A WWII Veteran's Story for Veteran's Day.

[blueerica]

LOMA LINDA, California (CNN) -- Anthony Acevedo thumbs through the worn, yellowed pages of his diary emblazoned with the words "A Wartime Log" on its cover. It's a catalog of deaths and atrocities he says were carried out on U.S. soldiers held by Nazis at a slave labor camp during World War II -- a largely forgotten legacy of the war.

Full Story.

[cirquelover]

I shared the story with my son too. I always make him read up on any holiday because if he gets the day off school he needs to know why it's a holiday. Thank you.

[Snowflake]

Thanks for posting that BE. The horrors of WWII (and any war) never seem to end adn the lack of care for our veterans starts not with Walter Reed, obviously. Terrible.

Since there are (to my knowledge) no WWI survivors left, here's a fascinating blog of letters home from the front.

[Betty]

Here's some poetry written by my grandpa about WWII. I'm invading your thread with misc. veteran's stuff. It used to be on my website in a special section but I stopped that site a long time ago. It's still in the way back machine though.

ONE FOR UNCLE SAM

by Paul Harold Martin


When I was yet a young man,
And full of zest and dare,
I flew the fastest planes they had,
Without a damn or care.


The throttle of my little car,
Was always on the floor,
My home was just for parking,
Of my hat upon the door.


And when my country called me,
Because they had a war,
My buddies came a running,
As their fathers had before.


Some of us were lucky,
Though we couldn't see it then,
For the service wouldn't take us,
And they wouldn't tell us when.


We were starving for excitement,
Which feeds the youthfull eye,
And if we couldn't have it,
We thought that we would die.


The quiver in the stomach,
The tingling of the spine,
I thought the others had it,
And I wanted it for mine.


So I got a job of driving,
Testing tanks for Uncle Sam,
Till it turned my brain to jelly,
But I didn't give a damn.


Just to know that I was needed,
And to get that crazy thrill,
Of trying to bust 'em open,
By jumping off a hill.


I made of lot of money,
But I didn't save a dime,
Thought I could do that later,
For I was in my prime.


I learned to belt the bottle,
Spent money right and left,
And when it came to women,
You can bet that I was deft.


Then as quickly as it came,
The war just went away,
And the Germans and the Japs,
Were put away to stay.


Then I waited, how I waited,
For my buddies to return,
Then I heard that in their bombers,
They did crash and burn.


Now I know it's downright morbid,
But at that time and place,
I felt like I'd been cheated,
As if I'd lost the race.


That was a thousand years ago,
And now I'm getting gray,
And I often think of all those guys,
And of the Judgement Day.


They'd have to have a special place,
Their kind always do,
Where a thrill a minute is the fare,
With missions they can chew.


Now if I ever make it,
To the halls of Paladin,
There'll be some M.P. waiting,
Who just won't let me in.


Then outside their lofty barracks,
I'm gonna raise some hell,
I'll holler loud and clear to all,
And to my pals that fell.


So if and when I see them,
I want their acknowledgment,
That they had all the chills and thrills,
While I had languishment.


Then you know what they'll say to me,
I'd bet a buck against a damn,
"You missed the greatest thrill of all,
The one for Uncle Sam."





And also:

BELATED DISCOVERY

by Paul Harold Martin


On the battlefields of nations, where the bullets whine and sing,
And the smell of death is floating everywhere,
There's a special kind of courage which can make a boy a king,
The kind that puts the stars into his hair.


When a mortar has you zeroed in and flesh is flying high,
You're only thought is if you're gonna live,
Then you see some sawed-off youngster who has no thought to die,
Start to reaching for a knife he calls a shiv.


Now some will call it valor and some will call him nuts,
But he makes his way across the heaving ground,
Without an ounce of caution, just a belly full of guts,
He searches for the mortar like a hound.


Then for some God-awful reason the terrible noise is gone,
And you breathe a prayer it doesn't start again,
Then you see the kid a wavin' like he's playin' on a lawn,
But you know he'll never be a kid again.


He sneaked upon that mortar-man, and with that razor edge,
He slit his dirty throat from ear to ear,
A guy who just a year ago was trimmin' on a hedge,
And now he doesn't know a word called fear.


So you know you'll live another day for what the kid has done,
And how he did it doesn't make a damn,
The mortar-man is just as dead, be it knife or gun,
And you know that on this day was born a man.


If I live to be a thousand I won't forget that guy,
Or because of him the ones a comin' back,
For you see he called me hunkie, but he saw I didn't die,
And at last I've learned to like the color black.



More...

[cirquelover]

Originally Posted by Snowflake

Since there are (to my knowledge) no WWI survivors left, here's a fascinating blog of letters home from the front.

Front page of MSN had an article about the oldest WWI survivor. The story here; http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27646518/?GT1=43001

[Snowflake]

Originally Posted by cirquelover

Front page of MSN had an article about the oldest WWI survivor. The story here; http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27646518/?GT1=43001

Thanks for correcting me! Great story!

[Cadaverous Pallor]

A bit of good news from our current front.

May all our troops, past and present, be well cared for and appreciated, not only today, but always.

[cirquelover]

Originally Posted by Snowflake

Thanks for correcting me! Great story!

Not a correction, just an addition

[BarTopDancer]

[Gemini Cricket]

This isn't directed at BTD but...
Looking at that picture...
Semper Fi: Kurt, Skipper and Nig.
Nig?! I'm trying to think what else that could be short for...