thedrifter
02-07-08, 08:30 AM
Veteran offers hope to Marines headed into battle
By: Marci Seither
I wasn't sure if it was the gusty winds from the winter storm or the excitement of seeing our son that kept me awake most of the night.
We were flying out of Sacramento at 6:30 a.m. to take a special friend to meet the 7th Marine regiment, including our 21-year-old son, Nathan, who are preparing for deployment to Afghanistan.
It was still dark when my husband, John, and I stopped to pick up our friend, Cliff Blakley, an 82-year-old retired Marine who had also served with the 7th Division.
When we pulled up to the glass doors of the Auburn Oaks Retirement home, the silhouette of Cliff waiting with his overnight bag came into view.
While we knew it would be a quick trip, we believed the words of encouragement that Cliff, the recipient of a silver medal and a purple heart for his action during the Korean War, was exactly what the soldiers at 29 Palms needed to hear.
In Southern California, Nathan met us at the gate. As he wrapped his arms around me, I couldn't help thinking the season of childhood had passed too quickly.
John, who had also served with the Marines, couldn't help but think doing his own training exercises at the desert base some 30 years earlier.
After meeting with Capt. Urbano Crews, we were escorted into a large classroom where Cliff stood in front of 150 soldiers dressed in camouflage.
One of the first things Cliff asked was how many had been to Iraq. Half of the men in the room raised their hands.
He talked about the courage, discipline and teamwork required for their survival.
Cliff went on to explain he had been in the Chosin Reservoir in 1950. And yet, it wasn't what he had done that held their attention. His stories captivated the group.
"We made a call to headquarters that we needed a supply of tootsie rolls, a term we used for ammunition," he said. "We were relieved to see cases finally parachuted in to us. When the boxes were opened it was obvious the message didn't get to the right people. Instead of ammunition and supplies, it was cases of chocolate Tootsie Rolls. So I took my two boxes and filled all my pockets. Every few hours I stuck a few inside the thick layers (of clothing) to thaw out. We lived on those for a week.
"The first time I heard "Semper Fi" was at the recruiter's office," he continued. "I thought he said 75, which was good pay for those days. So I told him to sign me up!"
The men chuckled and laughed with Cliff as he shared stories of his time in the service.
When he talked about how 150 men in his company went into the Chosin Reservoir, but that only 27 survived two weeks later, there was total silence in the room.
He was a page of history that spoke for himself. He was not an old man proudly wearing a "Chosin Few" and "7th Marines" patch on his bright blue jacket. He was one of them.
"Think about the things that happen when you are over there, the funny things like having Tootsie Rolls dropped from airplanes," Cliff told the young Marines. "Bring those stories back with you, but leave the others behind. Be a credit to the Marines and their tradition. Don't just read about history. Go make history."
Throughout the day when the soldiers would see Cliff, they either waved or stopped to shake his hand.
He sat down in the barracks after "Taps" were played and talked with individual soldiers asking where they came from and to see photos of their loved ones.
When we left the next morning, Nathan thanked Cliff for coming and then hugged John and I tight before we left.
I slid into the back seat, and put sunglasses over my eyes as I watched Nathan walk toward the group of Marines who were waiting for him.
My heart broke into tiny pieces as I wondered how we would endure the next year.
"Good byes are never easy," Cliff said in a soft voice as John drove past the tan cinder block buildings.
He not only understood the men he had addressed, but he also understood my pain.
"My wife always hated it when I had to leave," he said later that evening. "She always worried about me. But I think it must be harder on the mothers."
"It is hard." I said as I tried not to cry. I knew that once the tears started falling, I wouldn't be able to stop them.
"I was so impressed with how well trained they are," Cliff said reassuringly. "I know it's hard, but Nathan is with a great group of guys."
We dropped Cliff off at the front door of his home, but this time it was different.
The day before we had picked a friend. Now we were dropping off a family member.
He had shown us the dedication and courage required of those going into battle.
His gift to John was sharing the strength of patriotism and wisdom of history.
But, for me he had whispered tender hope and gentle understanding.
Ellie
By: Marci Seither
I wasn't sure if it was the gusty winds from the winter storm or the excitement of seeing our son that kept me awake most of the night.
We were flying out of Sacramento at 6:30 a.m. to take a special friend to meet the 7th Marine regiment, including our 21-year-old son, Nathan, who are preparing for deployment to Afghanistan.
It was still dark when my husband, John, and I stopped to pick up our friend, Cliff Blakley, an 82-year-old retired Marine who had also served with the 7th Division.
When we pulled up to the glass doors of the Auburn Oaks Retirement home, the silhouette of Cliff waiting with his overnight bag came into view.
While we knew it would be a quick trip, we believed the words of encouragement that Cliff, the recipient of a silver medal and a purple heart for his action during the Korean War, was exactly what the soldiers at 29 Palms needed to hear.
In Southern California, Nathan met us at the gate. As he wrapped his arms around me, I couldn't help thinking the season of childhood had passed too quickly.
John, who had also served with the Marines, couldn't help but think doing his own training exercises at the desert base some 30 years earlier.
After meeting with Capt. Urbano Crews, we were escorted into a large classroom where Cliff stood in front of 150 soldiers dressed in camouflage.
One of the first things Cliff asked was how many had been to Iraq. Half of the men in the room raised their hands.
He talked about the courage, discipline and teamwork required for their survival.
Cliff went on to explain he had been in the Chosin Reservoir in 1950. And yet, it wasn't what he had done that held their attention. His stories captivated the group.
"We made a call to headquarters that we needed a supply of tootsie rolls, a term we used for ammunition," he said. "We were relieved to see cases finally parachuted in to us. When the boxes were opened it was obvious the message didn't get to the right people. Instead of ammunition and supplies, it was cases of chocolate Tootsie Rolls. So I took my two boxes and filled all my pockets. Every few hours I stuck a few inside the thick layers (of clothing) to thaw out. We lived on those for a week.
"The first time I heard "Semper Fi" was at the recruiter's office," he continued. "I thought he said 75, which was good pay for those days. So I told him to sign me up!"
The men chuckled and laughed with Cliff as he shared stories of his time in the service.
When he talked about how 150 men in his company went into the Chosin Reservoir, but that only 27 survived two weeks later, there was total silence in the room.
He was a page of history that spoke for himself. He was not an old man proudly wearing a "Chosin Few" and "7th Marines" patch on his bright blue jacket. He was one of them.
"Think about the things that happen when you are over there, the funny things like having Tootsie Rolls dropped from airplanes," Cliff told the young Marines. "Bring those stories back with you, but leave the others behind. Be a credit to the Marines and their tradition. Don't just read about history. Go make history."
Throughout the day when the soldiers would see Cliff, they either waved or stopped to shake his hand.
He sat down in the barracks after "Taps" were played and talked with individual soldiers asking where they came from and to see photos of their loved ones.
When we left the next morning, Nathan thanked Cliff for coming and then hugged John and I tight before we left.
I slid into the back seat, and put sunglasses over my eyes as I watched Nathan walk toward the group of Marines who were waiting for him.
My heart broke into tiny pieces as I wondered how we would endure the next year.
"Good byes are never easy," Cliff said in a soft voice as John drove past the tan cinder block buildings.
He not only understood the men he had addressed, but he also understood my pain.
"My wife always hated it when I had to leave," he said later that evening. "She always worried about me. But I think it must be harder on the mothers."
"It is hard." I said as I tried not to cry. I knew that once the tears started falling, I wouldn't be able to stop them.
"I was so impressed with how well trained they are," Cliff said reassuringly. "I know it's hard, but Nathan is with a great group of guys."
We dropped Cliff off at the front door of his home, but this time it was different.
The day before we had picked a friend. Now we were dropping off a family member.
He had shown us the dedication and courage required of those going into battle.
His gift to John was sharing the strength of patriotism and wisdom of history.
But, for me he had whispered tender hope and gentle understanding.
Ellie