Cemetery Watchmen

 From my friend Helen:

THIS IS TRULY A VERY TRUTHFUL AND HONEST ACCOUNT FROM AN OLD VOLUNTEER MARINE AS HE, WHILE VOLUNTEERING AT A NATIONAL CEMETERY IN OKLAHOMA AND HOW HE HELPED AN 85 YEAR OLD EX MARINE WIFE AS SHE MADE WHAT SHE THOUGHT MAY BE HER LAST TRIP TO THE CEMETERY TO HONOR HER FAMILY MEMBERS FROM HER FATHER, TO HER UNCLE, TO HER HUSBAND AND ALSO TO HER TWO SONS, ALL OF THEM MARINES WHO HAD DIED IN SERVICE TO THIS GREAT NATION OF OURS.   

CEMETERY WATCHMEN   

My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National Cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a "slightly larger" uniform. Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day.

The full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summer time was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.

I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about 4 or 5 bunches as best I could tell.

I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste:

"She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!"  But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.

Kevin would lock the "In" gate and if I could hurry the old lady along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.

I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight:  middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.

"Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?"

She took long enough to answer.

"Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days."

"My pleasure, ma'am." (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.)

She looked again. "Marine, where were you stationed?"

"Vietnam, ma'am.  Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'"

She looked at me closer. "Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can."

I lied a little bigger:  "No hurry, ma'am."

She smiled and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85 years old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time."

"Yes, ma 'am. At your service."

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone.

She murmured something I couldn't quite make out.  The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek.

She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.

She paused for second and more tears flowed.  "Two more, son, and we'll be done."

I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes, ma'am. Take your time."

She looked confused.  "Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way."

I pointed with my chin.  "That way, ma'am."

"Oh!" she chuckled quietly. "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly."

She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970.

She stood there and murmured a few words I couldn't make out and more tears flowed.

"OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home."

"Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?"

She paused.

"Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines."

She stopped.  Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know.  She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.

I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.

"Get to the 'Out' gate quick. I have something I've got to do."

Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us down the service road fast. We beat her.

She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.

  "Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead."

  I humped it across the drive to the other post.

 When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice:

"Tehen Hut!  Present arms!" I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.

  She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most.

  I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

  Instead of "The End," just think of "Taps."

  As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer:

  "Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas.  Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.  Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.  In God We Trust"

  Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!

  If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!

Official White House Terrorist Identification Chart

Michael Ramirez is just excellent...every day (see http://www.investors.com/editorial-cartoons/michael-ramirez/)

Cartoon of the week...

Marine corps Humor

Three men sat stiffly side-by-side on a commercial airliner.

Finally, the man near the window broke the silence."Admiral, United States Navy, retired. Married, two sons, both surgeons."

The man in the aisle seat responded, "Admiral, United States Coast Guard, retired. Married, two sons, both attorneys."

The man in the middle looked at them both with a twinkle in his eye."Master Chief Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marines, retired. Never married, two sons, both Admirals!"

A Great Loss...

With no disrespect intended to the Jackson family, this sure does reveal the shallowness of our value system in this country. This puts things into perspective:

by MIKE aka Mr. Brutally Honest

While the focus today, tomorrow and for the next God-knows-how-many-days will be the death of a pop culture icon; while many will mourn, wail and quite literally make fools of themselves over it and while as many will speak endlessly about it, allow me, if only for a moment, to remind us all that others have died this month; others whose lives were cut short; others who leave behind loved ones and whose families will dearly miss them; families who'll suffer with much more dignity and honor than we'll be exposed to on the tube in the coming days.

Yes... it's true... we've suffered a great loss... but forgive me while I tell you that I'm not talking about the king of pop music.

These American military members died in Iraq this month:

Sergeant Justin J. Duffy
Specialist Christopher M. Kurth
Specialist Charles D. Parrish
Lance Corporal Robert D. Ulmer
Staff Sergeant Edmond L. Lo
Sergeant Joshua W. Soto
Captain Kafele H. Sims
Specialist Chancellor A. Keesling

And these members of our U.S. Armed Forces died in Afghanistan thismonth:

Sergeant Ricky D. Jones
Specialist Rodrigo A. Munguia Rivas
Command Master Chief Petty Officer Jeffrey J. Garber
1st Sergeant John D. Blair
Sergeant Paul G. Smith
Staff Sergeant Joshua Melton
Sergeant 1st Class Kevin A. Dupont
Specialist Jonathan C. O'Neill
Chief Warrant Officer Ricky L. Richardson Jr.
Specialist Eduardo S. Silva
Lance Corporal Joshua R. Whittle
Major Rocco M. Barnes
Major Kevin M. Jenrette
Staff Sergeant John C. Beale
Specialist Jeffrey W. Jordan
Specialist Jarrett P. Griemel
Specialist Roberto A. Hernandez I
Sergeant Jasper K. Obakrairur
Staff Sergeant Jeffrey A. Hall
Private 1st Class Matthew D. Ogden
Private 1st Class Matthew W. Wilson

Let's remember and honor this day those whose deaths are truly impacting.

The Axis of Idiots

From my email ...

It's too bad we don't have folks on Capitol Hill willing to speak out like this. J.D. Pendry is a retired Marine Sergeant Major who writes for Random House. He is eloquent, and as taught by the Marines, he seldom beats around the bush!

---------------------

Jimmy Carter, you are the father of the Islamic Nazi movement. You threw the Shah under the bus, welcomed the Ayatollah home, and then lacked the spine to confront the terrorists when they took our embassy and our people hostage. You're the runner-in-chief.

Bill Clinton, you played ring around the Lewinsky while the terrorists were at war with us. You got us into a fight with them in Somalia and then you ran from it. Your weak-willed responses to the U.S.S. Cole and the First Trade Center Bombing and Our Embassy Bombings emboldened the killers. Each time you failed to respond adequately, they grew bolder, until 9/11/2001.

John Kerry, dishonesty is your most prominent attribute. You lied about American Soldiers in Vietnam. Your military service, like your life, is more fiction than fact. You've accused our military of terrorizing women and children in Iraq . You called Iraq the wrong war, wrong place, wrong time, the same words you used to describe Vietnam. You're a fake. You want to run from Iraq and abandon the Iraqis to murderers just as you did to the Vietnamese. Iraq , like Vietnam , is another war that you were for, before you were against it.

John Murtha, you said our military was broken. You said we can't win militarily in Iraq You accused United States Marines of cold-blooded murder without proof and said we should redeploy to Okinawa . Okinawa, John? And the Democrats call you their military expert! Are you sure you didn't suffer a traumatic brain injury while you were off building your war hero resume? You're a sad, pitiable, and corrupt and washed up politician. You're not a Marine, sir. You wouldn't amount to a good pimple on a real Marine's butt. You're a phony and a disgrace. Run away, John.

Dick Durbin, you accused our Soldiers at Guantanamo of being Nazis, tenders of Soviet style gulags and as bad as the regime of Pol Pot, who murdered two million of his own people after your party abandoned Southeast Asia to the Communists. Now you want to abandon the Iraqis to the same fate. History was not a good teacher for you, was it? Lord help us! See Dick run.

Ted Kennedy, for days on end you held poster-sized pictures from Abu Ghraib in front of any available television camera. Al Jazeera quoted you saying that Iraqi's torture chambers were open under new management. Did you see the news, Teddy? The Islamic Nazis demonstrated another beheading for you. If you truly supported our troops, you'd show the world poster-sized pictures of that atrocity and demand the annihilation of it. Your legislation stripping support from the South Vietnamese led to a communist victory there. You're a bloated, drunken fool bent on repeating the same historical blunder that turned freedom-seeking people over to homicidal, genocidal maniacs. To paraphrase John Murtha, all while sitting on your wide, gin-soaked rear-end in Washington .

Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, Carl Levine, Barbara Boxer, Diane Feinstein, Russ Feingold, Hillary Clinton, Pat Leahy, Barack Obama, Chuck Schumer, the Hollywood Leftist morons, et al, ad nauseam: Every time you stand in front of television cameras and broadcast to the Islamic Nazis that we went to war because our President lied, that the war is wrong and our Soldiers are torturers, that we should leave Iraq, you give the Islamic butchers -the same ones that tortured and mutilated American Soldiers - cause to think that we'll run away again, and all they have to do is hang on a little longer. It is inevitable that we, the infidels, will have to defeat the Islamic jihadists. Better to do it now on their turf, than later on ours after they have gained both strength and momentum.

American news media, the New York Times particularly: Each time you publish stories about national defense secrets and our intelligence gathering methods, you become one united with the sub-human pieces of camel dung that torture and mutilate the bodies of American Soldiers. You can't strike up the courage to publish cartoons, but you can help Al Qaeda destroy my country. Actually, you are more dangerous to us than Al Qaeda is. Think about that each time you face Mecca to admire your Pulitzer. You are America 's 'AXIS OF IDIOTS.’

Your Collective Stupidity will destroy us. Self-serving politics and terrorist-abetting news scoops are more important to you than our national security or the lives of innocent civilians and Soldiers. It bothers you that defending ourselves gets in the way of your elitist sport of politics and your ignorant editorializing. There is as much blood on your hands as is on the hands of murdering terrorists. Don't ever doubt that. Your frolics will only serve to extend this war as they extended Vietnam. If you want our Soldiers home as you claim, knock off the crap and try supporting your country ahead of supporting your silly political aims and aiding our enemies.

Yes, I'm questioning your patriotism. Your loyalty ends with self. I'm also questioning why you're stealing air that decent Americans could be breathing. You don't deserve the protection of our men and women in uniform. You need to run away from this war, this country. Leave the war to the people who have the will to see it through and the country to people who are willing to defend it.

Our country has two enemies: Those who want to destroy us from the outside and those who attempt it from within.

Semper Fi,
J. D. Pendry -Sergeant Major,
USMC, Retired

The Professor

A United States Marine was attending some college courses between assignments. He had completed missions in Iraq and Afghanistan.

One of the courses had a professor who was an avowed atheist and a member of the ACLU. One day the professor shocked the class when he came in he looked to the ceiling and flatly stated, "God, if you are real, then I want you to knock me off this platform. I'll give you exactly 15 minutes."

The lecture room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ten minutes went by and the professor proclaimed, "Here I am, God. I'm still waiting." It got down to the last couple of minutes when the Marine got out of his chair, went up to the professor, and cold-cocked him, knocking him off the platform. The professor was out cold.The Marine went back to his seat and sat there, silently.

The other students were shocked, stunned, and sat there looking on in silence. The professor eventually came to, noticeably shaken, looked at the Marine and asked, "What the heck is the matter with you? Why did you do that?"

The Marine calmly replied, 'God was too busy today protecting American soldiers who are protecting your right to say stupid stuff and act like an idiot. So, He sent me."

And all God's people said -- AMEN!

Who was Kilroy?

In 1946 the American Transit Association, through its radio program, "Speak to America," sponsored a nationwide contest to find the REAL Kilroy, offering a prize of a real trolley car to the person who could prove himself to be the genuine article.

Almost 40 men stepped forward to make that claim, but only James Kilroy from Halifax, Massachusetts had evidence of his identity.

Kilroy was a 46-year old shipyard worker during the war. He worked as a checker at the Fore River Shipyard in Quincy. His job was to go around and check on the number of rivets completed. Riveters were on piecework and got paid by the rivet. Kilroy would count a block of rivets and put a check mark in semi-waxed lumber chalk, so the rivets wouldn't be counted twice.

When Kilroy went off duty, the riveters would erase the mark. Later on, an off-shift inspector would come through and count the rivets a second time, resulting in double pay for the riveters. One day Kilroy's boss called him into his office. The foreman was upset about all the wages being paid to riveters, and asked him to investigate. It was then that he realized what had been going on.The tight spaces he had to crawl into check the rivets didn't lend themselves to lugging around a paint can and brush, so Kilroy decided to stick with the waxy chalk.

He continued to put his check mark on each job he inspected, but added KILROY WAS HERE in king-sized letters next to the check, and eventually added the sketch of the chap with the long nose peering over the fence and that became part of the Kilroy message. Once he did that, the riveters stopped trying to wipe away his marks.


Ordinarily the rivets and chalk marks would have been covered up with paint.
With war on, however, ships were leaving the Quincy Yard so fast that there wasn't time to paint them.

As a result, Kilroy's inspection "trademark" was seen by thousands of servicemen who boarded the troopships the yard produced. His message apparently rang a bell with the servicemen, because they picked it up and spread it all over Europe and the South Pacific. Before the war's end, "Kilroy" had been here, there, and everywhere on the long haul to Berlin and Tokyo.

To the unfortunate troops outbound in those ships, however, he was a complete mystery; all they knew for sure was that some jerk named Kilroy had "been there first." As a joke, U.S. servicemen began placing the graffiti wherever they landed, claiming it was already there when they arrived.

Kilroy became the U.S. super-GI who had always "already been" wherever GIs went. It became a challenge to place the logo in the most unlikely places imaginable (it is said to be atop Mt. Everest, the Statue of Liberty, the underside of the Arch De Triumphe, and even scrawled in the dust on the moon.)

And as the war went on, the legend grew. Underwater demolition teams routinely sneaked ashore on Japanese-held islands in the Pacific to map the terrain for the coming invasions by U.S. troops (and thus, presumably, were the first GI's there). On one occasion, however, they reported seeing enemy troops painting over the Kilroy logo!

In 1945, an outhouse was built for the exclusive use of Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill at the Potsdam conference. The first person inside was Stalin,
who emerged and asked his aide (in Russian), "Who is Kilroy?"

To help prove his authenticity in 1946, James Kilroy brought along officials from the shipyard and some of the riveters. He won the trolley car, which he gave to his nine children as a Christmas gift, and set it up as a playhouse in the Kilroy front yard in Halifax, Massachusetts.

So now You Know!

Letter to the CHP

Two California Highway Patrol Officers were conducting speeding enforcement on I-15, just north of the Marine Corps Air Station at Miramar.

One of the officers was using a hand held radar device to check speeding vehicles approaching the crest of a hill. The officers were suddenly surprised when the radar gun began reading 300 miles per hour. The officer attempted to reset the radar gun, but it would not reset and then turned off.

Just then a deafening roar over the treetops revealed that the radar had in fact locked on to a USMC F/A-18 Hornet which was engaged in a low flying exercise near the location. Back at the CHP Headquarters the Patrol Captain fired off a complaint to the USMC Base Commander.

The reply came back in true USMC style:

"Thank you for your letter. We can now complete the file on this incident.

"You may be interested to know that the tactical computer in the Hornet had detected the presence of, and subsequently locked on to, your hostile radar equipment and automatically sent a jamming signal back to it, which is why it shut down.

"Furthermore, an Air-to-Ground missile aboard the fully armed aircraft had also automatically locked on to your equipment location. Fortunately, the Marine Pilot flying the Hornet recognized the situation for what it was, quickly responded to the missile system alert status and was able to override the automated defense system before the missile was launched to destroy the hostile radar position.

"The pilot also suggests you cover your mouths when cussing at them, since the video systems on these jets are very high tech. Sergeant Johnson, the officer holding the radar gun, should get his dentist to check his left rear molar. It appears the filling is loose. Also, the snap is broken on his holster.

"Thank you for your concern.

"Semper Fi."

Oooraaahhh

It may take you two minutes to read this, but if you don't take the time to read this you may be one of the people that this is talking about.

You stay up for 16 hours.
He stays up for days on end.

You take a warm shower to help you wake up.
He goes days or weeks without running water.

You complain of a 'headache', and call in sick.
He gets shot at as others are hit, and keeps moving forward.

You put on your anti-war/don't support the troops shirt, and go meet up with your friends.
He still fights for your right to wear that shirt.

You make sure you're cell phone is in your pocket.
He clutches the cross hanging on his chain next to his dog tags.

You trash talk about your 'buddies' that aren't with you.
He knows he may not see some of his buddies again.

You walk down the beach, staring at all the pretty girls.
He patrols the streets, searching for insurgents and terrorists.

You complain about how hot it is.
He wears his heavy gear, not daring to take off his helmet to wipe his brow.

You go out to lunch, and complain because the restaurant got your order wrong.
He doesn't get to eat today.

Your maid or Mom makes your bed and washes your clothes.
He wears the same things for weeks, but makes sure his weapons are clean.

You go to the mall and get your hair redone.
He doesn't have time to brush his teeth today.

You're angry because your class ran 5 minutes over.
He's told he will be held over an extra 2 months.

You call your girlfriend and set a date for tonight.
He waits for the mail to see if there is a letter from home.

You hug and kiss your girlfriend, like you do everyday.
He holds his letter close and smells his love's perfume.

You roll your eyes as a baby cries.
He gets a letter with pictures of his new child, and wonders if they'll ever meet.

You crap on your government, and say that war never solves anything.
He sees the innocent tortured and killed by their own people, and remembers why he is fighting.

You hear the slander about the war, and make fun of men like him.
He hears the gunfire, bombs and screams of the wounded.

You see only what the biased media wants you to see.
He sees the broken bodies lying around him.

You're asked to go to the store by your parents. You don't, 'cause you don't feel you want to.
He does exactly what he is told.

You stay at home and watch TV (Colbert, Franken, O'Brien, SNL, MTV and all the rest).
He takes whatever time he's given to call, write home, sleep, and eat.

You crawl into your soft bed, with down pillows, and get comfortable.
He tries to sleep but gets woken by mortars and helicopters all night long.

You sit there and judge him, saying the world is probably a worse place because of men like him.
If only there were more men & women like him.

If you really support your troops, resend this with a 'ooraahhh!!' If you don't support your troops - well, then don't resend, it's not like you know the men and women that are dying to preserve your freedom.

Duty, Honor, Sacrifice.

I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's for a few cold ones. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever -- the heat and humidity at the same level -- both too high.

I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, lookedf actory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed. She had a cane and a sheaf of flowers, about four or five bunches as best I could tell. I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: "She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!"

But for this day my duty was to assist anyone coming in. Kevin would lock the "In" gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make the last half of happy hour at Smokey's. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight; middle-aged man with a small pot-gut and half a limp, in Marine Full Dress Uniform, which had lost its razor crease about 30 minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint. "Ma'am may I assist you in any way?"

She took long enough to answer. "Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days."

"My pleasure Ma'am." Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.

She looked again. "Marine, where were you stationed?"

"Vietnam, Ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71."

She looked at me closer. "Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can."

I lied a little bigger "No hurry, Ma'am."

She smiled, and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85-years old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time."

"Yes, Ma'am. At your service."

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S.Davidson, USMC, France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943. She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman USMC , 1944.

She paused for a second, "Two more, son, and we'll be done."

I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes, Ma'am. Take your time."

She looked confused. "Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way."

I pointed with my chin. "That way, Ma'am."

"Oh!" she chuckled quietly. "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly." She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out. "OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home."

"Yes, Ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk ?"

She paused. "Yes, Donald Davidson was my father; Stephen was my uncle; Stanley was my husband; Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines." She stopped, whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly, and painfully.

I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin waiting by the car. "Get to the "Out"-gate quick. I have something I've got to do."

Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.

"Kevin, stand to attention next to the gate post. Follow my lead." I humped it across the drive to the other post. When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: "Atehen-Hut! Present Haaaarms!"

I have to hand it to Kevin, he never blinked an eye; full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. She drove through that gate with two old worn-out Marines giving her a sendoff she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing Duty, Honor and Sacrifice.I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

May God bless our Troops now more than ever.

The Marine

Dan Rather, Katie Couric, and a tough old U.S. Marine Gunny were all captured by terrorists in Iraq.

The leader of the terrorists told them that he would grant them each one last request before they were beheaded.

Dan Rather said, "Well, I'm a Texan; so I'd like one last bowlful of hot spicy chili.

"The leader nodded to an underling who left and returned with the chili. Rather ate it all and said, "Now I can die content."

Katie Couric said, "I'm a reporter to the end. I want to take out my tape recorder and describe the scene here and what's about to happen. Maybe someday someone will hear it and know that I was on the job till the end."

The leader directed an aide to hand over the tape recorder and Couric dictated some comments. She then said, "Now I can die happy."

The leader turned and said, "And now, Mr. U.S. Marine, what is your final wish?"

"Kick me in the ass," said the Marine.

"What?" asked the leader? "Will you mock us in your last hour?"

"No, I'm not kidding. I want you to kick me in the ass," insisted the Marine.

So the leader shoved him into the open, and kicked him in the ass.

The Marine went sprawling, but rolled to his knees, pulled a 9 mm pistol from inside his cammies, and shot the leader dead.

In the resulting confusion, he jumped to his knapsack, pulled out his M4 carbine and sprayed the Iraqis with gunfire. In a flash, all the Iraqis were either dead or fleeing for their lives.

As the Marine was untying Rather and Couric, they asked him, "Why didn't you just shoot them in the beginning? Why did you ask them to kick you in the ass first?"

"What," replied the Marine, "and have you two assholes report that I was the aggressor?

SEMPER FI

Padres, Midway and scalp pix

We went to the Padres games on Fridaqy, Saturday and Monday nights. Here we are at our seats (section 310, row 4, seats 7-8) on Saturday.



We stayed the weekend at the Omni Hotel right next to Petco Park. We took the Midway aircraft carrier tour on Easter Sunday. Here is the flight deck.

Linda had been on the Midway for a dependents cruise back in 1961 or so. She thinks an F-4 like this was on the ship at the time.

The Midway Museum is great - you can see the crew quarters, the engine rooms, the mess hall, the flight deck, etc. They have docents to tell you about the operations - landing, catapulting, steering, etc. It was excellent.

I had a small piece of my scalp removed on Tuesday - it was a basal cell carcinoma. This is my wound a day later (and before a shower).

Reporter meets General

Marine Corps General Reinwald was interviewed on the radio the other day and you'll love his reply to the lady who interviewed him concerning guns and children. Regardless of how you feel about gun laws you gotta love this!!!! This is one of the best comeback lines of all time.

It is a portion of National Public Radio (NPR) interview between a female broadcaster and US Marine Corps General Reinwald who was about to sponsor a Boy Scout Troop visiting his military installation.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: So, General Reinwald, what things are you going to teach these young boys when they visit your base?

GENERAL REINWALD: We're going to teach them climbing, canoeing, archery, and shooting.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: Shooting! That's a bit irresponsible, isn't it?

GENERAL REINWALD: I don't see why, they'll be properly supervised on the rifle range.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: Don't you admit that this is a terribly dangerous activity to be teaching children?

GENERAL REINWALD: I don't see how. We will be teaching them proper rifle discipline before they even touch a firearm.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: But you're equipping them to become violent killers.

GENERAL REINWALD: Well, Ma'am, you're equipped to be a prostitute, but you're not one, are you?

The radio went silent and the interview ended.You gotta love the Marines! AMERICA, THE HOME OF THE FREE - BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE.