As we wind the year down and celebrate the holiday season with friends and family, the entire NMAW staff would like to extend a warm holiday greeting to our military personnel and their families. Thank you for your service to our Country.

We will be away for the next few days, but our blog will be back in full swing next Monday.

Season’s Greetings!

I had the good fortune to attend a Change of Command Ceremony aboard the USS Intrepid two weekends ago in New York City.  My good friend and former neighbor in Fayetteville, COL (P) Jay Gothard, was assuming command of the 353rd Civil Affairs Command at Fort Wadsworth.  Good man, wonderful husband and dad, and everything this country can be proud about in a Reserve officer.

During his opening remarks, MG David Morris, Commanding General of the USA Civil Affairs and Psychological Operations Command (Airborne), shared some sobering facts regarding deployments, and I also spoke with Jay about the issue.  Civil Affairs is about 6,000 soldiers strong (out of 208,000 in the Army Reserve) and these soldiers are currently supporting every major contingency operation, not just Iraq and Afghanistan.  Civil Affairs soldiers are deploying about every 20-24 months for a year.  That is close to the Active Duty operational tempo of 18 months of dwell time.  The goal is to deploy for one year out of every five.  We can’t get there with our current force structure and the world situation.  Therefore our forces are strained and it is requiring a lot of creative effort on every leader’s part to meet the nation’s business requirements.  General Casey, the Chief of Staff, says our forces are out of balance.  The Army is working hard to get back into balance, with a goal of 2011 to reach some equilibrium.

The Army Reserve has had about 130 Soldiers killed in action.  Twenty-four of those Soldiers were Civil Affairs Soldiers, or about 20 percent of the KIAs.

Our Museum will definitely include the stories of Reservists and National Guard soldiers.  They serve.  They sacrifice.  They protect our freedoms.

Mr. Peter Thomas is one of the world’s most famous narrators and voice artists on TV and radio programs, commercials and documentaries. Mr. Thomas is not only a friend of Allan Cors, NMAW’s Board Chairman, but also the narrator of our DVD. Below is a wonderful article written by Mr. Thomas that was in the Naples Daily News this past Monday.

Guest Commentary: We owe our freedom to GIs who fought Battle of the Bulge

By PETER THOMAS, Naples

Monday, December 15, 2008

Dec. 16, 1944: Even though it has been 64 years, the memories are still vivid and overwhelming.

Unfortunately, relatively few Americans are aware of the Battle of the Bulge in World War II. Nineteen thousand American soldiers were killed with more than 70,000 casualties. It was the largest combat action in the history of the American military.

On Dec. 12, we were pulled out of the miserable Hurtgen Forest. We had been in constant combat since D-Day. The green, dark hell of Hurtgen was filled with a network of fortified bunkers that no shell could penetrate. It was a horrible place, with dense fir trees. It rained constantly — mud was everywhere. We lived in cold, wet foxholes like animals. We put logs over our holes to protect us from artillery shells bursting above in the trees, showering us with fragments.

Hurtgen was one of the most costly, ill-advised battles we ever fought. Many historians have said it was an awful mistake — and of little strategic value. We could have gone around that dark fortified forest. Thirty-thousand American GIs were killed or wounded.

We left that terrible place completely exhausted and battle weary and headed for the first rest period since Normandy six months earlier.

We went to Spa, Belgium. It was like going to heaven — hot food, new uniforms, a warm place to sleep out of the weather.

While there, our beloved Sgt. Stamborsky, who had been wounded in Normandy, came back to us. He chose to return to his outfit rather than go home. He jokingly said, “I knew you guys couldn’t win the war without me!” He was like a father to us — we were teenagers; he was 30, an old man to us.

Those few days in Spa were wonderful: mail from home, hot showers, a movie.

It all ended on Dec. 16. Out of the fog and snow and bitter cold, three German armies crashed through our lines on a 50-mile front. Nineteen hundred pieces of heavy German artillery bombarded the Ardennes. Two hundred and fifty-thousand German soldiers and 1,000 tanks and associated guns attacked, defended by green American troops with no combat experience. Shells shrieked overhead, mortars and machine guns fired, search lights stabbed through the morning light. V1 buzz bombs dropped to the ground. It was a complete surprise, and we were completely unprepared.

We climbed into trucks and headed for the Ardennes. After a few hours, we could hear the noise of battle, and as we got closer, we saw something we had never seen before — American soldiers streaming to the rear, retreating, full of fear and panic. These were the green troops who had replaced us.

We went into that unbelievable hell. The cold was unbearable. The wind cut like a knife. Our buddies in the sky couldn’t help us. The fog was so thick, there was no chance to fly. We couldn’t dig foxholes. The ground was frozen, the roads like ice.

It was the worst winter in Europe in 20 years. Our 1st Division had fought the Germans in Africa, Sicily and Europe. “No mission too difficult, no sacrifice too great — duty first.” We knew what to do.

The Germans were now up against a tough, seasoned, combat-ready division. We made our stand and there was no retreat. On Dec. 17 the word went through the line that Kampfgruppe Peiper (part of the 1st SS Panzer Division) had executed 120 American prisoners in a field in Malmedy, Belgium. That made us even more determined to beat the enemy. We fought like demons.

On Christmas Eve our Sgt. Stamborsky stepped on a mine and was killed. We felt unbelievable grief. We spent the night in an old barn with the sound of battle all around.

On Christmas Day the skies cleared, and our bombers and fighter planes came to help. We saw the first German jet streak across the sky. We all felt we were lucky that plane hadn’t been available to the Germans earlier.

On Dec. 27 I was hit by German shrapnel. The wounds were not life-threatening and I rejoined my platoon in a few days.

The German advance was stopped by the middle of January — the enemy was on the run. The rough, battled-hardened American troops had stopped the German advance. If we hadn’t succeeded, the war could have gone on for years, or we could have been defeated.

As we moved forward in early January 1945, we saw thousands of our buddies lying dead in the snow. That memory will stay with me always. How can we ever forget what they did?

The Battle of the Bulge will always be an heroic, tragic, sad memory. Every Dec. 16 my mind goes back and remembers. The freedom we enjoy today is because of the dedication and sacrifice of the men and women of the second world war, who fought not only in the Battle of the Bulge, but in all the battles around the world.

We owe them so much.

This poem has probably been sent around numerous times, but when one of our Board Members forwarded this to us, I knew it just had to be posted on our blog.

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts…

To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said, “Its really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.
“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ‘Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘Nam’,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.”
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
“I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.

“Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

Last night Craig and I were able to attend Freedom Alliance’s 15th Annual Defender of Freedom Award Dinner as guests of Richard Norman, President of the Richard Norman Company, and his lovely wife Vickie.

Each year, Freedom Alliance gives the Edward J. Bronars award to someone, who, in the face of adversity, exemplifies faith, courage and fidelity to the Constitution and the principles of freedom. First Lieutenant Andrew Kinard, USMC, native of Spartanburg, South Carolina and a 2005 graduate of the United States Naval academy was presented the award this year.

Only six weeks into Andrew’s deployment he was standing directly on top of a 155mm artillery shell when it detonated. Andrew lost both of his legs and suffered a long list of severe internal injuries. Immediately following the explosion, he was issued 67 units of blood and went into cardiac arrest multiple times before arriving at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, MD. In the four months following the incident Andrew received nearly 60 surgeries that only began to restore his normal body functions. First Lieutenant Kinard spent more than a year recuperating from his injuries at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Today, Andrew continues to serve his country as an active duty Marine.

First Lieutenant Kinard gave a heart warming speech at the dinner last night and I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the room. Andrew doesn’t view himself as a hero and instead of speaking about his story he chose to talk about the Marines that saved his life, “My Marines didn’t give up on me, so I didn’t give up on them.” Andrew said in his speech that those Marines that saved his life kept doing their jobs to keep him alive, so he kept fighting to live.

After the dinner Craig and I had the opportunity to meet First Lieutenant Kinard and thank him for his service to our country. Andrew is a well spoken, energetic and humble individual who is proud to serve our country.

First Lieutenant Kinard, we salute you, sir.

When I mention that our museum will cover those who serve(d) our country on the home front during times of war, almost everyone thinks immediately of World War II and Rosie the Riveter.   But what about today and what about families?  Is their story being told?

My family gathered in Fayetteville, North Carolina last week at my mother’s home for Thanksgiving.  A highlight is always attending morning Mass at St. Patrick’s Church.  The large sanctuary was nearly full and all came to give thanks to God in a reverent way for all our many blessings.  Quiet and respectful…except for two little boys sitting three rows in front of us.  These imps squirmed.  They made noises.  They dropped things.  They behaved like…well… little boys.

Nobody actually glared or said anything, but you knew that we all were thinking after 10 minutes or so, “Why doesn’t that mother do something about her disruptive sons.  We came here to worship, not be distracted.”  The young woman seemed determined to ride out the storm inside the church.  She would settle one boy down then try to attend to the Mass, but within two minutes one or the other son was at it again.  Was this going to go on the entire Mass?

And then it struck me.  Her husband is deployed.  A high percentage of Catholic parishioners in Fayetteville are military, and this poor woman is there to pray for the safety of her sons’ father.

I shared this thought with my wife, and she went and spoke with the woman after Communion.  “Honey, do you need any help?  Our son was just as squirmy when he was that age.  Are you an Army wife?  Is your husband deployed?”

They didn’t speak long, but I could see the young mother’s look of gratitude that someone understood.  She told my wife that her husband is in the Army and he was away on an assignment.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes. Thanks for asking.  I’m just a little worn out.”

I came to give thanks for my family, and I left giving thanks for hers and others like her.  God bless America.