Monday, October 12, 2026
1492 Christopher Columbus's expedition made landfall on a Caribbean island he named San Salvador (likely Watling Island, Bahamas). The explorer believed he had reached East Asia
1972 46 sailors were injured in a race riot on the American aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk
1977 US Supreme Court heard arguments in the "reverse discrimination" case of Allan Bakke, a white student denied admission to the University of California Medical School
2023 Israel said it would not stop the bombardment of Gaza until hostages were released, amid a growing humanitarian crisis with 338,000 displaced and the population without electricity or water
2025 Four people were killed, and at least 20 others were injured, including four critically, in a mass shooting at a crowded bar in Saint Helena Island, South Carolina
A proud old Marine with his trusted guardian at the World War II Memorial
In bed at 9, up before 5; 115/72/63 105 202.6; 62/80/60, cloudy morning, sunny afternoon.
Morning meds at6 a.m. Entresto at 5:45 a.m. and 5:30 .m.
More on the Honor Flight. Here are some photos related to what I reported yesterday.
James and his guardian moving through the honor guard
Among the honor guard, USN Lt., CDR., and Capt.
And members of a bikers club
James, his guardian, and two angels of mercy: one of the docs who cared for him, and Karyn, who cared for all of us and helped me personally with respect to the Arlington gravesite of 'Moon' Mullen.
Where we went, what we saw. Our first stop was the Marine Corps Memorial, which was significant for us 6 Marines on the flight, and especially to me since my father had been one of the 70,000 Marines and Navy corpsmen on that island. From the landing beach where his JASCO comm unit was stationed, my Dad watched the flag being raised. Many years later, after I had left home for college and the Marines, my Dad and Mom visited the Marine Memorial. I have a snapshot of them there, and I can only imagine what thoughts were in their heads, what emotions stirred their hearts, as they stood there. The Memorial is magnificent. I am deeply grateful that, so late in my own life, I finally had the opportunity to stand where my parents once stood, before a monument commemorating an event my father had witnessed with his own eyes.
putting on a tightly choreographed performance of precision drill with their M1 rifles with fixed bayonets.
After that, we drove into the iconic Arlington National Cemetery, which I had also never visited. It is an immense expanse, and we saw only portions of it. I knew two veterans whose gravesites are there: Marine A-4 pilot "Moon" Mullen, who was shot down over Laos in 1966 and whose remains have never been recovered, and "J" Trembley, a Navy bombardier-navigator aboard an A-6, who was shot down over China in 1968. J's remains were identified in 2004 and buried at Arlington in 2005. Moon's gravesite is a memorial, since his remains were never recovered, but his widow, Barbara, is buried there.
As a frequent visitor to Wood National Cemetery in Milwaukee, where the headstones are uniformly arranged and virtually identical, I was surprised by the many private, nonuniform grave markers at Arlington. Their presence reflects the cemetery's evolution over more than 160 years. For much of its history, families were permitted to erect personalized monuments and headstones in certain sections, a practice that has since been substantially restricted.
Our only stop within the cemetery was at the Memorial Amphitheater, about which I wrote yesterday (Dulce et decorum), and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where we witnessed the 2 p.m. ceremonial changing of the guard. I noticed that the sentinels do not use a normal walking or marching stride, but rather take almost mincing steps, something like 'baby steps,' executing a highly controlled drill movement designed for precision, uniformity, and symbolism. The key constraint is that each sentinel must take exactly 21 steps along the black mat before turning. That number symbolizes the 21-gun salute, the highest traditional military honor. They repeat the same 21-step sequence continuously. Everything about the Tomb of the Unknown is appropriately dignified and ceremonial. I fully appreciated that, but confess that I had my usual ornery reaction to seeing military folks acting in an almost robotic style, like mechanical toy soldiers. When I was much younger, I enjoyed the uniform, almost robotic precision of military drills. I loved the precision and ceremony of the Sunset Parade at the Marine Barracks at 8th and I Streets in Washington, but after Vietnam, not so much. Most of the viewing public present for the Changing of the Guard stand or sit on the steps behind the Memorial Amphitheater, facing the Tomb of the Unknown. Andy and I were on the other side of the parade ground with the other guys in wheelchairs.
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After the Changing of the Guard, we were back on the buses and off to the new, beautiful, and very impressive World War II Memorial on the Washington Mall. It commemorates the about 405,000 dead, 671,000 wounded, and roughly 72,000 still unaccounted for in that global war against Fascism. My Dad and all my uncles served during the war: Dad in the Marines, Uncle Jim in the Navy, Uncle Bud in the Army at the Manhattan Project in New Mexico, and Uncle 'Bim' in the Army Air Corps. My Dad was the most injured of all of them, and my mother, my sister, and I lived with the effects of his injuries, uncounted civilian casualties of the war. Dulce et decorum . . . The photo is of Pvt. Charles E. Clausen upon his 'graduation' from the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at San Diego in 1944. Like most veterans of most awful wars (are there any wars that aren't awful?), he almost never spoke of his experiences on Iwo Jima, even with me, another Marine and veteran of yet another war. But I know from the many writings of others some of what he experienced on Iwo, and that it was horrendous and life-altering for him and his family. RIP, Pop.
We spent the next two hours on the Mall, visiting the many memorials located there, with Andy, God bless him, pushing me the whole time over cobblestoned, rough pebbled walkways, and some welcome concrete ones. We first visited the Wall, with its inscribed names of 58,281 who lost their lives in the Vietnam War, including those of Bill 'Moon' Mullen and J. Forrest Trembley. Andy found their names for me. While there, I met Karyn Roelke, who had been so gracious and helpful in trying to determine why Bill Mullen's headstone was not where Arlington's records indicated it should be. Perhaps it had been removed to be modified to reflect the burial of his widow, Barbara, at the same gravesite. Karyn and several others had gone out of their way to accommodate my hope of visiting Bill's grave while we were at Arlington. It was one of countless acts of kindness that I experienced on that day and, in Karyn's case, even before that day. I've often said, and often written, that the world is full of saints and miracles. Karyn is one of them, as are all the volunteers who made the Honor Flights possible for thousands of old veterans. And as are the countless people, including many, many children, who approached me on that day, shook my hand, and thanked me for my service so many years ago. I get a bit teary as I write these words, especially remembering all the elementary and high school kids who were so gracious to this old guy being pushed around in a wheelchair by his son. For a change, words fail me.
During the day, I was asked more than once which stop had been my favorite, or which had moved me the most. I could never pick just one. But if pressed, I suspect I would choose the Vietnam Women's Memorial, which I think of as the Nurses' and Medics' Memorial.
That sculpture, along with the Three Servicemen statue at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and the figures at the Korean War Veterans Memorial, offers realistic, profoundly human depictions of the wars they commemorate. All of them touch my heart, move me, and remind me of the soldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmen who sacrificed so much more than I did in their service.
I've long felt a measure of survivor's guilt when thinking of them. I think of my wife's cousin Michael, and what he and his parents endured because of the injuries he suffered in Vietnam. And I think of the words I've seen on the walls of VFW and American Legion posts around the country: "All gave some, some gave all."
I was especially touched by the collection of bracelets of some sort at the base of the 'Nurses Memorial.' I wasn't sure what they signified, but I wished I had had one to leave there.
The upper photograph is of the Three Servicemen statue at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The three infantrymen represent American servicemen in Vietnam. The figure on the left carries an M60 air-cooled machine gun, the man in the middle a .45-caliber pistol, and the figure on the right an M16 rifle.
When I served in Vietnam in 1965–1966, we Marines were still wearing heavy, Korean War-era utility uniforms and heavy leather combat boots. Our standard rifle was the M14, which was subsequently replaced by the M16, beginning on a large scale in the Marine Corps in 1967.
In the lower photograph, taken at the Korean War Veterans Memorial, the many figures appear almost ghostlike, all wearing ponchos that afforded some protection from the elements, but none from bullets or high explosives.
The sight brought to mind the Marines who fought their way north to the "Frozen Chosin" Reservoir, near the Chinese border, and then fought their way back south when some 120,000 Chinese troops attacked and surrounded the American forces. The Marines suffered more than 4,000 battle casualties and more than 7,000 additional casualties from the brutal cold.
The Korean War has largely faded from the consciousness of most Americans, but not from that of Marines, at least those with some knowledge of their Corps' history. I was deeply moved by this memorial.
Before we arrived at the Mall, we visited a memorial I hadn't even known existed: the National 9/11 Pentagon Memorial. It commemorates the 184 people who died there at 9:37 a.m. on September 11, 2001, when al-Qaeda terrorists crashed American Airlines Flight 77 into the western side of the Pentagon.
The victims included 125 people working inside the building and 59 passengers and crew aboard the aircraft. Their names are inscribed on 184 cantilevered benches, each positioned above a small reflecting pool. The benches are arranged so that visitors reading the names of those killed inside the Pentagon face the building, while those reading the names of the aircraft's victims face the direction from which the plane approached.
It is a strangely beautiful place, at once serene and deeply moving. I was surprised, and a little embarrassed, that I hadn't even known it existed.
As the day drew to a close, we had time for one final stop, with a choice between the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial and the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. Andy and I chose Dr. King's memorial because he had been such a powerful influence in my life and remains one of my great heroes.
It is a powerful but austere memorial, and I confess that I'm not particularly fond of it. I especially dislike the way Dr. King is depicted. Although he was hated, reviled, and persecuted by many throughout his public life, he was animated by love for people, all people, and I can find little of that love reflected in his face carved in stone.
Nevertheless, I am deeply grateful to have had the opportunity to visit this national memorial to a giant in American history, and an American martyr to the causes of justice, fairness, and human dignity.
At the end of this busy day, we boarded our buses and headed back to Dulles International Airport for the flight home. Our departure was delayed by a mechanical problem with the aircraft, but we finally took off at 11:15 p.m. and were back at Mitchell Field by midnight, where I was once again overwhelmed by the reception awaiting us, including my beloved wife, who was there in the terminal to welcome us home.
But I must mention one more extraordinary act of kindness we experienced at Dulles as we waited for our aircraft to be ready for departure. The Stars and Stripes volunteers held a "mail call," reminiscent of those we had experienced during our military service, when letters from home were eagerly awaited and treasured.
I was very tired by then, having been up since 4 a.m. and having gone without a nap for perhaps the first time in the nearly twenty years since I retired. So I left my large mail call envelope unopened until I got home. Most of the other veterans opened theirs while we waited in the terminal, and I could see how engrossed they were in what they found inside.
And these really were letters from home, from family members and friends expressing warm and loving thoughts.
When I finally opened my envelope, I discovered letters from my wife, my son, my daughter, my daughter-in-law, my grandchildren, my oldest pal (another Marine), and 31 letters from members of the We the People Club at Wauwatosa West High School.
Each was a love letter, and each tugged at my heart.
I had been moved to the verge of tears so many times throughout the day, and now, once again, as I sat at home reading those letters.
Yesterday, when I began writing these reflections on my Stars and Stripes Honor Flight, I wrote that although I had believed in the rightness of American involvement in Vietnam's civil war when I went there in 1965, I soon came to regret both the war and my participation in it. I came to believe that the war was unjust, unwise, and at least semi-fraudulent, and that those of us who participated in it did not deserve grand celebrations upon our return home.
I also wrote that I rejected the maxim inscribed above the entrance to the Memorial Amphitheater at Arlington, Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, and that my feelings about Vietnam and America's involvement in other unworthy military adventures "colored my whole experience of yesterday's Honor Flight."
All of that remains true, or I wouldn't have written it. But I also recognize that wars are not started because soldiers and Marines want them. It is not those who are called upon to fight wars who bear primary responsibility for them, but the political leaders and policymakers in national capitals, including Washington, who send them off to fight.
It was these conflicting thoughts that left me feeling somewhat sheepish and humbled about being honored on the Honor Flight, and unworthy of the countless expressions of respect, affection, and gratitude I received throughout the day.
Having acknowledged all that, however, what remains with me at the end of this extraordinary experience is a profound sense of gratitude to everyone who made it possible, from the remarkable Stars and Stripes volunteers to the countless individuals who shook my hand and warmly thanked me for my service.
Even now, as I type these words, I am almost overwhelmed by the memory of it all, overwhelmed and profoundly thankful to every one of them.
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