SALUTE! : Special Insert for Veteran's Day Edition of Island Park News

Like many teenage girls in the early '70's, I wore my P.O.W. bracelet of wrist tarnishing brass and fervently prayed for the safe return of the person's name it bore, Vietnam captive, Earnest L. Moore. I still remember the joy I felt at seeing him on TV with several others once again standing on American soil. Even though I wore the ugly fashions of that era and aspired to the hippy lifestyle, my heart was with our soldiers in the grainy newsreel footage that Walter Cronkite brought into our living rooms each evening.

Personal perspectives give us varying views of what service in the military means, but if you talk to the men and women who put their lives on the line by answering the call to uniform, common themes emerge. As in all things, if one wants the truth, it is best to go to the source.

Raymond Flaherty was born in 1927 in Boston, MA. Ray spent 21 years, 8 months, and 7 days in the U.S. Army. After seeing combat with Company L, 15th Infantry Regiment, he returned home decorated with a Purple Heart, Silver and Bronze Stars, and the Combat Infantry Badge (CIB) to find his wife pregnant with another man's child.

This Ranger then served in Laos with Special Forces Group, in Vietnam where he received a second CIB, and then again for another tour of duty there. Along the way, Ray collected many personal stories and "the satisfaction of knowing I dared go where others feared to." The hell and hardships he endured in foreign lands while in the employ of Uncle Sam did not sour his attitude toward the military. When asked if he'd do it all again, he says, "DAMN RIGHT! I wish I had never retired! I have walked with GIANTS!"

Flaherty further explains about his days of war, "I knew nothing but heroes and that's by every definition of the word. From the grubby rifleman to the infantry company commander. And the men who didn't come back." Like many other veterans, Ray does not include his own name among those he considers heroic, even though his uniform is highly decorated. Conversely, most Americans do not see or recognize the heroes who have fought for our freedoms, but have no problem with self-promotion and aggrandizement.

Asked what he would like others to know about veterans, Ray notes, "I've gone into the fires for my country and would go again if given the opportunity. Am I bitter? An emphatic 'No,' although I am disappointed that our country seems to be run by those who fled to Canada and elsewhere and I fear for our nation with its ho-hum attitude."

This veteran also feels sadness and frustration at the changes our military has undergone recently. The latest issue of allowing the entire army to wear the black beret has put another thorn in the sides of former veterans who once wore the exclusive berets. There is a definite morale loss sweeping through the rank and files of our military branches.

Ray Flaherty, MSG US Army (ret) has used his military experience as a backdrop for a book entitled, "He Didn't Say Goodbye" that is being shopped around to several publishers. He is currently working on a sequel from his home in Florida.

In similar modest style, Ed Mattingly, Jr. does not like to talk about himself or the time he spent in the military. Instead, he has written a short story called, "Echoes."

Echoes

Life, someone said, is what happens when you've made other plans. Still, we embrace it with all of its vagaries and twisting subplots. This story is about lingering images of a divisive period that, through time, has become an ironic source of healing.

It began the day I read an inspiring article in The Atlanta Journal/Constitution about Marine Corporal Richard Sutter. Richard, it turns out, was a year ahead of me at Atlanta's Christ the King parochial school during the late fifties. It was a time when Buddy Holly's untimely demise worried me a lot more than backyard bomb shelters and Russia's triumphal "Sputnik" shot into deep space.

Richard Sutter was one of those wiry types who unabashedly sported fledgling ducktails and possessed a street-savvy sense of his own destiny. Middle class moms referred to guys like Richard as "toughs." If memory serves, my own mother shoehorned "you mean that hood" into the conversation when Richard's name inadvertently dribbled out of one side of my younger brother's mouth, the other being full of pot roast, mashed potatoes, and one lone acre pea.

I envied kids like Richard Sutter - he possessed an uncanny knack for grabbing life by the throat and fearlessly careening around the next blind turn. After 1959 I never saw Richard again. Then, during the white-hot summer of 1967 I went to Marine officer training at Quantico, Virginia and ten weeks of heat, hill trails and a hair-do compliments of Vidal Buffoon. Richard Sutter, meanwhile, took the hard road through Parris Island with a final stop in a place called Khe Sanh, Republic of South Vietnam.

On July 21, 1967, in the midst of the bloody, nightmarish siege at Khe Sanh, Richard took a bullet through the head and died instantly. While I bitched and moaned about Potamac mosquitoes and sauna-like forced marches, word from home reached me that Richard had been killed. Through I hadn't seen the guy in eight years I remember the shock that hit me, like a fist to the gut. The war, you see, had finally hit home. Close on its heels came the full impact of what I was doing, the stark realization that the good die young and I was barely 20 years old.

It was only a harbinger.

My bunkmate at Quantico that summer of 1967 was Gerry Paulsen, a guy you wanted to drink beer with. More importantly, you wanted Gerry in your foxhole. Gerry himself wanted one thing as bad as he could taste it: to become a Marine Infantry Platoon Commander. He had that unique ability common to effective leaders, the ability to motivate men without them realizing he was doing it. Gerry's gentle toughness inspired young Marines to follow him into the teeth of any combat situation. In February of 1969, while I attended Artillery School at Fort Still, Oklahoma, Gerry Paulsen did just that…and lost his life. When I got word that Gerry had been killed in an NVA ambush, I cried.

Three months before I left for Vietnam, I got married. People looked at me as if I was nuts amidst a raging debate punctuated with a retinue of "what happens if…" but my bride Mitzie and I decided it was worth the risk. Or, maybe we got caught up in it and grabbed the moment, knowing we simply could not wait.

Al Nelson, the son of a Marine Colonel back in 1969, had set his sights on a Marine career from the get-go. His chiseled jaw, aquiline nose, close-cropped blond hair and laser-blue eyes were the stuff of recruiting posters. Al and I survived Advance Officer Basic School together at Quantico, graduating with the same class that produced Jim Webb, a Navy Cross-decorated Marine, famous author and Secretary of the Navy under Reagan.

Al Nelson, decked out in his dress blue uniform, appeared out of nowhere at our wedding in New Orleans in February of 1969. Among many others, today I carry a lasting image from the gala reception: bug-eyed youngsters swarming at Al's feet as he unsheathed his gleaming Mamaluke sword, the quintessential symbol of a Marine Officer's status. On the day I received orders for Vietnam I learned that Al Nelson had been killed when his platoon was overrun by a North Vietnamese regiment. I didn't cry then. I said a simple prayer.

Richard Sutter. Gerry Paulsen. Al Nelson. Just three of the 58,000 plus who gave their lives in a war that, unlike other wars, gave us heroes without a hero's welcome. Thankfully, I came back relatively unscathed n no small part because Richard Nixon had made a campaign promise to get troops out. Mitzie was pregnant when I went overseas. When I flew home my son Ed, III was already four months old the first time I ever cradled him in my arms.

A line from Credence Clearwater Revival's 1969 hit song still haunts me: "…long as I remember, rain's been comin' down…clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground; good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun…and I wonder…still I wonder…who'll stop the rain?"

Through the ages I'm proud to have known three of those good men.

Lest we think that most of the dangers of war are behind us, even those who have served more recently have tales to tell. Stuart Whitmore, a 34-year-old Air Force Sergeant, was stationed at RAF Lakenheath and Sembach AB in the mid- to late 80's. Today, Whitmore lives with the fear of possibly carrying "mad cow disease" which could still be in incubation inside him for a few more years. Of this illness he says, "It's always fatal and a very ugly thing to die of, and it's related to being stationed in the UK during the 80's. I won't know for sure that I'm safe from it until I've been out of the UK for 15 years or so, and it's a bit stressful to think about!"

On the benefits of being a veteran, Whitmore says, "…the maturing process that could not have been matched had I followed the paths of most of my friends in high school." He adds, "I consider myself to be more 'complete' having lived that experience." Sadly, the worst part about his veteran status is, "knowing how little veterans are appreciated by those who have never served. I don't mind it for myself, but those who gave, and continue to give much more than I gave, deserve more recognition and general public awareness than they currently receive!"

Whitmore says he sees "a need to maintain a defensive force into the foreseeable future because the patterns of war are so well established and will take time to unravel. That force needs people, and that means people willing to give their all - literally, willing to trade their lives for the security of the nation. To accept that level of service to one's country carries incredible honor." He continues, "Veterans, and those who are still in the service, need more support from the nation they serve. This means everything from taxpayers willing to provide them with basic comforts, to politicians who will use the military's force sparingly rather than sending our young to die on every battlefield on Earth."

A recent letter from a Navy SH-60B flyer off the USS Hawes confirms that the dangers of war and service rage around us. (As of this writing, U.S. forces in the Persian Gulf States of Bahrain and Qatar have been put on highest state of alert - Code Delta - as threats of further terrorist attacks and violence escalates.)

Letter from Navy SH-60 B Flyer

It wasn't until a few days ago though, that we started doing something that I feel may be the first thing I've seen in my short Naval career that has truly made a difference. Right now we're supporting the USS Cole and her crew in Aden. When the attack occurred we were a day away…in the Gulf, and headed towards the Suez and could get there in a relatively short time. I know what you all have seen on CNN, because we have seen it too. I just want you all to know that what you see doesn't even scratch the surface. I'm not going to get into it for obvious reasons. But I will tell you that right now there are 250+ sailors just a few miles away living in hell on Earth. I'm sitting in a nice air conditioned state room, and they're sleeping out on the decks at night. You can't even imagine the conditions they're living in, and yet they are still fighting 24 hours a day to save their ship and to free the bodies of those still trapped and send them home.

As bad as it is, they're doing an incredible job. The very fact that these people are still functioning is beyond my comprehension. Whatever you imagine as the worst, multiply it by ten and you might get there.

Today I was tasked to photo rig the ship and surrounding area. It looked so much worse than I had imagined, unbelievable really, with debris and disarray everywhere, the ship listing, the hole in her side. I wish I had the power to relay to you all what I have seen, but words just won't do it.

I do want to tell you the first thing that jumped out at me - the Stars and Stripes flying. I can't tell you how that made me feel…even in this God forsaken hellhole our flag was more beautiful than words can describe. Then I started to notice the mass of activity going on below, scores of people working non-stop in 90 plus degree weather to save this ship. They're doing it with almost no electrical power and they're sleeping (when they sleep) outside on the decks because they can't stand the smell or the heat or the darkness inside.

They only want to eat what we bring them because they're all scared of eating something brought by the local vendors. Even with all that, the USS Cole and her crew is sending a message guys, and it's that even acts of cowardice and hate can do nothing to the spirit and pride of the United States.

I have never been so proud of what I do, or of the men and women that I serve with as I was today. There are sixteen confirmed dead sailors who put it on the line for all of us, and some of them are still trapped here. Please take a minute to pray for their families and say a word of thanks for their sacrifice - one made so that we can live the lives we do. All of you that serve with me, thank you. All of you that have loved ones that serve, thank you. Please feel free to pass this on to those you think will appreciate it.

(V/R Lt. Landry)

May we never miss an opportunity to pass on the words of wisdom, lessons, warnings, and stories from our veterans. May we also never pass a veteran without giving them a kind word or a bit of praise. Finally, may our service men and women continue to serve us better than we have served them.