A War Memorial: Of Note But Seldom Seen

I thought readers of this blog would like seeing this war memorial that doesn't get nearly as much attention as many but should. It is on Amelia Island near Jacksonville, FL, (Nassau County).
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Carolyn Howard-Johnson wrote the foreword for Eric Dinyer's book of patriotic quotations, Support Our Troops, published by Andrews McMeel. Part of the proceeds for the book benefit Fisher House. Her chapbook of poetry won the Military Writers Society of America's award of excellence.

Mr. Rogers, Captain Kangaroo and a Little Thank You

This was sent to me in one of those round-robin e-mails by my daughter, mother of my grandson serving in Iraq. I can't credit it because the author was not given; you know how these webletters are! Somehow, I don't think that the author will mind being an anonymous writer this once, as long as it is getting the message out. In fact, in one of those tags at the end of the piece, he or she actually invites people to pass it on. I'm just doing what I'm told. I figure the message is worth it.

> Captain Kangaroo passed away on January 23, 2004 at age 76 , which isn't odd, because he always looked to be 76. (DOB: 6/27/27 ) His death reminded me of the following story.
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> Some people have been a bit offended that the actor, Lee Marvin, is buried in a grave alongside 3- and 4-star generals at Arlington National Cemetery His marker gives his name, rank (PVT) and service (USMC). Nothing else. Here's&nb sp;a guy who was only a famous movie star who served his time, why the heck does he rate burial with these guys? Well, following is the amazing answer:
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> I always liked Lee Marvin, but didn't know the extent of his Corps experiences.

> In a time when many Hollywood stars served their country in the armed forces often in rear echelon posts where they were carefully protected, only to be trotted out to perform for the cameras in war bond promotions, Lee Marvin was a genuine hero. He won the Navy Cross at Iwo Jima There is only one higher Naval award... the Medal Of Honor!
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> If that is a surprising comment on the true character of the man, he credits his sergeant with an even greater show of bravery.
>
> Dialog from 'The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson':

His guest was Lee Marvin Johnny said, 'Lee, I'll bet a lot of people are unaware that you were a Marine in the initial landing at Iwo Jima ...and that during the course of that action you earned the Navy Cross and were severely wounded.'
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> [he said,]'Yeah, yeah... I got shot square in the bottom and they gave me the Cross for securing a hot spot about halfway up Suribachi. Bad thing about getting shot up on a mountain is guys getting' shot hauling you down. But, Johnny, at Iwo I served under the bravest man I ever knew... We both got the Cross the same day, but what he did for his Cross made mine look cheap in comparison. That dumb guy actually stood up on Red beach and directed his troops to move forward and get the hell off the beach. Bullets flying by, with mortar rounds landing everywhere and he stood
there as the main target of gunfire so that he could get his men to safety. He did this on more than one occasion because his men's safety was more important than his own life. That Sergeant and I have been lifelong friends. When they brought me off Suribachi we passed the Sergeant and he lit a smoke and passed it to me, lying on my
belly on the litter and said, 'Where'd they get youLee?'

'Well Bob... if you make it home before me, tell Mom to sell the outhouse!' Johnny, I'm not lying, Sergeant Keeshan was the bravest man I ever knew. The Sergeant's name is Bob Keeshan. You and the world know him as Captain Kangaroo.'
>
>On another note, there was this wimpy little manwho just passed away) on PBS, gentle and quiet. Mr. Rogers is another of those you would least suspect of being anything but what he now portrays to our youth. But Mr. Rogers was a U.S. Navy Seal,combat-proven in Vietnam with over twenty-five confirmed kills to his name. He wore a long-sleeved sweater on TV, to cover the many tattoos on his forearm and biceps. He was a master in small arms and hand-to-hand combat, able to disarm or kill in a heartbeat.
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>After the war Mr. Rogers became an ordained Presbyterian minister and therefore a pacifist. Vowing to never harm another human and also dedicating the rest of his life to trying to help lead children on the right path in life. He hid away the tattoos and his past life and won our hearts with his quiet wit and charm.
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> America's real heroes don't flaunt what they did; they quietly go about their day-to-day lives, doing what they do best. They earned our respect and the freedoms that we all enjoy. Look around and see if you can find one of those heroes in your midst. Often, they are the ones you'd least suspect, but would most like to have on your side if anything ever happened.
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>Take the time to thank anyone that has fought for our freedom. With encouragement they could be the next Captain Kangaroo or Mr. Rogers

So! Thank you, Mr. or Ms. Anonymous. I'm taking the time to thank you.
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Carolyn Howard-Johnson wrote the foreword for Eric Dinyer's book of patriotic quotations, Support Our Troops, published by Andrews McMeel. Part of the proceeds for the book benefit Fisher House. Her chapbook of poetry won the Military Writers Society of America's award of excellence.

Holiday Wishes: Hang in There for the Viet War Memorial (-:

I want to send my blog visitors holiday wishes!

I'm including a Christmas prose poem, which means that even those of you who may not be much for poetry should find it accessible. Even those of you who don't celebrate Christmas may find its message of peace pertinent. It is my take on what would happen if the creche the city fathers and mothers of Malibu place on the cliffside overlooking the Pacific came to life, started a pilgrimage and ended up at the Viet Warm Memorial.

Out of Malibu: America's Fulfillment of Prophecy

Prophecy: "Yet out of you shall come forth to Me
the one to be ruler in Israel,
Whose goings forth are from of old,
From everlasting."


Malibu celebrates the young son's birthday. Every November the city installs a family of balsa on this bluff in a lean-to, here where they would feel at home -- if they could feel. Sunshine. familiar palms. A sea like Sinai's. Unintended, they become graven images, feet statue-still. Once they were folk, now they're revered, waiting, waiting for a miracle to come. Their design never to be worshipped, they ask this night of nights for compassion. And, lo! A birthday gift in this new age. A white star in LA's skies, usually seen dim through Pacific's fog, now a silver sequin. Their feet quicken from carvings to flesh, their robes soften, the child's skin now luminescent wears still a circlet of strawflowers placed on his head by Our Lady of Malibu's first grade class. The choice to stay or go away now theirs, they leave behind those who thought they loved them but imposed burdens beyond endurance. They travel interstate byroads at night when they will not frighten other sojourners, they -- homeless, shoeless, unfamiliar robes, faces still immobile from decades practicing the art of crèche. Now, in mountain blizzard -- unlike weather they had ever known -- a new kind of pageant, idols unnoticed in the snow. A trek, an adventure, a calling! As Chaucer's pilgrims sought redemption, they trudge East. The babe burrows for warmth beneath its father's robes. Here an arch marks a river, mighty as any they had seen, this monster land, roads like veins, Mapquest's blue design. Unlike worshippers, they follow no light but their own, come upon an open swath, Washington's obelisk, rotunda like Rome's, somehow their kin, erected for the ages. Beneath their feet the Post, sodden, headline bawls War. Fine drizzle diffused by starlight they stand before another, newer wailing wall, a granite gash. This, this! their destination. Rain turns to doilies (as this small tribe turned from human tissue to wood and back again), decorates their cloaks, caps, hoods, slides down the polished façade before them. Wet-white punctuations attach themselves to incised names on this family’s own reflected images. The infant reaches out his hand to quench the flow.
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Carolyn Howard-Johnson is the author of a chapbook of poetry, Tracings, published by Finishing Line Press, available on Amazon. It was named to the Compulsive Readers Top Ten Reads list and was honored for excellence by the Military Writers' Society of America.