memorial day

[trader jim]

happy memorial day to all you past, present GIs.
same to you officers....i guess. this day is ours!! we earned it and paid for it!! lets hear it for the USAF!!!!.....now ill go have a brew or two or six......

 

[Murph]

What is a Veteran?
Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg-or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity.
Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking. What is a vet?
(S)He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.
(S)He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.
(S)He is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.
(S)He is the POW who went away one person and came back another-or that didn't come back AT ALL.
(S)He is the drill instructor who has never seen combat,-but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account punks and gang members into marines, airmen, sailors and soldiers, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.
(S)He is the parade-riding Legionnaire who pins on his/her ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.
(S)He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.
(S)He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must [did] forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.
(S)He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket-palsied now and aggravatingly slow--who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his/her wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.
(S)He is an ordinary, and yet, an extraordinary, human being. A person who offered some of his/her life's most vital years in the service of his/her Country, and who sacrificed his/her ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.
(S)He is a soldier and a savior--and a sword against the darkness, and
(S)He is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest Nation ever known.
So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say "Thank You." That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded. Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU".

And remember those vets that aren't here any more, buy a poppy from the VFW if you can.

 

[Murph]

From another war, a terrible war:

In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
***********************************************
The name of John McCrae (1872-1918) may seem out of place in the distinguished company of World War I poets, but he is remembered for what is probably the single best-known and popular poem from the war, "In Flanders Fields." He was a Canadian physician and fought on the Western Front in 1914, but was then transferred to the medical corps and assigned to a hospital in France. He died of pneumonia while on active duty in 1918. His volume of poetry, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems, was published in 1919.

 

[notagoodusername]

Hey guys and girls,

Not quite what I'd imagined my first post on the boards would be, but Murph's post struck a chord with me. I thought I'd post this poem I got sent a while back - it's... powerfull.

Take care,

Shane

A SOLDIER'S POEM

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
AND ON THE WALL PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBERING THOUGHT
CAME TO MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
SO DARK AND SO DREARY,
THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
NOW I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A PROUD, NOBLE SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND SOON DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL,
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD EVENING'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
BECAUSE OF SOLDIERS LIKE HIM,
PEOPLE SLEPT SAFE ANOTHER NIGHT.

 

[Murph]

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20020527/ap_on_re_eu/bush_normandy_text_1

Bush's speech. Brought me to tears.

 

[N.I.C.E. Labs]

I could recount the stories of a man who was one of the first men on Easy Red, Omaha Beach, D-Day. The stories of man, who froze for three weeks in the Ardennes during the Battle of the Bulge. The stories of a man who did countless things in France, Germany, Belguim. Instead I'll say a simple phrase that mean so very, very much.

Thank you, Dad.

 

[MJD]

Memorial Day/Armistice Day etc can so easily become a hollow ritual if we forget their purpose.

That purpose is not to remember veterans or the fallen on a single day of the year.

It it to remind us to remember what we owe *every single day of the year*. I try.

 

[soloprobe]

For every battle honour, athousand heros die alone,unsung and unremembered

-Tactica Imperium

 

[Capt. Blacklight]

as you have all reminded me this weekend I found this and I thought it would be a good first post.

MEMORIAL DAY
------------
Memorial Day is their day, isn't it? It is supposed to be the day a grateful nation pauses to
quietly thank the more than one million men and women who have died in military service
to their country since the Revolutionary War.
Or is it the day the beach resorts kick into high gear for the summer season, the day the
strand is covered by fish-belly white people basting themselves in coconut oil, the day the
off-season rates end and the weekend you can't get in a seaside seafood restaurant with
anything less than a one hour wait.
Or is one of the biggest shopping center sales days of the year, a day
when hunting for a parking space is the prime sport for the holiday stay-at-homers?
Or is it the weekend when more people will kill themselves on the highways than any other
weekend and Highway Patrol troopers work overtime picking up the pieces?
I think the men and women who died for us would understand what we do with their day. I
hope they would, because if they wouldn't, if they would have insisted that it be a somber,
respectful day of remembrance, then we have blown it and dishonored their sacrifice.
I knew some of those who died, and the guys I knew would have understood. They liked a
sunny beach and a cold beer and a hot babe in a black bikini, too. They would have
enjoyed packing the kids, the inflatable rafts, the coolers, and the suntan lotion in the car
and heading for the lake. They would have enjoyed staying at home and cutting the grass
and getting together with some friends and cooking some steaks on the grill, too.
But they didn't get the chance.
They blew up in the Marine Barracks in Beirut and died in the oily waters of the Persian
Gulf. They caught theirs at the airstrip in Grenada in the little war everyone laughed at.
They bought the farm in the Ia Drang Valley and on Heartbreak Ridge, Phu Tai and at Hue.
They froze at the Chosin Reservoir and were shot at the Pusan Perimeter. They drowned in
the surf at Omaha Beach or fell in the fetid jungles of Guadalcanal. They were at Cantigny
and Bellau Wood and at San Juan Hill and at Gettysburg and at Cerro Gordo and at Valley Forge.
They couldn't be here with us this weekend, but I think they would understand that we
don't spend the day in tears and heart-wrenching memorials. They wouldn't want that.
Grief is not why they died.
They died so we could go fishing.
They died so another father could hold his laughing little girl over the waves.
They died so another father could toss a baseball to his son in their backyard while the
charcoal is getting white.
They died so another buddy could drink a beer on his day off.
They died so a family could get in the station wagon and go shopping and maybe get some
ice cream on the way home.
They won't mind that we have chosen their day to have our first big outdoor party of the
year.
But they wouldn't mind, either, if we took just a second and thought about them.
Some will think of them formally, of course. Wreaths will be laid in small, sparsely
attended ceremonies in military cemeteries and at monuments at state capitols and in
small town's squares. Flags will fly over the graves, patriotic words will be spoken and a
few people there will probably feel a little anger that no more people showed up.
They'll think no one else remembers.
But we do remember.
We remember Smitty and Chico and Davey and the guys who died.
We remember the deal we made: If we buy it, we said, drink a beer for me.
I'll do it for you, guys. I'll drink that beer for you today, and I'll sit on that beach for you,
and I'll check out the girls for you and, just briefly, I'll think of you.
I won't let your memory spoil the trip but you'll be on that sunny beach with me today.
I will not mourn your deaths this Memorial Day, my friends. Rather, I'll celebrate the life
you gave me.
This Bud's for you, brother!

... For he today, that sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother. #
Origin: LZ Memories BBS - "Always Green Smoke!"
(19:100/105) * Origin: Osiris XLT Ecohmail Gateway on (1:377/203.0)
=============
For most American GIs of my experience, it ain't about flag waving patriotic hoo-raw. It's
about the simple things, getting that single family residence in suburbia with the white
picket fence, the minivan, and the 2.3 kids.
And you know something? The big thing about it is, I don't care what skin tone that GI
has, what religion is on the dog tags, or anything else about them. I don't even really care
about the recreational activities off duty - so long as it involves consenting adults and/or
inanimate objects. In the final tally, the act of putting it all out there - that is what makes
us family.