Today, my dad returned from a whirlwind trip to our nation's capital as part of the 2010 Honor Flight Wyoming. The Honor Flight organization has gathered donations sufficient to provide an all-expense paid trip to WWII veterans to see the WWII Memorial in Washington, DC as well as other memorials relevant to "the greatest generation." In talking with Dad today, it sounds like he had a fantastic experience and my gratitude to all who contributed to this trip is inexpressible.
He got emotional as he described the crowds of cheering on-lookers that greeted them at every stop--people of all ages, shouting "Thank you!" waving signs, giving them pats on the back, shaking their hands, offering hugs and thank you cards--treating them as they have long deserved to be treated for the lives of selfless service they have led.
Let me offer a brief synopsis of their trip, as he described it. On Monday, he and three other veterans from our area were driven to Cheyenne by the nephew of one of his comrades, who is a colonel in the US Air Force (or, perhaps the Air National Guard). They went with the understanding they would have to pay for their hotel stay in Cheyenne, but found the balance due at the end of their stay to be "$0.00."
On Tuesday morning, they boarded a chartered flight from FE Warren Air Force Base, walking a gauntlet of the first of several adoring crowds. They landed in DC to a similar scene, with cheering people on both sides of the path from the plane to the terminal. A similar scene greeted them at their hotel. While they were en route, and on arrival, there was always someone to carry their bags, help with every chore or task, fetch every glass of water or snack and provide for all their needs. Additionally, family members were asked to secretly write letters of gratitude for their service and the goodness of their lives. About midway through their flight, "Mail Call!" was announced and the letters were distributed. Dad said that reading through the letters from his children was the most emotional moment of the trip and described the difficulty of reading them all through his tear-filled eyes.
The following morning at 5:00 am, they arose for breakfast. That's 3:00 am here, in Wyoming, by the way. They boarded buses and, escorted by police and "government suburbans w/ Flags on the hoods," they were whisked through the traffic of downtown Washington, DC. They visited the WWII Memorial, where they were greeted warmly by Senators John Barrasso and Mike Enzi and Representative Cynthia Lummis, all of Wyoming. They were treated to a ceremony featuring the Wyoming Governor...some Democrat... I'm kidding. Governor Dave Freudenthal spoke at the ceremony and a wreath was placed at the Wyoming pillar at the Memorial. Again, the group was cheered by onlookers and passing tour groups of grade school children.
They took time to visit the Korean War Memorial, the Vietnam Memorial, the Iwo Jima Memorial and other sites related to their experiences. After a long day of touring, they boarded the plane again for their return to Cheyenne. Arriving after 10 pm local time, they were surprised to yet again see a crowd of cheering "fans" to greet them as they deplaned. One more night in a Cheyenne hotel and they were driven home again with some T-shirts, new hats covered in memorial pins and a lifetime of memories mixed with the emotional ride they'd just experienced.
As Dad related the story to me, he became noticeably emotional as he began to describe the feeling that he'd been transported back in time--not because of the trip with old comrades and the memories evoked by the memorials, but because of the generosity and deferential treatment they received on the trip! "It was like being back in those days," he said, "when people respected and honored the soldiers. They'd let you on the bus or train first, they'd thank you for your service, buy you a drink or even lunch." Sadly, there was no such treatment on the return home, and he jokingly mentioned that he'd have to get used to "just being me, again."
Let me fill you in on my dad's experience "in those days." He was a kid that went by the name of "Babe" in high school, graduating from his tiny school with a handful of others. Their yearbook--more of a pamphlet, actually--says, "Babe has already received his greetings from the President," referring to his being drafted into WWII prior to graduation. After graduation, he boarded a train in nearby Lovell, bound for Killeen Texas and Camp Hood for Basic Training. While there, in the first place outside of his home area he'd ever been in his life, he was informed bluntly that he would be part of an early wave of invaders on the mainland of Japan. He was also told that, due to the reluctance of the Japanese to surrender, he would likely be killed. Therefore, he was to turn in a last letter home and a will to his sergeant that would be sent to his family when the job was done. His story is not so unique among his peers. Literally hundreds of thousands of them did the same thing, faced the same stark reality and they accepted it!
He told me recently--haltingly because of the overwhelming emotion he felt in the telling--of how he was given a couple of weeks of leave to go home before being shipped out. He had no means of reliable transportation home, just what he could arrange between buses and trains at random times. He said that he had written his parents that he would be coming, but had no idea what day, let alone what time. He managed to make connection after connection until finally he was on a bus due to go through tiny Cowley, Wyoming at a very late hour-- after midnight by his recollection. His home, a log cabin, was on the main highway that passed through town and he fought unsuccessfully to hold back the tears as he described his arrival.
The bus drove a short distance past his house, stopping about a block-and-a-half north of it. He got off, expecting to surprise his family in the morning, but when he walked through the door, there was his angel mother waiting up for him! He choked out, "She had no idea when I'd be home, I thought, but she was there. I never forgot that."
He returned to his duty and to meet whatever fate had in store to be rescued by the announcement of "some new kind of bomb they dropped that ended the war." With a sizable commitment to the Army still in place, he was sent to Alaska where, at the age of 18, he was put in charge of planning meals for thousands of men, requesting the needed supplies, seeing that they were used correctly and efficiently and that they were delivered on schedule every meal, every day. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was an unbelievable amount of responsibility for an 18-year-old and he accepted it!
He returned home and married my mother in 1950. He joined the National Guard with the assurance that he'd done his active duty time and would never again be called upon to serve in that way. Nevertheless, his marriage to Mom included a brief honeymoon before he boarded a ship bound for Korea.
As my brother once pointed out, when his first son was born, Dad was facing an onslaught of 500,000 Chinese in a place he would have difficulty remembering 50 years later. Yet his unit earned a citation for their performance during those days.
Dad described how the Chinese would attack, many of them without weapons. They would scream during the night in an effort to instill fear and then rush the American positions en masse. He described how the machine gunners would "mow them down" with .50 caliber fire and how they "poured" barrages of artillery onto their attackers.
He saw the horrors of war up close and personal in Korea, but he got to serve with his beloved brother and friend, Mel, or "Bud" as he was called. (The two were very close all their lives and Dad had suffered greatly with the worry for Bud when he had been captured by the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge.) Dad came home and "unloaded" all he had seen and experienced on Mom in late night talks and then never brought it up again, she said. He would entertain the kids with the more light-hearted and humorous stories of military life, but he kept the more difficult things quiet.
For example, he kept quiet about his supposition that, given what he last saw of Korea when he left, that all he'd done had been worthless--a waste of time, money and lives. As he rode the train south from the front to Pusan, all he saw was destruction and waste. It wasn't until the 90's, as I recall, that he realized the value of what had been done in keeping the people of South Korea free! He ached over that for decades, but he accepted it as part and parcel of his service to his country... and theirs.
But as he's gotten older, the stories have begun to come out again, sometimes in feelings of regret for his attitudes at the time, but mostly feelings of deep humility, love and gratitude for what he's seen, accomplished and experienced--most importantly for those he's shared it all with! He has remained from then until now a loving father, and a sterling example of a gentle warrior--fiercely loyal to his country and the founding principles he so ably defended, and unfailingly generous and loving to those who know him best. And sadly, he is one of an ever-diminishing generation who toiled and sacrificed to provide something better for their children only to have to watch a sizable portion of those children turn viciously on those sacrifices and the nation and the freedoms they defended. It breaks his heart to see an incompetent like B. Hussein Obama systematically dismantle the foundations of this country in an overt effort to establish a Marxist regime in its place. But he has left a legacy of patriotism, faith and devotion to correct, enduring principles in his family and we will defend the precious prize he and those he served with left for us.
My dad loves and actively serves his Heavenly Father. My dad loves his country and the principles embodied in the Constitution. My dad understands that the Constitution was divinely inspired--that it is a "heavenly banner." My dad loves his family enough both to teach and exemplify all the above. My dad is not wrong and has long been worthy of the honor he's just been paid by those wonderful people he's been with for the last few days. My dad is my hero and always will be.
He got emotional as he described the crowds of cheering on-lookers that greeted them at every stop--people of all ages, shouting "Thank you!" waving signs, giving them pats on the back, shaking their hands, offering hugs and thank you cards--treating them as they have long deserved to be treated for the lives of selfless service they have led.
Let me offer a brief synopsis of their trip, as he described it. On Monday, he and three other veterans from our area were driven to Cheyenne by the nephew of one of his comrades, who is a colonel in the US Air Force (or, perhaps the Air National Guard). They went with the understanding they would have to pay for their hotel stay in Cheyenne, but found the balance due at the end of their stay to be "$0.00."
On Tuesday morning, they boarded a chartered flight from FE Warren Air Force Base, walking a gauntlet of the first of several adoring crowds. They landed in DC to a similar scene, with cheering people on both sides of the path from the plane to the terminal. A similar scene greeted them at their hotel. While they were en route, and on arrival, there was always someone to carry their bags, help with every chore or task, fetch every glass of water or snack and provide for all their needs. Additionally, family members were asked to secretly write letters of gratitude for their service and the goodness of their lives. About midway through their flight, "Mail Call!" was announced and the letters were distributed. Dad said that reading through the letters from his children was the most emotional moment of the trip and described the difficulty of reading them all through his tear-filled eyes.
The following morning at 5:00 am, they arose for breakfast. That's 3:00 am here, in Wyoming, by the way. They boarded buses and, escorted by police and "government suburbans w/ Flags on the hoods," they were whisked through the traffic of downtown Washington, DC. They visited the WWII Memorial, where they were greeted warmly by Senators John Barrasso and Mike Enzi and Representative Cynthia Lummis, all of Wyoming. They were treated to a ceremony featuring the Wyoming Governor...some Democrat... I'm kidding. Governor Dave Freudenthal spoke at the ceremony and a wreath was placed at the Wyoming pillar at the Memorial. Again, the group was cheered by onlookers and passing tour groups of grade school children.
They took time to visit the Korean War Memorial, the Vietnam Memorial, the Iwo Jima Memorial and other sites related to their experiences. After a long day of touring, they boarded the plane again for their return to Cheyenne. Arriving after 10 pm local time, they were surprised to yet again see a crowd of cheering "fans" to greet them as they deplaned. One more night in a Cheyenne hotel and they were driven home again with some T-shirts, new hats covered in memorial pins and a lifetime of memories mixed with the emotional ride they'd just experienced.
As Dad related the story to me, he became noticeably emotional as he began to describe the feeling that he'd been transported back in time--not because of the trip with old comrades and the memories evoked by the memorials, but because of the generosity and deferential treatment they received on the trip! "It was like being back in those days," he said, "when people respected and honored the soldiers. They'd let you on the bus or train first, they'd thank you for your service, buy you a drink or even lunch." Sadly, there was no such treatment on the return home, and he jokingly mentioned that he'd have to get used to "just being me, again."
Let me fill you in on my dad's experience "in those days." He was a kid that went by the name of "Babe" in high school, graduating from his tiny school with a handful of others. Their yearbook--more of a pamphlet, actually--says, "Babe has already received his greetings from the President," referring to his being drafted into WWII prior to graduation. After graduation, he boarded a train in nearby Lovell, bound for Killeen Texas and Camp Hood for Basic Training. While there, in the first place outside of his home area he'd ever been in his life, he was informed bluntly that he would be part of an early wave of invaders on the mainland of Japan. He was also told that, due to the reluctance of the Japanese to surrender, he would likely be killed. Therefore, he was to turn in a last letter home and a will to his sergeant that would be sent to his family when the job was done. His story is not so unique among his peers. Literally hundreds of thousands of them did the same thing, faced the same stark reality and they accepted it!
He told me recently--haltingly because of the overwhelming emotion he felt in the telling--of how he was given a couple of weeks of leave to go home before being shipped out. He had no means of reliable transportation home, just what he could arrange between buses and trains at random times. He said that he had written his parents that he would be coming, but had no idea what day, let alone what time. He managed to make connection after connection until finally he was on a bus due to go through tiny Cowley, Wyoming at a very late hour-- after midnight by his recollection. His home, a log cabin, was on the main highway that passed through town and he fought unsuccessfully to hold back the tears as he described his arrival.
He returned to his duty and to meet whatever fate had in store to be rescued by the announcement of "some new kind of bomb they dropped that ended the war." With a sizable commitment to the Army still in place, he was sent to Alaska where, at the age of 18, he was put in charge of planning meals for thousands of men, requesting the needed supplies, seeing that they were used correctly and efficiently and that they were delivered on schedule every meal, every day. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was an unbelievable amount of responsibility for an 18-year-old and he accepted it!
He returned home and married my mother in 1950. He joined the National Guard with the assurance that he'd done his active duty time and would never again be called upon to serve in that way. Nevertheless, his marriage to Mom included a brief honeymoon before he boarded a ship bound for Korea.
As my brother once pointed out, when his first son was born, Dad was facing an onslaught of 500,000 Chinese in a place he would have difficulty remembering 50 years later. Yet his unit earned a citation for their performance during those days.
Dad described how the Chinese would attack, many of them without weapons. They would scream during the night in an effort to instill fear and then rush the American positions en masse. He described how the machine gunners would "mow them down" with .50 caliber fire and how they "poured" barrages of artillery onto their attackers.
For example, he kept quiet about his supposition that, given what he last saw of Korea when he left, that all he'd done had been worthless--a waste of time, money and lives. As he rode the train south from the front to Pusan, all he saw was destruction and waste. It wasn't until the 90's, as I recall, that he realized the value of what had been done in keeping the people of South Korea free! He ached over that for decades, but he accepted it as part and parcel of his service to his country... and theirs.
But as he's gotten older, the stories have begun to come out again, sometimes in feelings of regret for his attitudes at the time, but mostly feelings of deep humility, love and gratitude for what he's seen, accomplished and experienced--most importantly for those he's shared it all with! He has remained from then until now a loving father, and a sterling example of a gentle warrior--fiercely loyal to his country and the founding principles he so ably defended, and unfailingly generous and loving to those who know him best. And sadly, he is one of an ever-diminishing generation who toiled and sacrificed to provide something better for their children only to have to watch a sizable portion of those children turn viciously on those sacrifices and the nation and the freedoms they defended. It breaks his heart to see an incompetent like B. Hussein Obama systematically dismantle the foundations of this country in an overt effort to establish a Marxist regime in its place. But he has left a legacy of patriotism, faith and devotion to correct, enduring principles in his family and we will defend the precious prize he and those he served with left for us. My dad loves and actively serves his Heavenly Father. My dad loves his country and the principles embodied in the Constitution. My dad understands that the Constitution was divinely inspired--that it is a "heavenly banner." My dad loves his family enough both to teach and exemplify all the above. My dad is not wrong and has long been worthy of the honor he's just been paid by those wonderful people he's been with for the last few days. My dad is my hero and always will be.
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