A-C Gifts

"A Tribute to Our WWII Vets"

My Grandpa, and your Grandpa
Maybe even a great Uncle or two
They went off to fight a war
And they called it World War II

They knew what they were doing
When they left their families
Even though it wasn't easy
They fought to keep the peace

I know that if it wasn't for them
And their courage along the way
That we wouldn't enjoy the freedoms
That we hold so dear, today

They made lots of sacrifices
To protect the U.S.A.
Some made it back, and some did not
For those that didn't, let us pray

Although there are so few of you
We lose so many more each day
But at least we know, because of you
Our FREEDOM'S here to stay!

God Bless you all
And from all of us our thanks
Because of you, there will always be
Total FREEDOM throughout our ranks!

Written by: Sheldon L. Phillippe, Jr.
© Copyright 4/10/2003

FIRST PLACE

Todd Heisler The Rocky Mountain News
When 2nd Lt. James Cathey's body arrived at the Reno Airport, Marines climbed into the cargo hold of the plane and draped the flag over his casket as passengers watched the family gather on the tarmac.
During the arrival of another Marine's casket last year at Denver International Airport , Major Steve Beck described the scene as so powerful: "See the people in the windows? They sat right there in the plane, watching those Marines. You gotta wonder what's going through their minds, knowing that they're on the plane that brought him home," he said. "They will remember being on that plane for the rest of their lives. They're going to remember bringing that Marine home. And they should."

SECOND PLACE

Todd Heisler The Rocky Mountain News
The night before the burial of her husband's body, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of 'Cat,' and one of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept. "I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it," she said. "I think that's what he would have wanted."

As I reflect on this photograph, I see once again that not all the brave leave the "home of the brave" to enter battle; some are required now to be the brave of the home 

It is said a picture is worth a thousand words but it leaves me speechless and tears in my eyes. 

Your prayers are deeply appreciated. These guys

deserve our love, our hugs and most powerfully, our prayers.

"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need... Amen."

Last week, while traveling to Chicago on business, I noticed a Marine sergeant traveling with a folded flag, but did not put two and two together. After we boarded our flight, I turned to the sergeant, who'd been invited to sit in First Class (across from me), and inquired if he was heading home.
No, he responded.

Heading out I asked?
No. I'm escorting a soldier home.

Going to pick him up?
No. He is with me right now. He was killed in Iraq . I'm taking him home to his family.

The realization of what he had been asked to do hit me like a punch to the gut. It was an honor for him. He told me that, although he didn't know the soldier, he had delivered the news of his passing to the soldier's family and felt as if he knew them after many conversations in so few days. I turned back to him, extended my hand, and said, Thank you. Thank you for doing what you do so my family and I can do what we do.
Upon landing in Chicago the pilot stopped short of the gate and made the following announcement over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to note that we have had the honor of having Sergeant Steeley of the United States Marine Corps join us on this flight. He is escorting a fallen comrade back home to his family. I ask that you please remain in your seats when we open the forward door to allow Sergeant Steeley to deplane and receive his fellow soldier. We will then turn off the seat belt sign."
Without a sound, all went as requested. I noticed the sergeant saluting the casket as it was brought off the plane, and his action made me realize that I am proud to be an American.

So here's a public Thank You to our military Men and Women for what you do so we can live the way we do .
Signed : Stuart Margel -- Washington , D.C.

CEMETERY ESCORT DUTY

I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's for a few cold ones.  Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655.  
Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day.
Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever --  the heat and humidity at the same level --  both too high.   I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace .

An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed.  
She had a cane and a sheaf of flowers, about four or five bunches as best I could tell.  I couldn't help myself.  The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: "She's going to spend an hour,  and for this old soldier my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!"

But for this day my duty was to assist anyone coming in.  Kevin would lock the "In" gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along,
we might make the last half of happy hour at Smokey's.  I broke Post Attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step
and the pain went up a notch.   I must have made a real military sight; a middle-aged man with a small pot-gut and half a limp, in Marine Full Dress Uniform, which had lost its razor crease about 30 minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk.  She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.  "Ma'am may I assist you in any way?"

She took long enough to answer.  "Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers?  I seem to be moving a tad slow these days."   

"My pleasure Ma'am."   Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.

She looked again.  "Marine, where were you stationed?"

"Vietnam, Ma'am.  Ground-pounder. '69 to '71."

She looked at me closer.   "Wounded in action, I see.   Well done, Marine, I'll be as quick as I can."

I lied a little bigger, "No hurry, Ma'am."

She smiled, and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85-years old
and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done.  
Might be the last time I can do this.  My name's Joanne Wieserman,and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time."

"Yes, Ma'am.  At your service."

She headed for the World War I section,stopping at a stone.   She picked one of the bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone.   She murmured something I couldn't quite make out.   The name on the marble was  Donald S. Davidson, USMC, France 1918.
 
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone.  I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone;   the name was
Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone,
Stanley J. Wieserman USMC , 1944.

She paused for a second, "Two more, son, and we'll be done."

I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes, Ma'am.  Take your time."

She looked confused. "Where's the Vietnam section, son?  I seem to have lost my way."

I pointed with my chin. "That way, Ma'am."

"Oh!" she chuckled quietly.  "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly."

She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted.  She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman USMC, 1970.  She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out. "OK, son , I'm finished.  Get me back to my car and you can go home."

"Yes, Ma'am.  If I may ask,  were those your kinfolk ?"

She paused.  "Yes, Donald Davidson was my father; Stephen was my uncle; Stanley was my husband; Larry and Darrel were our sons.  
All killed in action, all Marines." She stopped, whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know.  She made her way to her car, slowly, and painfully.   

I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin waiting by the car.  "Get to the "Out"-gate quick. I have something I've got to do."

Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him.  He broke the rules to get us there down the service road.  We beat her.  
She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet."Kevin,  stand to attention next to the gate post.  Follow my lead."

I humped it across the drive to the other post.  When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice:
"TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!"

I have to hand it to Kevin, he never blinked an eye; full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.  She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing Duty, Honor and Sacrifice.  

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

   Instead of "The End".... just think of "Taps".

As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer:   

"Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or over seas.   Hold them in Your loving hands and protect them as they protect us."

Let's all keep those currently serving  and those who have gone before, in our thoughts.  They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.

"In God We Trust"

We truly take a lot for granted. Forget the football "heroes" and movie "stars".

Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you,
Jesus Christ and the American Soldier
One died for your soul;the other for your freedom.