The Iwo Jima Veterans Hailed For One Last Hurrah by Paul Szemanczky  *New Britain-Newington, CT -- Thanks to Dr. George Gentile (deceased) and the members of the Iwo Jima Survivors Association who privately-endowed and dedicated it in 1995, the public was invited to the 2nd Candlelight Ceremony of Remembrance for the Iwo Jima vets on August 14, 2010. Hundreds came, most family and veterans of the Korean-Vietnam conflicts, all to read the names of the 94 Connecticut sons who died on that island during the month-long battle in Feb-March,1945, some to announce the veterans who had only passed away this last year by reciting their names into the microphone and tolling a small brass bell that echoed in a windy, fading sunlight. Above us on an 18' black granite block overseeing stood a replica of the famous Mt. Surabachi Flag-Raising, identical to the National Monument located near the Arlington Cemetery. The guest speaker Rear Admiral Michael McLaughlin, Commander, Submarine Group 2, spoke to the crowd of the determination, sacrifice, and courage of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th US Marines and Navy personnel driving the landing craft into shore where 1 out of 3 soldiers became a casualty. "There were 11,600 fighting men on both sides per every square mile of that 8 square mile island. It's why Iwo Jima became the gold standard that inspires our troops till this day," he said, "for such was their impact upon the American soldiers' national consciousness." Guest speaker of CT Veteran Affairs, Commissioner Linda Schwartz added that the Spirit of '45 was imbued in everyone at home during WWII. "I've always been humbled by the valor and sacrifice of these vets, and Connecticut has always honored them," all 94 names engraved on the black granite, names without faces (all of them dead over half a century), names: "Armstrong, Dennett, McGlew, Pennington, Terracare, Winzler..." all receiving each a bell chime by one of the last survivors. Sitting on fold up chairs the 'Iwos' were impossible to separate from the other veterans there, all being mingled adjacent to an eternal flame pillar off to the right of the mic'ed-podium. It was only when Marianne Mihalyo of Support Our Survivors, the moderator, asked them to stand (those that could) that only 10 men stood proudly, and 3 more added in wheelchairs, facing the western sun glowingly, of which two clearly had signs of Parkinson's disease. These men we honored methodically and lovingly, but it was impossible to escape the fact that there were so few left, and I felt at this solumn occasion overall a prevailing sentiment of sadness. Sunday tomorrow, V-J day over Japan, on the 15th of August, these 'Iwos' would hold their final formal dinner as a body of survivors at a restaurant in Branford, CT. Feelings were that they had gotten too old. Isolation and refusal by some was easier and less risky than going was. Other survivors had refused from illness to come to this open ceremony in the park. The passage of time had made crumbling walls of their bodies, erased names from the list of the invited, committed those here to be head bowed during the play of the National Anthem. I could see that a lot of the 'kids' of the Iwo-veterans were crying quietly, wounded by the thought of this conclusive ritual. It was a tough nut to swallow. A lot of their Iwo-fathers had died in just the last few years of old age. Landing on the beach was easy at first on day one, February 19,1945, with the volcanic mountain of Surabachi looming 550-feet over miles of black sand, the 21,000 Japanese defenders hidden and holding their fire until General Tadamichi Kuribayashi's order was given. There were miles of interconnecting tunnels and trenches through which the Japanese soldiers floated with fanatical presence, and disappearance, and everyone of them had a human US Marine target on the beach or incoming amphibious vehicle to destroy. The Marines were told it would be a cakewalk; but it was hell on earth from that day till March 16th, and by the end of it 6,824 dead and 18,000 wounded were accounted. 27 Marines and naval men won the Congressional Medal of Honor, an event carved into the black granite pedestal on the east side of the New Britain monument. Each side of this fabulous stone of honor held either a story, a quote, the names of heroes, and even a battle map of attack beautifully carved and etched in stone. John Croce of Rocky Hill, CT, formerly of 2nd Bn, 25th Marines, 4th Div. was there, as a forward observer communications specialist for a 75 mm battery. I spotted him in the shade under a tall oak, and he shared his memories, short as they were of Iwo Jima. As he spoke we watched an attempt by a Marine sergeant in dress blues attempt to light the first plastic 'cup and candle' by hand from the eternal flame. However, the flame was on a 7-foot tall pedestal and not easily reachable. The wind was whipping, and the sergeant used a chair for assist, but Murphy's Law was in authority, and a match was necessary to start the chain of cup and light-candles held by most ceremony attendees. I looked at John at peace, mustered in with his friends, but sitting apart and distinguished in a forlorn sort of way. All these veterans in peace partnered here, yet each like John had faced his own incubus in battle. At 87 he reminded me of a serene 'Private Witt' from Terrance Malick's film The Thin Red Line, the philosopher infantryman, for every soldier on Iwo must have asked: 'Why am I here?' With that smoking hulk of an island bombarded for days before the assault, each soldier had his separate wishes and prayers above the roar of the guns and diesel engines, all caught up in the unstoppable momentum plunging towards hell. A bit of Private Witt in each and everyone, asking God: "Why do you keep the world the way it is? What force of absolution prevails through so many sins?" "We came up on the beach in the initial assault and ran in 100 yards, then 200 yards to the right when the fierce shelling began," Croce said. The division was experienced; we'd been in 3 other central theater battles before, including Tinian and Saipan, but this was the worst. I had a slight wound the first day; it was so hot, and we were always targets; whatever moved drew fire. I never saw our unit's guns land, because on the second day I was wounded," and he pointed to his right side, and his pants hid what became his ticket home. "I knew Robert C. Armstrong who died there, and my own replacement (he said his name but I couldn't hear it from the Rt. 9 highway noise at that moment) also died." He was the lucky one, being wounded; others died beside him; things go wrong instantly in battle... and we looked up and saw a Marine in his Class-A uniform escort his rider less saddled horse,' a Morgan, to the 3 Iwo’s in their wheelchairs near the front. It's unbelievable luck to be wounded, if you know you probably would have died there. The riderless horse is the military symbol of the missed man, the one fallen with a fatal wound; "the one left behind" in the wakes of our lives...as this young Marine took his horse poignantly to the 3 men who permanently 'rode chairs-into-their sunset,' and who had taken the long road of life up to this point, their legs no longer having the strength to hold them...and an audience cheered as each Iwo vet touched the Morgan's nose, and the large hazel horse eyes shone with unequivocal love and unmistakable compassion. Peace of mind, tranquility and cheerfulness filled the crowd as if some great load had been lifted. The wind blowing upward carried a hint of transcendent outcome. By order, or by chance, these 3 men had held eight pound rifles and killed Japanese soldiers on a steaming, sulfurous island and lived many decades to tell their stories about it, even though fierce winds blew 'many candles' out around them on that island. After the ceremony at sunset I talked with a half dozen Korean-Vietnam vets. I asked: What do you think of CT AG Dick Blumenthal lying about having served in Vietnam in the sixties? ("He had no right to say that," one vet said smarting, "and we'll show him at the polls in November by voting for Linda M". What do you feel about China overtaking Japan economically, and its design to overtake us and become the economic power in 10 years time? ("I probably won't be here to see it," one guy quipped. "Makes me sick to think national security gets fried every time the debt climbs higher; why the hell aren't politicians MAKING JOBS. ARE THEY STUPID?") As for Connecticut, what do you make of our state's $3.5 billion dollar borrowed debt in 2010-2011? I shot at them with the eternal flame on its pedestal to our backs. The half-moon exactly at 2 o'clock from the statuary American flag, illuminated last by the sun, the six-men in green bronze darkened above us, the rocks at the base of the flag actual rocks from Mt. Surabachi, the whole force of its meaning frozen in-time. Their names: PFC Sousley, CPLs Gagnon, Hayes, Harlan, Shipmate 2nd Class Bradley, and Sergeant Strank caught for a moment in the shutter camera of Joe Rosenthal, and later commissioned as sculpture by Joseph Petrovics for all our history and whatever future to come. The veterans had no answer for the ruin of our state, but they agreed Obama's spending was destroying what they had fought for, a nation losing to china economically speaking was hurtful to them, and division after division breaking up the society in the two years Obama commanded. "He's no commander-in-chief," an Italian veteran from West Haven told me. Referring to the Cordoba Mosque dispute on-going in lower Manhattan over a mosque being planned near the 911 Shrine: "The landing gear of Atta's hijacked airliner crashed through the rooftop of that building where they want to build the mosque. He and Mayor Bloomberg FORGIVE THAT! If we re-elect those bast---s, will Obama one day shut down this cemetery of spirits where we're standing? Will that Muslim President dishonor us too? WILL WE NEED AMNESTY ONE DAY for fighting the Pearl Harbor bombers? (All the time the Italian rage just surged, his friend holding his arm, fearing he'd lose it) WILL HE HATE THE 94 MEN or have others hate them someday if re-elected because we had another way of thinking and believing and living different than he did?" And he turned off, like a great Cadillac on one leg: (whispering) "...what a s--t of a man!" I never even got to my next question about the 'debt-driven national spending,' and that was probably damn fortunate. Sadly, like the soldiers of th 407th AAA Battalion (Army) I had interviewed last March in my Project Shining column: "We Need The Fierce Courage Of The 407th Today," these vets too had already discouraged their grandchildren from joining the military. That made 12 men, a dozen vets from 3 wars, who had had it with their nation's call to duty. All had lived the testament of resolve, yet the contrast with reality dissuaded any appeal: it wasn't worth it; the way the nation was headed, they all felt, it wasn't worth it. Who would light the candle from the eternal flame? I looked a last time at the statue in the park as everyone cleared out. The statue blended quickly into the night. I heard the words of Pia Moriarty in her Church Hymn: PILGRIM'S PRAYER (2003, OCP) in my head. "Hail Mary full of grace bless the journey bless the place we go to and we leave." ***Pictures and History of the Park: http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/7831