Tag Archive | World War II

Unforgettable Accomplishments

MondayYesterday was Monday. A new beginning of the week. A clean slate for starting a diet or a new goal of any kind. I often wonder why our calendar starts on Sunday because Monday is really the pivotal day for most of us.

On Monday of this week, I finished the rewrite on my eighth novel. I felt so accomplished to send this work off to the editor for her to work through my grammar and punctuation boo boos. As I’ve discussed before, editing and proofreading needs to be done by somebody who hasn’t written the work. Our smarty-pants brains only see what we want to see, not what is really there. So, now I wait.

What’s the book about?

The novel is entitled, “Grounded No More,” and it’s a story about the women pilots who volunteered to help the Army Air Corps during the war. The WASPs did a number of aviation tasks including ferrying planes, pulling targets, and instructing other pilots.They flew every aircraft the military owned–even the B-17 and B-26 bombers.

Shirley SladeThe media crowned them heroes in 1943 and at the end of 1944 they became blood-sucking hussies who were taking  jobs away from returning veterans. Neither scenario was quite true.

Now that we will soon celebrate the 70th Anniversary of D-Day, we must remember everyone who put those boys on Omaha and Utah beaches. The men get the credit for fighting, but millions of women served in numeral capacities, too.

After the war the American women pilots were all but forgotten. Like Rosie the Riveter and women like her, when the men came home, they quietly retreated to make homes for their husbands and raise their families. Then they had daughters who became “liberated” in the 1960’s and 1970’s.

In  1975 the first women cadets were accepted at the Air Force Academy. A press release stated,  “For the first time, women will fly American Military planes.” Let me tell you, the WASPs buzzed about that! They organized, and took their case to Capitol Hill.

It wasn’t until 1977 the WASPs were finally recognized as veterans and were granted the military benefits they deserved when President Jimmy Carter signed the GI Bill Improvement Act.

In 1984, each WASP received the World War II Victory Medal. Many of the women had passed on by then so their families accepted the award for them.

And finally, on July 1, 2009, President Barrack Obama gave the WASPs the recognition they deserved when he signed into law Bill S. 614. This bill awarded the Congressional Gold Medal to the Women Air Force Service Pilots who answered the call to service when their country needed them most

Through my stories, I honor these extraordinary WWII veterans. Their stories are amazing and their stories of sacrifice and stepping up at a very young age to protect the way we live in the United States should not be forgotten.

That’s why I write what I do.

A Review is In!

Latest Novel from McCloskey

Latest Novel from McCloskey

After writing a novel, getting it published, implementing some kind of marketing plan, there’s one more step a writer must face to let people know you’ve written a story worthy of readers’ time. That step my friends, is to open up the book  to reviewers. Yesterday I received a review from Miranda Prather, a professional reviewer who posted her thoughts on GoodReads.com.

Here’s what she had to say:

Set in the World War II era, FINDING GESSLER, by Barbara Celeste McCloskey shows the tragedy and heroism of that time by focusing on a single young family torn apart as the Nazi’s rise to power begins and falls. Fans of McCloskey’s previous historical fiction will not be disappointed here in the attention to detail this writer is rightfully known for. She does not leave to chance that her fictional account is anything less than authentic when it comes to the fact of the era. Old and new readers alike will find in the Gessler family a tender portrait of just what it was really like to have families torn apart by the horrors of anti-Semitism. Through all the tragedy though, McCloskey makes sure to emphasize that hope is greater than all, turning the horrors into a moment of inspiring courage and love that will uplift readers. The author populates her pages with enough intrigue to keep readers guessing, along with well imagined characters. This book will not disappoint anyone looking for solid, meaningful story-telling with engaging characters that readers will invest their emotions in.

Here’s the link, should you want to read the same thing again! http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/682353052

Needless to say, I’m happy about what she had to say.

At the same time, my next novel has been selected for publication. I thought about self-publishing this one through Amazon.com, but when I saw it would cost me over $1,000 to go that route, I had to shelve the idea. PublishAmerica might have faults with the publishing community, but at least I get my stories out to the world without having to pay upfront. Their staff has proven to be easy to work with, and I’ve been happy with the look of my books. Now if only Barnes & Noble would be more cooperative to put my books on their shelves! Maybe with their huge distribution I’d stand a chance of seeing some royalties. Until then, I’m looking for the “Novel Gods” to intercede and bring my stories to the attention of a big, rich publisher who believes in my work and will pay me well.

If you’re interested in reading FINDING GESSLER, you can get a taste of it on Amazon.com in a few days. I have authorized them to produce a “Look Inside” tease to make you want to read more!


Grow Where You’re Planted is The Secret

Woman writerEvery morning, I give thanks I no longer have to wake up to the jarring noise of a blaring alarm clock, tear myself out from under the coziness of my bed before I’m fully awake, drag myself through showering, dressing, and then breakfast–only to fight traffic on the way to a job I hated.

My “retirement” came quite unexpectedly three years ago when I couldn’t find a job after I had asked my boss in the insurance business to fire me. I was burned out and disgusted by the whole scene. (Someday, I ‘ll tell you about it.)

My intention was to return to Marketing/Communications in some big company to live out my working years. However, there were two problems with this plan. First, the economy had tanked and these jobs were nonexistent. Second, because I had taken a left turn into the financial industry, nobody in marketing believed I still had what it took to be a viable talent. The situation became scary when the unemployment cheeks stopped, and I was forced to exhaust dip into my retirement savings to survive. But, we must go forward, right?

Looking back on the whole ugly mess, I think this happened because God wanted me to stay home with Ken and have a chance to do what I really wanted to do. Write.

So, after a month of  recovery, I embarked on a journey to produce my first novel. A  former client had a story she wanted to tell, but she didn’t have the writing talent to do it. It was a fascinating tale of a witch in a hospital. NO really, that’s what MercyLess Memorial Hospital is all about. It was Cindy’s story with my fictional twist. But when she decided to self-published the book with her name on it as the author, I was pissed annoyed. I thought we were co-authoring this book, after all, I did all the writing. If I had been smart, I would have charged her s ghost writing fee  and gotten paid. But being the sap nice person I am, I did it for FREE.

What this experience proved to me was I could write a decent story. Before I knew it,  my own series of novels started pouring out of me. I chose a time period when the world went crazy. World War II was a classic struggle between freedom and oppression. Good and Evil. The Devil and he Savior. If you watch the History Channel even a little bit, you get an inkling of what men went through during this time. But, like usual, the stories of the women are not told. It’s as if the opposite gender never existed, so I wanted needed to tell stories of my mother’s generation.

Apple Pie and Strudel Girls, Stranger in the Spotlight, Tea and Biscuit Girls, The Love Immigrants and now Finding Gessler have not blown the minds of any major market—YET. But things maybe a changin’.

Recently, I have hired a literary agent for the third and fourth books, and they are now being presented to publishers in Europe and across the United States. I keep telling myself it will only take one to buy the rights. And with the success of that one—I’ll be on my way to prosperity. I still have a vision of that writing room that looks out to the ocean, remember? And seeing the “experts” say, don’t quit your day job before you have written 10 novels, I’ve decided I’ll continue producing books until I fill my bookcase with  my work.

And until that day, I will grow where I’m planted and keep producing seeds of writing. After all, the good book says we all will reap what we sow.

Bobby and Iwo

Sunday’s short story this week is a little bit of historical fiction based on a true account.  I’ve wanted to tell this story since one incredible man shared it with me many years ago.



Bobby and Iwo

2012 Copyright Barbara Celeste McCloskey

Bobby lay in his bunk with pen in hand. Most of the guys in his platoon were doing the same thing after the briefing. He wrote:

My darling, Arlene,

Hi sweetheart. I hope this letter finds you well. I was glad to hear that your mid-term grades were good. I’m doing well, too. Ship life is boring, but soon things will change. By the time you get this letter, the battle will be over.

I’ve gotten used to the rocking and rolling of this tug, the heaves of the rough surf, but I can’t tell you how anxious I am to set my feet back on solid ground again. I just hope my sea legs will remember how to walk. (Ha, ha)

I can’t tell you much; just that we’re sailing to some dinky island in the South Pacific. The Navy guns have been shelling this rock for days, so we’re hoping nothing’s left and the Japs have turned tail and gone home.

Don’t worry about me, sweetie. I’ll come out of this fight just fine because I want to come home and kiss your beautiful face again.

Wait for me. Love, Bobby

Bobby scrawled the familiar address on the airmail envelope, licked it shut and kissed it. He he rolled over and rested his blonde head on a thin pillow. His nervous energy kept his eighteen-old imagination active. It would be his first time to hit the beach for real. He didn’t want to admit he was scared about what would happen tomorrow, but his body confirmed he was. Bobby turned onto his side and punched his pillow to find a comfortable position. Every time he moved he rocked the bunk.

His best friend Danny was below. “Knock it off, Bobby. Jesus!”

Bobby whispered. “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my baby blues, I keep wondering what about tomorrow.”

“I know what you mean. I just hope the Navy blasted the lot of them to death, and we’ll just stroll onto the beach.”

“I doubt that. They chased MacArthur out of the Philippines. Wonder if they kick our asses? They’re mean sons of bitches.”

“Aw, don’t worry, Bobby. We’ll kick the hell out of ‘em and be back on deck before supper.”

“Yeah.” Bobby said unconvinced. “We’d better try and get some sleep.”

Danny agreed. “Yeah. I wonder what we’ll get for breakfast. Somebody said they always feed us good before a battle.”

Bobby let out a belly laugh. “You crack me up! The Marines feeding us well. That’s rich! You must be talking in your sleep and you don’t know it.”

Somewhere else in the compartment another marine shouted, “Shut up you dumb asses – you’ll be wishing you had that comfortable rack when you’re lying on your bellies on that dam rock!”

Bobby rolled over and didn’t say another word. Danny was quiet for the rest of the night, too, but neither slept. Adrenalin was pumping too strong.


As sun broke the horizon, the ship came to life. The monotony of revelry at 0600, calisthenics on deck in skivvies, dressing in olive green fatigues, and then hot chow at 0700. But February 19, 1945 was soon to be anything but ordinary. All the soldiers scarfed up the steak and eggs because they all figured it would be a long time before they’d have hot chow again.

After breakfast, Bobby and Danny waited on deck in their gear. The sun beat down on the deck as the two teenagers tried to feel like brave Marines in their camouflaged uniform and helmets. Canteens and pistols hung from their equipment belts and 50 pound packs were strapped on their slender backs. They were told they would be in the second wave to hit the beach.

“God, it’s hot!” Danny exclaimed as he wiped the sweat from his face. “I just wish we could get on the Higgins and get going.”

“Don’t be too anxious.” Bobby said. “Remember how seasick you always get?”

Danny tried to keep things light. “Hell, they probably don’t even need us. The Navy flyboys have been dropping shells on this rock for over 70 days, and the 14” guns from the battleships have been going at it for the last three days. What can be left?”

Bobby stood quietly with his rifle slung over his shoulder. Finally he said, “Why don’t you shut up for two seconds? God, you talk a lot!” After the cross words were out of his mouth, he was sorry when he saw Danny’s face.

“Sorry.” Danny looked away. “God, you’re touchy!”

The two friends waited for the squawk box to bark orders to board the LVT transport.

As Bobby stood in line to descend the cargo nets, he had regrets. “Hey, Danny.”


“I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry, man.”

“No sweat. But thanks for saying so, buddy. I guess we’re all a little testy.”

“Yeah.” Bobby smiled at his friend. “We’ll give ‘em hell.”

“Damn right.” Danny smiled back.

All of a sudden, Bobby’s stomach rolled. It probably was the extra steak and eggs he’d gotten from the guy from Oklahoma. What’s the matter with you, Marine? There will be no puking before battle. Marines aren’t afraid. Buck Up! He took a deep breath and put mind over matter. You’ll be okay. After all, you promised Arlene–

Bobby had no time to finish his thought as he precariously climbed down the flimsy rope ladder on the port side of the ship. At the bottom, he jumped in the small boat that would take them into battle. Bobby and Danny were the last two soldiers to get into the boat, which was already assholes to bellies full of sweaty soldiers.

Danny yelled, “The Marines must be taking orders from the Navy!”

“Why would you say such a stupid thing?” Bobby growled.

“Well they got us packed in here like sardines, don’t they?” Danny grinned.

Bobby laughed. Danny could always break the tension with a joke.

As the transports steered toward the beach, the sailors on the ships saluted the Marines with cups of coffee, waving good luck.

Bobby said, “Maybe you got something there, sport! Look at those assholes!”

The hum of the engines of the small landing boat seemed quiet as the thunder of mortar shells pierced the sea, causing splashes that sent chills down Bobby’s spine. As bullets whizzed over them, Bobby read fear in Danny’s eyes. Others stared ahead with blank eyes, not able to fathom what was happening.

When the ramp dropped, a rush of young male bodies jumped into the water only to sink up to their knees in thick, black, volcanic sand. Bobby slipped in the muck, took in a deep gulp of salt water, and came up sputtering. He struggled under the heavy weight of his pack, while maneuvering through dozens of floating dead kids like him. As he kept his feet pumping toward the beach, Bobby didn’t look at their lifeless faces. Crouching and keeping his head down, he kept going forward. A barrage of bullets ripped through the water and whizzed by his head.

The water was freezing and he struggled for breath. Marines always go forward, Bobby told himself. Marines don’t quit. Get onto that goddamn beach! Finally, the waves were behind him, and he fell on his belly gulping in deep breaths. He turned to see Danny was by his side. “We made it! You OK?”

Danny panted. “Yeah man. I’m fine. Let’s get them bastards!”

What was left of their unit was pinned down on the beach by machine gun fire. Paralyzed by the hellish scene, Danny and Bobby first realized there was a good possibility they could die. Bombs shook the sand and the explosions produced pain pierced their ear drums like ice picks. Thick, choking, white smoke billowed in the air, while a sickening smell of rotten eggs gave Bobby a headache that reminded him of the hangover he got after drinking cheap booze on liberty in Hawaii. When a shell landed close to Bobby, his bones felt like they had turned to metal and somebody had hit him with a sledgehammer.  “Oh my god, oh my god. Danny, you OK?”

“Don’t worry about me, brother. Just protect your own ass!”

They crawled like ugly salamanders to improve their position behind a small sand dune. It was clear there was no glory in war; there was only a battle to stay alive.

After a few hours, the whole unit found itself trapped behind a ridge of black sand. There was no way to dig a foxhole because the loose volcanic sand fell in upon itself. Their only option was to go forward, and that meant confronting exploding shells and machine gun fire.

The sergeant yelled. “We have to get to the top of that ridge. Kowalski and Anderson, stay behind me.”

Inch by inch Bobby and Danny crawled behind Sarge with the rest of the obedient soldiers as the surreal horror of battle surrounded them. Bobby watched guys he had eaten breakfast with that morning explode. Guys he had beaten at poker cried out with pain in their eyes. The dead lay in their wake.

As they inched forward, it was apparent the Japs were “in” the island, not “on” the island, and the American rifles were about as useful as bee-bee guns. To kill this enemy the Marines needed hand grenades and fire throwers to blast the bastards out of their caves. Bobby adopted one mantra. Run, don’t die. Run, don’t die.

But what they needed was sinking in the slippery, black sand back on the beach. Tanks sank to their tracks and Jeeps up to their axles as they were unloaded off the transports. The small beach made it difficult to organize supplies because of the large numbers of dead bodies that clogged the beach. When supplies did get to shore, getting the hand grenades and flame throwers to the soldiers in battle was another laborious and dangerous chore. Lucifer himself couldn’t top this hellish place.


It only took a few hours before the smell of death wafted over the land. The metallic smell of blood, the sulfur of the bombs, and the sickening sweetness of cheap cologne mixed to create a nauseating odor that Bobby would never forget. The smell of shit and piss was everywhere because soldiers had no other alternative to relieve themselves in battle. Bobby felt ashamed when he let go of his bowels the first time.

As dusk fell, Bobby’s unit was still on the ridge with little protection. He thought it was crazy that a small bump on the beach would be a life or death problem.

Bobby said, “This hasn’t quite been a stroll onto the beach.”

Danny said, “Yeah. How will I ever tell my mother I pooped in my pants and almost got eaten alive by land crabs and sand fleas?”

“Aw hell, you complain about just about anything, Kowalski! What are a few bug bites when you could more easily get your head blown off?”

“That’s you, Anderson, always thinking on the bright side. God, I hate you.” Danny smiled at his friend.

When darkness fell, fear intensified. Exploding shells sounded like a thousand thunderclaps. Flashed in the blackness sent horrendous, ear splitting pain, while the incessant rapid machine gun fire let them know the enemy wasn’t sleeping, either. The sounds of battle were a curious chorus punctuated with cries of dying men.

After the first day, the first lesson of war set in on the young Marines: Kill the Japs before they kill you. It was as simple as that. The oldest law of the jungle– survival of the fittest would win.


The Marines moved up one ridge after another to get to their target—the top of Suribachi Mountain. There was an airstrip up there the fly boys needed to get to Tokyo, and the mission was to take it away from the enemy.

Bobby and Danny were still alive after three days. They were hot, dirty, tired, wet and miserable, but they knew they were the lucky ones. They rested, but never slept; they knew if they wanted to be alive in the morning, sleep wasn’t an option. They began to see K-rations as delicacies.

Danny said, “I thought my mother was the worst cook on the planet, but I think the Marines take the prize.”

“Complain, complain, complain. Geez, Kowalski!” Bobby teased.

“You can’t honestly say you like this crap?” Danny’s voice was incredulous.

“It’s steak and potatoes to me, my friend. Just a little mind over matter.” Bobby smiled as he choked down another bite.


On February 22 around ten o’clock in the morning, Bobby and Danny sat behind a yet another small ridge of sand. “Well, will you look at that!” Danny exclaimed.

“Well, I’ll be god-dammed. Isn’t that about the most beautiful thing you ever saw?”

“It sure is.” Danny sounded choked up.

Bobby felt a lump in his throat as a tear rolled down his cheek.

A rousing cheer rose from the Marines who had made it through the battle went up as the red, white and blue of the Stars and Stripes unfurled on top of the mountain.

“My God, we did it! Some day you can tell your kids that you saw this –“ Bobby joked, “That is, if any girl will have your sorry, Pollock ass.”

“You think you’re so hot because Arlene took pity on you, you dumb Dane. She’ll never wait for you. She’ll marry some rich guy. I guarantee it.”

Bobby smiled. He felt proud for the first time since he crawled onto the island. The sight of the U. S. flag convinced him the Marines would take this rock and then march on toward Tokyo. “I feel like I just had a blood transfusion.”

“What?” Danny said.

“I feel charged up. Energized. Ready to go. Don’t you?”

“I feel something, but I’m not sure what it is.” Danny said.


The Marines had a day to rest before starting their charge to the north of the island. Supplies finally caught up to them, and they had a chance to get cleaned up and choke down a K-ration. Once again, Bobby’s imagination got him through the unsavory meal. Danny said he’d never complain about his mother’s cooking again.

Jimmy, the supply officer, offered all the soldiers their choice of a package of cigarettes or a cigar. Having never tried either, Bobby chose the cigar. He lit it and took a long drag. Immediately, he felt light-headed and he coughed up the smoke until his sides hurt. Not wanting to look like a sissy in front of the other guys, he tried again. By the time the stogie was half burned up, Bobby learned how to smoke and enjoyed the calming affect of the tobacco.

As the seasoned Marines rested before they moved north, replacements joined them. These recruits were kids straight off the farm; some hadn’t even fired a gun before. Bobby and Danny knew they would learn quickly or they wouldn’t be leaving the island.

Bobby said, “I’m really glad they brought in such green replacements.”

“Why? The dumb fucks don’t even know how to shoot. What good are they?”

“Yeah, and they don’t know how to play poker, either. I’m really glad they’re here. I’ll go home a rich man!”

“Any man who goes home will be a rich man.” Danny said dryly.


The next morning, the Marines pushed northward. After the fierce battle for Suribachi, the whole unit thought taking the rest of the island would be easy. But they were mistaken.

Out of nowhere, a shell hit Danny. “Oh no!”

Bobby watched as his best friend fell. He lay down beside his friend and rolled him over, only to see that awful far-away stare in Danny’s brown eyes. He had gotten it in the chest.

Bobby felt rage rise up from his gut as he yelled, “No!” He fired wildly into the direction where he thought the shots had come from. Sarge pulled Bobby forward. “Don’t think, son. Keep moving. We can’t help him.”

Bobby followed orders and let his training take over. He ran beside his sergeant, and his mantra took over where the training left off. “Run, don’t die. Run, don’t die.

But locking out Danny’s blank stare was impossible. Why did the Pollock get it? Why not me? He ran along in a daze, only to be trapped up against another ridge.

Sarge radioed for air support and a few minutes later, bombers appeared in the sky. The men fought all morning to take 400 yards, only to fall back 500 yards later that afternoon. Nothing was worse for Marines. Falling back, having to give up ground they paid for with blood was not in their nature. Sarge assured them it was better to fight another day.

Another fight tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that? When will it end? I want to go home.


After a week of fighting, Bobby believed the Japs were no better than rats. They couldn’t be human. They burrowed in caves and tunnels like rodents, and even when flame throwers burned them to a crisp, there was always another Nip to pick up the fight. They had to be exterminated, just like rats.

Every afternoon torrential rain poured down on the volcanic island. The sun and rain made temperatures rise above 115 degrees, and Bobby felt weak for the first time since landing on the beach. The thick, humid air made it hard to breathe, and Bobby was finding it hard to fight on. Sleep deprivation, living in stinking, filthy clothes and surviving on K-rations was enough to make anyone want to lie down and die. What kept him going was thoughts about Arlene. He wanted to hold her and make love to her; he pictured them married with half a dozen kids. He had to get home.


After Danny’s death, Bobby found himself helping a new recruit accept the situation that was too foreign to imagine. George Pulaski was from Milwaukee, and even though Bobby and he were exactly the same age, Bobby felt like the old man of the two. George was grateful for the quick friendship, but Bobby wondered why he attracted another dumb Pollock.

One day when they were eating their noon rations, Bobby heard the high pitch whistle of an incoming shell; he pushed George into a shallow ditch, and as he did, he felt an excruciating surge of pain travel down his back.

“Bobby! Bobby!” George screamed. “Bobby! Come on man! You can’t die! Oh God, Bobby!”

George rolled Bobby over and saw bullets had ripped down his right side. George dropped his rifle and took the roll of gauze he carried in his pocket and did his best to stop the bleeding that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Where Bobby lay, the sand turned red. George pressed as hard as he could to stop the flow, but his little bit of gauze was about as effective as a Cur-Aid bandage. Bobby had little time. He screamed, “Medic!”

Bobby drifted in and out of consciousness. I can’t feel anything. Oh my God! There’s grandpa over there! Am I dead? I can’t be dead! Arlene! I’m coming sweetheart, please wait for me. What’s this? I’m falling back to earth. I’m in a hole. There’s George!

Bobby whispered, “George, are you there?”

“Yeah, buddy. I’m right here.”

“I’m bleeding ain’t I?”

“Yeah man. The Nips got you good. You gotta fight, Bobby. You can’t die. Arlene is counting on you to come home.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

George ordered, “It’ll be okay. Rest easy.” George screamed again, “Medic! Jesus God! Medic!”

Bobby whispered, “We gotta get out of here, Pollock—

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” Danny yelled.

“We gotta get out of this hole, George. I’m not dying here! I can crawl, just steer me in the right direction.”

George knew there was no crawling out of that hole alive. There was already another nameless dead Marine sharing it with them. All they could do was wait for help.

“Whadda ya waiting for, Marine?” Bobby asked. “Move it, move it. . .” he passed out.

A second later a medic jumped in the hole where the two friends lay. George said, “What took you so long? He’s hit down his back, his arm, leg on the right side.” George started to cry. “I didn’t have enough gauze to do any good.”

The medic said, “You did good, kid. Help me get this IV started; he’s lost too much blood. We have to get this plasma in him.”

George held Bobby’s arm and the medic pierced the vein on the first try. The medic took out large bandages from his pack and wrapped them around Bobby’s wounds. “We have to get him down to the beach for evacuation.”

George nodded as he watched the medic work faster than any nurse.

When the Marines rooted out the sniper, Bobby was rolled onto a stretcher. George and another recruit hauled him over the sharp lava terrain. The medic held the plasma as they moved his bullet-ridden body down to the beach. Bobby was in and out of consciousness, and George prayed they weren’t too late.  He hoisted Bobby’s stretcher onto the transport that would take him to the hospital ship. George jumped in and took his hand. “Bobby, can you hear me?”

Bobby opened his eyes and nodded.

George said, “I’ll see you on the fourth of July next year, buddy. I’ll drive down to Kenosha, and I’ll buy you a ham on rye and a beer.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Lettuce and tomatoes, too?”

“Of course. Anything you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, my friend.” Bobby whispered.

“I’ll keep my promise. You keep yours. No dying.

Bobby gave him a weak smile. He thought George looked exhausted and he should be the one laying on the cot.

“You tell Arlene to bring along her prettiest friend for me, okay.?”

“OK.” Bobby took a deep breath. “Hey George?”

“Yeah, man?”


George turned away and didn’t let Bobby see that a tear had escaped his eye.


When Bobby woke up 36 hours later, his ears still rang from battle, his back screamed with pain. He opened his eyes to find himself in a plaster cocoon. His right arm and leg were bound in heavy white bandages and his left arm and leg were pieced with IVs—one with saline the other with blood. Even though he couldn’t move, he was thankful he was safe on a hospital ship. He was thankful to be clean again. He was thankful for the coolness of the good smelling white sheets. He was even thankful for the disinfectant odors of bleach and alcohol, which replaced the rancid smell of battle and death.

He heard the smooth wailing of Frank Sinatra singing, “Nancy with the Laughing Face.” His pain was like his body was on fire, but a Navy nurse injected something in his IV and he felt better. He saw George’s face loading him on the transport and vaguely remembered falling into a hole. He searched his memory for details, but when he remembered the exploding shell, he tried to think of something else.

About an hour later a doctor came into his room and checked his chart. “Marine, you awake?”

Bobby opened his eyes. “Yes, sir. Where am I doc?”

“You’re on the Good Samaritan,” the doctor answered.


“You’re a pretty lucky, guy, soldier. If it hadn’t been for your friend George and that medic, you’d be hearing a choir of angels instead of Sinatra.”

“Where was I hit?”

“One in the arm, six in the leg, three in the back – we had to remove your kidney and you broke your back. That’s why the cast. I’m assuming you fractured your back from a fall – if a bullet ripped though your spine, you’d be a paraplegic or dead.”

“You’re just a ray of sunshine, doc.” He asked. “Am I going home?” Bobby hoped he would never see battle again.

“I don’t know soldier. I just patch you guys up, and then the Marines decide what to do with you.”

“I won’t have to go back into battle, will I?”

“Like I said, son, I don’t know. The Marines will make the decision for you.”

The doctor moved to the next soldier who was wrapped in gauze like a mummy.

Bobby asked, “Hey doc, what happened to him?”


“Oh,” Bobby took a deep breath. “Doc?”

“Bobby, I really have to get on with my rounds.”

“Just one more thing. Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary, son. You did your job, and I do mine.” The doctor smiled.

Bobby closed his eyes. He knew he’d get through this, and dreamed of the day when George and he would share a beer with Arlene and her prettiest girlfriend.


Flag raising at Iwo Jima


Bobby went home some months later, married Arlene, had three children and ran several successful businesses in Kenosha, Wisconsin and Sydney, Australia. He lived a good life well into his 90s.