The following was written by a friend who was there in war. And there. And there. Long time military man, a Colonel, USAF. Now a grand elder. More about who he is really is, at bottom of page.
“The Fourth does bring back some pretty strong memories as I’m sure it does for all of us.
Flying a Four Ship, Missing Man Formation over the Clark AB Parade Field in F-4s on POW/MIA Recognition Day, arriving at the correct moment to fly over the parade right on time and see Ship #3 pull up sharply out of formation right at the middle of the parade ground leaving the empty slot right ahead of me as we continued on, recognizing that some of our comrades to arms were missing.
Walking to work at DaNang AB, Vietnam, when a Jolly Green Giant Rescue Helicopter came down the runway at pattern altitude with two Sandys (A1E Skyraider fighters) flying in a vee on his right and left, and the PJs (Pararescue Jumpers) trailing red white and blue smoke flares out the side doors of the helicopter, then the A1Es peeling off to the left and right as the chopper broke off to land. That smoke meant “We got him!” They’d rescued a downed fighter pilot up North and got him out alive.
A few months later, my family and I went to a 4th Of July Memorial service on the parade grounds in front of the Hickam AFB, Hawaii, water tower that is so beautiful and was shot up by the Japanese on December 7, 1941, thinking it was a religious shrine. They had all the military chapel choirs on Oahu combined to sing, and when they sang America, I was pouring the tears.
Then there’s the day I went with my wife and son to see the Traveling Vietnam Wall, and totally lost it for a while as soon as I stepped on the grass, boohooing like a baby, another experience that comes to mind when I get to Independence Day. I was in full uniform and draped over the hood of a pickup truck trying to get myself composed. I felt a rough old arm around my shoulders, looked up to see a smiling, grizzled, withered-faced guy with big beard, pony tail, and Harley Davidson motorcycle leathers.
He said, “Come on Colonel, let’s go out and let you visit with the boys,” and, arm around me, he escorted me out into the center of the field, facing the wall, and left me alone for a while. I got myself together and joined him, my wife and son, and others and learned how to look up my fallen friends on the wall.
Turns out my angel that day was a retired Navy Master Chief, beard, ponytail and all, and a member of Rolling Thunder, a marvelous group of Patriots and Veterans who do so much for Veteran causes, many of them veterans themselves. My opinion of motorcyclists went skyhigh after that.
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CODA
Col. Curt, USAF (ret.) is a strapping, tall man with decades of military experience, who sits next to me at BSA SN Disctrict Commissioners’ meetings. I am the chaplain and writer of protocols… and he is, well, he’s The Colonel. He scours the jillions of pages of BSA documentation to help young men succeed. As in the Air Force, where he was for many years a commander of bases, pilot of planes, strategist for troops, he does the same now, only differently.
BSA, SN District, means Boy Scouts of America, Special Needs District. This warrior, the Colonel, has dedicated his retirement years, not to the fastest, most hale, conditioned young men, but to those who have special needs for accommodation, for adaptations to help them show their stuff. Young men who are deaf, blind, without legs, having emotional and intellectual limitations, cant speak, but can think well; have closed head injuries. Col. Curt is tireless, and only took a break recently when his boy, age 17 and a exceptionally smart student at school, had a surgery
… well here, let the Colonel tell you about his son’s surgery… “The left leg had gotten to the point it caved into the right knee. The surgery had the result of straightening and rotating his left femur and rotating his left tibia. He’ll be able to walk better with his crutches: not in the S-curve, scolosis position of about 3 years ago. Keep in mind that both legs are very weak and still mending, as they cut through the leg bones… yet you can see these incredible differences. It’s a “Praise The Lord” moment!”
Col. Curt’s boy has cerebral palsy. Right before this surgery, the boy and his dad biked the Rockies on a tandem bike, his son’s feet taped to the pedals. Col Curt was the lead leg man. His boy flew the flag of joy.
Have a safe– and joyous– 4th of July.