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Jan Bohuslav Sobota died on May 2nd of 2012 and this is my remembrance of this fine man who was a friend and mentor to me. Each autumn, salmon return to the rivers of their birth a€“ there to spawn and once again trigger a renewal of the eternal passion play.
Salmon that do eventually arrive at their destinations must once again compete a€“ this time for mates and to fight for access to the precious and very limited gravels. The profligate expenditure of life and extravagant wealth of biology is there everywhere to behold, as Death dances lightly among the gathering throngs of fish, picking and choosing from among them; who from their number shall successfully spawn and who shall just be food for the gathering predators and scavengers. Spend a day in silence, walking among the spawning salmon, as they dig spawning redds, jockey for position and slash at competitors with those gaping, snaggletoothed, hooked jaws. Jan Bohuslav Sobota has died, while half a world away; I was preparing these etchings of Spawned Salmon and dedicating them to Jan, the lover of fish. The book you hold in your hands has evolved from my simply giving these etchings a second life in book form, to my using them as a vehicle for honoring a friendship of three decades. In 1985, Jan and I had been corresponding for some months without ever meeting a€“ all quite distant and correct. A short bit of background on Jan Sobota to begin, but fear not; Ia€™ll soon be spinning anecdotes and thoughts on books as art a€“ celebrating Jana€™s life of course, telling a few stories out of school, but also straying into the personal and speculative in search of the meaning to be derived from the life and death of a friend. Jana€™s father was a serious bibliophile and collector of fine books, who nurtured that same love of books in his son a€“ an appreciation that steadily grew, until he was apprenticed to master bookbinder Karel A ilinger in PlzeA?. The pivotal event in Jana€™s early life as a book artist was the posthumous retrospective exhibition of fellow Pilsener, Josef VA?chal in 1969. Jan supported a family, sponsored workshops, exhibited widely, did conservation work on rare historic books, ran a gallery a€“ and on it went. What Jan did for contemporary bookbinding, was to act as a bridge between the traditionally trained masters of the past and innovators of the present. America was a great place to be a book artist in the early 1980a€™s precisely because it was an active zone of hybridization and hotbed of creativity. An instructive contrast to the anything-goes US scene was the icy reception I got when I showed a wooden box containing loose sheets of poetry and etchings to a Prague publisher. Neither Jan nor I had much interest in the book-like objects that often sneak into the museums as book arts a€“ the carved and glued together things that sorta, kinda have a bookish aspect to them a€“ rough-looking a€“ perhaps chain-sawed Oaken boards or granite slabs, slathered in tar and lashed together with jute; but lacking text.
When Jana€™s books went beyond function, conservation or decoration, they were subtle statements about binding and the place of books, knowledge and art, as well as statements about the dignity inhering in the handcrafted - with a good dose humor. There are others who know their conservation and those, whose scientific contributions are far greater, but few of them are also artists at heart.
It can sound so pedestrian, these eternal compromises between art and craft, yet what Jan represented was not at all common. There is an inflection point at which exceptional craft begins to make the transition to art and it is closely associated with surmounting the limitations inhering to the discipline. Visiting with Jan in his workshop you quickly realized, that he did what a professional must, but ultimately, he just loved messing about with books.
A curiously protean hybrid of artist and craftsman, ancient and modern, one cannot think of Jan without seeing an unabashed Czech patriot in a foreign land. Early on in their stay in Cleveland, the Sobotas experienced the quintessential American disaster.
Even after their medical debts were retired, money was still an issue for a family of immigrants with three kids a€“ two with special needs. Later on, when they were living in Texas, the massacre at Waco opened Jana€™s eyes to yet another difficult side of his adopted home. In 1979, I apprenticed with Jindra Schmidt, an engraver of stamps and currency, living in Prague. Schmidt had engraved stamps for Bulgaria, Iraq, Ethiopia, Albania, Guinea, Vietnam and Libya. In 1992, Jindra Schmidt was honored for his contributions and depicted on the last stamp of a united Czechoslovakia, before it split into Czech and Slovak republics a€“ a fitting tribute.
Unlike most children of immigrants, my destiny remained connected to that of my parentsa€™ homeland. My vocation as artist clarified itself in Prague while learning the increasingly obsolete skills of steel engraving. My first book was indeed, modeled after VA?chal, even to the extent of its diabolical subject matter. Jan showed me a great deal in the following years about the tradition of books as the meeting place of art, craft and ideas a€“ where printmaking intergrades seamlessly with the worlds of language, typography and illustration. One can like these things just fine and admire them from an uncomprehending distance, or you can become engaged. The book you hold was to have been a simple reprint of the Spawned Salmon a€“ something fun for Jan to work his magic upon. Nice sentimental reminiscences, but there is still the matter of getting the work accomplished and out before the public, organizing exhibitions, printing catalogs and paying for transatlantic flights. The Prague show was reconfigured and curated by Jana€?s longtime friend, Ilja A edo, for exhibition at the West Bohemian Museum in PlzeA?. Quite predictably, I like seeing the kind of work I do honored a€“ the wood engravings and etchings made to shine in the context of crisply printed type and an excellent binding. Ia€™ve heard printmakers lament that the surest way to devalue prints is to add excellent poetry, sensitive typography and a bang-up binding a€“ and then live to see the whole thing sell for half the price of just the unbound prints. Therea€™s nothing quite like seventeenth century Bohemia, the dead center of Europe, for particularly thorough violence a€“ with the Bubonic Plague stepping in afterwards as mop-up crew.
The chapel at Sedlec was rebuilt after the major blood-letting of the thirty-years war as a memento mori a€“ reminder of death. What can you say about the mounds of dead, the ruined lives, destroyed nations and misery multiplied by millions that isna€™t trite or self-evident? But then I pan over to other fields a€“ not the kind where the grass is composting my fellow man, but to fields of endeavor where the ferment is of ideas recombining into ever more refined ways of thinking. I once lived at the Golem house in Prague a€“ at Meislova ulice, number 8, in the old Jewish ghetto. Horoscopes might seem a curious basis on which to select ministers and diplomats, but it is also more common than youa€™d think. Picture the scene before you: Ita€™s a late night in Prague, before the Marlboro man dominated every street corner, even before the neon of casinos and the vulgarity of Golden Arches assaulted the nightwalkersa€™ eyes at all hours a€“ back when darkness, oh yes, that beautiful comforting velvety, all-enveloping and blessed dark, broken only by the moon, stars and late night taxis, still ruled the streets after the sun went down. The Golem was a mythic being of Jewish folklore, created from clay and quickened by the Shem, a magical stone engraved with an ancient Hebraic inscription, inserted into Golema€™s forehead. The maternal tongues of these small nations have miraculously survived all the invasions, floods, plagues and foreign occupiers to this day a€“ a gift preserved and delivered to them across the generations. Minority languages, on the other hand, carry an emotional load that can scarcely be exaggerated.
Ishi and his sister were the last of the Yahi tribe to survive the genocidal colonization of California.
Those whose language and culture are not threatened can never know the burden under which the carriers of small minority languages labor a€“ nor how those in exile bring up their children to preserve that which is beyond their capacities to save. Jan was all about preserving traditions and the kind of ancestral knowledge that today is mostly enshrined in books. Today, the stories of our tribes are less and less passed on as oral tradition and most often read to us from the childrena€™s books wea€™ve learned to treasure a€“ illustrated by fine artists and produced with care for the highly discriminating purchasers of childrena€™s books a€“ for grandparents.
A?epelA?k employed binders and typesetters to present complete suites of his work and in this too, he introduced me to a new world. Later in Prague I missed my flight back, due to the World Trade Center bombing and was delayed by a week. The difficult thing to bear in acknowledging my teachers, models, heroes, suppliers and inspirations, is that these masters of the crafts and industries surrounding and supporting the book arts are mostly deceased. The fruit we seek is not fast food, but laden with full-bodied flavors, attained by slow natural processes.
All of us come from grandfathers who once were wheelwrights, cobblers or instrument makers; men with a profound love of wood and leather, who knew the working qualities of every kind of obscure tree growing in their countryside a€“ men who knew when to reach for elm or hickory a€“ as well as for goat, dog or even fish-skins. Jan spoke fondly of his grandmother, who baked bread every week of the year to feed an entire estate a€“ farm hands, livery people, gentry, trainers and hod-carriers alike. Working consciously is the ultimate goal a€“ and that is the legacy youa€™ll find evidently contained within and upon the boards of every book bound by Jan Bohuslav Sobota. The etchings you see here first came to life as illustrations for the wedding anniversary announcements of MA­la and Jaroslav KynA?l. Jan Bohuslav Sobota died on May 2nd of 2012 and this is my remembrance of this fine man who was a friend and mentor to me.A  He was an exceptional bookbinder, teacher and promoter of the book arts, but also an exile who successfully returned home after years abroad.
There was a new album, Come Running, and a golden opportunity to promote the CD and get reacquainted. He'd hitchhike to Concord, the next town over, to a record shop that had a old-time listening booth.
A friend and he would hitchhike into Boston to the Jazz Workshop on Sundays when they allowed minors to attend. After high school, Bill attended Plymouth State College in New Hampshire to study Visual Arts and English. He hadn't yet developed as a musician, so he relied on an improv comedic patter between songs. What was frustrating was hearing the barroom folkies, human jukeboxes, who would just do covers and sound like Paul Simon on one song and Neil Young on the next.
He began playing the Sunday open mic at the venerated Newmarket, NH live music venue, The Stone Church on a regular basis. He began dating Annie Williams, a freshman at the University of New Hampshire who attended the open mic. After performing throughout New England in the 1970's, Bill signed with Rounder Records and released his self-titled debut album in 1984. Following the aforementioned Inside (1992), he teamed with Greg Brown in 1993, for an album of covers, Friend of Mine. Warren gruffly dismisses her, declining the wine and insists that they use oak, for it's more practical long-lasting heat.
It was probably only a matter of time, fiction writing being so much a part of Bill's nature. One impediment to Bill's lack of production might have been the passing of close friend, fiddler Johnny Cunningham, who died of a heart attack in December of 2003. I got to see Johnny perform at New Bedford (MA) Summerfest many times and his bigger-than-life personality and exuberant humor were a joy to behold, in addition to his being a fiddler of Olympian stature. There they encounter resident trout and bass a€“ even sunfish, chubs and dace, all keyed into the increasingly plentiful and highly nutritious bounty of salmon eggs. Situated 90A km south-west of Prague at the confluence of four rivers, PlzeA? is first recorded in writings from the tenth century.
That vision was about innovation and creativity within the context of an historical tradition. This is what youa€™ll see in a Sobota binding a€“ exceptional attention paid to context and relationships, using materials and technical means that do indeed function and last. He knew his work was valuable and documented it fastidiously a€“ confident that it would be last. There was, however, nothing about his nationalism that demeaned anybody elsea€™s traditions or origins. That smallish incident within the parade of American fringe politics elicited an insanely violent level of suppression.
Masaryk a€“ and the cute little girl with a bouquet of flowers, is my mother Eva, at the age of three. Schmidta€™s income from the federal mint far exceeded anybody elsea€™s in the extended family and supported a network of cars, cottages and rent-controlled flats. Schmidt, as he preferred to be called, was a man of conservative demeanor who preferred polite and reserved forms of speech and address. While visiting their unassuming engraver and extending my tourist visa 30 days at a time, I was quietly becoming qualified for life as a counterfeiter a€“ a vocation within which, one is set for life, however it may eventually turn out. Jan allowed several binders to have their way with it a€“ amo boxes for slipcases with shell casings for hinges and so forth.
This next incarnation of our exhibit in PlzeA? was all just a bit more prosaic and provincial. Is it the binding we consider and exhibit a€“ or is the binding there to conserve a text, which is ultimately the point? There are also binders to whom everything else is merely the text block, who care little if it is an offset trade edition or a book made by hand. The tales therein recorded reflected the accreted wisdom and wit of a people as they retold them across the highlands in modest log cottages after the harvest was in.
The way of working belongs to the Sobota vision I addressed earlier a€“ the honor and soul to be found in conscientiously made handcrafts.


I dona€™t feel that accomplished or ready to assume their mantle and yet with every generation that is what must happen. Gravels, with just the right flow of fresh water running up through stones of the right size are but a tiny portion of the riverbed.A  The salmon must struggle past cities and sewer pipes, farms and irrigation systems, dams and turbines, fishermen and waterfalls a€“ just to reach the streams of their birth.
In many instances, we hear from veterans who were actually inA a picture, or on a ship when the picture was taken. While I was intrigued, the unflinching look at life's bleaker moments was something I didn't want to focus on then. Kelly Flint, vocalist for the on-hiatus band Dave's True Story, has embarked on a solo career and is touring often with Bill.
Beyond the customary guitar and vocal, the songs also use horns and bear witness to Bill's lifelong fascination with jazz, blues and even funk. They'd come home with records by Dave Van Ronk, Eric Andersen, Tim Hardin, and of course, Bob Dylan. He didn't have money to actually buy an album, so he'd listen to a song for about 20 minutes to get the chords. They'd get there two hours early and nurse a coke at the front table until the show started. He asked [slurring] 'Could I play your guitar?' I explained that it was my tool, how I made my living. Around age 25, Bill decided to join a bass player in going up to Alaska to work the fishing boats for a much-needed cash infusion. She was the daughter of a professor at the University, Thomas Williams, a novelist and 1975 National Book award winner.
Johnny's fiddle provided harmony on more of Bill's songs than anyone else throughout his entire career. Any collector of quality contemporary folk music who doesn't own every Bill Morrisey album has some holes to fill. Today, July 31, as I update this page, the sadness continues its course through me as I listen to his songs on John Platta€™s Sunday morning show on WFUV. The audience would shut up and listen to the introduction, but as soon as I started to sing, they went back to their conversations. There is a cadence in a well-written line.A  Three different words might work in one place in a sentence, but only one will scan correctly. This widely beloved stamp was re-issued in 2000 and mother continues to receive philatelic fan mail to this day.
He died the day I was composing a colophon for the Spawned Salmon with words of praise for his lifea€™s work. It's as if God gave him x-ray vision for the human spirit -- all its hidden motives and knee -jerk responses. During the first day out at sea, Bill realized, at 135 lbs, he really wasn't strong enough for the type of hard labor involved in pulling in the full nets. The characteristic display of brilliant writing was there from the beginning, especially in the album's first two tracks. At some point, he will be revered as much as, and regarded as highly as someone like Dave Van Ronk. John replayed parts of his interview with Bill and the loss of the many songs he was about to record is joined by the sense of absence of Bill himself. Bill would trace the music back, from Dylan, to Ramblin' Jack Elliot, to Woody Guthrie.A  When he discovered the music of Mississippi John Hurt, it became the foundation for his own guitar style. The engraving was masterfully done by Schmidta€™s long-dead colleague, Bohumil Heinz (1894-1940). The state security apparatus was surely aware of my presence, but if they kept tabs on me, I never knew. We look forward to hearingA from you and know others will appreciate your input on our country's history and your place in it both yesterday and today. He had built his own cabin upstate in the White Mountains and would invite Bill to spend weekends hunting and fishing. He was simply a wonderful human being, his cracked voice imparting voluminous stories and memories.
Everything is just so wonderful and everybody so creative, but suspending judgment long enough to actually look at some artwork and then giving it a chance isna€™t so bankrupt, is it? Human body parts are again flying and the Baron is at his best defeating Turks and evading friendly fire from buffoonish generals. Farmers would occasionally find their possessions and take them as souvenirs, unaware that the last Indians still lived in their midst. Damn the cost; ita€™s who we are and the last material vestiges of soulful encounters with our elders a€“ onea€™s whose stories are slipping inexorably away, thinned by each passing year and generation. Their kids were grown and they were by then slipping into that last, reflective phase of life a€“ done competing. He wrote it over 18 months, mostly on the road, in motel rooms and in the back of the bus. He wrote it over 18 months, mostlyA  on the road, in motel rooms and in the back of the bus. These scraps turned out to be a deck of medieval playing cards - the second oldest such cards known. A book is so much more than the sum of its parts a€“ and yet each of us tends to have our own bailiwick in which we shine and to which we look first.
Speaker Ryan stated, "As you know, this declaration comes about as the result of an oversight deadline set by Congress."Sec.
He played it a while and handed it back and slurred a 'thank you.' I wouldn't want to do it again, but it was a great training ground. Bill would soak up the conversation as Williams and writers like John Irving would discuss hunting grouse and what fly to use at what location on a stream one minute, then the work of Raymond Carver the next. Today it sounds like a who's who: Patty Larkin, Cheryl Wheeler, Greg Brown, and Nanci Griffith. There were guys who had gotten out of the mill at 3 o'clock and had been drinking since then.
These plates have been inked and wiped by hand, employing methods that woulda€™ve been familiar to Rembrandt. A young Stephen King asked if he could come and meet him just after selling his first novel, Carrie, Bill remembers Stephen driving up in a beat-up pink Cadillac.
They crashed with my wife Jana and me in Kalamazoo, while taking the a€?orientation coursea€?nearby. I can confidently report back to my English reader, that Jan would only grow in stature for you, if you could have fully understood the subtlety of his thoughts in his own maternal tongue. Perhaps right for those who shouldna€™t have sharp objects, for fear of hurting themselves. That show was purchased whole by Special Collections at Western Michigan University and constitutes the largest collection of Sobota bindings and the most complete archive of my work. I also want to thank the Knights of Columbus and all those organizations and leaders around the world who have spoken out on this.
Few people would have cast a second glance at that glued-up mess of moldering old papers before pitching it, nor would they have recognized what they had in hand or known how to restore or sell it. These folks were a profound blessing to a family facing some truly rough sailing a€“ a Godsend. Schmidt had worked was signed with warm dedications to him and thus worth real money to collectors. He wanted to see the printmaker in me come to full fruition and I wanted to be worthy of his attentions.
The family has dwelled within sight of the seats of power, pushing copper plates through a press and outlived the Hapsburg Monarchy, First Republic, Nazis and Communists.
The intact packages were still there on their shelves, all duly graded, labeled and priced, awaiting an owner who was never to return. Back home, their Czech neighbors would have envied them and accused them of theft or worse, but people here seemed to be pleased as punch to see them prosper a€“ genuinely happy for them. Those items too, kept trickling out the door, until there came a sad, sad day, when the golden eggs were all gone. A a€?But now that our government is recognizing this crisis, it needs to do more to stop it.
They bashfully admitted their foolishness and went back to making beautiful books a€“ and their American friends were so relieved to see them regain their sanity.
You take time to grieve and then pick yourself up by your bootstraps (by God a€“ get a grip) and get on with it (Rome wasna€™t built in a day you know). StrejA?ek was still working, but it was all coming to an inevitable end, as he grew shaky of hand and hard of seeing.
Enriched by my days of being nurtured by Prague, Matkou MA›st (Mother of Cities), I moved on to meet my destiny with art. A A NATO planes need to rain hell-fire bombs on all training facilities without warning and more boots-on-the-ground then first wave Navy Seals are necessary to hunt these fanatics as they surface from the holes in the ground they crawled into. A A Real War Photos.A story of Labor Day weekend 1967 at Fort Wainwright and friendships made long ago.
We used field showers which were 55 gallon drums of water on top of a scaffold looking contraption.
Heated by a gasoline heater that provided cold water or scalding water with no middle settings.
Showers were never long.A After two weeks the troops were tiring of the lack of alcohol and the companionship of the native girls at the bars in Fairbanks. I'm sure having troops restricted to base made that generous decision easier for the brass to make.A Friday afternoon, Robert Carleton walked over to my bunk and laid out a plan. A Carleton actually looked like Jim Carrey, black hair and dark eyes and an eternal, almost goofy grin.
He proposed that him, Merle Archie and I should slip off post after dark and make our way to Pauline's bar to check out the chicks and sample Pauline's legendary drinks.
His idea of excitement was watching me and Schwering swill contraband Bacardi while listening to Peter Paul and Mary on his record player. Arch was incredibly bright and we had become close friends, having shared one of the partitioned areas in the barracks.
Anyway, Arch looked at Carleton through his triple thick glasses and exclaimed, "Are you F'n nuts? We stepped into the night after 4 or 5 minutes of careful planning without a thought about consequences or the fact that we had no idea where Pauline's actually was.A We walked the muddy mile down past the motor pool to the fence at post's edge, 8 feet high topped with barb wire. Carleton had one small mishap, probably took 5 stitches, but as I told him he'll always have that scar on his ass to brag about.
The plan was to follow perimeter road until the left corner, ducking the MP jeeps on patrol.
Turn right then a short hike cross country until we found the paved road Pauline's was supposed be on. A half hour later Carleton yelled "Keep moving I see a light!" We made the light and it was right beside the highway. Not a slow pace but a good long march carrying full gear pace, whistling, shouting cadence counts, telling lies and laughing. Carleton let out a yelp and took off running and I was just a step behind him.A A small dirt parking lot then a weathered log cabin, stoop shouldered and tired looking, appeared out of the fog as we got closer.
He looked at me and pushed the door open.A Cigarette smoke filled the small dim room, an overhead light reflected in the mirror behind the small bar.
I stood at the left end Carleton was next to me then 3 guys who looked pretty much the same. One occupied.A i»?i»?A A short woman, 50ish, walked out of the back, a little puffy, reddish hair, eyebrows arched on in a ruddy shade.
She walked over to me, her eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen; something sparkled on her earlobe. Actually you're supposed to have an incredible selection of the best drinks a soldier, er, I mean a person can find this far north. Two double sized shot glasses hit the well-worn wooden bar, filled in a smooth, much experienced motion. A a€?Holy Shit!a€? Carleton whispered to me.A Midnight sounded on the wind up grandfather clock by the door. Carleton was new best friends with the funny talking bearded guy and I was too hammered to move. The fog was still dense, we hadn't really considered the fact that 12 miles out is 12 miles back. A About a half hour later we were sitting beside the road as headlights appeared out of the fog.


We drove for a half hour or so, Carleton had started spouting some kind of gibberish that mocked their accents. The truck started and they disappeared into the fog.A Just as they said we found the railroad track.
A A My next memory is Saturday afternoon, being jostled roughly and someone yelling at me in a deep southern voice. Get out of the rack and enjoy this wonderful God given day!a€? The room was floating in circles in front of me. You poor stupid dumb ass excuse for a soldier you fell for that story?a€? He was almost laughing. We've spent a lot of money rescuing their asses after a couple days in the woods.a€? He shook has head as he now couldn't contain his laughter. I don't think I said goodbye to Carleton, I may not have even talked with him after that night. The next chapter started bad and only got worse.A Robert Carleton and I were never in touch again.
I looked for him 20 or so years ago and found a cousin who said he lived alone and was doing well.
Without weapons training, Miller, a messman third class, jumped into action when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec 7, 1941.
However, after a nasty and aggressive campaign by male pilots who wanted the WASP jobs during World War II, they were the only wartime unit that was denied military status by Congress and were sent home before the war was over and their job was done. Because the women were denied military status, the WASP received no insurance or benefits during or after the war, and if a WASP died during training or while on a mission, their families were not allowed to put a service star in the window, nor could the WASP receive a military burial.
It wasna€™t until the middle of the 1970a€?s that they would be recognized as World War II veterans, and it wasna€™t until 2010, that the United States government would recognize those women who died during their service and the surviving WASP would receive the congressional gold medal. We Served Too provides a first hand account from WASP who tell their story and discuss their experiences during the three pivotal periods that make up the WASP history. The $50,000 needed for the trip is raised entirely by the students through sponsorships, grants and fundraisers.A Those wishing to find out more can call 517-851-7770, ext. I told them online!!!" Clayton B, CAA "You are now my favorite supplier!" Mark S., CAA "I'm no hero, just an old marine, but you treat me like one. Peace and Semper Fidelis," Joe M., MIA "I can't begin to tell you how happy I was with your photos.
You really helped me alot." John B, CTA "I appreciate your work and Veterans discount and completing my order so quickly.
So about 20 G-14a€?s, named Avia S-99 and two G-12a€?s named CS-99 were produced.There were plans for a large scale production to equip the new Czech air force. In September 1945 the stock of DB 605 engines was lost in a fire in the factory where they were stored and an alternative powerplant had to be found.
The 109 airframe was adapted for the Jumo engine and the first Jumo engined S-199 first flew in March 1947. The S-199 and the two seat trainer CS-199 served for some years with the Czech air force but was soon replaced.In 1948 25 of the S-199 fighters were sold to the new state of Israel where they served during the 1948 war fighting against Egyptian Spitfires!. Until one day, Kilroy's boss called him into his office.The foreman was upset about all the wages being paid to riveters,and asked him to investigate.
As a result, Kilroy's inspection "trademark" was seen by thousands of servicemen who boarded the troop ships the yard produced.His message apparently rang a bell with the servicemen. Before war's end, "Kilroy" had been here, there, and everywhere on the long hauls to Berlin and Tokyo.
Servicemen began placing the graffiti wherever they landed, claiming it Kilroy became the U.S. Everest, the Statue of Liberty, the underside ofThe Arc de Triomphe, and even scrawled in the dust on the moon. Underwater demolition teams routinelysneaked ashore on Japanese-held islands in the Pacific to map the terrain forComing invasions by U.S.
Troops (and thus, presumably, were the first GI's there).On one occasion, however, they reported seeing enemy troops painting over the Kilroy logo!In 1945, an outhouse was built for the exclusive use of Roosevelt, Stalin,And Churchill at the Potsdam conference. Its' first occupant was Stalin, who emerged and asked his aide (in Russian), "Who is Kilroy?"A To help prove his authenticity in 1946, James Kilroy brought along officialsfrom the ship yard and some of the riveters.
The exhibit will feature historical artifacts from a Revolutionary War rifle to a camouflage kippah designed to honor a casualty of the War in Iraq. Photos, video, and interactive media will illustrate the full experience of those Jews who have worn the uniform of our country.
Wally served in WWII in the United States Marines, 2nd Marine Div, 2nd Bn, 8th Regt, Fox Co. She said: a€?Wally if you hang onto this bill, you will never be broke!a€? So I put it in my billfold, and left December the 12th for San Diego , Ca.
Just after dark I stepped outside the barracks into a misty rain, which looked almost like snow as I looked up into the yard lights. Yup, tears streamed down my cheeks, but I told myself that I am now a Marine, and they dona€™t cry!i»?A After boot camp, I carried the bill in my billfold to New Zealand with me for training there, and then was transferred a couple of months later. During the 2nd or 3rd night a strong storm came up, causing a€?large waves,a€™ which is uncommon for the Pacific ocean (so we were told). I remember my cot shifting back and forth some, and the next morning they told us that some 2 dozen had slid off the deck, and of course they never even slowed down to look for them (remember this is a€?war timea€™) and life was not all that importanta€¦a€¦a€¦a€¦i»?A We continued on our trip, and on Nov 10th, 1943 we boarded a€?amphibious tanksa€™ and headed in to capture Tarawa . It had been bombed and shelled so much, that they thought there will be little if any resistancea€”wrong!
The Japanese had built concrete a€?pill boxes,a€™ and bunkers made of steel and concrete so thick, that the shelling did no damage to them.
Even the airplane bombing did not penetrate them.i»?A I was in the 1st a€?wave,a€™ and as we neared the island, our machine gunners mounted on our tanks, were firing like mad (which surprised me as there was supposed to be no resistance), until they were killed by incoming Japanese gunners fire, who had left the safety of the bunkers. As we got almost to the beach we started jumping out, and most ofA  us did not make it because of the machine gunners. The area we landed on, had a high sea wall, so we got up against it and threw hand grenades toward the gunners, but they were a€?far enough backa€™ that they did no harm, and as we tried to climb over the wall, the gunners again did their thing, blocking our approach.i»?I could see that the tank to our left, had taken a a€?cannon typea€™ shell right through the middle of it, so all on it had lost their livesa€¦a€¦a€¦a€¦i»?While we were laying there, the few of us that were left, tried to figure out what to do, as there was no leadership alive. About then a couple of large special a€?Higginsa€™ boats, loaded with Marines, started coming in to help us out.
These boats had a a€?rampa€? the was lowered at the front, and as the the Marines came running out into a€?waist deepa€™ water, the were immediately mowed down by the Japs. All we could do was look in horror as some 300 young men died, as they had no place for cover and lost their lives.
Some 970 Marines lost their lives on this small island in some 72 hoursa€¦i»?A Fortunately, quite a ways to our right, the fighting was much less, and in several hours a beach head had been established, and Marines & equipment came pouring in. Apparently this went on all night (I had no way of knowing), and by morning the few of us left, crawled to a€?their areaa€™ and a line was formed across the island, and we all started a drive to take over the rest of the island.i»?I had moved forward towards the end of one of the big bunkers, looking to get to the entrance, when a Jap soldier apparently had slipped out of the entrance, and quickly threw a hand grenade at us. I dropped to the ground, and just before getting there, I took part of the grenade in my right chest.
I remember looking at the blood coming down my a€?fatigue jacket,a€™ and thinking: a€?I hope I dona€™t die!a€? I crawled back to where we had started the drive and a corpsman came to me, and bandaged me, and I think he gave me a shot of morphine, and attached a name tag (which I still have) to my a€?dog tagsa€™. Apparently the Navy had only brought a small hospital ship to the area, thinking that it would not be used much, but it was already full, so I was put on a€?some other ship.a€?A i»?I think I went into severe shock as I only remember watching a a€?burial at sea,a€™ and then the next thing I knew I was in a Naval Hospital in Honolulu . I think part of the longer stay, was that I was suffering what they called a€?combat fatigue,a€™ but they have different name for it now.i»?A Some time in early Jan, I rejoined my old squad and went into training for the next campaign, which was Saipan . This was a much bigger island and I was in the 3rd wave this time, and while the Japs were set up with mortars, etc, once we got past the beach it became a fire fight from time to time. About the 3rd day, we moving forward to take care of a a€?nest of machine gunners.a€™ I had just moved forward, but one of the guys (Dick) in my squad did not make a move. I hollered to him to move out, but he said, a€?I cana€™t Ia€™m hit.a€? So I crawled over to him and he told me he was not going to make it, but asked me to take his a€?Marine ring,a€? off of his finger and give it to his dad. I put the ring on my finger, and wore it until some weeks or a month (?) later.i»?This will be hard to believe (had I not been there, I too would maybe not believe,) but the island had grown sugar cane, so the Navy had shelled it with incendiary shells that set the fairly dry cane on fire.
They did this so it was easier to see any emplacements, with out the corn blocking our view.
Well, the heat from the burning caused a€?sweetnessa€™ to run out of the stalks, and flies fed on it and began multiplying, so much so that in aA  few days, in the early morning we could actually hear buzzing as the flies started the day. The flies were so dense that it was impossible to eat a a€?C or Ka€? ration without having to pick several of them out of the food. Since the island was basically secured by then, we just had to stay up on a cliff over looking the ocean, as they had not had time to set up a tent city for us to move into.
They had however set up several a€?hospitala€™ tents, so a bunch of us sickies went some distance down to them, and spent 2 weeks there, while they treated us.i»?A A week or 2 later we landed on a sister island name Tinian , which was largely a mopping up operation. By now my a€?combat fatiguea€™ had gotten worse, so I was flown to a Naval hospital in Richmond , Ca.
While there I looked up Dicka€™s (see above) dad, and gave him the ring off of my finger, and to my surprise he told me that before Dick had left for the Marines, he bought 2 of the rings, one for him and one for Dick. So we traded rings, and I wore it for a number of years, in fact until it a€?wore through.a€™i»?After some 3 weeks or so, I was transferred to Seal Beach , Ca which was a Naval A ammunition depot, and Marines did the guard duty. Ernie matts a Real War Photo of a specific historical scene along with a certified 'First Day' collectible cover (postage card with cancelled stamp), then adds signed collector's cards by personnel involved in the event. If you want to contact Ernie about what he has for sale or is currently working on, please call 320-420-1142 and mention you saw his work on Real War Photos website! Albrecht"I have a major display of some forty deceased veterans in the post office for 12 days at Memorial Day week and one at Veterans Day for another 35 living veterans. Your photos give the viewers a real look at what was and what we should remember of these honored veterans that give us the freedom we enjoy today." Above are Frank's Memorial Day and Veteran's Day displays at the US Post Office in Reigelsville, PA. RWP sends a special salute and very sincere thanks to Frank for all his 'memory' work on behalf of Veteran families across the U.S. I am the boy with the hammer and the "For Rent" sign, while my brother, walking toward the camera, carries a gas mask. My wingman's F-100D has fuze extenders onthe 500-lb bombs so they would explode three feet above the ground, giving greater blast and shrapnel effects.
Morning Call videos by Harry Fisher,; Background video photos courtesy of Real War Photos Inc. WWII - Famous Battles.A Go to our GALLERIES website to view our Pearl Harbor photo collection as well as each ship involved.
Showers were never long.After two weeks the troops were tiring of the lack of alcohol and the companionship of the native girls at the bars in Fairbanks.
I'm sure having troops restricted to base made that generous decision easier for the brass to make.Friday afternoon, Robert Carleton walked over to my bunk and laid out a plan.
When Merle cussed he meant business.Later that night we left the barracks by the side door, the fragrance of English Leather thick in the air. We stepped into the night after 4 or 5 minutes of careful planning without a thought about consequences or the fact that we had no idea where Pauline's actually was.A Pitch black night. Carleton let out a yelp and took off running and I was just a step behind him.A small dirt parking lot then a weathered log cabin, stoop shouldered and tired looking, appeared out of the fog as we got closer.
He looked at me and pushed the door open.Cigarette smoke filled the small dim room, an overhead light reflected in the mirror behind the small bar. Carleton let out a yelp and took off running and I was just a step behind him.A Pitch black night.
One occupied.Ita€™s time to make the world safe, for NATO to act as it was formed to do in this global situationa€¦respond to terrorists in unison with might.MAKE NO MISTAKE, THIS IS WAR! A The United States, England, France, Russia (in particular) and all NATO countries in general, need to step up the a€?war on terrora€™, and let us call it what it is, what even the Pope has labeled it, a€?a world wara€?, against first-strike, Islamic extremists that use terror as a means to try to instill fear, cause pain, innocentsa€™ suffering and death.Call them ISIS, ISIL or the fanatics that they are, these self -proclaimed jihadists have declared their (un)holy war on all infidels who do not believe as they do. These radical extremists number only a few thousand (out of a reported 1 billion Muslims world-wide) but affect us all as potential a€?soft targetsa€™ for their next strike.Clearly identified attacks from these terrorists have gone on since the 1980a€™s and have significantly increased of late. A One of the very sad outcomes will continue to be the loss of innocent lives, including the young recruits who have been naively or ideologically lead via intense Internet recruiting, along with those whoa€™ve been threatened into pledging their lives and futurea€¦ led to believe that their way to heaven justifies the bombing, stabbing, shooting, beheading and suicide missions that zealots call on them to do.A Ita€™s time to make the world safe, for NATO to act as it was formed to do in this global situationa€¦respond to terrorists in unison with might.MAKE NO MISTAKE, THIS IS WAR! We look forward to hearingA from you and know others will appreciate your input on our country's history and your place in it both yesterday and today. Anyway, Arch looked at Carleton through his triple thick glasses and exclaimed, "Are you F'n nuts? Carleton had one small mishap, probably took 5 stitches, but as I told him he'll always have that scar on his ass to brag about. Turn right then a short hike cross country until we found the paved road Pauline's was supposed be on. Actually you're supposed to have an incredible selection of the best drinks a soldier, er, I mean a person can find this far north. Now what can I get you?a€?i»?I'd heard of it but never sampled the mad water from Mexico.




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