thedrifter
09-15-08, 03:38 PM
Journey to memorials is filled with emotions
Sunday, September 14, 2008
By PATRICIA C. McCARTER
Times Staff Writer patricia.mccarter@htimes.com
For one particular Marine,that sentiment is regret
WASHINGTON, D.C. - I'll tell you my story, he said, if you promise not to tell anybody who told it to you.
"I'm in a crowd of heroes, and I'm just some punk kid who showed up too late," said the 79-year-old Marine.
Even showing up late for World War II qualifies for taking a trip with Honor Flight Tennessee Valley. On Saturday, 125 veterans where taken by a chartered jet to see war memorials in Washington, D.C., including the teary-eyed Marine who asked to be nameless. The day was full of most every emotion, and for the Marine - whose goal it is to be the last living World War II veteran - the emotion was regret.
The Florence native lied about his age and joined the Marines when he was 16, not long after a school chum who was a year older than him died on Iwo Jima. He was assigned to an aircraft carrier, but the war was over before he saw any combat.
"I read a newspaper story not too long ago about a kid who joined the Marines when he was 14," said the veteran, whose tears were evident at each memorial visited Saturday. "All I could think was, 'Why didn't I do that?' I was a gung ho kid who wanted to kill the Japanese and win the war. I just signed up too late, and I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for that."
He was reminded by Honor Flight organizers that the huge, lovely memorial was created for him by a grateful country.
"No, not for me," he said sadly. "For the others, the real heroes, but not for me."
He wasn't the only one crying. Other veterans cried out of happiness, gratitude, laughter and nostalgia. It started at 5 a.m. in the Huntsville International Airport when a 100 or more people wished them a safe trip, and it continued all the way to their return when 10 times that many showed up to welcome them home.
One of the most unexpected joys of the day came when they landed at Reagan National Airport when the hallways around Gate 38 were jammed with the flag-waving public and the 30-piece Falls Church Concert Band playing every patriotic tune known to man.
"That just blew me away," said Ellen Thorn, an 83-year-old Navy veteran. "I just wish my husband had lasted long enough to enjoy this with me, but he's been gone for 20 years.
"Neither he or I thought we'd see the day that people did something like this for old codgers like us."
Everyone was missing someone. A deceased spouse or parent or war buddy or just the wife who stayed back in Huntsville for the long, glorious day.
Honor Flight Tennessee Valley has a one-to-one ratio of honorees and guardians, the volunteers who stay by their sides every minute of the day in Washington. Half of those volunteers live in the D.C.-area and work for companies with Huntsville ties, such as Boeing and Dynetics.
Tonya and Rodney Sims, Virginia residents and career Navy folks with lots of relatives in the military, spent their Saturday escorting veterans they'd never met before - and will probably never see again - but made fast friendships.
Tonya hugged nearly every veteran as he or she got off the plane and walked down the corridor of applauding strangers.
Mascara-tinged tears streamed down her face for half an hour as they deplaned in wheelchairs, on walkers or on unsteady feet.
"I've never seen so many World War II veterans in one place," she said. "It is overwhelming."
"Overwhelmed" is the word Lance Cpl. Ace Anderson used, too. He was part of D.C.-based Marines helping with an Honor Flight memorial ceremony at the Iwo Jima Memorial, and he cried without shame as he hugged the Marine veterans there.
"Everything they worked for, all the values that compelled Marines to fight in World War II, those are the same things within me," said Anderson, a 19-year-old from Missouri. "The reason I fight is the same reason they fought."
Anderson and former Marine Leland Caulder, 85, of Birmingham, became instant buddies at the Iwo Jima Memorial. Their immediate connection and affection looked like that of grandfather and grandson, not strangers whose only bond is that of a uniform.
"I see something of myself in him," Caulder said. "We both joined the service when we were 19. I see he's a nice, clean-cut young man who wants more than anything to be a Marine.
"And once a Marine, always a Marine. That's good enough for me."
Ellie
Sunday, September 14, 2008
By PATRICIA C. McCARTER
Times Staff Writer patricia.mccarter@htimes.com
For one particular Marine,that sentiment is regret
WASHINGTON, D.C. - I'll tell you my story, he said, if you promise not to tell anybody who told it to you.
"I'm in a crowd of heroes, and I'm just some punk kid who showed up too late," said the 79-year-old Marine.
Even showing up late for World War II qualifies for taking a trip with Honor Flight Tennessee Valley. On Saturday, 125 veterans where taken by a chartered jet to see war memorials in Washington, D.C., including the teary-eyed Marine who asked to be nameless. The day was full of most every emotion, and for the Marine - whose goal it is to be the last living World War II veteran - the emotion was regret.
The Florence native lied about his age and joined the Marines when he was 16, not long after a school chum who was a year older than him died on Iwo Jima. He was assigned to an aircraft carrier, but the war was over before he saw any combat.
"I read a newspaper story not too long ago about a kid who joined the Marines when he was 14," said the veteran, whose tears were evident at each memorial visited Saturday. "All I could think was, 'Why didn't I do that?' I was a gung ho kid who wanted to kill the Japanese and win the war. I just signed up too late, and I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for that."
He was reminded by Honor Flight organizers that the huge, lovely memorial was created for him by a grateful country.
"No, not for me," he said sadly. "For the others, the real heroes, but not for me."
He wasn't the only one crying. Other veterans cried out of happiness, gratitude, laughter and nostalgia. It started at 5 a.m. in the Huntsville International Airport when a 100 or more people wished them a safe trip, and it continued all the way to their return when 10 times that many showed up to welcome them home.
One of the most unexpected joys of the day came when they landed at Reagan National Airport when the hallways around Gate 38 were jammed with the flag-waving public and the 30-piece Falls Church Concert Band playing every patriotic tune known to man.
"That just blew me away," said Ellen Thorn, an 83-year-old Navy veteran. "I just wish my husband had lasted long enough to enjoy this with me, but he's been gone for 20 years.
"Neither he or I thought we'd see the day that people did something like this for old codgers like us."
Everyone was missing someone. A deceased spouse or parent or war buddy or just the wife who stayed back in Huntsville for the long, glorious day.
Honor Flight Tennessee Valley has a one-to-one ratio of honorees and guardians, the volunteers who stay by their sides every minute of the day in Washington. Half of those volunteers live in the D.C.-area and work for companies with Huntsville ties, such as Boeing and Dynetics.
Tonya and Rodney Sims, Virginia residents and career Navy folks with lots of relatives in the military, spent their Saturday escorting veterans they'd never met before - and will probably never see again - but made fast friendships.
Tonya hugged nearly every veteran as he or she got off the plane and walked down the corridor of applauding strangers.
Mascara-tinged tears streamed down her face for half an hour as they deplaned in wheelchairs, on walkers or on unsteady feet.
"I've never seen so many World War II veterans in one place," she said. "It is overwhelming."
"Overwhelmed" is the word Lance Cpl. Ace Anderson used, too. He was part of D.C.-based Marines helping with an Honor Flight memorial ceremony at the Iwo Jima Memorial, and he cried without shame as he hugged the Marine veterans there.
"Everything they worked for, all the values that compelled Marines to fight in World War II, those are the same things within me," said Anderson, a 19-year-old from Missouri. "The reason I fight is the same reason they fought."
Anderson and former Marine Leland Caulder, 85, of Birmingham, became instant buddies at the Iwo Jima Memorial. Their immediate connection and affection looked like that of grandfather and grandson, not strangers whose only bond is that of a uniform.
"I see something of myself in him," Caulder said. "We both joined the service when we were 19. I see he's a nice, clean-cut young man who wants more than anything to be a Marine.
"And once a Marine, always a Marine. That's good enough for me."
Ellie