SUCCESS

SUCCESS. I've located contact info for one of the McArthur brothers' sons, the Bennettsvile, SC WW II veterans who wrote well in excess of a hundred letters home to their mother before, during and after the war; and that's only the ones that were recovered by Trina Browning-Niznik. I have no doubt there were many more.

One, Laurin McArthur II, was a Lt. Commander in the US Navy and served aboard the USS Daly. Laurin won a Bronze Star for his destroyer's action during the sea battle of Surigao Straights in the Philippines, during which the Daly was struck amidship by a kamikaze plane. Laurin died in April of 2010.

James D. McArthur retired from the US Army as a Colonel, his career beginning with the 263rd Coast Artillery at Fort Moultrie, SC in 1939. He wound up as an artillery instructor for the Army, serving in Texas among other places, and retired after serving in Vietnam. I'm still working to complete his timeline. James died in

1992.

I read some of the letters but had to stop; it just seemed too 'voyeuristic', an intrusion of sorts into lives past. Those treasures belong to the families of these patriots, not me, and I will be calling Mr. McArthur in the morning to make arrangements to return the family's history.

One other item i didn't include a picture of yesterday is the WW II Victory medal that was in the bag Trina gave me. Though there's no way to tell which brother it belonged to, I am assuming they both would have received one. I'll provide a follow-up after I speak to Mr. McArthur tomorrow, if all goes as planned.

A Journey To Reunite

This story will be a little different, one like no other I've ever pursued. It will involve research, though to what extent remains to be seen, in an effort to locate family of a World War II veteran.

Just this morning I met long-time acquaintance Trina Browning-Niznik, a gal I've known since she was a youngster and I was pals with her older brother, at a local Tim Horton's. Trina now lives in Florida and had contacted me in September about stacks of mail from the 1940s she'd come across at an auction; she was in town this weekend to visit family and brought the correspondence with her. The letters and memorabilia, you see, are from a serviceman to his family; since I write profiles for area veterans Trina thought I might be interested in trying to track down this man's family in order to return the items to them.

I jumped at the chance.

While this may consume much of my time it will be a labor of love, a project well worthy of any effort it may involve. I have yet to read any of the correspondence, from a time just before the United States entered WW II and also when this nation was at war with both Japan and Germany, and I relish the chance to live through these letters the lives of those involved, to gain a sense of the service and sacrifice this soldier made. In the days and weeks to come I will update this story, so stay tuned.

The First Time in our Ten Year Marriage

Day of days: today, when the sun is high enough that its heat has evaporated the morning's dew from the grass, an event will occur that hasn't happened since before August of 2007.

My red-headed angel will climb aboard our lawn tractor, which she's never operated before, and mow the yard.

I will be supervising, needless to say, with much trepidation and angst, keeping a close watch on deck height, speed and the mower's vacuum capacity.

DANG those blasted pine needles!

It's been a night of fitful sleeplessness. I've gone out to the shed twice since 0230, gazing longingly at my orange-and-black Ariens 22 horsepower mower and its 46" cutting deck, silently apologizing for the dangers it will face with the rising of the sun. I know where the too-high tree roots lay, roots with the ability to destroy a mower blade. I know where the too-steep yard slope can become a danger if you don't take the mower across it at just the right angle. I know the areas along crumbling roadways that border our property that can produce deadly asphalt shrapnel if you're not alert. I almost want to don an orange hard hat and sound three long blasts from an air horn, much like construction explosives contractors do before setting off charges, when Stacy starts the mower, in order to forewarn neighbors and pedestrians of impending danger. I'm almost considering calling Mike Bailey, a good friend and head of the county's Emergency Management Agency, to stand by while Stacy mows.

But I won't do any of that. I'll sit on the porch in a lawn chair, sipping on caffeine-free diet Pepsi, and watch my angel mow that lawn in my stead...

...and pray.

Have a great Saturday, everyone!

Hiatus

I'll be out of the writing business for a few weeks while recovering from surgery.

STAY SAFE!

Pain

Everyone has pain. At some particular point in life or ongoing, pain has been or is present for all of us. Pain can come in a variety of forms: physical, mostly, but emotional, psychological and spiritual, too.

No one is immune.

Though physical pain is prevalent, the others can be most painful to endure. They can leave lasting scars, unseen to those around us, making the suffering a very private and personal affliction. That unseen pain, much as we try to bury it, always revisits, some with more frequency than others and often at inopportune moments.

The key in dealing with this unseen pain is controlling it, reconciling in our minds its creation, purpose and reason. Recognizing its effects and taking measures to limit it.

How do we accomplish that?

You must embrace it, absorbing the darkness that it is and find the good in it. The positive is there in the pain for us to see if we look closely. Own the pain, no matter its cause, and master it. Listen to its lessons, especially if the pain is from a past event, and learn from it. Use that painful lesson as a strengthening tool. Become better because of it and live your life. Don’t use that pain as an excuse to self-medicate or drown it with alcohol because, eventually, you’ll sober up or come down from the euphoria of drugs and the pain will still be there, waiting for your next weak moment. The cycle will repeat itself over and over, at which time the emotional, psychological and spiritual pain owns your very being.

And we must never, ever let the pain own us. 

The Coming American Crisis

Just watched video of Fox News' Tucker Carlson interviewing Hollywood actor/comedian/producer Rob Reiner, who recently released a video spot with Morgan Freeman that says America is at war with Russia...a cyber war.

It got me to thinking....

Every major nation on earth engages in cyber-war, including this country. Every one. Remember over a decade ago when the Stuxtnet virus was introduced into the top-secret, highly-'secure' Iranian computer network on which Iran was developing its nuclear program? That was the U.S. and Israel, working in concert to cause a major delay in Iran's production of fissionable, weapons-grade uranium-235, the key component used in construction of a nuclear device. Not being a computer geek, I still don't understand how that was accomplished, but it served its purpose. Stuxtnet was a very evolved, sophisticated virus that set Iran back at least a year.

A couple of weeks ago it was announced that Equifax, the mega consumer credit company, had been breached by hackers, exposing the personal information of 143 million Americans. Equifax, I am quite sure, believed they had a highly-secure network on which they stored this information. Our government websites have been hacked; worse, it is quite probable that highly classified information from the Central Intelligence Agency, Department of Defense and even the Federal Bureau of Investigation has been compromised, though these agencies would never publicly acknowledge breaching events of this nature.

Kind of scary, isn't it? Well, I'll make this prediction right now: Someone, at some point, will introduce some type of  delayed-action virus into our stock-market system which ultimately will cause the markets to crash in epic proportion...virtually destroying the economy of the United States. A disastrous event, to be sure, one that will bring this nation to its knees and render it vulnerable to enemies both domestic and abroad. Anarchy and chaos will rule the day.

I pray that I am wrongly painting this dark scenario but, with world events unfolding as they have, I fear it will happen.

Michael Isaacson, the ANTIFA Professor

You may have heard the name Michael Isaacson over the course of the last few days; if you haven't, here's what the John Jay College of Criminal Justice adjunct professor tweeted on August 29th: 'Some of ya’ll might think it sucks being an anti-fascist teaching at John Jay College but I think it’s a privilege to teach future dead cops.'

Let that sink in for a second.

'...teach future dead cops.' Here is a boy (I refuse to bestow the title 'man' to this individual) who earns his living instructing students at a criminal justice-based college who marginalizes the lives of law enforcement officers; it should come as no surprise that he also considers himself a leader in ANTIFA, the alleged anti-fascist rabble whose actions at any function or gathering even remotely associated with conservative values more resembles Adolph Hitler's pre-WWII brown shirts than that of a group opposed to fascism. Since his view on law enforcement officers came to light, Isaacson has been suspended by the college due to massive backlash from the public and police unions. Why he wasn't terminated immediately, as he should have been, I don't know, but Isaacson then took a bizarre turn and issued a statement calling ultra-lib New York City mayor Bill DeBlazio 'anti-police'.

Isaacson, as expected, is shielding his 'dead cops' tweet using the first amendment right of free speech. He does have a right to express his views, but here's the rub: there are consequences to that right, especially in light of where he is employed. Karol Mason, college president, placed Isaacson on administrative leave...only it was out of security and safety concerns for students over what the boy said, not the substance of his message.

And that, my friends, is deplorable.

Isaacson isn't fit to shine a police officer's shoes.

Isaacson