Category Archives: sadness

Vale, Lou Conter

Born in September 1921 in Ojibwa, Wisconsin, Louis Anthony Conter enlisted in the Navy in November 1939 and, after training at RS San Diego, boarded his first ship– the mighty Pennsylvania-class dreadnought USS Arizona (Battleship No. 39)— in January 1940.

Then QM3/c Conter was aboard Arizona, moored on Battleship Row, during the attack on Pearl Harbor, on 7 December 1941.

As noted by USSArizona.org:

Louis Conter’s most vivid memory of December 7, 1941, came at 8:05am when a bomb hit the ammunition magazine located between Turrets I & II. The blast knocked him to the deck. Other sailors were blown off the side of the ship and into the water.

“Guys started coming out of the fire and we would lay them down on the deck because we didn’t want them jumping over the sides… When the Captain said ‘Abandon ship!’ we went into the lifeboats and started picking men out of the water and fire… When the second attack hit, we fought from the water.”

He spent the next few weeks helping to put out fires and recovering the bodies of his shipmates.

Conter would go on to flight school post-Arizona, and fly with the famed “Black Cats” of Patrol Squadron (VP) Eleven during which he was shot down twice and punched a shark to survive in the water until rescued and earning the DFC. He continued his Navy career, flying with CVG-102 from the USS Bon Homme Richard (CV 31), helping found the Navy’s SERE school in 1954, and retired in 1967 as an LCDR.

He was the last of 335 known survivors of the Arizona and passed on Monday, aged 102.

Fair Winds & Following Seas, LCDR Conter.

‘Easy Harford, a professional soldier must remain cool in times of stress’

We seem to be on a roll when it comes to erasing familiar childhood faces from the planet this week.

Michael A. James, better known as Michael Jayston, had the distinction of probably looking even more like Tsar Nicholas II than old Nikolasha did, appearing as the sad-eyed emperor in Nicholas & Alexandria.

African wars buffs will, of course, better remember him from Zulu Dawn as the real-life Colonel (later Lt. Gen) Henry Hope Crealock, a hard-bitten campaigner who had fought in the Crimea and across India and China before Isandlwana and had to live with Lord Chelmsford’s terrible choices in the latter war, although he was able to carry the line “I do not make the strategies you wish to comment on. I am only His Lordship’s secretary,” in the film.

He also surfaced repeatedly in Dr. Who— back when it was still good, although not opposite Tom Baker who was ironically an unforgettable Rasputin in Nicholas and AlexandriaTinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and dozens of other flickering screeens over the past half-century. He was even reportedly in the running for portraying James Bond at one time or another. 
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Born on 29 October 1935 in West Bridgford, he did his National Service in the 1950s with the British Army of the Rhine– crossing paths with Roger Moore who was also in the area at the time– before embarking on his stage career in 1962. He passed on Monday, aged 88.

Vale, Chubbs

Pouring one out for New Orleans-born Carl Weathers over the weekend.

A big part of my childhood, I can’t remember how many times I saw him on bootlegged-off-HBO Betamax tapes as Apollo Creed– including his death at the hands of Ivan Drago, which was one of the most chilling parts of the Cold War to me as a kid. Plus, there was the terribly underrated Force 10 from Naverone, and, of course, Predator.

As an adult, I just recently attended the Chubbs Peterson Memorial Rifle Golf Tournament in Utah last year, and everyone was full of Carl Weathers humor at the time.

Although he didn’t serve directly in the military, he was a big part of Red Tight Media, which specialized in producing tactical training films for the U.S. armed forces and in constructing simulated Afghani and Iraqi villages at the NTC at Fort Irwin, California, all of which certainly helped keep guys alive in the sandbox.

Thus closes another chapter on my childhood.

S1c Ward finally comes home

20-year-old Navy Seaman 1st Class James Richard Ward was aboard his first ship out of basic, the mighty battlewagon USS Oklahoma, on that fateful morning of 7 December 1941.

As noted by the Navy at the time, the order was given to abandon ship, but Ward “remained in a turret holding a flashlight so the remainder of the turret crew could see to escape, thereby sacrificing his own life.”

Navy Seaman 1st Class James Richard Ward/USS Maryland floats alongside the capsized USS Oklahoma after the Pearl Harbor attacks on Dec. 7, 1941. USS West Virginia is burning in the background.

His actions that day left him counted among the missing from the one-sided battle, entombed in his ship, and the Navy later presented his family with the Medal of Honor and invited them to christen a destroyer escort (DE-243) named to recognize him in 1943.

Last month, S1c Ward, identified in 2019 from recovered remains, was finally brought home, and buried at Arlington at the request of his family.

The Final Marauder Reports

The U.S. Army’s 5307th Composite Unit (Provisional), was not a big organization.

Grouped into three battalions each of 963 men and 139 horses/mules plus a K9 platoon, its all-up TOE was just 2,997 officers and men– basically that of an understrength light infantry brigade. Its largest artillery was 81mm mortars. 

Code-named “Galahad” and led by Brig. Gen. Frank D. Merrill, they became the larger-than-life “Merrill’s Marauders” as they cut a swath across occupied Burma in 1944, marching 1,000 miles in six months (four of those in combat) from India to seize the Japanese-held airfield in the city of Myitkyina.

Now, the last of the Marauders, Russell Hamler, who began the war as a horse soldier in the 27th Cavalry before he volunteered for what would become the 5307th, has passed at age 99, closing a chapter in military history.

The lineage of the Mauraders passed to the 75th Ranger Regiment, which keeps the memory alive.

Vale, Major Wycoff

Titan I missile emerges from its silo at Vandenberg Operational System Test Facility in 1960.

In June 1960, the first flight of armed and operational silo-based SM-68A/HGM-25A Titan I ICBMs, part of the newly-formed 850th Strategic Missile Squadron at Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, came online.

This sparked a new breed of Cold Warrior: the Missileer. Otherwise known as missile combat crew (MCC), or missilemen, missileers have stood their underground posts quietly and with honor for the past 73 years and will continue to do so into the future– still with their patented “30 Minutes or Less, or your next one is free” guarantee.

Their watch is remembered in the poem Missileer:

Missileer
Major Robert Wycoff, USAF (Ret.)

In vacant corners of our land,
off rutted gravel trails,
There is a watchful breed of men,
who see that peace prevails.
For them there are no waving flags,
no blare of martial tune,
There is no romance in their job,
no glory at high noon.

In an oft’ repeated ritual,
they casually hang their locks,
Where the wages of man’s love and hate,
are restrained in a small red box.
In a world of flick’ring colored lights,
and endless robot din,
The missile crews will talk awhile,
but soon will turn within.

To a flash of light or other worldly tone,
conditioned acts respond.
Behind each move, unspoken thoughts,
of the bombs that lie beyond.
They live with patient waiting,
with tactics, minds infused,
And the quiet murmur of the heart,
that hopes it’s never used.

They feel the loving throb,
of the mindless tool they run,
They hear the constant whir,
of a world that knows no sun.
Here light is ever present,
no moon’s nocturnal sway.
The clock’s unnatural beat,
belies not night or day.

Behind a concrete door slammed shut,
no starlit skies of night,
No sun-bleached clouds in azure sky,
in which to dance in flight.
But certain as the rising sun,
these tactic warriors seldom see,
They’re ever grimly ready,
for someone has to be.

Beneath it all they’re common men,
who eat and sleep and dream,
But between them is a common bond,
of knowledge they’re a team.
A group of men who love their land,
who serve it long and well,
Who stand their thankless vigil,
on the brink of man-made hell.

In boredom fluxed with stress,
encapsuled they reside,
They do their job without complaint,
of pleasures oft’ denied.
For duty, honor, country,
and a matter of self-pride.

Major Robert Appleby Wyckoff passed in Santa Barbara earlier this month, at age 83. He penned more than 100 poems and the Colgate University English major got into ICBMs in sort of a funny way.

As recalled by his obit:

Bob would consider us remiss if we did not start this writing with some irony and close it with a sense of pride. The trajectory of his life was changed by a typo. As a graduate from Colgate University with a degree in English Literature, and as the cold war was heating up, he chose to enlist in the United States Air Force. He abbreviated his degree as “Eng,” which was misinterpreted as “Engr” by the Air Force, and he was assigned to an engineering position in ballistic missiles. He was dispatched to Malmstrom Air Force Base, MT, to defend our great nation as a combat crew commander, missileer. While at Malstrom, he earned a master’s degree in Systems Management from USC. He continued his missileer career at Randolph AFB, TX, and Vandenberg AFB, CA. To his credit, Bob was smart enough to learn engineering, engaging enough to become a leader, and loving enough to be the quintessential family man until his last breath.

A graphic showing the poem “Missileer,” by Mr. Robert “Bob” Wyckoff, who passed away in early December 2023 at the age of 83, and was best known for his poem, “Missileer,” which serves as an introduction and inspiration for those in the profession of Air Force missile operations. The background is of a launched unarmed Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile equipped with a test reentry vehicle at 11:01 P.M. Pacific Time Feb. 9 from Vandenberg Space Force Base, Calif. This test launch is part of routine and periodic activities intended to demonstrate that the United States’ nuclear deterrent is safe, secure, reliable and effective to deter twenty-first century threats and reassure allies (U.S. Air Force Photo by Airman 1st Class Landon Gunsauls) (U.S. Air Force Graphic by Staff Sgt. Shelby Thurman)

48 Years Gone

Check out these images from the National Museum of the U.S. Navy Photograph Collection.

45 caliber Colt automatic pistol, Model 1911 A1, # 207-501-9, engraved by W. Ward, shows Army scenes. This image was taken in 1967.

Same as the above

1967 image of Navy .38 caliber Colt Automatic Pistol, #217-1217, engraved by W. Ward, side view.

1967 image of Navy .38 caliber Colt Automatic Pistol, #217-1217, engraved by W. Ward, side view.

Navy .38 caliber Colt Automatic Pistol, #217-1217, engraved by W. Ward, shows two engraved sailing vessels engaged in combat on the top barrel. 1967 image

Why no newer/better images of the above handguns? Well, they were stolen from the Navy Memorial Museum (now the National Museum of the U.S. Navy) on or about December 4, 1975.

To this date, the pistols have not been recovered.

Bittersweet Fairytale

As it is December, thoughts turn to Christmas songs, and one (slightly raunchy) example that I dearly loved for decades– and sometimes belted out when the eggnog flowed too hard– was Fairytale Of New York by The Pogues. I mean, being a quarter Irish, how could I not, right?

Sadly, news has come that flawed and often controversial Irish songsmith Shane Patrick Lysaght MacGowan, who co-wrote and performed the classic, has just passed at age 65.

And before you talk too much smack about him, listen to the Pogues’s version of Waltzing Matilda. 

Pouring out the nog for Shane.

Last Full Measure: Wilfred Owen

Some 105 years ago today, poet and soldier LT Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, MC, 5th Bn. Manch. Rgt, was killed, on 4 November 1918, aged just 25. Owen died just a week before the signing of the armistice and is commemorated in Ors Communal Cemetery.

IWM Q 101783

He had earned his MC prior to death, although it was not gazetted until four months later. To quote his Military Cross citation in the Edinburgh Gazette in 1919:

“For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in the attack on the Fonsomme Line on October 1st/2nd, 1918. On the company commander becoming a casualty, he assumed command and showed fine leadership, and resisted a heavy counter-attack. He personally manipulated a captured enemy machine gun from an isolated position and inflicted considerable losses on the enemy.”

A year earlier, Owen had penned his famous work, Anthem for Doomed Youth while recovering from shell shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital, where he had met mentor Siegfried Sassoon.

Owen’s writing does not seek to glorify war, nor does it speak of the honor or bravery of the men he fought alongside, instead it is a bitter tale of soldiers “bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags” who are hit by gas.

Returning to France in August 1918 after convalescence, he earned the Military Cross in October leading his company then was killed in an action whilst crossing the Sambre–Oise Canal, just a few days before the Armistice.

Discover more poets of the Great War, via the IWM.

40th Anniversary of Beirut

This week marks the sadly almost forgotten 40th anniversary of the tragic 1983 terrorist bombing of the United States Marine Corps Barracks in Beirut, Lebanon. Of note, the 241 Americans– 220 Marines, 18 Sailors, and 3 Soldiers– killed in the attack were peacekeepers in a pointless Middle Eastern conflict.

The more things change, right?

In Beirut, U.S. Ambassador Shea and French Ambassador Hervé Magro laid a wreath at the U.S. Embassy memorial adorned with the phrase, “They Came in Peace.” Members of the U.S. Embassy’s Marine Security Guard detachment read the names of each victim, remembered their service, and honored their sacrifice.   

They are remembered in The Cedar Tree Battalion, 241 cedar trees planted in the hills overlooking the city. 

Arlington also maintains a memorial, also with a cedar tree, marked “Let Peace Take Root.”

The USMC’s official commemoration video:

The battleship USS New Jersey (BB-62) was offshore of Lebanon when the attack occurred and one of her crew– ETC (SW) Michael Gorchinski– was killed ashore in the bombing. Her crew tells the story of their involvement in the conflict

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