Posted on 02/27/2004 11:48:57 AM PST by Hon
We all know that John Kerry likes to take both sides of every issue whenever possible, so it should be no surprise to learn that while he is out speaking before the American Legion and VFW and other veterans groups, trying to win their votes, he mocked groups in his (suppressed) book The New Soldier:
And so a New Soldier has returned to America, to a nation torn apart by the killing we were asked to do. But, unlike veterans of other wars and some of this one, the New Soldier does not accept the old myths. We will not quickly join those who march on Veterans' Day waving small flags, calling to memory those thousands who died for the "greater glory of the United States. We will not accept the rhetoric.
We will not readily join the American Legion and the Veterans of Foreign Wars—in fact, we will find it hard to join anything at all and when we do, we will demand relevancy such as other organizations have recently been unable to provide.
And speaking of flip-flops, the next paragraphs of “The New Soldier” give Kerry’s thoughts on monuments to our honored dead:
We will not take solace from the creation of monuments or the naming of parks after a select few of the thousands of dead Americans and Vietnamese. We will not uphold traditions which decorously memorialize that which was base and grim. It is from these things the New Soldier is asking America to turn.
And yet John Kerry has never been reluctant to build monuments to himself. One wall of his Senate Office is a shrine to his heroic four months on a Swift boat in Vietnam:
At the Office
Family Photos, Power Walls, Art and other Objects
August 8, 2002-Eric M. Appleman
Sen. John Kerry: The wall to the right of the door in the reception area of Sen. Kerry's office is devoted to his Vietnam experiences. Immediately by the door is large color photograph taken in 1969 on the Mekong Delta in Vietnam showing Kerry and crewmates Tom Belodeau, Michael Medeiros, Del Sandusky, and Gene Thorson (not in the photo is David Alston).
A large model of the Kerry commanded, is situated by this wall in a glass case--according to the label it is a U.S. Navy Swift Boat MKI, PCF-94. [PCF stands for "Patrol Craft Fast"].
http://www.gwu.edu/~action/2004/art/office.html
Moreover, one of the few legislative feats John Kerry has to show for all of his years in the Senate is a memorial to Swift boat members (like himself of course):
PCF 1
At the Navy Yards in Washington D. C.
Following the U.S. withdrawal from southeast Asia, many of the PCFs were left in country for the Vietnamese or were sent to the Phillipines and Thailand. Sanders said that for almost 10 years he and Senator Kerry had inquired about the fate of the swift boats that remained stateside, before PCF-1 and 2 were discovered in Panama.
A recent Congressinal bill authorized the perservation and public display of the boats. After the boats were brought to the Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base from Panama, Sailors and civilian personnel at Training command, U.S. Atlantic Fleet overhauled the boats and prepared them for their next, albeit last assignment. Several veterans, including Kerry and Sanders, joined with active-duty Sailors to make the two-day cruise to the Washington Navy Yard from Norfolk.
For many at the transfer ceremony, Kerry summed up the feelings of the day. "We've come here today with respect and with love, to complete the last river run," Kerry said.
"We've brought our memories and those dearest to us, in order to put in a place of honored history a remarkable vessel of the United States Navy."
PCF-1 will be placed on permanent display ashore, along with other Navy Museum artifacts aboard the Washington Navy Yard.
So it turns out that John Kerry has no problem in upholding traditions which "decorously memorialize that which was base and grim"--as long as it promotes his career.
By Senator John Kerry
Swift Boat Ceremony
Washington, DC - June 17, 1995
Admiral Boorda, Admiral Zumwalt, Admiral Will, Admiral Moore, Admiral Hoffman, Congressman Kolbe, families, friends and my fellow Swifties.
We have come here today -- with respect and love -- to complete the last River Run.
We have brought our memories and those dearest to us in order to put in a place of honored history a remarkable vessel of the United States Navy. In so doing we proudly share with the nation we willingly served, hundreds, even thousands, of examples of daring, courage, commitment and sacrifice.
We do that with none of the braggadocio or even brash arrogance of our younger days. We do so with the humility that comes from the intervening years and the fact that we survived while buddies did not; but we do so with unabashed pride in the quality of our service and those we were privileged to fight with -- boat for boat, man for man.
We do so knowing that no words here today -- no hushed conversation with a wife or a son or daughter -- no 30-year-later memory or description will ever convey the sight and feeling of 6 or 10 or 12 Swifts, engines throbbing, radios crackling, guns thundering towards the river bank, moving ever closer into harm's way.
But that's not all it was: We sunbathed and skinny-dipped; we traded sea rations for fresh shrimp; and left our Vietnamese recipients of Uncle Sam's technology grinning from ear to ear as they believed they got the better deal; we happily basked in wide beetlenut smiles; we glorified in shouts of "hey, American, you number one," and we casually brushed off taunts of "Hey, you number ten."
We replaced Psy Ops tapes with James Brown or Jim Morrison - - we used our riot guns to shoot duck and cook up a feast and, yes, some did water ski.
We harassed LSTs and destroyers, lauding it over our less lucky, less plucky, black-shoed Navy brothers. We parlayed our independence and proximity to the war into handouts of steak, fruit, ship board meals and, best of all, ice cream. We became the consummate artists of Cumshaw.
We believed that anyone of us -- officer or enlisted -- might one day be CNO or CINCPAC, and all the while nothing really mattered that much except trying to win a war and keep each other alive. When we broke the rules -- which we never did, of course -- we would say, What the hell can they do? Send us to Vietnam?!"
Through it all, we never forgot how to laugh -- and there were wonderful moments, not just from the gallows humor of the war but those that came from the special spirit of Swifties: the times we lobbed raw eggs from boat to boat; great flare fights that lit more than one life raft on fire; delivering lumber to Nam Can in the middle of the war; handing out ridiculous Psy-Ops packages that no one understood; and of course pet dogs that didn't understand English or Vietnamese for "don't do it there." There were as many moments of humor as Swift boats and sailors.
And we exalted in the beauty of a country that took us from glorious green rice paddy, black water buffalo caressing the banks of rivers, children giggling and playing on dikes, sanpans filled with produce -- that suddenly took us from innocence and tranquility deep into the madness of fire fights, chaos reigning around us, 50 calibers diminishing our hearing, screams for medevac piercing the radio waves, fish-tailing rockets passing by the pilot house -- all suddenly to be replaced by the most serene, eerie beauty the eye could behold. We lived in the daily contradiction of living and dying.
In a great lesson for the rest of this country in these difficult times, we never looked on each other as officer or enlisted, as Oakie or Down Easterner. We were just plain brothers in combat, proud Americans who together with our proud vessels answered the call.
We were bound together in the great and noble effort of giving ourselves to something bigger than each and every one of us individually, and doing so at risk of life and limb. Let no one ever doubt the quality and nobility of that commitment.
The specs say Swifts have a quarter-inch aluminum hull -- but to us it was a hull of steel, though at times that was not enough. It was hospital, restaurant, and home. It was sometimes birthplace and deathbed.
It was where we lived and where we grew up. It was where we confronted and conquered and where we found courage. It was our confessional; our place of silent prayer.
We worked these boats hard. No matter the mission, no matter the odds, we pushed them and they took us through violent cross-currents of surf, through 30 ft. monsoon seas, through fishstakes and mangrove, through sandbars and mudflats.
We loved these boats, even if we abused them of necessity, and the truth is -- they loved us back. They never let us down.
We made mistakes. Sometimes we bit off more than we could chew. We didn't just push the limits, we exceeded them routinely and still the boats came through. They were our partners on a grand and unpredictable adventure.
Mines exploded underneath us, and -- for the most part -- the boats pressed on.
The Marines made amphibious landings and took the beachheads -- so did we.
The Army conducted sweeps and over-ran ambushes -- so did we.
The regular Navy provided shore bombardment and forward fire control -- so did we.
The Coast Guard intercepted weapons and gave emergency medical care -- so did we.
The nurses and Red Cross saved lives and delivered babies -- so did we.
The SEALs set ambushes and gathered intelligence -- and so did we.
The only thing our boats couldn't do by definition was fly; but some would say that, in light of ammo and fuel, and exuberant to have survived a firefight or a monsoon sea -- we flew too.
But the power and the strength was not just in the boats. It was in the courage and the camaraderie of those who manned them.
In the darkness and solitude of night, or parked in a cove before a mission, or in the beauty of a crimson dawn before entering the Bay Hap, or the My Tho, or the Bo De, or any other mangrove cluttered river -- we shared our fears and, no matter what our differences -- we were bound together on an extraordinary journey the memory of which will last forever.
On just routine patrols, these boats were our sanctuary -- our cloister, a place for crossing divides between Montana, Michigan, Arkansas, and Massachusetts.
The boats occupied us and protected us. They were the place we came together in fellowship, brotherhood, and ultimately love to share our enthusiasm, our idealism -- our youth.
Now we are joined together again after more than a quarter century to celebrate this special moment in our lives. It is a bittersweet moment and it is a time to reflect on those events and those friendships that changed our lives and made us who we are today.
Some were not as lucky as we were. They did not have the chance to grow up as we did. They did not get to see their children. They did not have the chance to fulfill their dreams, and we honor their memory today.
In their presence we are gathered with so much more than just mutual respect and admiration, more than just nostalgia.
We loved each other and we loved these boats.
But, because of the nature of the war we fought we came back to a country that did not recognize our contribution. It did not understand the war we fought, what we went through, or the love that held us together then. It did not understand what young men could feel for boats like these and men like you.
This is really the first time in 30 years that we've been able to share with each other the feelings that we had then, and the feelings we have now. They are deeply and profoundly personal feelings. They are different for each of us, but the memories are the same -- rich with the smells and sounds of the rivers and the power of the boats -- punctuated by the faces of the men with whom we served and the thoughts we shared.
But that was 30 years ago, and now it is time to move on.
Joseph Conrad said, "And now the old ships and their men are gone; the new ships and the new men have taken up their watch on the stern-and-impatient sea which offers no opportunities but to those who know how to grasp them with a ready hand and an undaunted heart."
So, today, we stand here, still with ready hand -- and more than ever undaunted hearts -- to complete this last River Run and escort these magnificent boats into history. We who served aboard them are now bound together not just as veterans, not just as friends, but as family.
To all who served on these boats, I salute you. And may God bless you and your families.
http://www.swiftboats.org/pcf1.htm
Sounds like Kerry had quite eventful four months, huh?
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.
