Latest news with #ArmyRangerSchool
Chicago Tribune
26-05-2025
- General
- Chicago Tribune
Letters: I recall the Chicagoans who lost their lives serving our country
In the mid-1960s, I vividly remember watching the older guys from our neighborhood receive their draft notices. These were the same guys we'd spent our younger days with, playing softball and fastpitch against the park wall and cooling off in the park pool during the summer. Guys with the nicknames Monk, Rabbi and Slim. Before heading off to basic training, they'd have one last party, often with a 40-ounce beer in hand. Most of them returned home on leave after basic training only to be deployed to Vietnam. 'Slim' came back before being sent overseas. I remember seeing him by the pool, quietly drinking a beer. To a kid from Back of the Yards, Slim seemed like a towering figure, a true warrior. I saw him in a photo he sent to his cousin from Vietnam. He was carrying a heavy M60 machine gun and extra ammunition, disappearing into the dense Vietnamese jungle. Fast-forward to the early 1980s. I was celebrating my graduation from the Army Ranger School, ready to begin my career as an Army infantry officer. I ran into Slim at our old neighborhood bar. He told me he had always dreamed of being a Ranger. Surprised, I asked if he hadn't been in the special forces during his time in Vietnam. He explained that no, his job had been laying communication wire in Vietnam. He offered me his best wishes with a sincere grin as I embarked on my military career. Years later, during one of my deployments to Iraq, my brother shared the sad news that Slim had passed away from stomach cancer. It was believed this was a result of exposure to Agent Orange, the chemical defoliant used in the Vietnamese jungles. I also learned that he had struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder, a burden he carried long after returning from the war. This Memorial Day, as we honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice, please take a moment to raise a 40-ouncer in remembrance of all the brave warriors from Back of the Yards who never made it home and for those who did return but continued to fight their own battles with the invisible wounds of Vietnam Veterans Memorial is inscribed with more than 58,000 names — representing stories of loss and heartache. Esau's story follows. Forgotten by others? Perhaps. But not by me. On March 7, 1968, Alpha Company loaded onto tracked vehicles known as AmTracs for a reconnaissance in force to Phu Tai, a village on the Cua Viet River. North Vietnam regulars, or NVAs, were observed there. Our job: Deny access. Artillery missions had been plotted the night before. That morning, my radio operator — R.O. — confirmed he had solid communications. However, with turbo-charged AmTracs announcing our arrival, it was unlikely there would be NVA stragglers. I was alert, not anxious. That changed. Nearing Phu Tai's western edge, things spiraled downhill when a rocket-propelled grenade tore into the lead AmTrac. The volume and intensity of incoming fire indicated a sizeable NVA force, a counterattack likely. As we regrouped, I fired several batteries simultaneously to hold them off. Regardless, the R.O. and I were soon surrounded by casualties — the handiwork of a sniper spotted by others in the loft of a nearby abandoned church. From his elevated perch, the shooter had inflicted undetected damage. Shrubs to our rear hid us but wouldn't forever. Then my 'new guy' showed up. Phu Tai was his introduction to the fight. However, despite our dire circumstances, he sucked up the fear we all had known. His first words were: 'What can I do?' When he was asked to put rounds on the sniper while an artillery mission was redirected, he took a firing position at my back. Six rounds ended the sniper's career. But not quickly enough. The deadly marksman killed my new guy. However, reflecting on his sacrifice wasn't an option as the engagement at Phu Tai still had plenty of mayhem remaining. Close-quarters fighting routed the NVA. Then the night's work began: Following triage protocols, our 94 wounded were helicoptered out. It wasn't till the following morning that my new guy and his 12 companions were relieved of duty. First stop: Dong Ha's morgue. Eventually, I identified my new guy: Esau Whitehead Jr. Forty years later, I visited Esau at his permanent address: Plot 3131A, Section N, in Long Island's 'Pine Lawn Cemetery.' I toasted him and his embodiment of our motto — 'Semper Fidelis' — as I recalled how he protected a fellow Marine he had known for four minutes. Thank you, mother, Louise Kemp Peirce, left her home in Rock Island to enlist in the Marine Corps during World War II and was sent to Camp Pendleton in California, following the example of her older brother, Clement, who had enlisted in the Navy. While stationed there, she met a tall, handsome Marine named Marvin Frost ('Frosty'), and they fell in love. Before he was shipped to the war in Asia, he proposed and gave her money, which would be used to buy an engagement ring when he returned from the war. He also gave her a gold bracelet, inscribed with her name on the front and 'All my love, Frosty' on the back. Sadly, he was killed at Iwo Jima while leaving his position to help another Marine who had fallen in the battle, earning the Silver Star posthumously. My mother contacted his family in Oregon and intended to return the money to them, but they told her to keep it. She went alone to a jeweler and bought the engagement ring they had dreamed of. She wore that ring every day of her life, even after she married my 1775, more than 1 million American patriots have died serving our nation. Our war dead are literally our country's DNA. Every single thing we have and will have is because of their sacrifice. The freedoms we enjoy and the opportunities we sometimes take for granted clearly demonstrate that the price of freedom was not free. Where would we as a nation be without them? On this sacred day, a grateful country turns its eyes toward our beloved patriots to whom we owe so much. 'Pro deo et patria' ('For God and country').When I was 14, I wrote this poem, deeply affected by this soldier's bravery. He was just a few years older than me. After his death, he was the first African American to be honored with the Medal of Honor for his service in Vietnam. At 73, I am still in awe of this hero and all of our service members who served in Vietnam. They deserve our nation's deepest gratitude and recognition. Pfc. Milton Olive was a good man at his best. He was ready to lay down his life for men And that's just what he did. His platoon was pinned down in the jungle, under constant combatant fire, When the enemy threw a live grenade. The 18-year-old soldier, so unafraid, Yelled, 'I've got it!' He tucked the bomb under his chest. You can imagine the rest. He saved four men that day, In a sweaty foxhole far from home, Where he won the Purple Heart Pfc. Milton Olive did a Hero's work of art.
Yahoo
05-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Don't get it twisted: DEI has been a disaster
The April 27 letter to the editor has a misconception about what DEI entailed. When diversity, equity, and inclusion was established it encouraged organizations to place people in positions based on their sex, race, and gender ideology. The practice has been a disaster due to unqualified people being placed in critical positions. The people the letter writer worries about being erased from the history books, such as the Tuskegee Airmen, Kristin Griest, who successfully completed the Army Ranger School, and others were obviously extremely qualified for their positions, and I doubt will ever be erased from our history. DEI cost government and industry billions of dollars due to having unqualified, or under qualified people in important positions. Jim Rich, Jupiter This article originally appeared on Palm Beach Post: DEI concerns overblown when it comes to American history | Letter
Yahoo
16-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Fort Benning returns to old name — with a new namesake
FORT BENNING — The Army officially restored the name Fort Benning to its storied training post in Georgia, only this time to honor an 18-year-old corporal who fought in World War I rather than a Confederate general. A ceremony to make the name change official was held Wednesday at the base just outside Columbus. Roughly 70,000 soldiers, civilian workers and military family members are stationed at Fort Benning, which trains infantry troops and tank crews and is home to the elite Army Ranger School. It's the second time in less than two years that Fort Benning commanders have been tasked with swapping out the post's name on everything from signs marking gates, streets, police cars and buildings to official stationery and websites. That will cost around $653,000, according to Fort Benning officials. The last name change in 2023 redesignated the post as Fort Moore as part of a move started by Congress in 2020 and completed during President Joe Biden's administration to remove names that honored Confederate leaders, including from nine Army posts. The 18-year-old World War I corporal behind Fort Benning's renaming The name of Henry L. Benning, a former Georgia Supreme Court justice who vocally supported secession and served as a Confederate brigadier general in the Civil War, had adorned the base since it opened as Camp Benning in 1918. Federal law now prohibits naming military bases for Confederates. The Pentagon under President Donald Trump has found a workaround for reverting bases back to what they were formerly called, by finding new soldiers to honor with the same last name. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth last month ordered the change back to Fort Benning to honor Fred Benning, who was awarded the nation's second-highest honor for battlefield bravery as an 18-year-old corporal in 1918 and later was promoted to sergeant — a fact uncovered after Hegseth issued the memo. Sue Conger-Williams, Benning's granddaughter, recalled summers in Nebraska fishing with her grandfather and digging for earthworms while he watched for cars, but said she never learned much about his time in the Army. 'I am grateful for this glimpse into history, and I see some similarities, though, between Fred Benning the soldier and Fred Benning my grandpa,' Conger-Williams said. 'These are integrity, hard work and a commitment to service.' Fred Benning received his Distinguished Service Cross after returning home to Nebraska, where he started a bakery and served as mayor of the small town of Neligh. He died in 1974. Conger-Williams sat up front at the ceremony with Benning's great-granddaughter and 10-month-old great-great-granddaughter as soldiers, veterans and locals milled around behind them. Maj. Gen. Colin Tuley, the fort's commanding general, said people at Fort Benning knew little about Fred Benning, which sent historians poring over old records to piece together his legacy. During Wednesday's ceremony, Tuley noted that Benning took charge of his machine-gun platoon in October 1918 in France, leading 20 survivors through heavy fire, after their commander was killed. 'What sets him apart was his unwavering dedication to his soldiers, his understanding of the soldiers' needs," said Tuley. During its short time as Fort Moore, the Georgia post became the first in the Army named for a couple: the late Lt. Gen. Hal Moore and his wife, Julia Moore. Hal Moore served in Vietnam as commander of a cavalry battalion based at Fort Benning and was also a Distinguished Service Cross recipient. Julia Moore successfully lobbied the Pentagon to adopt a policy that military families would be notified of war casualties in person rather than by telegram. "Whatever a name may be on an installation board, the Moores are an interwoven part of this installation and that will never go away," said Tuley. In his March 3 memo ordering the return to the name Fort Benning, Hegseth directed the Army to find a new way to honor the Moores 'in a manner that celebrates their significant contributions to the local community and the Army.' The Army hasn't said how much the switch back to Fort Benning will cost. An Army commission in 2022 estimated the change to Fort Moore would cost at least $4.9 million. Fort Benning is the second U.S. military base to have its 2023 name change reversed. The nation's largest Army installation was rechristened Fort Bragg in North Carolina last month, following a brief two years as Fort Liberty.
