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thedrifter
12-10-02, 08:09 AM
"I CALL HIM BROTHER"


Author:Sgt.Bill Bussey-Able Co. 1st Bn 5th Marines--1951



They said his name was Larry,a grubby, dirty, little man
He looked up when I drew near, then back to his c-ration can
I dropped my pack and sat down beside him, glad to get the rest.
He looked at me with eyes that asked, can he stand the test.

My name's Bill I said, waiting for him to speak, I lit up a smoke.
He looked at me a moment, smiled a little and spoke.
Hi he said, my name's Herschkowitz, that going to be ok with you?
I looked back at him and said,sure. What else can I do.

The squad was short handed, two fire teams instead of three. Four men to a team, but this is about Larry and me.
You see there were thousands of men over there, This is about how an Irishman and a Jew, became a pair

For eleven months, in that forsaken land, we did whatonly young men can.
And during those long hard days, I learned to love that, grubby, dirty little man.
I have many pictures of the two of us, Mutt and Jeff was what we were named,
But I see him most clear, holding a dead friends hand, crying, unashamed.

We finally came home, he a month before I,
And one of the hardest things I've ever done, was tell him goodbye.
I tried to be macho, but I could hardly speak, my emotions played hell with my plan,
I could only watch as he walked away, that wonderful,grubby, dirty little man.


Sempers,

Roger

thedrifter
12-10-02, 08:10 AM
By:Bob Hammond 7th Div



In the hills of North Korea,
By a lake of azure blue.
Rides a farmer in his ox-cart,
On the road to Hagaru.

He is singing songs of history,
That his father taught to him.
As his eyes survey the scenery,
That's no longer gray and grim.

In his mind he hears the cannons,
The recoiless rifle's roar.
And the chatter of the Burp guns,
All around the reservoir.

Mortars crashing, carbines flashing,
Screaming men and boys.
Bugles, flares and howitzers,
A symphony of noise.

He is thinking of his childhood,
When he saw the soldiers come.
To this peaceful mountain valley,
That had never heard a gun.

And he's never understood it,
He will always wonder why.
Why so many men had come there,
From so far away, to die.

How they fought with savage fury,
Agonizing through the snow.
Fingers turning black with frostbite,
Death was sweeping to and fro.

MacLean and Faith, Commanders,
Hodge, and thousands more.
Fought and froze, and bled to death,
At The Chosin Reservoir.

In the hills of North Korea,
By a lake of icy blue.
There's no monument to witness,
And no crosses are in view.

Just some land of little value,
Covered well by falling snow.
But they say to listen carefully,
When the wind begins to blow.

And you will hear the ghostly bugles.
From the mountain pass, nearby.
You may hear the battle spreading,
From the mountains to the sky.

Lives were ending, futures pending,
Fate was casting dice.
Some would live, and some will die,
Karma, carved in ice.

The battle long is over now,
But fought each night anew.
In dreams of those who can't forget,
They're called"The Chosin Few".

So, let the veterans tell the stories,
Let the legend live and grow.
Let the Chosin be remembered,
With the men of Alamo.

With Bastogne and with Wake Island,
And the Bunker Hill command.
And wherever there's courageous men,
To take a valiant stand.

Once they fought to save a nation,
They could not have offered more.
Than the sacrifices made there,
At The Chosin Reservoir.

In the bitter bloody battles,
At The Chosin Reservoir.

Sempers,

Roger

thedrifter
01-14-03, 12:19 PM
HOW MANY MEN

When the call to arms first rang out
The young men came, most with fear
but none with doubt,
To the hills of Korea with dangers untold,
In summer heat, driving rain, bitter cold.
How many men, how many men.

The landing at Inchon, the flag raising at Seoul,
Through rice paddies and fields,
soon to hear the death knell.
The Chosin, the Yalu, strange names to their ears,
Our finest fought on gaining strength from their fears.
How many men, how many men.

The sounds of war, the sounds of dying,
Loud mortars whistling, soft moans and crying.
The hill is quiet and still tonight,
How many men were lost in the fight?
The lucky survived with a bond strong and clear
For the brothers they loved who are no longer here.

How many men, how many men!


Written by Jerry O'Hearn Meier
Wife of Kenneth Meier, F/2/1 - Korea

Mrs Meier wrote this poem in one sitting, one night when she couldn't go to sleep.
After writing it, she returned to bed and slept soundly the remainder of the night


Sempers,

Roger

thedrifter
01-14-03, 12:23 PM
THE CHOSIN FEW




The battle at the Chosin Reservoir
will be remembered near and far
of pain, of death, of glory too
of brave Marines, THE CHOSIN FEW ...


quick flashes of the battle
the cold wet ground, the snow, the mud
enemy hills on a blanket of white
and dark red splotches of human blood.


and you know that death is everywhere
you saw your buddies die
it's freezing, yet you're sweating
and you're alive! You know not why.


so many men fell there
forever they will sleep
the living will remember
in tribute bravery weep.


reliving memories of the past
showing up their ugly head
and bringing death to the living
and giving life to the now dead.


and now, a reunion of men
recalling their past
remembering old buddies
that fought to the last.


the last Gung Ho! to one and all
no distinction of race or creed
you stand above the normal men
you are a different breed.



Author: Jesus L. Rubio
"Tio" of Cpl. Joseph Correa, USMCR-Ret.
D/2/7 1950



Sempers,

Roger