One Who Made the Ultimate Sacrifice is Coming Home Today

A fallen soldier, a young man from my hometown is coming home today. Last night I found a post in my Facebook news feed regarding the young man’s arrival from Lambert Field. He will be brought by hearse to the local funeral home. The post invited everyone to line the route with American flags and give this young man the commemorative honor he deserves.

I think this is so wonderful, what we do to support the families of our troops and to remind ourselves of the importance of our soldiers in the world constantly protecting us sometimes at the ultimate price. It gives me cold chills and reminds me once again of how fortunate I have been with my own family members.

Of course there are always those who do not seem to understand. There was a comment on last night’s post from someone who said she could not make the event because she would be on another street. Ours is a small Missouri town and the street she referenced is only a few blocks away from the designated route. I read that and thought it a ridiculous excuse. If you cannot or will not go, do not draw attention to yourself with such a ludicrous/lame statement.

Then there are the crazies from the Baptist Church in Kansas. I have heard no rumblings that they will be here. Probably because of the distance and not enough media audience, whatever the reason I do not want them here. I recognize that our freedom means they can protest whatever they want. However, I would think simple human decency would prevent them, they call themselves Christians, from doing what they do. I often wonder how they would like it if we protested the funeral of one of their children with signs that said things like: “He deserved to die!” They would probably think we were unconscionable, inappropriate, and cruel, hmmm.

Let us pay our respects to our fallen when it is necessary, support our injured at every opportunity, give flowers (figuratively speaking) to those who serve, have served, our nation, and in this month of remembrance and gratitude leading up to the celebration of our independence, let us remember how fortunate we are.

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

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911 CHANGED US ALL

I am confident that there is no American, of a sufficient age, who does not remember what they were doing on the morning of September 11, 2001. I departed Lambert St. Louis airport that morning enroute to Cape Town South Africa. My flight was nonstop to Atlanta where I was to meet an associate and fly together to Cape Town. My plane landed in Atlanta at the same time as the first plane impacted the first tower in New York.

At the gate and in the concourse I neither saw nor heard anything, the news was still not out. In the South African Air lounge I settled in with a cup of rich black coffee to watch the news. As I sat down I saw the second plane crash into the second tower live on CNN. I frantically tried to call home, but it was too late all of the phone lines were busy. My experience of being deserted on an urban island began.

My friend arrived from Detroit, I filled him in and we watched in horror as the events of the day played out before our eyes. Within hours the airport was closed, our luggage was already in the belly of our departing aircraft, where we were informed it would stay, and we were on our own. Outside the terminal it was a mad house; not a single taxi was available. With the help of a couple of Ben Franklins we commandeered a limo and made our way to a restaurant somewhere between the airport and downtown Atlanta. We discussed our options over a half-hearted lunch and finally decided to try and wait out the air travel shut down. We located a hotel and with only our carry-on’s, we checked in.

The next couple of days were identical. We met early for breakfast, discussed our options, watched the news in the bar until noon, ate lunch, and discussed our options. We spent the afternoon and evening in exactly the same pattern. We never ventured out of the hotel. We called rental car companies to check car availability and we waited. Finally on Thursday morning the news came through that the airport would likely open that day. We hurriedly packed, checked out, and shuttled directly to the airport. We arrived to find yellow crime scene tape still sealing the doors in giant X’s. Through the glass we saw encouraging activity inside. We pulled the tape down and the airport was officially open.

After several stages of unusual activity we boarded our scheduled flight to Cape Town and departed Atlanta. Ours was the first commercial flight to leave the continental United States. By the time we reached the African continent we were informed that our plane was being diverted to Johannesburg. We never did find out why.

We spent ten days in Africa. There were plenty of questions regarding what we had seen and how it made us feel. In retrospect the whole trip to Africa feels surreal and I recall the conversations as more polite than probing.

We returned to the United States on schedule. I remember the news regarding our campaign to find the perpetrators, the Dow Jones’ devastated stock values, and the ghost town, which was the Atlanta airport.

I thought a lot about what I would do when I returned home. I considered how I might make a difference. Admittedly, the fact that I am a Missourian from a small town played greatly in my thought process. “After all,” I considered, “how can I possibly make a difference?” When I arrived from the St. Louis airport I went straight to my place of business where an employee meeting had been organized at my request. I announced additions to our benefits program and vacation packages. I told everyone that we must stick together and look to the future. I reminded them that we are Americans and above all we survive and prosper. I am sure I used the word persevere.

Later I learned what else I could do when my brother, son, and nephew were all sent to the Iraqi battlefield.

911 changed me, I remember it well. We are Americans, we are free, and we do have a responsibility to protect ourselves and our country. In the face of our enemies, both foreign and domestic, we must not allow them to negatively affect our financial markets, hamper our trade, or change our society. We must not allow them to send us frightened to cover.

Together we must preserver!

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

Elizabeth’s Secrets http://amzn.to/IoXLgD
Dark Star http://amzn.to/KsXYOr

THERE WERE SEVEN DEPLOYMENTS; WHAT WAS I THINKING?

In my blog entry last Wednesday, “Our Veterans Stories, Our Span of Wars,” I wrote about the deployment of my immediate family members. However, I goofed. I failed miserably because I excluded a very significant family member and his service. My nephew, actually my favorite nephew (as he aptly programmed his contact information in my cell phone and I happen to agree) deployed to the Middle East where he flew numerous helicopter missions as Pilot in Command of an Army gun ship. My omission of this information in my original post was one of those things you do without realizing what you have done and when you finally remember, you feel awful. Well, I officially feel awful.

My nephew is truly a special person in my life. I was eighteen when he was born. He was my parent’s first grandchild. He is a handsome, intelligent individual with beautiful, bright children of his own and excellent parenting skills. Off and on over the years we have spent good amounts of time together. When he was a baby and I lived in the University dormitory he came to stay occasionally. We always had a great time and in many ways we grew up together. I watched him become the man he is today and wow am I proud of that.

When he returned from deployment he brought home an American flag, with which he flew a mission, and gave it to me. I keep it at home in my library and count it among my most cherished possessions. Like my father, son, and brother, I am proud of my nephew’s willingness to risk his life in the service of our country. He came home safely and I thank God every day that he is in my life.

I regret having omitted such an important person in my original post. I liken it to leaving your child behind at a gas station. Today I carry the burden of bad uncle and will work hard to do better in the future. In addition I have many other extended family members who served our country. Uncles and cousins on both sides of my family did their duty. I am and shall always remain proud of them all.

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

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MY SON, MY HERO

Tomorrow is a very special day. Tomorrow, June 1, 2013, marks my only son’s thirty-sixth birthday. Sometimes I joke that the day he was born was the worst day of my life. I say that because there were some delivery complications and I waited for some number of hours frightened of the outcome. The fact is it was the best day of my life. He fills in all the little spaces that I cannot. He is there when I need him and he needs me. I like that!

At twenty one he decided to join the army. I drove to Fort Sill, Oklahoma to watch him graduate basic training, which was an eye opener for me. There were plenty of parents there, together we watched our children march in formation, do coordinated calisthenics, and stand at attention. Practically without exception I saw the young people divert their eyes and glance at the smiling faces of their proud parents. I say virtually without exception because my son never looked my way, not once. His was a face of absolute concentration, a resolute focus that convinced me he would excel at whatever he undertook. His was the face of a man on a mission.

Within months he was invited to go through Selection. This is the Army’s thirty-nine day process of assessing who has the best chance of becoming a member of the Special Forces. Only three percent of those invited to Selection become Green Berets. This program defines and recognizes the best of the best. My son is one of the three percent.

He did his duty in Iraq twice, seven months each time. He overcame hardship, worked hard, and along with his small team accomplished his mission. He returned home safe and unharmed. Sometimes I think he leads a charmed life. He was in many situations, like an IED exploding under the Humvee he was riding in, where others were hurt, but he was not.

If there is any fear in my son, it never shows. He is kind, generous, and compassionate. He has an incredible intellect and an ability to see the world and its machines as they really are. I often wonder if I have made my mark in life. It occurs to me that my son is my legacy. He is the best of me without the worst. He carries my name and continually makes me proud. If people do remember me, it will be as his father.

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

Elizabeth’s Secrets http://amzn.to/IoXLgD
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HEROES AMONG US

Yesterday I wrote about Memorial Day, our veterans and my family. The piece was well received by many of you and in keeping with the season, the weeks between Memorial Day and Independence Day, I would like to continue with this theme. As I mentioned, my older brother served in Viet Nam, Desert Storm, and Desert Shield.

Recently I was cleaning out some files and I found something I wrote in March 1991.

HEROES

When first he went, it was 1970, I was sixteen years old. I knew where he was going and I had a vague idea of what he might be doing, but I certainly did not understand why my brother had to go.

He went with many other young American soldiers to Southeast Asia to fight a war that no one really understood. It was on every newscast, not the 24 hour news cycle we have today, but still it was a lot of information. Yet, no one understood. Without question he proudly did his duty.

Thank God he came home alive, but he was no hero. There were no heroes in 1971. Our dead exceeded 57,000 and our casualties filled military hospitals across this great nation while society turned its back and pretended innocence. Many of those brave men and women who returned often wished they too had died and still we turned our backs.

Twenty years passed and in those people, who came to be my personal heroes, I found strength and valor that I might not have otherwise discovered.

This time when he was called I was thirty six. I knew where they were going and I knew why. They were on their way to the Middle East to protect our shrinking world from a powerful tyrant.

At first I was angry, angry because he had volunteered, angry because he was risking a life that is very dear to me. My anger was followed by an acute feeling of helplessness. In this situation I would have no control.

The day he left I stood in the soft grass on a little knoll for a better view of a man who sees inside my soul. His helicopter was fifth from the end. As they lifted, hovered, and then turned in formation cold rain and warm tears stung my cheeks. I was filled with pride, fear, and hope. Hope for the life of my brother and his friends, fear of the unknown, and pride in those inspiring souls and this wonderful country.

Now they are again coming home. This time there are few injured and fewer dead. I was proud the last time and now I am prouder still. We are all Americans and they are all my brothers. This time they are coming home heroes and with them they bring peace and hope.

Paul D. Alexander
March 4, 1991

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

Elizabeth’s Secrets http://amzn.to/IoXLgD
Dark Star http://amzn.to/KsXYOr

Our Veterans' Stories, Our Span of Wars

I was born between wars. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday in February 1972. The timing was such that the draft was abolished and I missed the military and the Vietnam War by weeks. My mother was pleased; my brother spent a year in Vietnam during 1969 and 1970 and she had enough. She insisted her second son not go to war.

My brother survived, he came home with a heavy heart, but he survived. Later he flew –med-evac helicopters in Desert Storm and Desert Shield. My mother did not like it, but she kept her mouth shut. My dad spent the last part of World War II in Japan, but that was before he met my mother. Since I have never been to war I cannot say how difficult it must be. I know it must be almost overwhelming. However, I do know from very personal experience how hard it is to be the one to not go. To be like my poor mother, home waiting, wondering and praying.

My son was a Green Beret; he did two tours in Iraq. Because he was in Special Forces he had access to satellite phones and computers, overall his ability to communicate with me was extraordinary. Still, the only peace I had during that total of seven months was in those telephone or Skype conversations. The rest of the time I held my breath. Like my mother I waited and prayed, all white knuckled.

If you have done the math you see that my immediate family has deployed a total of six times. Maybe it does not seem like a lot to the casual observer, but for me, the guy waiting at home, it was six eternities and a history lesson.

We celebrated Memorial Day this week. Many did so at the end of a ski rope or a barbeque fork, but there are still too many U.S. soldiers deployed around the world continuously paying our price for freedom. They may have celebrated, but they did so with one eye on the horizon and the other on the trigger.

I salute those brave men and women who have served and protect us still. I bow before those at home who wait and support our soldiers and their service. Memorial Day is a time for us to remember the high cost of liberty and democracy. Whether we are at home or deployed, in our hearts and minds we all pay a price.
Make an effort to thank every veteran you meet, hear their stories, and remember what you are told because it is our history, our history of peace.

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

Elizabeth’s Secrets http://amzn.to/IoXLgD
Dark Star http://amzn.to/KsXYOr

Indy Books, The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

There are those who look down upon Independent authors and their books. They probably do so because their perception of the quality of those books, and the writing, is poor. If and when they do read an Indy book they are probably more critical of the grammar, composition, and spelling, right along with storylines and characterizations.

It is true that traditionally published authors have more people behind them proofing, editing, reviewing, and generally ensuring the quality of the books. That does not mean they do not make mistakes, you can find a few in virtually every book in print. Indy authors can also have the same kind of support if they are willing to pay or if their circle of friends, who are willing to work for free, have the kind of expertise necessary.

Bestselling Traditional authors can bend the rules of grammar and composition, invent new words and new spellings, and be perceived as unique for their “style.” When an Indy author bends the rules he/she is typically seen as substandard, sophomoric, or just plain bad.

Indy authors write great stories, not every single one, but a substantial number. When an Indy author writes a bad book the only way to recover is to start over, from scratch. Traditional authors write bad books and sometimes fail miserably, but somehow we forgive the exceptions and look forward to the next page turner. Traditionally published books are not always great, neither are independently published books. However, there are many books out there in both categories that are fantastic.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, or its publisher. Read samples of books online before you buy. Decide for yourself if you like the work based upon the merit and ability of the author. If you like the book, buy it!

Our world cultures all depend upon the written word for our tactile foundations of understanding. We can all do our part to maintain the word’s significance in our lives and in the lives of generations yet to be born. Read more, read well, it can be a brand new world.

Your comments and questions are always welcome.

Elizabeth’s Secrets http://amzn.to/IoXLgD
Dark Star http://amzn.to/KsXYOr