In Remembrance

It will come as a shock to the 97% of Americans who never, ever served in its armed forces (but probably not so much to any readers of this blog) but today was not instituted to get you an excuse to BBQ, drink beer, or get great deals on linens and TVs.

It was originally "Decoration Day", the day to go and decorate the graves of the honored dead who fell in military service to this country. Don't thank me, or anyone else you meet who served, for our service today. Because we're not dead. So this isn't our day.

It's the day for people you probably never met, nor ever will, because they gave up all of their tomorrows, so you could enjoy your today. They lie in ranks, row upon row, on at least four continents, covering hundreds of acres of ground. They spoke nearly every language you can think of. They came in every color of the rainbow of humanity. Their average age is probably around 20 years old. Forever.

It's still okay to enjoy a steak or a hot dog, knock back a beer or two, and get a killer deal on a big screen TV today. For most values of People Who Have Died In Service, that's exactly the best thing you could do to remember them, if you could ask them.

Just remember those people who made it possible, and live a little more, for them.

If you are able, save them a place inside you,
And save one backward glance when you are leaving,
for the places they can no longer go.

Be not ashamed to say you loved them,
though you may, or may not have always.
Take what they have left, and what they have
taught you with their dying, and keep it as your own.

And in that time that when men decide, and feel safe,
to call the war insane, take one moment,
to embrace these gentle heroes you left behind.

- Maj. Michael Davis O'Donnell

KIA, Cambodia, 1970

Dickey Would Have Liked That

Link

When mortar shell shrapnel exploded from a booby trap that hit Marines close to Chu Lai, Vietnam, a combat photographer was near the front.

A civilian buried with full military ­honors, Wisconsin native Georgette “Dickey” Chapelle was the first female war correspondent to die in combat.

Recently she was celebrated with the title of honorary Marine at the United States Marine Corps Combat Correspondents Association banquet in San Diego. In October 2016, Commandant Gen. Robert Neller approved the title for the ­award-winning war correspondent.

 Dickey Chapelle: Wikipedia

 

 

ATTN: WeaponsMan folks

You might have noticed his blog has popped up top again to the right.
That's because brother Brendan posted notice that he's putting a goodly number of Weaponsman's personal firearms collection up for sale on consignment.

List at the WeaponsMan site.

There's also notice of an estate sale coming up in a couple of weeks.

Memorial Day - For The Fallen

 





Today, of all days, do not thank me, or anyone you know or meet, for our service.

Do not rob the graves of heroes to pay respects to those whom you do not owe.

 

(And don't, by all that's holy, wish anyone a "Happy Memorial Day", unless you would be looked upon as a cretin, a ghoul, or a fool.)

 

If you would be thankful today, your debt is owed at the local cemetery, especially a military one, wherein peacefully rest legions of men better than you or I, who gave up all their tomorrows to give you your today.

 

No one can ever repay that debt, but at the least, you can keep up the payments, by honoring their service, by bearing the account they gave well in mind, and rendering unto them all the respect and civic glory such a sacrifice has earned.

 

Don't hesitate to take the weekend off, and enjoy a ball game, a picnic, a cold beer, or a hot meal. Just, please, fondly and respectfully recall those in mud, cold, tropical heat, or desert sun, and living in dirt like animals, who already paid the bill for your leisure this weekend.

 

Little else you could ever do would mean as much, and it's all common courtesy requires.





 

If you are able,
save them a place
inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can
no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say
you loved them,
though you may
or may not have always.
Take what they have left
and what they have taught you
with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.

Major Michael Davis O'Donnell
1 January 1970
Dak To, Vietnam
KIA Cambodia 24 March 1970

Wednesday Weapons Website Of The Week: WeaponsMan

For some five years, three months, and fifteen days, WeaponsMan was one of, if not the, best weapons-related website on the 'net. As anyone who visited there will tell you. The bloghost, Hognose, would probably be shocked and humbled to find that out.

After a 2011 teaser post, he hit the ground running in January 2012: over 100 posts in just his first month at it. And long posts, on all manner of topics varied and sundry. Done with intelligence, wit, and a style those of us fortunately who tumbled onto the site discovered, which kept some thousands coming back.

I wish I'd discovered it sooner: I found him because Tam mentioned him, over a year after he started. My first comment on his board was shortly afterwards. When I commented on this post on the Ides of March, 2013, he was quick to make his comeback into a full post, and referral to my site. I don't know what his daily readership was, but I can tell you that notice got me 2500 views in a day. And that was four years ago. It helped that he was effusively gracious in praising what he found, which certainly didn't hurt my feelings either. I flatter myself that we were something of kindred souls.

We're a few years apart chronologically, and served on active duty in the same timeframe, so we clearly shared some military and cultural reference points. No disrespect to Brendan, but I felt in many ways what a lot of folks in the military do in such circumstances: we were "brothers from another mother". That's the best explanation I can come up with for the loss I feel at his passing.

Looking at the posts in memoriam to him this week, I wasn't the only one. In fact, I wasn't in the only hundred such. Virtually everything I could say about him was echoed in one of the 200+ posts in reply to his brother's news that Hognose, AKA Kevin O'Brien, had passed.

If you're one of the frequent lurkers or commentariat from that site, you already know what I'm talking about. If you aren't, you have, for the moment, a few thousand posts' worth of catching up to do, if you want to know why Hognose deserves the recognition he would never give himself. But I'm pretty sure he knew how we all felt about the place, even if we didn't take the time to pour it all out until notification from his brother of Hognose'/(Kevin's) passing.

I'm going to post now what emotion prevented me from attempting yesterday.

Hognose was, indeed, a gentleman and a scholar. He was a renaissance man, in the truest sense of the term. His site, encapsulated by his blog's statement of purpose, was exactly WYSIWYG:

A lot of nonsense is written about weapons, especially on the Net. Rather than rail at the nonsense, we thought we'd talk sense instead, and see how that catches on.

It caught on pretty darned good, Hognose. Thousands of readers can't be wrong.
If it had anything to do with weapons, it was fair game. Cave man weapons, nuclear weapons, knives, clubs, sniper rifles, torpedoes, battleships, anti-rat snakes, "strangling thumbs"; people using weapons, well, badly, stupidly, foolishly, criminals, citizens, cops, troops, and anything that flew, crawled, walked, swam, or slithered, with from two to two dozen legs, and any representation of it in books, films, or any form of media invented or not yet invented, in the known universe, and he blogged it. With wit, with grace, with intelligence, insight, and elan, sufficient to grow his audience day over day, and year over year.

I commented relatively rarely at first, then with more frequency, as many of us did, but in his weekly analysis of his blog, he looked to metrics. When he was puzzled by some posts' lack of response, compared to others that drew them like picnics draw ants, my only answer was absolutely heartfelt and honest:

Sometimes, Hognose, we just stand here open-mouthed and gawping at the lesson you're teaching during the period of instruction, and marvel at the product.

I wish I could see the actual stats of how much output he produced, how many words, how many posts, how many comments, and how many views. His regular readership, from 50 states, 16 territories, the District of Columbia, and 60 or 80 countries already know that whatever the final tally was, it was impressive, expansive, and 24K gold, as a rule.

The response of that commentariat now has been as well, because people were drawn to the blog like iron fillings to a magnet, and we could all recognize quality when we saw it. If he had a post, there were frequently five other viewpoints from people who were subject experts from some piece of it. And as a rule, far less of the norm of poseurs or nastiness one is apt to find anywhere else on the internet. I think, because no one wanted to disappoint the bloghost, or force him to intervene; the decorum was disciplined, largely by mutual consent.

So while it lasts (or please, God, until it finds a new host/home, for posterity, because having the blog disappear along with the man would be a criminal waste) go see what you missed. His blog ought to be one of the places where the Internet truly is forever.

And at the root of my tremendous sorrow and sadness at Kevin's passing, is probably the good kind of utter selfishness and regret:
I'm tremendously sorry that a continent separated us, and we never met face to face, and I'm sorry for myself and the rest of us going forward that such a wonderful man, and such a special place, have left us, and we can only be thankful for the memories of what we all had, knowing that the chance for any more of it is largely gone forever.

I'm glad Small Dog Mk II has a new home, despite the loss of his owner. And I'm sorry, as I'm sure his brother is too, that Hognose will never get to fly in the airplane they were building together. Brendan O'Brien, I hope you get to finish that plane someday, for Hognose. I suspect a couple hundred of us, at least, would like to hear about it when you do. If my own sense of loss, being naught but an internet acquaintance, feels like this, I cannot fathom how deep must be your loss, and your father's, at Kevin's passing.

But I'm pretty sure Kevin doesn't need the plane now, because he has his own wings.
And his passing sparks anew in me a fervent hope that there's an afterlife, where families are made whole, and old friends can meet face to face for the first time.

Ladies and gentlemen, I say ye Kevin O'Brien.

With gratitude and respect,
-Aesop


(This post was a whisker late for the Wednesday time hack. Which Hognose, of all people, would certainly understand.)