The Clock of Life

The following text, the author of which is unfortunately lost in an endless loop of email forwards, is to me a powerful message about life and purpose.  I hope readers of this blog will agree and that anyone who knows the source will add it in a comment below:


STORY NUMBER ONE

    Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago . Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.  Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie." He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.

     To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends, as well.. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block.  Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.  Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld.  Price was no object.  And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong.  Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.  Yet, with all his  wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example.

      One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done.  He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al "Scarface" Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But, he testified.  Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a  lonely Chicago Street.  But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.

      The poem read:

"The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour.  Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still."

  
STORY NUMBER TWO


      World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare.  He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.  One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank.  He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his  ship.  His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.

     As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet.  The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the  fleet.  Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.

     Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to  clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.  Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another  direction.  Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier.  Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet.  He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft.

   This took place on February 20, 1942 , and for that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor.  A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town would  not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man. So, the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor. It's located between Terminals 1 and 2.

      SO WHAT DO THESE TWO STORIES HAVE TO DO WITH EACH OTHER?

      Butch O'Hare was "Easy Eddie's" son.


Postscript:  Snopes.com confirms much of the above as fact and rejects some details as apocryphal.  Whatever the actual facts may be, the story is clearly inspirational and compelling as testimony to human experience on a broad scale and its message has considerable value - WGS

To the Colors

If a picture is worth a thousand words, how can we measure the worth of a poignant video?  I was touched several years ago by the Ford commercial of a young veteran returning home from Iraq.  You'll find that one in the archived posts of this blog.  The video embedded here, titled "Reveille" is not new, but it's worth watching every now and then just to help us keep things in perspective.  I hope you find it as inspirational and thought provoking as I did.

Never Forgotten

The raison de'être of Memorial Day is our universal hope and pledge that those who lost their lives in the cause of freedom will never be forgotten.  This weekend, Americans from coast to coast will spend time reflecting on past events that took some of our brightest minds and strongest spirits.  That is a cost of war that's impossible to measure.  The effect of their sacrifice is that others could survive and prevail in the name of Liberty.  Our reflection today, well intentioned as it is, seems so trivial in comparison to their deeds.  Sadly, many of those heroes are not remembered at all—lost in time and space.  We can only think of them today in the abstract.  There is a modern tendency to honor all of our military on this day, though I personally still consider it a day of tribute to those who died in the line of duty.

Last night I returned home from the Ninth Air Force Association reunion in Columbia, South Carolina.  It was a bitter-sweet experience.  The association was founded by, and its membership consists mainly of, veterans from World War II.  These hardy and intrepid souls are nearly all in the 90+ age group and they have been reuniting for 67 years.  They come from all parts of the country and relive the times that were so important in their lives.  Although my own service in the 9th AF was 20 years after WWII ended, I have very much appreciated the camaraderie of their reunions.  Simply being a part of their group made me feel more closely connected to the days when I was just an infant and they were locked in mortal combat with a fierce enemy of Democracy.  The bitter part of this reunion is that it was to be the last of a long and memorable tradition.  The years have finally taken their toll and like many other veteran groups, this one can no longer defy the transition that eventually comes to all of us.  Helping to make this final reunion memorable, the current IXth AF Commander, Major General Larry Wells and his wife Kathy hosted the group for an exciting tour of the facilities and aircraft at Shaw Air Force Base.  Their personal attention and hospitality was extraordinary.  General Wells was also the keynote speaker at the reunion banquet and shared his vision of the Air Force of the future—never losing sight of the fact that it rests on the foundation built by the veterans of WWII. 

My personal thoughts on Memorial Day will of course include Bill Cramsie, who might as well have been kin to me.  I wish that I could report on this occasion that the plane flown by Bill has been found, but that was not to be.  The wreckage that might have been his turned out to be an unrecorded German aircraft shot down during WWII.  The search for 43-9699 continues.   Also in my thoughts will be my maternal grandmother's brother Melvin Roberts who died in a Japanese POW Camp in Formosa only a few months before the end of the war.

 Melvin Roberts 

7 Jun 1908 - 29 May 1945

Melvin was a robust French Canadian from the north woods of Wisconsin.  He worked for a time in the maritime industry on the Great Lakes and joined the Army in 1938 at the age of 30.  He served as a private in Company C, 1st Battalion, 31st Infantry Division and was stationed in the Philippines at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack and America's entry into WWII.

Hokusen Maru - 1945

After surviving the Bataan Death March, the horrendous conditions at Cabanatuan, the wretched hell-ship Hokusen Maru, and the constant forced labor, Melvin could not conquer the beriberi that years of malnutrition had vested upon him.  He died on May 29, 1945.  In 1949, as part of the effort of the American Graves Registration Service, his remains were recovered from the grave at Shirakawa in Formosa and transferred to the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific at Honolulu where they remain today.  As a youngster, I heard many loving tales about Melvin and even then realized how much his loss was felt by those who loved him.