Reflections on a Veteran, Part II

Previously posted is Caitlin's middle school level award-winning essay, and Jessica's high school level award-winning essay is as follows:

Reflections on a Veteran

Jessica, age 16, at Daley Plaza in
Chicago after reading her essay

"My best friend is graduating this weekend at the age of 18. I am so close to her that I feel like the two years separating us are only on paper, and do not really exist. It is almost impossible for me to imagine that nearly 65 years ago, young men her age, and even younger were preparing to land on far off islands to fight a war that had inspired them so much that they left their families and educations behind. One such person was Cpl. Jim Kelly of the 5th Marine Division who, among other things, was present for every moment of the Iwo Jima battle.

"As I interviewed Mr. Kelly, I could barely open my mouth to ask the next question because I was so taken aback. I have known him for many years as a kind and humorous man who belonged to the Marine Corps League in our town. It struck me that this man quietly walked among us, enjoying a relatively simple life, yet he had such an incredible story.

"He told me many things – some shocking, some funny, some heartbreaking … and some haunting. He recounted all of this in a very relaxed and accepting way, but he seemed angered and disillusioned at the lack of appreciation and awareness that my generation has for those who have served our country. He believes we are disconnected from what he and his fellow servicemen went through because it this history – his history – is taught as an impersonal and distant event. I understood what Mr. Kelly meant because anything I ever learned about Iwo Jima in school was from a brief description at the end of a World War II chapter in my history book. It was merely information to memorize temporarily in order to score well on the next test. There is a completely different side of the story – the reality – that isn’t written in a textbook.

"I believe this troubles Mr. Kelly because we are the young people for whom he was fighting, for our freedom to attend school and to receive a quality education, which is the key to achieving any dream a person can imagine.

"World War II veterans are now 85 to 90 years old, and they will not be around forever. They have endless stories to share with us that will teach my generation the kind of lessons that can never be printed in a history book. The owners of these invaluable lessons are all around us. All they need is someone to truly listen to their wisdom, appreciate their dedication, and exhibit the qualities they fought to uphold so many years ago. 'Think what we built for you,' Mr. Kelly said, 'and don’t take it for granted.'

"In a couple of years, it will be me who will be graduating at the age of 18. I will begin life anew, independent in a world filled with possibilities, filled with dreams that I have the freedom to realize because of the selfless service of men like Mr. Kelly. I will begin this new life with a dedication to uphold honor and justice, and a determination to make the world a better place for future generations. By following the example set by these veterans, I will have the inspiration to work toward great things, perhaps things great enough for a high-school student to want to interview me when I am 90 years old."

Reflections on a Veteran, Part I

My daughters each submitted an essay last year to the State of Illinois' "Reflections on A Veteran" competition through the Secretary of State's office. Both of them were honored by being selected as the winning essay in their respective grade levels and was then invited to read their essays at the Constitution Day ceremony in Chicago Sept. 14.


Here is Caitlin's middle school level award-winning entry, with Jessica's to follow in a second post:

Reflections on a Veteran

Caitlin, age 14, at Daley Plaza in
Chicago after reading her essay

"Growing up surrounded by veterans certainly has impacted my life in a number of ways. I have a greater appreciation for the sacrifices made by veterans. Their willingness to serve their country allows me to have the freedom that I do today.


"In a civilian’s eyes, veterans are the definition of heroes. Their courage and determination allows us to pursue our dreams and achieve our goals because of the rights they have defended.


"In a veteran’s eyes, however, it is only a matter of right and wrong. The right thing to do is to honor their country.


"Being raised to have the upmost respect for those who serve, I can’t imagine my life if not for veterans. I’ve learned to show my gratitude openly and often. My interview with Tom Henderson, a World War II veteran, only reinforced those beliefs.


"I have known Mr. Henderson for many years now, but in this interview I saw another, deeper side of him, full of memories of the war, reflections and appreciation of fellow veterans. It was meaningful to me to know what experiences he has had and to see how much he, and other veterans, have given to their communities and their country.


"In times of war, the general population’s feeling is shock. Everything changes in the world around us, and there is confusion and hesitation. Veterans take initiative and respond. There are no doubts, no regrets. The responsibility to respect and, therefore, defend this country is clear.


"Every night, I am able to go to sleep knowing that I am safe and at home. However, for these veterans who were miles away from home, every day was a day of survival. They always had to be ready and do what they were told to do promptly. I can’t imagine the kind of pressure and fear they must have felt in that kind of situation. Just hearing about it made me thankful for my life and what is so often taken for granted.


"Constantly depending on others fighting alongside of them, strong friendships are formed. One story that specifically stood out for me during the interview was about a close friend of Mr. Henderson’s. His buddy had accidently shot himself and was buried. His body was then exhumed and moved twice. Mr. Henderson and some others who served with him did not know where their friend’s final resting place was. After research was done many years later, the gravesite was finally located. Simply knowing where his friend’s grave was located was enough to bring closure and peace to a painful memory.


"After being so brave and honorable, they return home. Glad to be reunited with family and friends, but also struggling to find jobs to support themselves. Although they may be home, the repercussions and aftermath from the war leave shortages of just about everything. Through all of the conflicts following the war, their service doesn’t stop when the war does, but rather continues through organizations such as the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the American Legion. A night doesn’t go by when they don’t think of an event or a memory from all those years ago, far away from home.


"I was particularly impressed by Mr. Henderson’s great sense of respect for his country, his community, and the people around him."

Study the signs to quit smoking

I smoked Winston or Marlboro
cigarettes for nearly 35 years.

In a recent Q&A e-mail profile in the Champaign-Urbana (IL) News-Gazette, I was asked about my bad habits. I have more than my share, but the one I chose to tell was my unsavory habit of bumming cigarettes from people who still smoke.

Smoking is no longer always socially acceptable. People from whom I bum cigarettes were pleased I didn’t mention their names in the profile. And I received a LinkedIn message from an Iowa man who attends the Roger Ebert Film Festival, telling me he’d be back this year — he’d always pull out his Marlboros when he saw me coming.

“Looking forward to some movies,” he wrote. “Sorry to say that I quit smoking cigarettes, though!”

All of which made me think I should quit bumming cigarettes and tell those of you who still smoke a version of how I was able to give up regular smoking years ago. Here goes:

The house was quiet, an inner peace kind of quiet. The man I’d come to see stood and looked at me with a half-smile on his face. His deep blue eyes sparkled like deep, cold mountain lake water. The tanned skin stretched tightly over his high cheekbones.

“So you are hopelessly addicted to that noxious and evil killer weed, tobacco?” he asked quietly. His voice had only the slightest touch of pity.

"Yes, sir,” I said.

“Nicotine, of course, is a poisonous alkaloid, the chief active ingredient in tobacco that causes cancer, emphysema and heart disease,” he said. “If you want to kill yourself, there are better ways.

“Come for my advice only if you are interested in living. And if you are interested in living, quit smoking. You will enjoy living more; you will not have as many headaches; your food will taste better; and you may live longer. You will certainly smell better while you are alive.” He paused and gestured for me to speak.

“You are kind,” I said. “I believe what you say. But I cannot quit. I have tried everything and found nothing that works.”

“Do not say you cannot quit,” he said. “There is nothing in this world that you cannot do, if it is within reach. You know in your heart what you can and cannot do. You must believe that you can achieve anything you are willing to work for.”

“I’m willing, sir. But I have tried every ritual under the sun—"

“Your ritualistic, puerile efforts under the sun are worthless,” he said.

“But what can I do?”

“If you are truly serious and believe, you will look at the Debowelled Man of Signs. He will tell you when to quit. Each constellation of the Zodiac controls parts of the body. If the sign is above the knee, you cannot quit, no matter how much you try. You will experience pain and possess the foulest of moods until you return to the evil killer weed, tobacco.”

“But, sir, how do I find out when the sign is right?” I asked.

“The sign will go down to the knee soon. It will continue down through the legs and feet and for five days when it will return to the head. You will have only those five days to quit.”

“You have told me when. Will you tell me how?”

“Like a man,” he said simply. ”You throw your cigarettes away and forget about them.”

The next week passed quickly. Before I knew it, the sign was in the knees. When the sign reached the feet, I sat smoking frantically. When the package was empty, I bummed a cigarette. But with the sign in the feet, I thought it was worth a try and swore I’d quit. Two days later, I went back to the one who had told me about the signs.

“The time has come in which the sign is below the knee will soon be past,” he said, meeting me at the door with arms folded.

“I know. But I have quit the evil weed.”

“That is good, but the time of danger is not past. You much wait two weeks from when you have cast the evil killer weed aside to be sure.”

“I want to make sure I am successful in quitting the evil killer weed.”

“You will be successful this time, my son,” he said and put his hand on my shoulder. His blue eyes seemed to look though me. “And when you have it made it two weeks tell someone who might like to know that the sign must be below the knee if they want to quit smoking.”

The sign must be below the knee if you want to quit smoking. If that doesn’t work, try betting another smoker a thousand dollars you can quit longer that he can. That’s sure to work.

Two Marines reconnect after 65 years

Just before I left for the 65th Anniversary Iwo Jima Reunion and Symposium in Arlington, Va., last February, I received a particularly intriguing e-mail from John Butler, son of LtCol. John Butler, commanding officer of 1/27 who was killed on Iwo Jima on March 5, 1945. 

The e-mail was a story of two Marines who had found each other after 65 years, both thinking the other hadn’t made it off the island alive. Both were in John’s father’s First Battalion, 27th Marine Regiment, both in C Company, one a rifle platoon sergeant (who had been a paramarine), the other a machine gun section leader (who had been a Marine Raider) in GySgt. John Basilone’s platoon, the Medal of Honor recipient who was killed on Iwo Jima and was featured in the recent Hanks-Spielberg mini series, The Pacific.

As a result of a chance encounter, the two buddies who shook hands as they embarked on their amtracs for the ride to Red Beach Two reconnected all those years later. One man was Clarence Rea, the rifle platoon sergeant, the other man was Clinton Watters, the machine gun section leader.

“He was wounded early on,” Rea had written. “I received information that he had died from wounds. At a party in Los Angeles last Saturday night (Feb.13, 2010) for my grandson, my nephew walked up to me and said he had a fishing friend in Orange Country whose name was Mark Watters. The friend mentioned that his dad had been on Iwo.”

Rea’s nephew recalled a photo his uncle had showed him of five Marines (one of whom was Basilone) and recalled the name of Watters as one of the men. Mark Watters reportedly called his father in Medford, Ore., and asked him if he knew Clarence Rea. His dad reportedly replied, “Yes. Where the heck is he?”

During the party, the nephew tapped his uncle on the shoulder and handed him a piece of paper with Watters’ e-mail, address and phone number and told him to call when he got home. Which he did on Monday morning.

“The tears rolled on this end,” Rea had written in the e-mail. “I could not believe this, and I still can hardly believe it. We talked for an hour and a half and have been in contact almost daily since. What a reunion."

Watters, who was Basilone’s best man at his wedding to Marine Sgt. Lena Riggi before they left Camp Pendleton for Camp Tarawa on the island of Hawaii, was originally with Basilone in 1/7 on Samoa but was in the hospital with jaundice when the battalion left for Guadalcanal where Basilone was awarded the Medal of Honor. Watters was reassigned to the 2nd Marine Division and later hooked up with the 3rd Raider Battalion and fought on Bouganville before joining 1/27 for the Iwo Jima campaign.

“We (Watters and Rea) had been good friends and buddies all through the forming of the Fifth Marine Division at Camp Pendleton,” Rea had written. “Clint was wounded a few days before I was on Iwo Jima. He was taken to the hospital on Guam and then back to the States to a hospital on the East Coast.

“When I was wounded on March 3, I was taken to the hospital on Guam, too. I was there a little longer than usual, arguing to save my arm, which was going to be amputated. It was here that I was told that Clint had died.”

From Guam, Rea was shipped to Aiea Heights Naval Hospital in Hawaii and then back to the States to Oak Knoll Naval Hospital in Oakland, Calif., where he had “experimental work done on (his) arm and saved it. Rea said he was in the hospital for a year and a half, Waters said he was in one for six months.

“All these years, I thought he had perished,” Rea said. “I did not sleep most of last night (after they talked on the phone) I was so elated to know he was still with us. I will really believe it when I see him again.”

After they had reconnected, they planned a reunion in Northern California that took in Vacaville and “what a wonderful reunion!” Rea later wrote. “We spoke of many of our old friends that we lost. After 65 years we both look the same, although Clint is still the better looking Marine!”

Watters wrote in an e-mail to note “that it was almost 65 years to the day that we last greeted each other while boarding the landing craft to land on Iwo on Feb. 19. Another item we have learned since getting back together is that we have the same birth dates, only a year apart. Clarence is the old man.”

“What a joy to re-connect,” Rea told me later at his home in Grover Beach, Calif.

Lawrence 'Slats' Trower 1925-2010

Slats Trower, bottom left, seated

June 28, 2010 -- We buried Marine Iwo Jima veteran Slats Trower (B/1/24) today in his Arthur, Illinois, hometown. His given name was Lawrence, but everybody knew him as Slats for his lean, wiry body that was full of energy for helping his family, community and country have the best life they could. Before he was wounded on Iwo Jima on March 4, 1945, he'd promised himself and his maker that if he survived the battle he would return to Arthur and never leave and would be "the best man he could."
After narrowly escaping with his life several times, he had his head down reloading his Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) when a mortar exploded nearby and filled his body with shrapnel, some of which was still working out of his hands and other places at the end of his life, and he was carried off the island unconscious. He later woke on the hospital ship taking him to an Army hospital in Saipan. The pungent odor of rotting flesh was so strong that he later said, "It took my breath away."
After a few days on Saipan, Slats was transferred to the Naval hospital at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, where he often said he was "nursed back to health by drinking large quantities of fresh milk." In a piece his granddaughter Keri Sowers wrote, titled "Lawrence Trower's Recollection of Iwo Jima," Slats, who was raised on a dairy farm in the Breadbasket of the World, said, “They had fresh milk in five-gallon buckets with a spigot on it. All we had been drinking was powdered milk. Here, I could drink all the milk I wanted. I love milk. I drank so much milk, I could moo."
By April 20, 1945, Slats was able to rejoin his outfit for training in Maui, preparing for the invasion of Japan. Before that happened, two atomic bombs were dropped, one on Hiroshima and one on Nagasoki and Japan surrendered. Slats and his outfit were sent to Okinawa where he worked first as a turnkey in a brig that was full of Japanese prisoners of war and Americans from all branches of service who had violated military rules, then as a military policeman.
With the war over two years after he was graduated from high school in 1944 and with less than two years as a United States Marine, Slats was discharged and arrived back home in Arthur to stay. Two years alter, he married Jane Craig to whom he was married 62 years and who survives him as do three daughters, Cheryl (Dan) Jackson, Connie (John) Armer, Cindy (Steve) Helton, six grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren. Slats worked at nearby Quantum Chemical Corporation for 36 and one half years and ran a refrigeration business for several years.
Being a devoted family man and the best man he could be was evident in his lifetime activities after he came home from the war. I first met him in 2005 after I came back from the 60th Anniversary Reunion of Honor on the island and started forming a local Marine Corps League. So I knew quite a bit about him. But other details form his obituary follow:
"Slats was a member of the Arthur Vine Street Christian Church for more than 60 years and served as an elder and youth mentor for more than 60 years. He was a charter member and past president of the Arthur Lions Club, a member of the Arthur Masonic Lodge for 54 years and 32nd-degree Mason form the Danville Consistory, a member and past commander of the Arthur VFW Post 479, a member of the American Legion for 61 years and a member of the Urbana-Champaign Richard L. Pittman Marine Corps League #1231, named after a local Marine killed at the foot of Mt. Suribachi on Feb. 21, 1945.
"Slats was awarded the Meldin Jones Fellow by Lions Club International for dedicated humanitarian services in 1989; he received a plaque from the American Legion as the most outstanding fundraiser in 1989 for selling raffle tickets and raising money; he received the State Master Gardener Excellence Award from the University of Illinois in 2003.
“For 14 years, Slats raised tomatoes for the VFW Post that provided (thousands of dollars of) scholarships for Arthur-Lovington High School graduates. He also worked with Melissa Rush's class and the fifth-and sixth-grade students in Arthur in growing vegetables and then giving the produce to food banks, churches and families in need. He loved working with the students and the community.
“In February 2006, State Reps. Bob Flider and Chapin Rose presented Slats with a copy of a resolution of the Illinois House Representatives for winning the 2005 Humanitarian Award from the Arthur Association of Commerce. In September 2009, Slats was honored to go on the Central Illinois Honor Flight to Washington, D.C., to see the World War II Memorial (accompanied as a guardian by his son-in-law John Armer. By this time, Slats was in extremely poor health but said he'd go 'even if I have to crawl.' He was pushed around in a wheel chair most of the day by his son-in-law and was in it when Senator Bob Dole stepped up behind him and rested his hand on Slats' shoulder for a photo.
Crawling or doing whatever he had to do to get the job done was pretty much his philosophy of life and how he went about being the best man he could after coming home to Arthur. People sometimes asked him how he could do all the things he did. Always an outspoken man with colorful language, he would reply, "By getting up off your ass and doing it."
At his visitation yesterday before the funeral, scheduled for 5-8 p.m., people lined up outside the funeral home and a steady stream of people from around central Illinois stood patiently through the slow moving line that wrapped around inside the funeral home until nearly 10 p.m. One man on his way to the visitation from more than 50 miles away had been stopped for speeding by a policeman who asked what was the hurry on a Sunday afternoon.
“I'm going to a visitation for Lawrence Trower in Arthur," the man replied.
“You mean Slats Trower, don't you?" the policeman responded, handing back his driver's license. "Slow down and make sure you get there."
The funeral today was quite fitting for a man of Slats' stature. The church was filled with family and friends who viewed a Power Point presentation of photos while music played in the background. After saying a few words, the minister asked people to share memories of Slats. That went on for a full 15 minutes before the minister added his own thoughts in a heartfelt sermon.
In his last days lying in the hospital bed while he fought to live on, Slats sometimes flashed back to the days of battle on the island and hollered out about killing the enemy and tried to remove his oxygen lines while asking for more oxygen. In the end, it was one time he couldn't get "up off his ass and do it."
At the cemetery a color guard of four local VFW and American Legion members stood tall with flags and rifles; seven Marine Corps League members stood ready for a three volley rifle salute when the order came from the commander of the unit; a bagpiper from the Champaign fire department played "Going Home" on the bagpipe while the casket was taken to the burial site; and after a few words from the minister, two active duty Marines sergeants in dress blues folded the American flag and presented it to the commandant of the Marine Corps League who in turn leaned down toward Jane Trower and presented her with the flag "On behalf of a grateful nation... ." Another one would later be presented to her by U.S. Rep. Tim Johnson, who had one flown in Slats' honor over the U.S. Capitol in Washington.
As people started drifting away from the tent, a group of Marines, friends and relatives stayed back while a bottle of Crown Royale was opened and anyone who wished to poured a shot in a plastic shot glass or took a swig straight from the bottle and toasted Slats.
A local ABC affiliate had sent a camera person and a reporter to cover the funeral and will make the footage available to Diane Hawkins, niece of John Basilone, who is making a documentary about the legacy of her Medal of Honor and Navy Cross recipient uncle who was killed on Feb. 19, 1945, on Iwo Jima. And Bruce Harrison, a recent University of Illinois journalism graduate was also there filming the funeral for the same reason and reported on the funeral for AM 580, the PBS station at the University of Illinois.
Slats Trower was certainly a part of the legacy of John Basilone who led the way for thousands of Marines and Americans who survived the war and lived a good life from the sacrifice of so many. I was both honored and proud to have known Slats and to be a part of his life and helping give him a wonderful parting of the life he was given.
Sadly, the only negative part of the final ceremony for a truly great man and Marine was that the Marine Corps League khaki short-sleeved shirt that set us off as Marines has been outlawed and replaced with a white shirt that is like the uniform shirts of other veterans' organization. I can just hear Slats commenting on that one: “We need to get up off our asses and get that changed and go back to looking like Marines.” And he would have been leading the charge.