thedrifter
04-28-06, 02:36 PM
Two special Marines
April 28, 2006
By Edna Van Leuven
Please forgive me if I talk, all too often, about my Marine husband. Van was such a big part of my life, and someone who brought with his presence so much joy to my heart, that I cannot exclude him from my memories and hence to my columns.
Van spent more than 20 years serving in the U.S.. Marine Corps. He saw service during World War II, Korea and Vietnam, and seldom spoke of what happened during combat, but often of places and people that he met and or admired. It is about two of these that I am writing about today, two that were recipients of the Congressional Medal of Honor.
One, who had been a close and dear friend, and who had joined the Corps about the same time as my husband, was General James Day who was presented his medal by President Clinton long after the general's exploits. His men interceded to see that "Jim," as we all called him, got what he so richly deserved. It had been long overdue.
The other Congressional Medal of Honor recipient that Van so admired was Pappy Boyington, the Marine flier whose story as told on television just the other night. Viewing the story of the "Black Sheep" brought back the memory of the unusual circumstances that caused Van and I to meet that famous Marine.
Van was a wonderful dancer and even performed, for a short time, as a professional. Ask any woman who loves music, and who loves to dance as I do, what it means to be married to a man who is a good dancer. It's like being in a little bit of heaven whenever there is an opportunity to "trip the light fantastic."
One of those occasions came when a group of retired Marines in Fresno, Calif., decided to add Fresno to the list of areas that hold an annual "Marine Corps Birthday Ball" in November. This first affair was held at the Fresno Hilton.
Couples, all dressed in their most formal attire, were gathered in the bar as the hotel personnel was beginning to place the first course for dinner in the dining room, which also held a huge dance floor. Van, being Van, could not stand sitting in the bar when the band began to practice. Nothing would do but take me by the hand out onto that beautiful dance floor and move to the music of the '40s.
A few people began to filter into the dining room and were watching as Van led me through a set of slow numbers, and when the music stopped - and he was escorting me to our table - there was a light applause.
As we passed the first time a Marine dressed in a formal tux, across whose chest was a bright red ribbon and a large medal, stood up and grabbed Van's hand.
"Boy, Marine, I wish I could dance like that," he said.
"I wish he could," his wife added.
"It was a real pleasure to watch you dance," the Marine said as he shook Van's hand.
"The pleasure, sir, was all mine just to shake your hand," my Van replied.
We walked away. I looked up and could see tears in my husband's eyes.
"What was that all about?" I asked.
"Don't you know who that was?" he asked me.
I shook my head no.
"That, sweetheart, was Pappy Boyington. And that medal on his chest is the Congressional Medal of Honor."
I smile now as I remember that very special night. Pappy Boyington may not have been a good dancer, but he was, as Van said, "one helluva Marine."
Ellie
April 28, 2006
By Edna Van Leuven
Please forgive me if I talk, all too often, about my Marine husband. Van was such a big part of my life, and someone who brought with his presence so much joy to my heart, that I cannot exclude him from my memories and hence to my columns.
Van spent more than 20 years serving in the U.S.. Marine Corps. He saw service during World War II, Korea and Vietnam, and seldom spoke of what happened during combat, but often of places and people that he met and or admired. It is about two of these that I am writing about today, two that were recipients of the Congressional Medal of Honor.
One, who had been a close and dear friend, and who had joined the Corps about the same time as my husband, was General James Day who was presented his medal by President Clinton long after the general's exploits. His men interceded to see that "Jim," as we all called him, got what he so richly deserved. It had been long overdue.
The other Congressional Medal of Honor recipient that Van so admired was Pappy Boyington, the Marine flier whose story as told on television just the other night. Viewing the story of the "Black Sheep" brought back the memory of the unusual circumstances that caused Van and I to meet that famous Marine.
Van was a wonderful dancer and even performed, for a short time, as a professional. Ask any woman who loves music, and who loves to dance as I do, what it means to be married to a man who is a good dancer. It's like being in a little bit of heaven whenever there is an opportunity to "trip the light fantastic."
One of those occasions came when a group of retired Marines in Fresno, Calif., decided to add Fresno to the list of areas that hold an annual "Marine Corps Birthday Ball" in November. This first affair was held at the Fresno Hilton.
Couples, all dressed in their most formal attire, were gathered in the bar as the hotel personnel was beginning to place the first course for dinner in the dining room, which also held a huge dance floor. Van, being Van, could not stand sitting in the bar when the band began to practice. Nothing would do but take me by the hand out onto that beautiful dance floor and move to the music of the '40s.
A few people began to filter into the dining room and were watching as Van led me through a set of slow numbers, and when the music stopped - and he was escorting me to our table - there was a light applause.
As we passed the first time a Marine dressed in a formal tux, across whose chest was a bright red ribbon and a large medal, stood up and grabbed Van's hand.
"Boy, Marine, I wish I could dance like that," he said.
"I wish he could," his wife added.
"It was a real pleasure to watch you dance," the Marine said as he shook Van's hand.
"The pleasure, sir, was all mine just to shake your hand," my Van replied.
We walked away. I looked up and could see tears in my husband's eyes.
"What was that all about?" I asked.
"Don't you know who that was?" he asked me.
I shook my head no.
"That, sweetheart, was Pappy Boyington. And that medal on his chest is the Congressional Medal of Honor."
I smile now as I remember that very special night. Pappy Boyington may not have been a good dancer, but he was, as Van said, "one helluva Marine."
Ellie