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Honoring veterans
The following appeared in the Berwyn Post in November 1944
To My Buddy
By S/Sgt. M.T. Purish
You’ve left my side to go the way young men have gone before
You’ve left my side to go the way young men have gone before
You heard the call, you did not wait
So straight you held your head aloft,And steps that carried you boldly toward
So straight you held your head aloft,And steps that carried you boldly toward
The warrior’s goal and passed that too.
The heights that soared about our heads,
The heights that soared about our heads,
Did melt before you and fade away.
You knew no fear, my gallant friend,
You knew no fear, my gallant friend,
It never touched your heart.
Somewhere beyond this earthbound man upon the velvet sky,
Somewhere beyond this earthbound man upon the velvet sky,
A brilliant star flares up and beckons in the night.
So long, my comrade, Good-bye dear friend, the roll is being called up there,
So long, my comrade, Good-bye dear friend, the roll is being called up there,
Among the heroes of our land.
Dedicated to my Comrade Sgt. Maurice S. Houston, who gave his life so that these United States might be forever what he saw in them.
Dedicated to my Comrade Sgt. Maurice S. Houston, who gave his life so that these United States might be forever what he saw in them.
Maurice Houston was my uncle. I never knew him, but I heard a lot from my father about how his brother lived and died. He grew up in Berwyn and graduated from Tredyffrin-Easttown High School. When World War II broke out, he served in the Intelligence Section of the Army Air Corps with the 5th Bomber Command in the Pacific. He died at the age of 30, killed in action on Aug. 12, 1944, on Biak Island. His name is now part of the Hall of Heroes at the Chester County Courthouse.
On Veterans Day, and throughout the year, remember those men and women who fought for our country.
posted by Phyllis R at
11:14 AM
1 Comments:
When I was young (along time ago), Arnold Swarzenegger’s pictures where plastered all over my bedroom walls. I was amazed and inspired by his physique. I read his books. I went to all his films. I followed his successes. No one else had eight Mr. Olympia titles. No one else had the sick mountainous ball on top of his biceps. To me, he was the man.
As we grow our priorities change. Sometimes our childhood heroes have to take a back seat.
I spent some time in New York State over the past few years. My experience there was one of my most humbling. I had the great privilege to see some of the country’s finest young men and women. I got to know many of them personally. I have not met another group of people (of any age) who left me feeling more proud or more humble. I am talking about the cadets at The United Sates Military Academy.
These young men and women typically graduate at the top of their class in high school. Valedictorians, class presidents, class officers, athletes, tutors and volunteers, these kids are well rounded. Many are offered scholarships to Ivy League schools, but turn them down. All have chosen to enter our country’s military service during a time of war. All go in knowing that some of them will not survive the five-year commitment after graduation.
I saw how incredibly hard these kids worked while at West Point. As officers in training, their workload is intentionally overwhelming. Chronically sleep deprived, they are continually challenged physically, mentally and emotionally. And I watched them thrive. I watched them grow. I saw children turned into men and women. I saw students turned into leaders.
At graduation, they are commissioned as lieutenants in the U.S. Army. These young officers are sent to the four corners of the globe. Sent to do the things that are necessary, things most people don’t like to think about.
Many will go on to become political leaders, entrepreneurs and business leaders. Some will become career Army officers. But the most sobering thought of all is this; some will die in service to this great nation, in service to you and me.
They are my heroes now. May God bless them and keep them safe.
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