joeccombs2nd

I had the second in the “Battle of the Bulge” series for today. But, I just don’t feel like a war story – later. I felt like talking on something that has been ongoing the past month – but no. I will not live in the past, I will go forward.

So, I decided to share a few things for you to think about. Something I hope will put a smile on your face. Something to remind you that YOU ROCK !!! And something to encourage you if you are feeling a little down.

All of you mean so very much to me, and I really appreciate your comments and e-mails.

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and Happy Hanukkah.

Nothing says Christmas like a good old Christmas Ghost story, and Charles Dickens isn’t the only one who wrote one. Check out this article.

Ghosts on the Nog.

This past week I was traveling again, and had two people ask me about a ring I always wear. It looks like a common high school or college class ring. I guess you could say it’s my class ring from the school of hard knocks; it is my commissioning ring or plankowner’s ring. I was a member of the commissioning crew of the USS City of Corpus Christi SSN-705, a Los Angeles Class attack submarine.

I arrived at the ship when it was still a pre-commissioning unit, we couldn’t use the prefix USS yet (United States Ship). When I got to the ship the engine room was almost complete, but the rest of the ship was an empty hull. The ring has the ships seal on one side, plankowner on the other and USS City of Corpus Christi SSN-705 around the stone. I always have it with me and the stone even has a small chip bearing testament to the many years on my finger. My daughter knows that one day the ring will be her’s and sometimes puts it on her own finger, claiming that it already fits.

Normally no one notices the ring, or if they do they never ask about it. But, this week two people asked me about it; a friend and a small boy at the airport in Salt Lake City. Both wanted to know if it was a class ring, and I explained to both of them what it was. The small boy asked me about submarines, when I was in and things like that. After I told him he said I was a hero.

Also, this week I received a book about a hero from someone who is a hero to me. I bring this up because it got me thinking about heroes as I was headed home. I know what a hero is not, it bothers me when an athlete is called a hero just because he hits a home run or makes a touchdown. That does not make someone a hero, it makes them talented. Some people call anyone who has served in the military or emergency services (like police and firefighters) a hero. That does not make them a hero, brave maybe, but not a hero. Others think the person who climbs a high mountain, or performs some other dangerous action is a hero. Once again, brave but not a hero.

So what does make a hero? A person who takes action, specific action in a specific situation, which places them in potential danger, for no reason other than to benefit another person; that is a hero. Those people who ran into the twin towers on September 11, 2001, when everyone else was running out were heroes. The people who ran past people fleeing the pentagon to save people on September 11, 2001; they were heroes. The people who fought for control of United Flight 93 to prevent the plane from being used to kill hundreds or thousands of more people, they were heroes. Michael P. Murphy United States Navy S.E.A.L, he is a hero. The young man who threw himself on a grenade to save the lives of his buddies, yup hero. The person who ran into the path of an oncoming car to push a child out of the path of the car – yup hero.

You see volunteering for something that may or may not be dangerous does not make you a hero. It is the willingness to risk death or severe injury to protect another person – when you have nothing to gain and everything to lose – THAT makes a person a hero. I appreciated that little boy calling me a hero, but I am not a hero. I have never had to make the decision to let harm come to someone or to step into the situation and place myself in harm in their stead. I am not courageous or brave either. Just watch me when medical staff comes towards me with a needle and you will see just how cowardly I can be.

The woman who gave me that book, Katherine, she has place herself in a harmful situation for others, with no reward for herself. Michael Murphy, he died trying to save the lives of as many of his men as he could. These are the people who are heroes. Not the star athlete, the movie star, the adventurer, the dare-devil, and certainly not me. We use the word hero too freely, and we need to stop that. It detracts from those people who really are heroes and it cheapens the word hero.

So, the next time you start to use the word hero, honor those people who truly are heroes. Stop for a moment and think, “Is this person a real hero, or truly brave.”

This is not your typical article about a battle, but you will see what I mean by the end.

The Battle of the Bulge has been written about, we have heard the interviews with the men who fought, and have even seen one or more of the many movies made about that battle. However, the battle was actually longer than most of us realize. Begun on 16 December 1944, the battle was not over until 25 January 1945. It marked the last offensive of the war for Germany. It was also the bloodiest battle of World War Two for the American forces. Though British Field Marshall Montgomery held a press conference taking credit for the victory it was, as Sir Winston Churchill told parliament, an American battle.

The casualty figures for the battle bear this out. The German losses were approximately 100,000 killed, wounded, captured, and missing. The American casualties were 19,000 killed, 47,500 wounded, and 23,000 missing or captured. British casualties were 200 killed, 969 wounded, 239 missing and captured.

The event that most people are familiar with in this battle is centered around the Siege of Bastogne. The American 101^st airborne division was surrounded by German forces and given an ultimatum to surrender. To which the acting commander of the division, General Anthony McAuliffe, responded with a one word reply, “Nuts!”

At the beginning of the battle General Eisenhower assembled his generals in Verdun to discuss how to deal with this surprise attack by the Germans. It was vital that the Siege of Bastogne be lifted and the 101^st airborne division be relieved or the entire division would be lost. When General Patton stated that 3^rd Army could reach Bastogne in 48 hours with two divisions no one in the room believed him.

However, the attack was not as much of a surprise to the 3^rd Army intelligence staff as it was to the rest of the allied commanders. General Patton’s intelligence officers had predicted an offensive by the Germans. Patton’s staff had worked out three separate plans to turn 3^rd Army north and meet this threat. As General Eisenhower was searching for options, General Patton had already ordered 3^rd Army to begin its move north to meet the new threat.

While the allied generals were arriving in Verdun, 3^rd Army had already started what would be a 100 mile race, in bad weather, in 48 hours. In the end the 101^st would be relieved, and 3^rd Army would travel more miles in less time while fighting more battles along the way, than any Army in history.

Later this month, as the anniversary approaches, I will do another article on the battle, and just why it was so important to the defeat of Nazi Germany.

I do want to make one point before I go. The articles I write about war, such as this, are not a glorification of war. There is nothing glorious about war. I have known men who have fought in some of the most well known battles this country has fought. The sacrifices they made have benefitted untold millions of men, women, and children. But when you get to know these men, the sacrifices they have made are very real, and very permanent. What war has done to these men we call survivors cannot be described, it can only be witnessed. None of us can ever understand the horrors these men will carry around with them for the rest of their lives, unless we were beside them every step of the way. Other combat veterans have the best idea of the sacrifice and horrors, but each war each battle is different, and no two men ever completely respond the same way. Though none of them will ever again be the men they were before they stepped into harm’s way, to know that many of these men believe their sacrifice was worth the benefits to others leaves me in awe. Our goal should always be to prevent war, not glorify it.

My grandfather died when I was sixteen years old. I contend he knew he was down to his last year, though I am the only one in the family that believes this. My grandparents lived near Sarasota and we lived several hundred miles away towards the opposite end of Florida, near St. Augustine. That last year we made several trips to visit them, and they made one trip at the beginning of the year to visit us.

Each visit my grandfather would always make some time for us to sit under his favorite tree in the front yard, just the two of us. It was during those times under the tree that my grandfather tried to give a life time worth of advice in just a few short moments to a sixteen year old boy.

We would chat about school, music, economics and what-not. Then he would turn to face me and say, “Some of this won’t make sense to you now, but you will understand later.” Thirty-six years later I am still remembering those gems of wisdom, and reaping the benefits when I follow his sage advice or enduring the pain when I do not.

One bit of advice I have followed faithfully, until this year is, “Do not, ever, go into business with family or friends, it is a good way to lose both.” I did.

Another piece of advice that I find painful to follow right now is, “When people show you who they are – don’t argue with them.” That one is hard. I grew attached to people, they became an extended family. I would have done anything for them (and did). Then they turned, describing some wretched creature I did not recognize, only to learn they were describing me. How could people I thought knew me so well, say the things that they said, or worse yet believe what they said?

I always thought I was someone who was easy to understand, but difficult to get really close too. Maybe I am more complicated than I thought – I don’t know. My little brother Jason calls me the “family perfectionist.” A title I disavow. I am not a perfectionist; I just do everything for myself. If I can’t do it I don’t need it. I will help others whenever I can, but I prefer to handle my own things myself.

My “little sister” got me to change that. She actually got me to step back and let others help. One of the things she said was that there are other people who want to help me, and by not allowing them too I am robbing them of that joy. I actually listened to her and started to “loosen up” a bit. But now what? A part of me wants to return to my shell. Another part of me wants to find a way to “fix” this rift. But one voice inside says they never really knew me, and I should just let go; take what I’ve learned and never look back.

I have never been able to do that completely. I always carry ghosts around on my shoulder; the submariners whose deaths would give me the gift of life 20 years later, my grandfather, my daughter Alexandra, and a love who died in a car accident when we were both still so very young.

My grandfather also used to say, “Always do what’s right. Not because it is easy, it never is. You do what’s right because it is right.” Another thing he said is, “A good man is not someone who does the right thing when people can see it. A good man is a man who does the right thing when no one can see it.”

I own my triumphs and defeats, my accomplishments and failures, my rights and wrongs. But when someone contributes the wrongs of someone else to me, and then shuts me out, there is very little I can do – except hurt. I did hurt my “little sister,” but these other people are “jumping on the band wagon” with any excuse they can come up with.

Yes, a part of me wants to return to my shell. But, another part of me is determined to take the other road and continue forward. In the midst of my confusion, trying to understand what was happening and why; another part of my life was already surging forward in unexpected ways. Amidst unimagined opportunity I still feel lost, trying to understand the madness that descended upon me that first weekend of November.

I will move forward and take advantage of the opportunities I have gained this month. But, a part of me will always remember what I lost this month, and the people that really never did know me. If I get a chance I will make amends with my “little sister,” the others – well I would just as soon forget them. Like I said, those other people never really knew me.