt Maggard and his family gave us a gift that evening that has bonded us for our lifetime to come. After their leaving that evening, we have maintained constant e-mail communication with the Maggards and also the Corns. Captain Corn, now Major, received orders for Ft. Irwin. 1st Sgt Maggard, now Sgt Major, received orders for Texas, then Alaska, and is currently back in Iraq, where he expects to see his only son any day now. Sgt. Major R. Maggard with son, PFC. B. Maggard This is the part that really gives me chills and makes me want to sing the praises of the American military family. This is the part that is so amazing about the Maggard family. Young B. Maggard, 20, who knows his dad's experiences in Baghdad with the 2nd ACR, who knows how Patrick and others in the unit died in 2003-2004, and knows of the losses his dad's current unit is taking, this amazing American son, the son of Sgt Major R. Maggard, chose to join the United States Army. This is what led me and my husband to stand at Fort Benning with Barbara Maggard, a proud army wife and mom who has also served in the armed forces. This time we honored her son whose paternal grandmother, also there, served in the Army Nurse Corps in the 1950's. Both of young Maggard's grandfathers also served in the military as did uncles. The sun couldn't outshine the legacy of family pride that glowed in the face and stature of PFC Maggard, now another gallant member of the U.S. infantry and the new greatest generation. I asked Barbara that if with all she knew of military life, strain, and sacrifice, if she or her husband either one had tried to talk their son out of joining the armed forces. Of course, I already knew the answer. "No," she said. "This is something he's always said from a child he wanted to do. He's at a place to make his own decisions. His dad and I will support him as he asks." I ask PFC Maggard if he had any reservations at all, and of course I knew that answer. "No ma'am. I'm proud to serve my country. I can think of nothing better. There's an enemy we have to help the Iraqi people defeat. Our nation's at risk. I just want to get to Iraq while my dad is still there." For now, Barbara remains in Alaska with her daughter. We are all blessed to have those like her husband and son, volunteers of the less than one percent of our nation's population, to stand the lines to protect us from an enemy that swears to destroy our civilization. In a message from her two days ago I learned that Barbara's son is now at Fort Bragg preparing to leave for Iraq within ten days. His dad, a leader our son looked up to and who we are thankful to for allowing us to become part of his family, has been extended in Iraq and awaits his son's arrival. I asked Barbara what she thought about the extension. She says that after over twenty years as a military wife, not counting the years she served, she's learned its part of the job. "It's who we are. There's pride in serving our country. I wouldn't have it any other way." I agreed, saying that when I was an active duty wife I would tell young wives during our husbands' deployments, "hey, you know who and what you married, pull the boot straps up, be the woman they need." When I ask her about plans for retirement, Barbara said she and her husband, a college graduate who after the military wants to teach, would like to live near Fort Benning. With that, I couldn't think of anything else that would make me happier, because we're more than family, we're a military family bonded for the rest of our lives through love, dedication, courage, sacrifice, and pride in a lifestyle few will ever understand. By Deborah Tainsh |
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thinking of all the soldiers and their loved ones today..
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I am currently reading"Big Russ and Me" and in it Timm Russert's Dad, a WW2 vet said about Vietnam"You can be against the war without routing for the other side".I think it still applies today.
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sun 08/10/08 11:33 AM
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thinking of all the soldiers and their loved ones today.. Amen... thank you so much my Sister Jackie thinking of all of our Troops, and sending extra special prayers for Military Moms < Suzanne > & for < Joyce> & for their brave courageous young Sons  who are in basic training now, & going through hell...  Help them, their comrades & other parents get through this incredibly tough time... love and prayers and hugs and lots of compassion for You all |
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July 4th, 2003. My country turned 227 years old. I had just celebrated my 4th month of marriage, my 3rd month of pregnancy and my 23rd birthday. And all I could do was cry. "Why?", you may ask. "Why is this young'n crying on the 4th of July? This is a time of celebration, life and laughter. Not of tears." I cried not because I was sad or experiencing a hormone change, but because my heart was swollen with pride. The pride of freedom, the pride of camaraderie, the pride of a union of nations together in harmony. THE PRIDE OF BEING AN AMERICAN! I love being American. I belong to a nation of Nations. Where no matter who you are or where you come from, there is always room for you. The land of immense opportunity. Home of the free. America. She's beautiful beyond belief! From her immense sky scraping towers to her dusty arid deserts. From her breath-taking and peaceful mountains to her roaring, thunderous shores. from Harlem to Chinatown, East L.A. to Miami Beach. Hollywood, Dolly wood, Never land to Graceland... New York, Chicago, Reno and Las Vegas. South to North, East to West, this country is more beautiful than words can describe. And she always has open arms. She takes in the weak, the tired, the poor and the hungry. She is definitely the nation of Nations. She carries all of us on her shoulders. If God was a country, he would be America. We have helped other countries fight wars, rebuild, feed their hungry, educate their peoples and aide in their health and well- being. We have continuously tried to do what so many have wished for and help make peace. And when threatened and attacked, we struck back with a unity so powerful, evil doers have realized they are no match for the force that is called America. We have put down our differences and we come together as a family. We should be proud. America has given birth to millions of wondrous and awesome peoples, from Abraham Lincoln to John F. Kennedy. Neil Armstrong to Bill Gates. Harriet Tubman to Rosa Parks. From Frances Scott Key, who wrote the most powerful song of courage to Lee Greenwood, who wrote a beautiful song of pride. George Washington Carver, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr, Shaquille O'Neil, Micheal Jordan, Magic Johnson, Denzel Washington, Halle Berry. From the movie "The Color Purple" in which Blacks are treated horribly to "Bruce Almighty" where Morgan Freeman plays God. This country has grown so much so quickly. She is certainly an amazing lady! A country so immersed in culture it is hard to believe that there are still racists! But every beautiful thing has a dark side. But nonetheless, I am proud to say America has stuck together and come out on top every time! |
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American Proud
We are all here, sharing with pride what is so very dear that for so many seems unreal just because it is so ideal. That is why none of us should ever forget what was and why our great nation came to be... upholding the freedom and rights of the We, as America's founding fathers penned and each generation since has valiantly fought to defend. And we should all be proud to support with voices loud all in other lands who wish to have the same so that one day they will be able to proclaim... "I am truly free and can live and be like the Americans I see." By David G. Bancroft |
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http://kids.niehs.nih.gov/lyrics/spangle.htm
Star Spangled Banner Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there. O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream: 'T is the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand, Between their lov'd homes and the war's desolation; Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the Pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us as a nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause. it is just, And this be our motto: "In God is our trust" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! History: In 1814, about a week after the city of Washington had been badly burned, British troops moved up to the primary port at Baltimore Harbor in Maryland. Francis Scott Key visited the British fleet in the Harbor on September 13th to secure the release of Dr. William Beanes who had been captured during the Washington raid. The two were detained on the ship so as not to warn the Americans while the Royal Navy attempted to bombard Fort McHenry. At dawn on the 14th, Key noted that the huge American flag, which now hangs in the Smithsonian's American History Museum, was still waving and had not been removed in defeat. The sight inspired him to write a poem titled Defense of Fort McHenry. The poem was eventually set to music that had originally been written by English composer John Stafford Smith for a song titled "The Anacreontic Song". The end result was the inspiring song now considered the national anthem of the United States of America. It was accepted as such by public demand for the next century or so, but became even more accepted as the national anthem during the World Series of Baseball in 1917 when it was sung in honor of the brave armed forces fighting in the Great War. The World Series performance moved everyone in attendance, and after that it was repeated for every game. Finally, on March 3, 1931, the American Congress proclaimed it as the national anthem, 116 years after it was first written. |
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http://americanhistory.si.edu/ssb/2_home/fs2.html
the Story of the Flag On Sept. 14, 1814, Francis Scott Key peered through clearing smoke to see an enormous flag flying proudly after a 25-hour British bombardment of Baltimore's Fort McHenry. Key was inspired to write a poem, which was later set to music. Even before "The Star-Spangled Banner" became our national anthem, it helped transform the garrison flag with the same name into a major national symbol of patriotism and identity. The flag has had a colorful history, from its origins in a government contract through its sojourn with several generations of a Baltimore family to its eventual donation to the Smithsonian Institution. the Birth of the Banner Over the years the Star-Spangled Banner has undergone a series of transformations. When it was made in 1813 it was a simple garrison flag. After the British attack on Baltimore's Fort McHenry in 1814, it became a valued keepsake in the family of Lt. Col. George Armistead, the fort's commander. The popularity of Francis Scott Key's anthem during and after the Civil War transformed it into a national treasure. Since coming to the Smithsonian in 1907, the historic flag has been a visible reminder of both the ideals represented by the American flag and the need to preserve those ideals. The Preservation of Our Flag For nearly a century, the Smithsonian has cared for the Star-Spangled Banner and placed it on view for the American people. The staff has worked hard over the years to maintain the flag, keep it clean, and protect it from harm. The goal has always remained the same: to ensure the treasured flag’s survival for generations to come. But preservation methods have changed and improved over time. The Star-Spangled Banner Project, formally launched in 1998, is applying the latest scientific research and techniques to preserve the woolen and cotton fabrics of the flag. The project aims to assess the flag’s current condition, understand the causes of its deterioration, and design and carry out treatment to help prevent further damage. After the conservation work is complete, the Star-Spangled Banner will be returned to the heart of the Museum and installed in a dramatic new flag room. Visitors will be able to see the flag in its true condition, as a tattered but treasured piece of our nation’s history. |
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Tue 08/12/08 06:51 AM
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The Newspaper
2004 Night was falling over the battlefield as the old grizzled Marine Sergeant took stock of his men. Smoke filled the air from the artillery and helicopter gun ships and the smell of cordite was everywhere. It had been a furious battle and a costly one. Three of his men lay in body bags beside a burned out humvee. But his men had been courageous and had given far more than they had received. The old sergeant moved among his men offering encouragement and comfort. Even with their losses the morale of his men were high and they were eager to get back into the battle to avenge the loss of their friends and comrades. The sergeant was proud of them all. They had performed magnificently in the face of the enemy. In the morning they would take up where they left off and finish this job once and for all. While making his last rounds of the night and making sure his watch was on duty the sergeant noticed a group of young Marines huddled around an old newspaper from the real world. The young Marines were arguing and the newspaper seemed to be the cause. Curious he walked over and grabbed the paper out of their hands. The headline of the newspaper, in big bold print, stated that the war being fought had turned into a quagmire and that it was no longer winnable. Cursing the sergeant tore the paper into pieces and looked at his men. A very young Marine looked up and said “Sarge is it true?” “ Are we losing?” “Of course not, you idiot!” “Do you believe everything you read?” “Now get some sleep.” The old sergeant prayed that the newspaper would not affect the morale he had seen during the day. He had seen men lose their will to fight before when support at home had dried up. But he had faith in his men and in his ability to give them hope. However, as the battle started the next morning he noticed that the drive and fire in them had been extinguished. They were lack luster and careless. As the battle raged more and more of them were making mistakes and dying for it. He knew he and his men were in trouble and he said a quick prayer: “God please help me give back to my boys the fighting spirit they have lost.” In a flash he knew what he had to do. He found the old torn up newspaper and he stuck pieces in his pockets where they fluttered in the breeze. He walked to the front of the lines and yelled: “Ok, boys, you got a choice. You can follow me and stand up for God and Country or you can listen to what was in this old rag of a newspaper and just lie down and die but I am going forward.” And so he did. A great battle was won that day. But when the smoke cleared the old sergeant lay dead. Pieces of that old newspaper still attached to his clothes soaked in his blood. As his men gathered around him, each took a piece of the blood soaked newspaper to always remind them to never doubt again. Two days later and thousands of miles away: The peace group claims that 8 innocent children were killed. In other war news, a Marine sergeant was killed 20 miles north of Baghdad. It has been reported that this sergeant was carrying an old edition of this newspaper proving once and for all that even our soldiers are calling this war a quagmire. In a generous show of solidarity with our troops and in an effort to improve their morale, our parent company has decided to donate 10,000 copies of this newspaper to the armed forces every month. Steven J. Newton |
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You Earned My Independence Day
July 04, 2003 I wrote this open letter to all the soldiers I know, past and present and for all the soldiers I probably will never know- my appreciation and respect for your service has no words, but I tried anyway. ----------------------- I sit here typing, while my children are shifting from foot to foot begging for darkness to fall. They want to throw some loud things down on the ground with a bang, see huge light displays in the sky and wave their sparklers around. Seldom besides Christmas have they ever requested night time to happen any sooner than necessary. I laugh a little. To them THIS is what Independence Day is- fireworks and a lot of "oohs and ahs"….. But seeing them smile and giggle reminds me further of what it actually means to me. These giggling reminders are what have moved me to write this letter of thanks to you today. It is because of you and the men and women you served with that my children are safe. It is because of men and women just like you that I have the freedom to wave a sparkler around and have reason to be thankful for the independence that no others in the world share. In America I am asked to vote my opinion on matters that are significant. Only in a country like this would I be given the opportunity to prove I can do something others might not have even thought possible in their own lives. In American I am innocent until I am proven guilty- not guilty merely because I may be accused of something. Where else but America would someone likely stand up for someone else who needs a little help? Someone stood up for me once and I repay the favor every chance I am given. It is because of men and women like you that the rockets that my children want me to light make a few sparks and a loud noise and everyone giggles-meant to celebrate the freedom in our lives. They are not the rockets that maim and destroy, taking the very life from the children who touch them. How many places in the world have you- our soldiers been- that the children have no dreams or hopes, except to find food and shelter and to live another day? How did I ever earn such fortune I wonder to myself. The answer is of course, that I didn't earn any of it. People like you and my grandfathers during World War II and Gene, Walt, Buzz, Wayne, Bart and Jim all veterans of the Vietnam War- all men I am so honored and lucky to have met- earned this right for me. How can I ever repay you? I am not sure I can. What have I done to show myself worthy of gifts you have given me? I just don't know. I mean to live a good life and to never forget that I was given an opportunity that so many others have not. I will probably never be a soldier, never sleep in a trench, never be truly afraid or truly alone, all of the things you have been for me. But I will remember that you did those things for me. I will always honor and fight for those men and women whose names are written on that granite wall, or who cannot fight for themselves anymore. I will always remember Bennie Lee Dexter whose name I wear on a band on my wrist. I will always stand up for what I think is right and for those who cannot protect themselves. I will not be silent when there is something to say, because surely the cost to me is not as great as what I would pay by being silent or turning the other cheek. Your sacrifices will never be for nothing. I will always remember you. I will always respect you and always, to my last day on the soil you have fought for- be grateful for my Independence Day. Thank you, Joni Bour |
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Tue 08/12/08 07:11 AM
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http://www.usa-patriotism.com/stories/nfpowr_day-01.htm i missed the April 9th date.. but the message is just as poignant, nevertheless National Former Prisoner of War Recognition Day April 9, 2007 Today is National Former Prisoner of War Recognition Day, as ordered by President Bush. So, in honor of this day, I present to you photos and stories of two ex-POWs: Booker T. Johnson, ex-POW of the Korean War and Robbie Risner, ex-POW of the Vietnam War. I first met Booker T. Johnson on Memorial Day 2001. It was my first Memorial Day here in Texarkana, and my first service to attend. He came up to me, shook my hand, smiled, and thanked me for attending. I did not know until I arrived at the next service (I had attended the second of three services held on Memorial day), that Booker T. was an ex-POW of the Korean War. Given the fact that I became involved with veterans because of being first involved in the POW/MIA issue, this was exciting. I only ever saw Booker T. at Memorial Day services and again following the Veterans Day parade, when he would come to McDonald's to receive his free meal. (The owner of the local McDonald's gives free meals to veterans every year following the Veterans Day parade and the veteran groups help man the sign-in tables). Sadly, Booker T. was called Home late last year. He was a good Christian man who endured more than three years as a prisoner of war in Korea, and I am truly blessed to have known him. Robbie Risner was one of the longest held POWs in the Vietnam War. He was shot down on 16 September 1965, and released on 12 February 1973. Risner also served in World War II and Korea, having flown over 100 missions in Korea. I had the honor of meeting Brig. Gen. Risner in Branson in June 2005, when I volunteered at Operation Homecoming USA, a national Welcome Home event for Vietnam Veterans. Risner was the guest speaker for the Friday morning opening services, and managed not to cry while speaking. Following his talk, many of us got the chance to meet and talk with him. I told him Thank You! and mentioned my website dedicated to POWs/MIAs and also to those like him, returned POWs. We did not talk long, but by the time we finished, we were both crying. You really do need to read his bio, especially the last parts, when it talks about the Air Force Academy dedication of a nine-foot tall statue, which was commissioned by Ross Perot (whom I also got to meet in Branson; he was responsible for putting the homecoming together). It was a great honor to meet this true American hero. James Robinson "Robbie" Risner Stacey N. Binning |
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Tue 08/12/08 07:25 AM
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An Apology to World War II Veterans
July 18, 2005 An elderly gentleman gave me something over twenty-six years ago that really belongs to you World War II veterans. I think it's time that I pass it on. I am a thief who took, enjoyed, and hoarded something of yours. He meant for you to have it, but he gave it to me. The Mitzels had always been good to me back in Clinton, Ohio--my hometown. When I learned that they were vacationing in Vienna, I took a week's leave to go intercept them. The year was 1977. I was a young soldier stationed in northern Italy. A friend had written, giving me the Mitzels' itinerary and the name of their hotel. Joan Mitzel, then traveling in Europe with her family, had accompanied me to the homecoming dance in my senior year of high school. We had attended church together. Arriving in the beautiful city, I got a room and telephoned my friends. Dr. Mitzel answered. When I was nineteen it did not occur to me that I might be intruding. Dr. Mitzel made me feel that he was delighted. We kept my presence in the city a secret until I could sneak up on the family on the front steps of the opera house. Puzzled looks, warm handshakes and hugs, and a few "how-did-you-find-us-here" questions, asked in various ways, marked our reuinion. The Mitzels graciously took me with them for the day, sightseeing, tasting food, and soaking up the beautiful sights of old Vienna. It didn't matter to me what we did. It was good to be with a family from home and away from the army for a few days. That is when I encountered the elderly gentleman on the sidewalk. Gray, small, and stooped, walking with effort, he approached slowly, tentatively, almost timidly--unlike a practiced panhandler wanting a handout or a religious zealot with a pamphlet. Struggling to speak the words in English, he asked, "You--are an American? A soldier?" "Yes, sir." I said. "I'm an American and a soldier." He reached out a withered hand and touched my arm. His eyes misted. For whatever reason, this was a meaningful moment for this aged gentleman speaking to a stranger on a sidewalk in Vienna, Austria in 1977. "You are--," he started, but paused, searching for the word. "You are--," he began again, pausing, but then finding the word he wanted, "noble." Then he said it again, all together, "You are noble. You are a noble man." He patted my arm a few times, gently tapping the sentiment into place. "Thank you, sir," I said. "Thank you very much." He looked at me as though I were a magnificent statue portraying some exalted luminary. Never had I felt so respected, so immensely honored. No president or general pinning a medal on my chest could have expressed more genuine admiration than the words, touch, and countenance of that bent, wrinkled, humble man. I knew I had done nothing at all to earn it, but I accepted it with puzzled gratitude in that sudden, electric moment on the sidewalk. I said, "thank you," and the man finally turned and hobbled away. Why? What had I done to provoke such high praise? I was nothing more--or less--than a generic American soldier on furlough in a European city thirty-one years after the end of World War II. My G.I. haircut must have given away that I was a soldier. I wore civilian clothes. Maybe the man had overheard my speech and observed enough to suppose that I was an American. I had performed no noble act. The man respected me so highly because I was an American soldier. He had no basis for honoring me with such tribute beyond that. I stood in for you to receive the reward. I was the visible symbol who just happened to be there for the man who had to say something. I accepted the gift, knowing even then that it was for you. You earned the respect that he gave me. Please accept my apology for holding it for so many years before passing it along. When I watch the old black and white footage from World War II, sometimes I think I see a younger version of the man I met in Vienna. He is waving and smiling at American tanks and soldiers, trying to get your attention so he can thank you. At times, I think I can make out his features on the faces of living skeletons borne away from liberated concentration camps, unable to speak. At least I know that it was supremely important to the man who spoke to me in Vienna to say what he said to me that day. The vintage films show images of you, too. You are trudging through mud, or flying planes, driving tanks, smoking cigarettes in foxholes, firing rifles, and writing lonely letters to loved ones at home. I never have to struggle to find the fitting word. A meek and gentle man gave it to me on a sidewalk in Vienna. When he looked at me he saw you and told me what he really wanted to tell you. You are--. I cannot bring myself to just blurt out the word that he worked so hard to find and chose so carefully. You are that thing because of what you did for so many imperiled people. You endured hardships to earn the two syllables that he used so reverently to speak of you. Hold still long enough to feel his hand tapping the sentiment into place. Picture his moist eyes and hear his earnest, struggling voice when I tell you what he said to you when he spoke to me: "You are noble. You are a noble man." By Tim Nichols |
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