Thank you taxpayers, for the opportunity to earn three degrees (Bachelors, Masters, J.D.), see the world, make some incredible life-long friends, and have some of the most wonderful experiences of my life.

A Veteran's Memory of War

Quote:My dad was a Marine. He was 18 and in college when WWII started. He finished his freshman year, then joined the Marines. The below excerpt is from his war memoir.

To set the scene: It was February 1944. The invasion of Eniwetok Atoll. Eniwetok followed the invasion of Kwajalein Atoll. He was part of the invasion force of Engebi Island at the eastern extreme of the atoll.

The photo is of my dad in San Francisco, December 4, 1945. My father is on the left. He teamed up with a buddy Marine on the right also from the 6th Marines. You might recognize him. His name was Robert Webber. Mr. Webber was a character actor who appeared in many movies in the 50s and 60s, likely best known from “12 Angry Men” and the “Dirty Dozen.” They had just returned from three years of war, and were “out on the town”.

“Over the side, down the Life Net and into the landing craft. Once full, our boat headed to the rally point. Signal given, then to Engibi. The landing craft hit the sand at the south end of the island. The ramp went down and we ran for whatever cover we could find. Rounds were zipping past us. I hit the sand, looked for where the fire was coming from and got up and moved for cover. I was running for a better spot when a Marine in my company, who was in my landing craft took a round in the chest. Thump. The bullet seemed to hit him dead center. He went down like a sack of potatoes. I stopped and yelled for a Corpsman. Eventually a corpsman took over, and I headed for a hole or something to get behind. I rolled into a shell hole.

The grim reaper was about to say hello again. Although it seemed like an eternity, we had been on the beach for just moments. Guys were hopping shell hole to shell hole. Our company captain, Captain Blood (yes, his real name) was next to me, when we were raked by machine gun fire. Captain Blood took a direct hit, and was killed instantly.

Later, when the battle was over and the graves detail was preparing Captain Blood’s body to be taken back to the ship or buried I asked the Marine removing his personal effects if I could look at his wallet. Captain Blood took his last breath right next to me, and I wanted to know more about him. In his wallet was a photograph. Staring back at me was his beautiful wife and two children. I was crushed. What was running through my mind was – A wife would never see her husband again. Children would never again feel their father’s touch. That photograph was burned into my memory. It remains there still.

The smell of war in the Pacific was unique. It’s a smell of saltwater, smoke, diesel exhaust and blood.

When the war was over it was over. I never thought I had “PTSD”. During the war it was called “battle fatigue”. To me, it was just a necessary thing I was ordered to do. I didn’t have nightmares or flashbacks. The men I killed didn’t haunt me. Many decades later my wife and I went to see the film “Saving Private Ryan”. The movie begins with the landing at Omaha Beach, Normandy. D-Day. Suddenly it all came rushing back. I was there – on a beach, smelling diesel, smoke the screams for help and death. I could literally smell those smells. I broke down and started to sob. My wife had never seen me turn into a wreck. We had to leave the theater.

Where there’s death there’s life. Running down the beach in a daze was a mostly de-feathered chicken. He clearly had had his feathers blown off during the bombardment. It was bizarre. The chicken’s alive. My Captain is dead. I said “Someone’s going to have that bird for dinner!”.”

(11-11-2021 01:23 PM)CrimsonPhantom Wrote:  

I sure do miss Reagan.

Thanks to all the vets out there.

Thank you to the Veterans,

Perhaps I'm just a bitter person. I'm forever grateful of my service to this country. It was the happiest years of my life. If I lived 100 separate lives; I'd join the Navy 100 times. This nation absolutely shitz on veterans every chance it gets, then fails to help thousands, if not millions, of homeless veterans. Thousands, if not millions, of vets are addicted to some drug, whether it's alcohol, heroine or meth. Then our country wants to offer us a free haircut or steak. How about offering homeless veterans shelter instead. I don't want some obligatory thank you from someone that was spitting on a veteran the day before.

I'm a Viet Nam vet but because I was working on a particular kind of aircraft the Air Force sent me to a base behind the lines. So far behind the lines that it's where those in Viet Nam go for R and R. So aside from working 12 hour days (day and night shifts) 6 days a week I was on permanent R and R. I never felt the fear of getting blown up or ducking for cover and that was fine with me. Those in other branches make fun of Airmen and sometimes are called Chair Force but when they're in battle they pray for those airplanes that I (we) worked on to give them a break from the enemy.

When the Viet Nam War Memorial was built I would see veterans breaking down in tears. I was "hey it's just a wall, why are they sobbing like women?" Even though I had lost friends from high school (4 from my graduating class alone) I felt a loss but it was like when a loved one dies, you grieve but you carry on. Anyway, my wife and I were in Denver I believe it was and we found out about the traveling memorial and we decided to go check it out. Something very profound happened. When we reached the wall I started crying like a girl too. I was sobbing like I had just lost a loved one and I was dumbfounded and I still cannot explain what or how this wall could have produced this so strong of an emotion. My wife tried to console me and I just couldn't get over it. We looked for the names of those friends and etched them on a piece of paper and crayon that they give you.

I still feel a shame that while I was just fixing jet aircraft buddies from high school had paid the ultimate price. I know that it's not any of my doing that they perished but I guess to this day I have "survivors remorse" as it's called. I served in the war yet sometimes I feel guilty that I was awarded both medals and lived while my friends got it posthumously.

I drew a low draft number in 1968, while a senior in college. I was considering transferring and changing majors, so I tried to enter OCS, but so did thousands of others. Instead, I enlisted in the Navy, did my 4 years, returned to civilian life, and eventually finished my new college degree at Memphis State.

I was fortunate to serve 2 years in Florida and 2 on an aircraft carrier whose only overseas duty was in the Med. I felt a little guilty, as I had volunteered for helicopter gunner duty in Viet Nam, but again, too many in front of me.

I lost my best childhood friend to that war, plus another good friend. I will never forget them. They are the real heroes.

I got into Navy ROTC, and it was one of the best moves of my life. Paid my way through an undergraduate (only the football players had better scholarships), masters and J.D. degrees (latter two on GI Bill), now retired from reserves, and along the way got to see the world, made many wonderful life-long friendships, and had an amazing number of truly memorable experiences.