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It must have been brutal.  Heat, cold, rain and snow swirling about as our forefathers trekked across the plains in search of fame, fortune and perhaps a new lease on a worn existence.  There were no Interstates, replete with rest stops and climate controlled eateries along the way.  Rather than rely on a GPS or two, one in dash and one on the dash for good measure, you were careful to stay on the wagon track and trust the memory and experience of the wagon master to get you through the journey.  When a threat developed, raiders of some description or other, you circled the wagons and fiercely defended yourself from inside.  So it was and still is with America.

The derisivness that is gripping our great republic is really nothing new.  Like large families that gather for special occasions such as the Fourth of July holiday, we bicker, opine and otherwise disagree with passion and righteousness at will.  All the while, we are careful to keep the wagons circled.  Pick up any periodical, turn on the television, and we seem to be dissolving from within, the look of chaos must be evident to folks from other parts of the world.  Democracy is a messy business, made more so by the freedoms we enjoy.  We have the ability to step up, offer an opinion and criticize zealously that or those we do not agree with.  We are brassy, loud and protective of our way of life……again all from within the circled wagons.

We are actively engaged in the business of selecting a new wagon master.  This new leader is inheriting a country that is polarized, irritable and facing significant external threats.  This selection process is uglier than a mud fence, but it is all we have and it is what we do.  For a day or two centered around our nation’s birthday, we manage to set aside our inside the wagons differences and celebrate the creation of this truly beautiful country we love.  While we enjoy barbecue, fireworks, home churned ice cream and blistering rides across our lakes and slow floats on our streams, please remember to acknowledge our uninformed services charged with protecting  us from the threats we know exist. Lending dignity to our energetic and multifaceted society is a full time job for those who are charged with recognizing and neutralizing the threats, both internal and external, to the sanctity of our incredible country.  Our wagons are always circled………

Happy Birthday, America!

I have a history with dogs that goes back to a skinny 10 year old kid living at 2046 Somerset Avenue in Columbus, Ga. My first pup’s name was Count Beno of Somerset, a terrific, fawn Boxer with the energy of Amern UE.  We called him Beno and I loved that pup.  He contracted sarcoptic mange, red mange they called it in those days, and we eventually lost him as a result of this scourge…..something today’s vets can usually handle easily.

Fast forward to 1973 and our acquisition of a great yellow Lab named Annalore Ezekial, or Zeke.  He was mostly an outdoor dog, our house was small, but he was inside when it was too cold outside…..a frequent occurrence in Missouri in those days.  We lost Zeke to cancer in Springfield not long after I was stationed there.  Zeke was a bright fellow and loved people…..not unusual for Labs.  Zeke was followed by Johnson’s Piney River Luke and Piney River Belle, two rambunctious German Shorthair pointers who knew their way around a bean field. These guys were gun dogs, pure and simple and an absolute joy on the hunt.  We lost them to old age …….and I haven’t had a gun dog since.  For us it has been a succession of Labs……and a Lab will be there when Sharon is busy arranging for 6 folks to carry me into church.  We love ’em!Tazzy enjoying a “pupacino”

I should be so fortunate.  Folks who don’t share their existence with a dog are missing one of the great pleasures in life.  The devotion, unfailing loyalty and desire to please are attributes that humans have not consistently mastered. Perhaps dogs don’t reason exactly as we do, but one should never underestimate them. They honor their keepers by making them the very center of their being and willingly absorb the tribulations of life on behalf of their human partner.  Dogs laugh a lot…….with their tails.Truman                                Abe                                     Micah

We currently share our home with a 92 pound appetite disguised as a Lab who answers to Taz’m, a name we conjured up using the first letter in each of our previous Labs names, (T-Truman, A-Abe, Z-Zeke, M-Micah).  You know you are suffering from some dread mental malady when you purchase dog colored carpet and a vehicle the dog will be comfortable in. Maybe a little off, but totally unapologetic. A very good friend of ours had a book made, “The Heartbeats at My Feet” a pictorial that chronicles our association with the aforementioned Labs, good boys and girls who were terrific companions.  Cardinal baseball, a cup of coffee and a softly sleeping Lab at my feet. Not a dog, really, rather a miracle with paws.

We all have to be somewhere……….

 

In my last post, I wrote about our growing insistence on penalizing literally millions of Americans for the actions of a very few psychopaths who kill for reasons we begin to understand only after the slaughter.  There are vast reserves of folks who do not like guns, have never owned one, and believe they are inherently evil.  These folks remind me of the bears that inhabit or are moving into parts of our country.  Most folks who can read a cereal box, know you shouldn’t feed the bruins, as this only encourages them to become bigger and bolder nuisances.  This lesson is sometimes lost on the firearms industry, usually as a result of increasing profitability and the need for happy boards of directors.

I am a member of the NRA and am deeply committed to the preservation of the 2d Amendment.  I support other firearms advocacy groups, some of which choose to meet the anti-gunners on their level with hype and sensationalism.  When we check reason at the door in our arguments, we are feeding the bears, which as mentioned above only makes them more of a problem.  The following advertisement is lifted from the official magazine of the NRA, the excellent “American Rifleman”.  Bear in mind that Gen. George S. Patton, a fellow who knew a lot about a lot of things related to combat and warfare once described the M-1 rifle as, “the greatest battle implement ever devised”.

For those of my readers who share my affinity for tri-focal glasses, the last statement in this advertisement says, “The CQB brings the action of an M1A with the modern technology to give you the speed and versatility for close quarters battle”. This from an absolutely excellent manufacturer of firearms competing with other manufacturers of quality firearms in America.  Here we go, feeding the bears.  It is a short jump from a fine weapon for close quarters battle to “assault rifle”.   After all, it is black, clip fed, polymer stocked…….see yesterday’s post.

Another  phenomenem is this business of silencers.  The bears, when not watching gangster movies where assassins dispatch their targets with silencer equipped handguns, are busy ruminating about the need for silencers.  Along with glasses, my hearing is shot, courtesy of firearms and artillery pieces strategically located in sunny Vietnam many years ago.  With absolute, field tested certainty, I can attest that very,  very few of the many deer that I have killed over the years heard the shot that killed them.  If they did, the noise was the least of their immediate concerns.  There are reasonable justifications for the legal possession and use of silencers, and in excess of forty states have approved their use…….but you must know they attract the bears, especially when screwed onto a black rifle or semiautomatic handgun.

The only effective counter to the woefully uninformed cadre of anti-gun politicians (bears) is the calm, reasoned destruction of their ridiculous premises with solid statistical data and factual rebuttal.  It would certainly help if the industry and our advocates would carefully consider their approach to protecting our freedoms.  Gen. Patton also said, “never let the enemy pick the battlefield”.  We will not stifle the anti-gun bears by suggesting that a silencer equipped M-1 rifle is ideal for close quarters battle.  This premise puts us squarely on their battlefield.

Predictably, it is on.  The horrible shooting in Florida has evoked commentary from many folks who know a lot about a lot of  things and from folks who know very little about anything.  In our wonderful democracy, the folks who are oblivious each have a vote and their handiwork is evident.  The crusade against gun ownership in America is unabated……fed by a Chief Executive who desperately needs a legacy.

There is little need to weigh in on what constitutes an “assault rifle”.  Progressives love this description.  It is easy to say, catchy and takes little room on a printed page.  To folks who know very little about anything, they are typically black, polymer stocked and semi-automatic in operation.  They may be green, camo or brown, are usually compact and have far too many buttons, levers and rails for the numb minds of those who hate them to operate.  They come in a wide range of weights and calibers.  The incredibly successful 10-22 from Ruger, with it’s rotary magazine and self loading action, qualifies.  Folks who rail against black rifles remind me of people who come home and kick the dog because they had a flat on the way home.  The dog didn’t cause the flat and black rifles are not fueling homicidal rage…..

During the Vietnam War, the Viet-Cong and North Vietnamese Army or NVA, placed a bounty on our most prolific sniper, Gunnery Sergeant Carlos Hathcock, also known as “White Feather” to the bad guys, so named because he was fond of keeping a white feather in his bush hat brim.  The bounty, $30,000.00 U.S., was exceedingly high for the bad guys. Sgt Hathcock, had 93 confirmed kills as a sniper and as many as 300 unconfirmed kills, the difference being in the documentation of each kill.  The Gunny was a native of Arkansas and learned  to hunt and shoot with a JC Higgins .22 while visiting relatives in Mississippi.  Folks, he was good…….and was never fond of the killing part of his job.  His motivations centered around keeping his fellow Marines alive and matching wits with his opponents in this deadly business.  His rifle of choice?  The venerable Model 70 Winchester, of which hundreds of thousands have been sold as a sporting arm world wide.  It had a heavy barrel and he relied on match grade ammunition to deliver the accuracy inherent to his trade. The Viet-Cong did not place a bounty on his rifle…….rather the man behind the rifle.  To them, it wasn’t “gun control” …….and these were folks who ran around toting Ak-47s and wearing tire tread sandals.  They understood that if you incapacitated the shooter, the rifle mattered not.  We can learn from them.  

Sgt, Carlos Hathcock and his Model 70 Winchester rifle

Ernest Hemingway wrote, “Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and like it, never care for anything else thereafter.”  The point is, firearms are cold, tangible pieces of equipment and people are not.  This makes them logical targets for those who do not care to be bothered by the tedious task of fathoming the motivations and psychology of killers.  The mass murderers we have seen over the past few years are sick, deranged folks who thrive in an open democracy like ours.  Their motivations vary dramatically and they are exceedingly difficult to ferret out before their sprees.

The Viet-Cong got it.  Put the emphasis on the shooter, not the gun.

(Tomorrow, I tackle the gun industry in a piece titled “Don’t Feed The Bears”)

 

 

 

My folks are buried in the National Cemetary in Florence, South Carolina, a city that does not take for granted the service of military veterans.  To this end they have created a Veteran’s Park, a beautiful walk through reminder of the incredible sacrifices made in the protection of America.  This photo is of a simple monument, in this park, bearing a chunk of concrete removed from the Pentagon after the 9-11 assault on America.  It serves as a sobering reminder that freedom isn’t free and when you are the leader of the free world, you can expect to be challenged.

In the incredible democracy that is America, we elect folks to represent our interests and give them broad lattitude to execute the will of the people.  Such as it is with the President and Congress.  These folks speak for us, no easy task as Americans aren’t mindless sheep, or lemmings on their way to the sea.  This representative form of government works best in a democracy however; is not the exclusive province of democracy, which is my point today.

The Muslim faith is widely touted as a religion of peace. It is comprised of millions of people world wide, and the views of their faith is represented by their numbers who have sworn to destroy America.  It is time we accord them the same level of respect that is accorded our elected leadership.  By respect, I mean the level of respect you accord a rattlesnake or serial killer.  This form of respect has nothing to do with reverence.  Their representatives, the so-called radical Muslims, have marginalized the entire Muslim community.  It is simple, really, the President speaks for us, the radical element of the Muslim  faith speaks for them.  These folks are hell bent on our destruction and you cannot meet this profound antagonism with kindness and understanding.  Until such time as the Muslim faith marginalizes their radical element, they are nothing more than aiding and abetting the activities of their renegade brethren.  History reminds us the price for the attempted destruction of America, by necessity, must be extraordinarily high, evidenced by our response to Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan.  I suspect neither of these countries wants to interfere with our democracy again, as it should be.

This chunk of concrete is a reminder of the intent of the leadership of the Muslim faith, represented by the so called radical element.  As I looked at it, in the bright morning sun, I was again angered by the audacity of these people.  What would Ike, Reagan, Truman or John Kennedy have done?  The question is rhetorical, but you can bet their response would certainly convey the message that we will destroy that which seeks to destroy us.  There must be fight in the big dog……

For me it began on the 23d of June, 1969.  The Kent State shootings were nearly a year away and the country was rocking with protest centered around our military and the war in Vietnam.  I had entered college in Kansas City with aspirations of working in the medical field.  The son of an Army officer, who wore his hair short and respected authority was clearly out of his element.  Patriotism had been pounded into my very being.  It was time for a change, a dramatic change and change I did!

On that warm June day, I checked out of the life I knew and entered the US Army.  I quickly realized that being AROUND the Army, as I had been all of my life, did not equate to being IN the Army.  For the first time in my life, I was in a line that I could not get out of, and my journey began.  When I think back to that day, I stood in a line with 30 or so young men who arrived at this point under a variety of circumstances.  There were draftees, National Guardsmen, and volunteers, with backgrounds as varied as the points on a compass.  We raised our hands, swore allegiance and began the experience that would give us standing to comment on the fortune or misfortune of our country until the day we make the last trip under our country’s flag.  The beginning was marked by the Oath of Enlistment…..the ending, for most, involved clearing your last duty station, a cold beer and  an unbelievable feeling of freedom earned and enjoyed.  For some, the ending was quite different.  Grieving family members and friends, a wonderfully poignant ceremony, and the presentation of the flag that covered the soldiers casket with a short, branch specific speech, acknowledging the appreciation of a grateful nation.At the center of these solemn occasions is the flag.  When you swore allegiance it was the focal point of the ceremony as it is in the ceremony thanking you for your blood in the name of America.  We just celebrated Flag Day, and to those who have served in our Armed Forces, this day is special in ways that many are not fortunate to experience.

Our marked inability to adapt to the new order in 1968 was the catalyst for entry into a great adventure for many young men.  For me, given my background and strong patriotic feelings, it made perfect sense.  I was one of the fortunate many who cleared the base at the end of this journey…….thus avoiding the speech reserved for those who paid in blood.  The 4th of July is bearing down on us…..raise your glass and offer a toast to those who have underwritten America’s birthday.  There will be more oaths of enlistment, blood spilled and offerings of appreciation in our future.The debt to those who have served, and will serve, is enormous.

Leonard was the son of a doctor, born in in 1860 in Winchester, New Hampshire. His father insisted he pursue a medical education and so he did, graduating from Harvard Medical School and entering a surgical residency at Boston City Hospital. He was competent but insubordinate which led to his being booted from the program after repeated warnings to adhere to the training protocol.  This penchant for insubordination and the loathing of established policy became his calling card for his entire career.

Leonard, with his questionable medical credentials, soon entered the Army and where he became enamored with the tactics and excitement of field duty.  He was tough, fearless and still remarkably insubordinate.  He was accepted as a regular officer and given field command responsibilities.  He quickly capitalized on the political aspects of the officer corps in these days and began working his way up the command structure of the Army.  He made many key political friends in Washington and a comparable number of political enemies.  He became fascinated by and very adept at training soldiers, with a keen understanding of the tasks necessary to turn raw recruits into warriors.  While acknowledged as a credible military asset, with a demonstrated capacity for politics, he was viewed as an insubordinate self promoter by his colleagues in the War Department.  Leonard was skillful in the management of his military career and was elevated to the position of Army Chief of Staff.  Such a prestigious appointment required the attention of the President and approval of congress…….no problem for this doctor named Leonard.  Missouri native son, John Pershing, described Leonard as hostile to the Wilson Administration with an inability to control his overwhelming ambition for notoriety.  President Wilson described Leonard as a man of unusual ability who cannot conform to the judgement of those who are superior to him.  Finally, Leonard mounted a campaign for the Presidency in 1920, but was unsuccessful in this, his final endeavor.  He died in 1927 with the concept of ROTC, an efficient National Guard and standing reserve military as his legacy.

So it was that on January 8, 1941 a newly formed military base in central Missouri was named Ft. Leonard Wood.  General Wood was a deeply flawed officer who accomplished many things in his lifetime, rising to the top of the Army hierarchy. The War Department chose Wood over Pershing for the name of this new installation,  an interesting but not surprising choice.  There is a lot of room under the rug for the transgressions of politicians.

Ft. Pershing has a nice ring to it…………

Everything happens fast in a jet fighter that is capable of in excess of 1000 miles per hour and altitudes of 50,000 feet.  The F-18 Hornet can escape the bounds of earth at a incredible 1,000 feet per second, not bad for an aircraft that weighs more than 10 tons, empty.  Around 3 PM, this past Thursday, God welcomed one of his Angels home, Captain Jeff Kuss, 32, a native of Durango, Colorado. Cpt. Kuss is now sitting in a squadron meeting with some of the finest pilot/warriors to ever strap on a fighter in the name of America.  It must be quite a meeting.

The Navy, to the extent they can, will determine what happened as the Captain rotated his Hornet.  All Blue Angel pilots are experienced airmen, super pilots actually, who are among the 65 or so super pilots who apply for a couple of annual vacancies on this team.  The Captain, a veteran of in excess of 175 carrier landings, was one of two solo pilots on this Angel team.  By every account,  Cpt. Kuss was a terrific husband, father, son and Marine.  When he graduated from high school in Durango, Co., he knew he wanted to fly…..and quickly reached the pinnacle of piloting  when he was accepted into the Blue Angels.

The Hornet is said to possess excellent low speed flight characteristics, a lesson in physics that easily exceeds the reasoning ability of most of  us.  When you think about the controlled crash that constitutes putting 10 tons of steel onto a carrier deck, maneuverability is a definite asset.  With this being said, it is still an airplane, and an airplane’s best friend is altitude and airspeed which makes them and their pilots particularly vulnerable when taking off and landing.  This terrible crash, two or so miles from the end of the runway,  provided little in terms of altitude and speed………

Someone, in this horrible moment, took a picture that reminds us of the incredible strength of these exemplary pilots, a picture of the Angel formation flying over the smoke and fire they knew marked the loss of one of their own.  We can only imagine their feelings as they overflew the crash site, still maintaining the integrity of the formation.  It is the risk they accept to be one of America’s finest defenders of all that we hold dear.  Thank you Cpt. Kuss, and may God watch over your family and the Angel extended family.

Things happen fast in a fighter jet. The concept of “fast” we are told, is not a concept that applies in Heaven.  You now have the opportunity to talk flying with those who have gone before you.  You are a Marine, sir, and will quickly adapt……..

It started on a Saturday evening in a small town in South Carolina.  The local constabulary grabbed two young men caught raising hell on the streets, landing these young men in front of a Justice of the Peace who gave them a choice…..the military or a stuffy cell in the local lock-up.  Junior Johnson, as he was known then, chose the military and the country benefitted immensely by this decision.

This photograph of my father, taken just before he shipped out to the Republic Of Korea, says many things.  It reflects a young man who was ideally suited to the rigors and challenges of the US Army.  Rather than blend in he became a leader.  He wears the stripes of a First Sergeant, unusual for such a young trooper, tiger stripes he called them.  Specifically, he was a young Airborne First Sergeant.  I have previously written about his record in Korea where he came home a young battlefield commissioned Lieutenant after earning a handful of decorations for valor.  Behind the boyish countenance in this photograph was a warrior who didn’t understand the concept of fear.  He loved the Army…..and the Army needed folks like him to accomplish it’s mission…..

Our father was taken too soon. Although wounded, earning a Purple Heart and several clusters, our enemies failed to kill this soldier.  From experience, I know that luck is critical to surviving combat…..but survive he did.  Lung cancer, likely acerbated by his smoking, ended his tenure on this earth.  Calculating to the end, when confronted by his eminent demise, he bought a new luxury car and took credit life insurance, knowing full well his exit had been assured by the doctors within just a few months.  His courage was such, that after the very poor prognosis, he personally called each of his pall bearers to be sure they would be available.  He selected his own casket and carefully briefed the funeral director in regard to the full dress uniform he was to be buried in, with a Green Beret near his head.

Our fathers Achilles’ tendon was his regard for the troops he commanded.  He was tough, demanding and mission oriented, but never lost his love for the troops.  When we arrived at Ft. Leonard Wood, where he became the installation operations commander, I can remember him stepping out of the guest house on a sleeting, cold, early March morning to the sound of troops being marched in cadence.  He choked just a little, turned to me and said, “that, son, is the sound of freedom”.

Memorial Day is a day of reflection.  Thanks, dad.  You left one hell of a wake and your family will always be grateful.  Tiger stripes………..

In the end, it is all that is left to memorialize our passage through the world we live in.  For a few generations, there will be  personal things or a document or two in the hands of family members or friends, but over time they lose their significance.  I am speaking of the granite and stone that permanently reflect our very existence.  As a trooper, I was faced with irrational, puzzling and sometimes infuriating behaviors, with the destruction of property or vandalism at the top of my list.

Memorial Day, a day of remembrance originally established to commemorate the bloodiest war in our history, the Civil War, is upon us.  Depraved, simple minded folks, the kind that give mankind a bad name, have chosen this day to vandalize a Vietnam-Nam War Memorial, a memorial to the veterans who have fought in wars dating back to the Revolutionary War and a Civil War National Battlefield where more than 1,000 soldiers died, fighting on both sides of this great conflict.  Rational people, when they consider this aberrant behavior, shake their heads at such conduct, disgusted but resigned to the acceptance of such bone headed behavior by the miscreants who must get something out of their destructive behavior.

What possesses folks to vandalize?  I am not trained in the psychological aspects of vandalism.  I don’t need to be.  Folks that destroy property are simple minded, self loathing cowards who elevate their stature by defacing or destroying the monuments to others.  I am trying to be civil here, but believe me when I tell you how despicable this behavior is to me.  When I walk through a battlefield cemetary, I see more than a name chiseled into stone.  There is a story behind each name, in each mass grave, and each marker that stands against time and the elements to note something or someone who contributed to our great republic.

I have been involved in the rehabilitation of kids who spent an evening or two laughing their way through a nite of “wilding”, driving about and defacing or destroying property.  It was immensely satisfying to watch them wax patrol cars or reset mailbox posts, replete with new mailboxes paid for out of their own pocket.  Interestingly, time has dulled the memories of burglars that I was fortunate enough to grab, but the vandals still resonate in my mind.

Even skulking cowards, under the cover of darkness, enjoy Memorial Day…..but don’t look for them at your barbecue.  They will be sleeping in to be fresh for their late night crawling about, defacing the memories that will become a part of your legacy preserved in stone.