It's a different country now...

[eisely 13]

Things happen for a reason. We seldom understand, and should not pretend to understand everything always, but the deaths of 9/11/2001 transformed this country in ways we are only now beginning to appreciate.

 

When I came home from Viet Nam so many years ago, all I wanted to do was forget about it all as quickly as I could. There were no parades. Families were left to mourn their losses privately, as if the larger society was embarrassed at their losses. As indeed the larger society and its highest levels of political and military leadership should have been embarrassed...but I digress.

 

The following piece from the Wall Street Journal on line opinion page describes huge turnouts of strangers for young dead marines who gave all their tomorrows so that we might have ours. Who would have thunk...

 

I am proud to be a small part of the scouting movement that contributes so much to people everywhere.

__________

 

A Marine Comes Home

Fallen warriors remind us why whiny celebs are irrelevant.

 

Thursday, May 1, 2003 12:01 a.m. EDT

 

The battle of Iraq may be over but the warriors for peace struggle on. Theirs is not an easy road, particularly, we hear, in the entertainment industry, which is packed with notables fresh from their vocal campaign against the war, the president, Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney--objects of scorn in all the best circles, from Paris to California.

 

Now, it appears, some celebrities worry about damage to their careers. The Dixie Chicks have taken a hit. Sean Penn thinks his views have cost him jobs. Tina Brown, whose main concern about the war seems to be that it caused the postponement of her new TV show, announced last week that it would soon air and that she planned to decorate the set with an American flag bigger than anyone else's. She had to scrape up as many core American values as she could, declared Ms. Brown, "to have any hope of being allowed on TV at all in the current climate of punitive patriotism."

 

No fear. Americans aren't likely to concern themselves much with Ms. Brown's flag--in the event they actually encounter her program. Most of them have matters more pressing on their minds. For some, these days, those matters include funerals and mourning rites for people they have never met.

 

On April 14 in Vermont, for example, mourners gathered for the funeral of 21-year-old Marine Cpl. Mark Evnin, killed in action on the drive to Baghdad. A thousand people attended the rites at Ohavi Zedek Synagogue in Burlington, at which the Marine's grandfather, a rabbi, presided. Reporters related how the Marine Corps League color guard and local firefighters flanked the walkway into the synagogue, where mourners included the Roman Catholic bishop and the governor.

Crowds lined the streets in salute--some with flags, some with signs--everywhere the funeral procession passed. But what struck the Burlington Free Press reporters most were all the strangers who had been impelled to come to the cemetery to honor the young Marine. One of them was a mother who had brought her two young children and stood holding two American flags. "Every single man and woman out there is my son and daughter," she told the journalists. "He could have done a lot with his life. But he gave it to the nation."

 

Two days later came the funeral mass for 25-year-old Marine First Lt. Brian McPhillips of Pembroke, Mass., killed not far from Baghdad. Three Marines died in the firefight at Tuwayhah described by Dallas Morning News embedded reporter Jim Landers. The 2nd Tank Battalion had run into an ambush by a band of Islamic Jihad volunteers--Syrians, Egyptians, Yemenis and others. Lt. McPhillips went down firing his machine gun.

 

The knock that brought the news home in the early hours of April 6 had caused the walls to reverberate, his mother recalled. His father, a Marine veteran of Vietnam, knew at once what the 5:00 a.m. visit meant. They never come because somebody's been wounded: "They want you to know as soon as possible."

 

Neither of the McPhillips was surprised at Brian's choice of a military career. His father had served, his great-uncle had fought at Guadalcanal; and Julie and David McPhillips had been the sort of parents who wanted to imbue their children with a consciousness of history--that of their country's not least. So they took them to places like Shiloh, Antietam, Gettysburg and other national shrines.

 

David McPhillips nevertheless used all his powers of persuasion to keep Brian from enlisting in the Marines right out of high school. Heeding his parents, Brian went off to Providence College, a Catholic institution, where he thrived, compiled an academic record most people considered enviable, his father included, and looked to the future. Shortly after graduation in 2000, it arrived, with the commissioning ceremony that made him an officer in the Marines. He would go to war, his father reported, carrying his rosary and his Bible.

 

At his funeral service at the Holy Family Church in Rockland, where Brian's mother attended daily Mass, David McPhillips recalled his son's generosity and enterprise. Mrs. McPhillips would deliver a eulogy of her own, afterward carried in the local papers, on the subject of her son's life and death. She saw herself, Julie McPhillips said, as one of the fellow Americans for whom he had given his life. It had been her great privilege to be his mother: "To you my dear and faithful son, from earth to heaven I salute you . . . ."

 

As at Cpl. Evnin's funeral, crowds lined the streets. Brian's uncle Paul Finegan pondered the problems getting to the cemetery in Concord--a 150-car cortege traveling 50 miles on the busiest highway in New England. He had, it turned out, nothing to fear: 50 state troopers, many of them coming in from days off, had closed most of the road for them, a stretch of 35 miles.

Then came another sight he could scarcely believe. At the side of the road, near their halted cars, stood streams of people, standing at attention--paying their respects.

 

"They stopped all these cars, and people got out to stand holding their hands over their hearts," he marveled.

 

He should not have been surprised. Scenes like this are the reason all the celebrity protesters can stop worrying about public wrath and punishment. Americans have other things on their minds all right. September 11, for one. What they have on their minds, too, since the just-concluded remarkable war, is the consciousness of who they are and what this society is that it should have produced men and women of the kind who fought in that war and died in it.

 

People got a powerfully close look at their fellow Americans in uniform these last weeks. This is what impels them now to stand at roadsides in tribute, heedless of where else they had to go. And this is why strangers flock to funerals.

 

 

[saltheart 10]

Mrs. Saltheart and I counted ourselves among the throngs trying to be as near as possible, at both of those funerals, even though we knew neither family. One was only around the corner for us. The other a 5 hour drive. Why? Because...that's why.

 

Because I, too, remember coming home from 'Nam to an emptiness. One day fighting and struggling through the jungle to stay alive, and seemingly the next day sent home to a country at odds with itself, and no time or desire to welcome the boys home. Boys who were still growing and trying to reason with the conflict within. Finding the path back home took so much time. Getting involved in Scouting again certainly helped straighten out the crooked aim.

 

Because on September 11, 2001, watching the horror of the events in New York unfold, we realized helplessly that my brother was likely in one of those towers. Later, that was confirmed. Even though slipping into retirement from active duty in the troop so that younger folks could take their place in the troops future, the "family" of the troop was always there for us and with us. Even to this day.

 

Because these past few weeks, watching the events of war unfold, we held each others hands knowing all too well that our grandson, the Marine, the Eagle Scout, is counted among those fighting their way to the heart of that country. And we count the unknown days to his safe return.

 

And, because...just because...just because we wanted to be there and share the moment, the sadness, the pride, and ourselves with those left behind by the passings of these proud young men.

 

There are so very many things I could say about the Hollywood types who protest. But, the freedom I enjoy to come and go as I please, even to the funerals of those I don't know, is the very same freedom that allows them to speak their piece. I'm also free to ignore them, and count myself among the larger number...the much larger number...of proud Americans who know all too well that while freedom of speech is in the eyes of the law, where it rightfully should be for everyone of us...it is not necessarily in the eyes of the marketplace. The marketplace, where our tradition for as many years as it has existed, has been to speak our piece with our dollars about and to those who would try to trade their wares or talents for those dollars.

 

Yes, this is a very different country now. I felt it somewhat coming home from my generations war. I felt it immediately after turning on the television that day in September. And I feel it even more now than ever. My hope is that the millions, like you and I, can keep to the path, and keep the aim straight, or make it straight again, as we've tried to teach so many boys along the way.

 

 

[dsteele 20]

Gentlemen, I salute you.

 

I'm of a later generation (born in late 1965,) but I remember bits and pieces of the coverage of the Vietnam War (yes, it was a war, no matter what anyone else says.)

 

You might be heartened to hear that (this is my opinion) most of my generation supports you and can't believe the actions of our parents and others of their generation who deplored the war and passed along their animosity to veterans.

 

But the story below might hearten you.

 

One of the first contacts I had as the new Chippewa District Executive was to call all my scoutmasters and cubmasters to mobilize the troops and give the National Guard guys a good send-off. It was a Friday night and they were about to ship off to Operation Desert Shield.

I called and several were from the Vietnam era. One actually said, "You're damn right my troop will be there tomorrow morning. When I shipped off to Vietnam no one was there for me." It was the first contact I'd had with many of the unit leaders and they did those soldiers proud.

We got about 300 people in uniform and out to a corner where the convoy was going to pass by. Waved flags and stuff like that.

I saw a woman (I'll never forget this) who was probably the wife of one of the truck drivers, jump on the running boards and kiss him. It occurred to me then that he might not come back.

I held my emotions until I got home. Then I lost it for pretty much the rest of the day. Part of it was because I always wanted a military career. Had the congressional nomination to West Point in 1984, but didn't get the appointment because of medical reasons.

 

Flash forward to the troop's return . . .

 

I called the packs and troops again and we had an even better location and turn-out. Most of the town was there, but there were about 400 people in Scout uniform. Flags waving. This time, the troops walked by and it was a sight to see. I was in full uniform (including socks and campaign hat.) Parking was hard to come by and I had to walk blocks to get to main street.

 

The soldiers walked across a bridge, past the crowd and climbed onto a bus to go back to the armory.

 

As I walked to my car, I saw the bus pull around a corner. I raised my right hand in a stiff Scout Salute and came to attention.

 

I could see the guys cheering inside the bus. They waved and I stayed at attention. It was one of the most special moments of my life. I'm glad I could greet them properly.

 

Now, one of my habits is calling all those I know who are veterans on memorial day or veteran's day -- whichever I have free, and thank them for their service to their country. If you guys email me with your phone numbers, I'd be proud to add you to my list.

 

I can't wait until our troops in the middle east and Afghanistan come home. I'm an Assistant Scout Executive now, and not a District Executive. They're in for a heck of a welcome in Southeast Wisconsin. I promise.

 

Thank you.

 

Dave Steele