10K WORDS… DAY FOUR

BY GUY BENSING | STAFF WRITER

DAY FOUR

One thousand six hundred and ninety words; that is what I was able to push out of my brain yesterday. Most of them were a struggle. My emotions overwhelmed me. My frailties, self-talk, self-doubt, and insecurities all conspired against me. The part of my soul that is happy with being mediocre and giving up felt attacked.

The monster that has been living in my head rent free had to pay up yesterday. He was scared and did not know how to react or accept what was happening. He lost for the first time in an extremely long, long time.

I won a small skirmish. Now the monster and I must get ready for war. Each day when I sit down to attack this project, I feel like a top fuel dragster rolling up to the line. The engine bouncing side to side as the driver feeds it bit by bit the same way you would a baby. Anticipation filling the air, the noise greater than deafening. I sit on the edge of my seat waiting for the Christmas tree to change from red to yellow to green.

The moment is upon us. The light changes. I put the throttle down and …… BOOM….. the engine explodes. The emotions that just arose are the same ones I feel each morning when I try to start my day. Like Meatloaf sang, “All revved up with no place to go.” Even though I am on the downhill slope of these ten thousand words, the task is daunting. I know I can crash and burn at any second. My fingers are like the edges of the skies. One minor bump, a tiny gust of wind, even just a blink, and it can all come crashing down.

I am starting to feel like Joe Pesci in “My Cousin Vinny.” Near the end of the movie, his character is struggling to figure out how to win his case. That is when his girlfriend, played by Marisa Tomei, starts bugging him about getting married. The stress gets to him, and he finally loses it. He begins listing the many things that are attached to him winning the case. Some, like in every other facet of life, have a greater importance than others.

I could say the same of these ten thousand words. Go back and look at all the importance I have connected to merely typing these letters. The weight can quickly become unbearable.

Now is a good time for me to take a step back and remove some of that weight. If I break it down, the heaviness is the monster having the feeling of being attacked again. He knows the war is coming, and he also knows he is unprepared.

Why should he be? I have never fought with him before. Each time I pulled up to the starting line, he made sure the engine exploded in spectacular fashion. He has to be asking himself, what is different this time?

This time, I am letting the years of therapy seep in. I’m realizing that I don’t have to live the way I have. Just because I FEEL like a failure does not mean I am one. That is an incredible concept. Almost like Billy Crystal said of Robin Williams…what we feel is not always the reality of the situation.

All the stuff that I have attached to this piece is plain garbage. The only thing that matters is that I do it. “You can do it, you can do it all night long” as famously stated in “The Waterboy.” 

I can continue this journey of ten thousand words. Yes, it is possible to finish this and struggle at the same time. Every writer knows that. Each key stroke is one closer to me getting that win that I so desperately want and need. The emotions are just that, emotions…subjective, conscious mental reactions to outside stimuli. They do not define me. They are not who I am.

Who I am might be what this challenge is about. I never completely understood it. I have a friend that is a published writer. Reaching out, I asked them what they thought the theme of this piece is. Their answer did not surprise me, but their response to mine did.

All along, I thought I was writing about me typing ten thousand words. That was what I wanted the theme to be, at least that is what I supposed. When I asked him what the theme was, he said “Traveling forward. Not necessarily with a destination in mind, but on a road.” My self-doubt creeped up. No, I replied, “It is about writing ten thousand words. What am I missing?”

This is where he knocked me for a loop. Ten thousand words are just my goal. This piece is about the journey I am on with sort of a destination. This is the story of my artistic road trip. A journey of not miles but words. 

His response surprised me, because I was so focused on the number that it blinded me to the beauty that lay within the story. The words and how they are used are what will make this what I want it to be. It was always about a journey, just not the one I originally thought it would be about.

I even said it earlier. Some stories tell themselves. I understand now what is happening here. My story to write ten thousand words is telling itself.

This story has allowed me to unlock things I know have been hidden away for so long. Pain, grief, longing, and so many other human emotions. The feelings of each day are also the sentiments of my life. When I started this excursion on Monday, it was not the first time I had thought of it. However, it was the first time I actually started and put those thoughts on paper.

I wonder how they must feel after being locked away for so long. Instead of them feeling elated that they have been released, could they be afraid? Are they worried that they will be laughed at, ridiculed, or shunned because they were never good enough to be released in the first place?

Each moment that I type, I attach all of those thoughts and emotions to each keystroke; forgetting again who this is for. This is not for you, the reader. No, if you like it, you like it. If you don’t, you’re not going to read it and probably have not reached this point in the expedition.

This has to be for me and no one else. Selfish, you might say, narcissistic even. You could be right, but if I wrote this for you, would either of us really get anything out of it? It would only become ten thousand words on a sheet of paper. I feel as if it is so much more than words on a screen.

Now it is my turn to ask you a question. What are you getting out of this? Have you felt some of the same elements and emotions that I have? Has this helped you look deep within like it has me?

I will never know your answer, but I can only hope. Sounds contradictory, right? I just told you this was not for you, but for me. Now I am asking how it is making you feel.

Maybe it is, but there are things that matter to me. Because as I have stated, this is for me, it does not mean I don’t want you to get something out of it. I want those that invest in reading this and joining me on my journey to find what they are looking for out of it.

What that is will be different for each person. While these words will say one thing to me, they surely will say something different to you. It does not differ from the one guy that did not like my introduction to “Damn the Torpedoes.” While others liked it and thought it was on point, he did not. Why? I don’t know. It could be he wanted more from me. It could be how he interprets the world around him. The important thing is that I don’t let it stop me.

Just like I hope my harsher words have not stopped you from getting this far. We all need to do the same thing. Take a moment and go back. Try to see it through their eyes and from their perspective. If I let them stop me and quit, I will never know what amazing work I could complete.

I mentioned I served in the US Navy. It is the reason that I want to write “Damn the Torpedo’s.” One thing that I just realized; I have asked none of my former shipmates to read this yet. Why is an interesting question? Some of those guys I consider my brothers, and would do anything for them. So why not ask a few of them to read this?

I am not completely sure. Am I afraid of what they might think? I could be. Am I worried I have exposed too much of myself? Yeah, I guess that could be a part of it. The number one thing for me is the fear that they will reject it, and that stops me from reaching the destination.

See, here again I am worried that one person may not like it and I have just said what to do if that happens. Writing this will not cure me of my limitations when it comes to these projects. No, but it could make the next one just that much easier. Those are the things I have to tell myself. A win is a win.

While I was working for a private shipyard company, no one wanted to celebrate the little wins. That upset me a lot. From the moment they hired me, I tried to let them know how much I knew about the engineering systems and the tanks on board the ships.

It took two years for me to be put in charge of tanks and when I got there, I helped formulate a plan, and we stuck to it. During the weekly progress meetings, the government rated the tanks Red, Yellow, or Green. That was based on the concern about them being completed on time. Prior to me working on tanks, they would always go red within days of the project starting.

Tanks never went yellow while I was on them. I tried to celebrate this, but was thwarted at every turn. When you don’t celebrate the small wins, the big one means less and, in fact, to me, it can make the big win a loss. That is one reason I try to end each day of this challenge by saying that it was a win. When I go back and re-read everything, I am reminded that this is not something that I was going to complete in one fell swoop.

No. This is a seven-day project, and it will take seven days to complete. I may be ahead of the pace, but as much as this was about writing ten thousand words, it is also about writing every day. This is about me creating a new habit; about defeating the monster. A habit where I am able to sit down and punch out meaningful words and phrases that set my heart on fire.

This is the third time today that I have returned to this challenge. Each time I do it is different. Maybe you have even picked up on that while reading this. Yesterday I dreaded even the thought of this story. Today I have enjoyed the path my story has taken. The word count is not the classroom clock, but a scoreboard that the bigger the numbers get, the more excited I become.

The monster is hiding today. He is not sure what is happening. He knows his power has weakened. This has happened before, but never for this long. I have not cowered this much before. He must be thinking, why now?

This time, I am understanding more about the monster and who he is. I created him, fed him, and gave him that power. It has become time for me to take that power back. I am not a loser or a failure. I am enough.

Yesterday I struggled to reach the five-thousand-word mark. Today I have written more than I have on any other day of this challenge, yet I am not finished. I want to continue. I want to keep unlocking the potential and the hidden thoughts that are fighting to become exposed.

My voice is calling out through these words. It is time I’m heard! it screams. I have spent fifty years locked away. You have kept me silent by forces that I thought I had no control over. I was wrong and now I can begin emerging, like a prairie dog sticking its head up and looking around to see if it is safe. It is safe today. The Monster is losing. I have written more words than any other day. Over twenty-one hundred words. I have explored areas I had kept hidden and I am winning again today. Seven thousand three hundred and forty-five words. Just over the three-quarter pole. This was a great day four.

Day Five awaits.

FOR LOVE OF GOD & COUNTRY

Written by: Dolores Linden

On January 17, 1991, I had just finished a 12-hour graveyard shift at the VA Hospital in Denver, where I worked at the time. I arrived home, settled into my typical wind-down routine before going to bed and getting up to do it all over again that evening. I woke up around three in the afternoon, not knowing that our world, and specifically my world had changed forever.

I got a bite to eat and got ready for my next 12-hour shift. My husband who worked for a Government contractor at Lowry, AFB arrived home around 4:20 p.m. and had some bad news. We were at WAR!

Photo by: Donna Spurgin

My mind raced. Back then, we didn’t have News 24/7 or Social Media. I turned on the old little black and white TV in our Kitchen, hoping for a News alert, and there it was! My thoughts immediately went to my kids. I felt my heart in my throat and a gut feeling of near panic!

My son, an active duty Marine was stationed stateside in North Carolina, and my daughter, my baby girl, was in Navy Bootcamp in Orlando, Florida. Both my children were Active duty military in a time of war. My husband, a Navy Veteran, was matter-of-fact about the whole situation. But in my heart, the ‘unknowns’ became my waking reality. How long would this war last? Will my son be deployed? And if so, for how long? Where would my daughter be sent?

Realizing that as the daughter, wife, and now mother of the military, it was my patriotic duty to serve my country I loved so dearly by being a support to my only children, both of whom were at risk of being in harm’s way. I had to make a conscious decision to not wallow in the fears of “what if.” I needed to choose to remain steady, even on the days that my stomach was tied in knots.

Thankfully, I had three factors in my life that gave me strength. First and foremost, was and is my faith in God and the Scriptures that brought me comfort. The second, my wonderful husband and dad, both wise men and Veterans who helped give me perspective, and finally, working and caring for the Vets at the VA Hospital. Those 8-12 hour shifts kept me busy and my mind focused, while in between on breaks I was in front of the TV watching news updates.

I lived in a big city, but I didn’t know other families with military members. Back then, there just wasn’t a support system for military families like there is today. I often wished that there had been a connection because I felt like I was a part of an important larger family, a family supporting our military, serving our country when called.

Desert Storm lasted only a very short time, not years like so many wars in years past. As a mother, I was grateful and blessed that both my kids remained safe, but my mother’s heart aches for the families whose soldiers paid the ultimate price.

15 MINUTES WITH TUSKEGEE LEGENDS

By Christine Walker

In October of 2010, I decided to attend the Air Show with my family. It was a beautiful, clear day as we entered the gates. Immediately to our right, a large stage was set up and a singer dressed in 1940’s vintage regalia was belting out a popular tune of the era.

Very close to the stage was a booth of Tuskegee Airmen. My heart jumped! I definitely had to go shake their hands. I had watched the movie that came out in 1995 and was so moved by their story. And while the movie didn’t portray any one specific person, I absolutely wanted to meet the real hero’s.

Unfortunately, the booth was packed with people, so I made a mental note to circle back around before the air show later that afternoon. After touring the different planes on the field, I started walking toward the Tuskegee Airmen booth.

I arrived and there were just two of the five elderly Pilots sitting in the afternoon shade. Not dissuaded, I walked up and smiled, held out my hand, and probably gushed a little too much about what an honor it was to meet them.

To my amazement, they offered me a chair, and I took the opportunity to sit and chat with them. Our conversation turned towards the rising temperature, the planes, how much they enjoyed coming to air shows, and finally, I broached the subject of their service.

I looked at each of them thinking about their service to our country, which at the time, was not kind to them. It wasn’t enough to thank them for their service. Teary-eyed, I thanked them for persevering through the bullshit and helping to save the lives of hundreds of servicemen. Then one of them asked me, “Did you serve?” Oh boy! I think the salty sailor in me came out, and this opportunity wasn’t supposed to be about me at all.

They asked me questions about my service, and one was quick to tell the other that he knew he should have made that bet. “Bet?” I asked, “Yes, you still have your military bearing.” We chuckled, and at that moment, planes began taking off for the air show.

“Thank you, young lady, you made our day today.” I shook each of their hands again and told them, “It was such an honor to meet you both!”

To my dismay, I do not remember their names. I suppose too many years have passed. But I will never forget my 15-minutes of being in the presence of Legends.

I REMEMBER WHEN…

By Paul Sullivan, Ret. Capt. USMC

As a 2nd Lt. stationed with Hotel Company, 2nd Bn. 4th Marines, 1st Marine Brigade, Kaneohe MCAS, Oahu HA, we became a part of the 3rd Marine Division out of Okinawa as Operation Blue Star, a multi-national exercise that carried a number of goals to be carried out successfully, ( naturally).

We docked in Taiwan’s capital, Taipei, and trucked ourselves and gear down to O Luan Pi at the southern tip of Formosa. The first thing we received was a scathing talk from one of our NCO cooks about camp followers. He who gets caught with one or more of them would be severely punished, etc, etc, etc. Guess what? Who got caught the very first night? You’re right---our NCO cook! After this first incident, we never did see him for the duration of the exercise. Anybody have any ideas about what could have happened to him?

Assigned to my platoon was a Chinese Army Sgt and attached to him was a Chinese Police Officer. Why? I still do not know. He was a constant bother to my interpreter, Sgt. Wong; however, while occupying a small village that was considered essential for carrying out special orders, I spoke to a young Chinese fellow who was a student at college in Taipei. He spoke broken English.

Paul Sullivan, Ret. Captain, USMC resides in Massachusetts with his wife Beverly.

He asked me what we were doing in his village. I pointed out to the ocean and told him our enemy (members of 3rd Division), would be coming through this area in a few days. Well, without a second’s pause, he began yelling. When he did this, many villagers came running out of their homes, carrying some belongings, and started hustling out into the hills. I immediately got on the phone and asked for Sgt Wong to get there quickly. Fortunately, he did and all turned out to be A-OK. I can only imagine what could have happened if Sgt. Wong had been late. Who would get these people back into their homes without international embarrassment? My Sgt. Wong saved the day.

I am sure a number of viewers may recall a similar situation and might wish to share their stories.

A MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR

Welcome to AT EASE! Veterans Magazine!

We are so incredibly excited to publish our inaugural edition of AT EASE! Veterans Magazine. It’s been an uphill battle, but we’ve stayed the course to our commitment to provide a worthy publication that gives a voice to Vets across the country.

CHRISTINE WALKER

AT EASE! Veterans Magazine is a national quarterly magazine focusing on what matters to Veterans. It began with the vision to create a print & digital magazine that would give a voice to Veterans, old and young alike, to share the stories that have forged us in the fire and have made us who we are today.

We will also be utilizing QR Code technology to help create an interactive experience.

AT EASE! Veterans Magazine is created by a Vet for Vets. I served as a Hospital Corpsman during Desert Storm at Lejeune and named our publishing company Devil Doc Publishing, as a wink and a nod to my fellow Corpsman who served FMF/8404.

I was asked what I was most passionate about in creating a magazine for Veterans...

Telling their stories!

It’s ALL about the Vets!

SEMPER FI: NEVER FORGOTTEN!

Written By: Diane Hight

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The youngest American serviceman to be killed in action in the Vietnam War was just 15 years old. Today, we remember the young life of Private First Class Dan Bullock, who died in the service of our country after lying about his age to be to able join the U.S. Marine Corps.

Bullock was born in Goldsboro, North Carolina on December 21, 1953. Following the loss of his mother’s, 12-year-old Dan and his sister left for Brooklyn, New York in order to stay with his father and stepmother. His dream was to be an Air Force pilot, a police officer, or a U.S. Marine.

By September 18, 1968, America was already neck-deep in the Vietnam War and enlistment of citizens into the military was in full swing. Bullock was 14 years old at the time, with a height of 5 foot 9 inches and a weight of 160 pounds. He decided to join the military.

The minimum age for enlistment was 17 years old and even at that age, one would need parental consent to serve. But Bullock was completely undeterred by this restriction. He managed to alter his birth certificate, showing his year 1949, instead of 1953. The recruitment staff at Albee Square Marine recruiting station was none the wiser.

Believing Bullock was 19 years old, they gave him the green light: he successfully enlisted with the U.S. Marine Corps and was assigned with Platoon 3039 in Parris Island.

After struggling through months of training at boot camp, Bullock managed to graduate with the help of Franklin McArthur, a fellow recruit who befriended him.

According to McArthur, he had decided to help the 14-year-old through the rigorous boot camp training because he understood what put a rifle in the boy’s hands: the desire to help his family. Bullock’s father earned a living as a lumber worker and a sharecropper, and Bullock wanted to help, but he had no skills to land a job in New York.

McArthur’s decision to assist the boy, however, would become a choice that would later haunt him.

Bullock arrived in South Vietnam, over 8,500 miles away from home, on May 18, 1969. One can only imagine what was running through his mind as he stepped into the atmosphere of South Vietnam where the sound of war seemed to have become constant.

Now aged 15 and a private first class, he was assigned to 2nd Squad, 2nd Platoon, Fox Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division, where he served as a rifleman. Bullock was stationed at An Hoa Combat Base, a few kilometers west of Hội An, in Quảng Nam Province. At 1:00 a.m. on June 7, 1969, the base came under attack by the North Vietnamese Army (NVA).

Hostilities grew through the night and casualties rose on both sides. Bullock played his own role in the fight, trying as much as he could to help keep the base from falling into the hands of the NVA.

As the attack pressed on, it would soon be clear that the Marines were outgunned. Bullock promptly began making runs to deliver extra ammunition to his beleaguered comrades who were desperately trying to hold off the assault.

Sadly, while he was on his second supply run, Bullock was hit by several rounds from small firearms and perished instantly.

It wasn’t until reporters paid a visit to Bullock’s family that America came to know that Bullock was only 15 years old. Such a young man’s decision to go to war is not something everyone would be able to understand.

According to his sister Gloria, “[Dan] wanted to get an education, to make something of himself, and saw the Marines as a way to get there.” He had plans to continue his education upon returning from Vietnam.

After his interment, Bullock’s gravesite in Goldsboro, North Carolina remained without a headstone for 31 years.

A headstone was donated in 2000 by talk-show host Sally Jessy Raphael. In honor of his bravery, in June 2003 the New York City Council renamed a section of Lee Avenue in Brooklyn, where Bullock had lived since he was 11 years old, in his honor.

In reminiscing about his days at boot camp with Bullock, McArthur stated in an interview that a Marine who knew how he had helped Bullock get through boot camp had asked him a gut-wrenching question: “Did you ever think that if you didn’t help him, he might have lived?”

Bullock’s name can be found on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. among those of the 58,266 servicemen who made the ultimate sacrifice. Bullock is not the only one who was underage: at least five others were 16 years old, and at least 12 were 17 years old. Their service to our country will never be forgotten.

A TRUE PATRIOT

Shannon Robinson, Staff Writer

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Jim Williams

HM2, Hospital Corpsman, E5

An unassuming man, Jim Williams has led everything but an ordinary life. His father was a Career Officer and a Chaplain in the Air Force in World War II, the Pacific, Korea, and Vietnam. Jim moved all around the world with his family, from Guam to Greece and Turkey, and all across the Southern United States. He had already seen the world by the time he was a teenager and ready to join the military for himself.

Following in his father’s footsteps, Jim joined the Navy in 1966 at the height of the Vietnam War. He felt a sincere obligation to pay back to America with his service. “I just wanted to go and do my part,” he said. Plus, his father always said that “When you come home, you don’t have to go back.”

Jim was supposed to join the Marines Corps with his best friend, Butch Peterson. Butch went on to Vietnam in 1966 and was the first boy from Abilene to make the ultimate sacrifice for the Vietnam War.

From 1966 to -68, Jim completed Navy and Fleet Marine Force Training, becoming a Hospital Corpsman. He attended Basic, Corps school, and Special Warfare, which qualified him as a Combat Corpsman.

Jim recalls 1968 as the worst time in Vietnam. He moved about the country in a combat unit and was involved in some of the largest and longest operations during the war, such as Robin South, Canton II, and Scotland II. Most of the operations were pushing the North Vietnamese out of and away from South Vietnam.

Jim received the Navy Achievement Medal and three Purple Heart medals for his service in Vietnam. You wouldn’t know it unless someone else told you, though. Jim humbly handed me his commendation to read and recalled one of the battles that he was awarded for.

During the Battle of Hill 549, Jim was shot in the back, and the bullet was 1/16th of an inch from severing his spine. Despite this, he continued to apply medical attention to other wounded soldiers until he could be transported out of the area three days later. His bravery on the frontlines and commitment to his unit earned him a purple heart.

Williams returned to the United States in May of 1969. After a week of acclimation and evaluation, he headed to the San Francisco airport on his way back to Dallas. Walking through the airport in his fully decorated uniform, a group of Hari Krishna spotted Jim and started spitting on him, yelling at him, calling him a baby killer. With that kind of “homecoming,” it’s no surprise so many veterans returning from service in Vietnam had a difficult time reintegrating themselves into American culture.

Because he maxed out on Purple Hearts, Jim was put on reserve status. He traveled to different base dispensaries in Dallas, New Orleans, and San Diego, treating soldiers there.

Jim’s journey did not stop here, however. After the military, he went back to school and achieved his Associates degree. In 1973, he was Chief Deputy Officer for the Eastland Police Department. Being a cop gave him the excitement and adrenaline rush similar to what he experienced in the military. In 1976, he was hired as a Dallas police officer, but couldn’t start for one more semester. The DPD encouraged him to go back to school for a little bit.

The same day he went to register for classes at UNT (then North Texas State College), Jim saw a “Now Hiring” sign outside the Denton Police Department. He went inside, and within a day, Jim took the exam early and aced it, had a 10 point Veteran preference, and met the Chief of Police. The Chief of Police got a few references from Eastland and swore Jim in that evening, despite the fact he was already hired by Dallas PD. Without training, without a gun, without any previous planning, Jim served as a Denton Police officer until 1978.

Williams has led an extraordinary life. He was a police officer, a Felony Investigator, and a Background Investigator for security clearances. He was an entrepreneur; he owned Pipe Emporium (a pipe and tobacco shop), Island Divers (a scuba shop), and Finley’s Fashion and Fabrics (a fabric and sewing shop). Jim is even the inspiration behind famous novelist (and old friend) Clive Cussler’s superhuman character hero Dirk Pitt. While Pitt is often compared to the iconic Doc Savage, he’s based off the honest, human character of Jim Williams.

In truth, Jim is an ardent servant to his community. He retired in 2013 and dedicates his life to taking care of his wife. Jim lives his life “constantly reaching after the brass rings” as he says it, and he sees that ambitious legacy continue in his daughters. Anyone who has the pleasure of meeting him will be greeted with a firm handshake, a welcoming smile, and—if you’re lucky—some of the best conversation you can find.

DON’T TELL ME NO!

Shannon Robinson, Staff Writer

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Dan Neighbors - Army Specialist, E4

Dan Neighbors

Growing up on a horse ranch just south of Fort Worth, Daniel Neighbors idolized Westerns. He admired the steadfast, quiet, noble Cowboy code of honor. His conservative family didn’t allow TV during the week, but on the Saturday nights he spent at his Grandparents’ house, he soaked up every Western movie he could. Those cowboys are partially what led Dan to join the US Cavalry.

After the terrorist attacks on September 11th, Dan resolved to join the military. A weightlifting shoulder injury and double shoulder surgery prevented him from enlisting immediately, so he spent the next few years working every job he could—bounty hunting, being a body guard and bouncer, and selling motorcycle parts.

After Hurricane Katrina hit in 2006, Dan was offered a security position to go south and guard a wealthy family; however, this was just for his part-time job. When Dan approached the owner of the parts company he worked full-time for and expressed his interest and need for time-off, their one mistake was telling Dan “No,” he couldn’t go. Neighbors accepted the challenge, quit, and found an Army recruiter that same day.

The Texas Army National Guard recruiter, with an impressive video and a persuasive pitch, showed Dan “the coolest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” The recruit not only got Dan to enlist as an Army Cavalry Scout but convinced him to “get everything done at once” and attend OSUT training at Ft. Knox that came with 6 months of bootcamp. Around October 2006, Dan headed to Kentucky, which was “cold as fuck” and very unforgiving for a cowboy from Texas. He continued on to specialist school, and deployed to Iraq as an E4 Army Specialist.

In 2007, Neighbors deployed during Operation Iraqi Freedom. His first 30 days or so were spent training and acclimating to the upcoming missions. This largely included watching graphic videos day in and day out of what to expect in the field and preparing for the rest of his deployment. He went on maybe a dozen missions before returning to Texas for a brief R&R.

When Dan got back to the US, he was surprised and disappointed that no one seemed to recognize or care about what was going on outside of America. Even his tightknit family he was so close with had moved on through the rhythms of life.

It was one trip to the grocery store that changed his mindset. A woman was griping about the check-out lanes, something so inane and unimportant. It appalled Dan to think that this was the America he was fighting for; these were the freedoms that people were complaining about. This experience, combined with his family’s apathy, switched Dan from a sacrifice mindset to one of survival. When he went back to Iraq, “it was more for me than them.”

When he returned, Dan was the gunner in a route recon team that ran from south of Diwaniya to FOB Scania, right through the hottest zone in Iraq. For his 400-day deployment, they checked the area for IEDs and ambushes, running between the two points to secure it for convoys. They prepared the route and provided extreme security for the traveling convoys.

Despite the intensity in that area of the country, Dan liked the routine. He’d get up, work out, run the mission, come back, work out, sleep, and repeat the cycle. “It was the most settled and chaotic I’ve ever experienced my life. It was awesome. I loved it.”

Neighbors was also included in the aptly named E4 Mafia—the group who was sent to do some of the work NCOs couldn’t. That’s all he could tell me about the crew.

Neighbors remembered one of his last missions, the one that both filled him with hope for the good they were doing and simultaneously destroyed that hope in him forever.

Dan’s wife at the time sent the team a box of teddy bears to hand out to the little kids in the area whenever they went out on recon. There was one “nasty ass bear” that lasted the longest and became a symbol for good luck to the team because as long as that bear was in the truck, the unit had been safe.

During his last mission, they stopped to speak with a sheikh, and a little girl came up to them from a Bedouin tent. “Her dress…looked like sand, her hair was matted, and her skin looked like clay.” Dan knew it was their last mission, so he handed her that last, old bear, and her desert face lit up as if they gave her the world’s greatest treasure. As they moved on, Dan scanned the area and watched her wave goodbye through the scope of his 240 Bravo. At the same moment she was happily waving, the sheikh walked over and slapped her hard to the ground, throwing the bear away. She stood, and her face switched from the sheerest joy to the purest anger and sadness. Dan was furious that she would forever associate a kind act—and the soldiers—with punishment and pain.

Coming home after the war, stoic and grounded, Neighbors moved forward with the façade that nothing bothered him. To Dan, part of the sacrifice is swallowing the experience no matter how hard it is; if you share it with somebody else, then they experience it with you, and it’s no longer your sacrifice. So then, what’s the point of your service? “That’s what patriotism is to me,” Dan solemnly stated.

Neighbors currently works as a Denton Police Officer, seeking to right the wrongs in the city. Every combat veteran has a story to tell, and just a glimpse into Dan’s story shows his commitment to justice and service to an America he believes in. The cowboy code that was instilled in him as a child is still very much ingrained in his fiber as a man. He lives his life with values, patriotism, and a resistance to any threat towards American freedom. Just try telling him “no”—he’ll rise above the challenge and exceed.

WHY NOT?

Shannon Robinson, Staff Writer

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Dan Warren

Air Force – E8 Senior Master Sergeant

You find a lot of veterans with a military lineage in their family or an early drive and desire to serve their country. For Dan Warren, a boy from small town Wisconsin, the military was simply a way out. When his friend joined the Air Force as a senior in high school, Warren decided “why not?” and signed up too. Three months after graduation, he went to bootcamp at Lackland Air Force Base.

Warren wasn’t sure where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do in the Air Force, so he went in Open General hoping to figure it out along the way. He was placed in Security Police training and stayed for Security Police Forces training for 6 to 8 weeks after bootcamp in San Antonio had completed. Soon after, he was “selected” to go to Ft. Dixie, NJ for the Army’s basic combat training. His first assignment as a Security Police Officer was 18 months in Miami before he deployed to Panama in May of 1989.

Warren made the rounds on base in Panama for 90 days before being sent back to Florida. “South Florida was… shitty” he said; that’s when he decided to put in an assignment request for World Wide Remote, hoping to go anywhere else.

His first stop was Taegu Airbase in Korea, where he stayed from ’89-’90. At the start of Desert Storm, he went back to Panama City to deploy with his unit; however, by the time he got here, they had already left. So, he was stuck again in the city he hated for about two years, working with the military police, reservists, and National Guard who replaced all the active-duty servicemen and women who deployed.

After the two years, Warren was thrilled when he could finally leave Florida and move to San Vito, Italy. Yet, to his frustration, due to military shut downs, the San Vito base was closed, and Warren had to move back. This time, he received priority assignment, and transferred to Langley Air Force base in ’94. From there, he deployed to Saudi Arabia. By the time he returned home, Warren was an E5 ready for a career change.

He initially wanted to become a dog handler; Warren applied, went through the process, and was told he had too much time in the military to qualify. It was then that Warren’s military journey came full circle; he applied for Combat Arms and had to go back to San Antonio to teach weapons training at Lackland bootcamp.

Warren describes his two years of teaching like one long Groundhog Day; new classes came in and out, the same repetitive courses taught day after day, group after group. He hated the central Texas heat as he spent half his day on the range, running drills.

While he hated San Antonio, it was where Warren met his wife. She pushed him to go through college and get his Bachelor’s degree in Criminology. It was at this point Warren faced a crossroads: he could either try to become an officer or change career paths again. He opted for the latter, changing his path to computer networking.

It was with computer networking that Warren hit his stride. He traveled from his first assignment at Kelly Air Force Base to Saudi Arabia and back to San Antonio, securing top secret buildings and running computer repair crews. Desperately wanting to get out of San Antonio after his third time there, Warren made it to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. He stayed there for three years, managing the Academy’s servers and routers, frequently busting kids for contraband content.

Warren continued with computer networking until 2009 when he tested for his E9 promotion. Warren recalls sitting at his desk, waiting for his promotion test results. On one screen, was the pending results page. On the other screen, his retirement paperwork was ready to submit. When his test results came in 30 points under the cut-off score, Warren eagerly switched screens and submitted his retirement.

Dan looked into teaching Jr. ROTC after retirement. His wife is a teacher, and his friend taught it; so, as is his way, Dan said “why not?” again and looked for ROTC vacancies. The only vacancy in Texas was at Robert E. Lee High School in Midland. Dan scored the job immediately because he was the only applicant—no one wanted to move to Midland.

He stayed in Midland for five years before a vacancy came up at Ryan High School in Denton in 2014. Warren currently runs the ROTC program there.

Among his accomplishments with the Air Force, Warren also achieved his Master’s in Criminology. He remarks that the military gave him some much-needed maturity and leadership ability. He especially looks at his time with the Military Police as what taught him to be assertive; it’s what taught him to confront and handle uncomfortable or dangerous situations with effective force.

For a man who entered the military with zero knowledge, an open mind, and easy-going attitude, Dan Warren certainly traveled everywhere he could with the Air Force. He took every opportunity he could to move, grow, and succeed. Now, he works to transfer the same quality of excellence and pride that he gained from the military to the kids he trains.

‘A PROMISE MADE, A PROMISE KEPT’

Shannon Robinson, Staff Writer

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Daniel Jacob Perez

US Marines, Sergeant E5

On September 11, 2001, standing on the field in the middle of football practice, 14-year-old Danny Perez was informed about the terrorist attacks on the Twin Towers in New York and The Pentagon. Bolstered by a sense of duty, that afternoon, this 14-year-old kid went to the recruiting offices of the Army, Airforce, and Marine Corps.

Perez walked into each office, declaring he was ready to sign up! Obviously, he wasn’t taken seriously, but something at the Marine Corps recruiting office was about to change Danny’s life forever. Recruiting officer, Staff Sergeant Jones, admired his commitment, but he laughed and said “You’re a little too young, kid.” “Then coach me,” Danny replied. That exchange turned into three years of training and preparation with Jones.

At 17, Danny took the oath and joined the US Marine Corps. The clever kid, now a United States Marine, had fulfilled the promise he had made to himself on that fateful day in 2001.

Perez’s first deployment was to Al-Asad Airbase in Iraq. He had received his first meritorious promotion after at engineer school; as soon as he got to Iraq, he managed to piss everyone off when he received his second meritorious promotion to Corporal. As an Engineer Equipment Officer, Perez led eight other marines at the flight line, loading and unloading supplies into HeLos that were transported out to other bases in the region.

His first deployment, everything was business as usual, from antagonizing the reservists, organizing the fight rings for the base’s pet camel spider, and the occasional sandstorm. “You’d just see a wall of sand coming towards you” and have about an hour and a half to get everything done before it hit. Between their duties and the elements, they found ways to entertain themselves.

Then there were the Black-Out days. Black-Outs were the worst because it meant the base would go dark with electricity and power shut off. Behind the scenes, every soldier stood at attention while casket after casket was wheeled before them, each one draped in the American flag, and somberly loaded onto the C-130. Black-Outs meant their brothers and sisters in arms paid the ultimate price.

Perez deployed on two tours to Iraq with a stint in S. Korea separating them.

In Korea, his duty was to strengthen the South Korean Army to intimidate North Korea. Perez was in charge of 30 soldiers and trained the Korean Marines how to ”clear house,” sometimes letting his eagerness get the best of him and the “spirit of the law” take over. Throwing a flash-bang through a wall or kicking a trainee in the chest, Danny quickly gained a dubious reputation for acting out of instinct and not the letter of the law.

Danny was stationed in Ramadi just West of Baghdad for his second deployment during the 2009 elections in Iraq. After his first deployment, having been so affected by the ritual of the Black Out days, Perez volunteered himself for every mission that came up. As a Platoon Sergeant, he ran convoys, swept IED clean-up, rebuilt base barriers, and eventually worked private security for an Iraqi Security company.

Perez and five other marines in his command patrolled the site daily. “You weren’t supposed to,” but he said they became friends with the company owner. Danny recalled the feast they ate together at the end of the mission. It was a brief moment of comfort and normalcy.

“And after that is when everything went to shit.”

There was a month and a half long mission that required two welders. Perez trained for three weeks, hopping from base to base (including Saddam’s palace in Kapabul) to do smaller welding gigs before going to stay in Baharia with the main welder, Cpl. Beyer. Early every morning, Perez and Beyer traveled into Karma to patrol the streets and measure culvert openings where IEDs would usually be hidden. Then, they’d travel back to Baharia, weld grates for the culverts, and return to Karma at night with the grates to close off the culverts.

The last time he went out, he exited the truck, took off his helmet and body armor, and that’s when the sniper fire surrounded him. “Whatever terrorist sniper it was, he was a terrible shot” Perez recalls as rounds kept missing him while he welded the grate shut. By the end of the mission, Danny was drained and the damage done by his two tours kept him in that shadow place; he had enough.

However, with an unfulfilled death wish hanging over his head, Danny joined the reserves with the hope of going on tour again. He spent ten months in the reserves, and on the day he was promoted to Sergeant, Perez was discharged. Danny volunteered for Devil Dog Nation and DFW Devil Dogs, answering calls on a helpline, but his arduous adjustment back into civilian life was just beginning.

After months of self-medication, stress, and heartbreak, Danny said “I hit rock bottom and thankfully, rock bottom didn’t kill me.” He suffered a psychological breakdown and ended up in the hospital. He spent almost a month at the VA Hospital in Dallas, and soon he transferred to the VA Hospital in Bonham for almost a year-long rehab program. He met with a counselor and had to complete journaling entries to work through his PTSD. Looking back at his experience there, he says the camaraderie with other veterans is what impacted him the most.

When asked what he did to cope with his PTSD, Danny smiled and walked to his kitchen saying “come here for a second.” Following him, he pulled out a bag of 20 different prescriptions.

For the time being, this is Danny’s new way of life. But this, by no means, is the end of Danny’s story. The once innocent and precocious 14-year old boy dead-set on serving his country, to the war-weary Veteran trying to cope daily with the visions inside his head, both versions will write the next chapter of healing and slowly settling into his new normal as one who survived to tell not only his story but the stories of those who didn’t come back.

STRUGGLES OF MILITARY TRANSITION TO CIVILIAN LIFE

Written by: Paul Bastaich

Director of Veteran Services | Denton County Veteran Service Office

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“Transition should not be difficult. Sometimes a Veteran and their family just need some guidance to get over the hurdles of life as a civilian.”

In my personal opinion, the largest hurdle to Veteran Transition is Employment. Finding satisfying career employment is vital to Quality of Life. With the assistance of the Texas Veterans Commission, Veterans Employment Services, Veterans will find a huge step in the right direction utilizing this free service. Veterans Employer Liaison is located in the Texas Workforce Office at 1300 Teasley Lane, Denton Texas, (940) 323-4335. There are several other organizations and employment services in the Metroplex that offer opportunities to our Veterans but my trust and confidence is with the Texas Veterans Commission and their services. If employment is not an issue for a transitioning Veteran and Family, but other obstacles emerge, I would focus on assistance from the Denton County Veteran Service Office and the Veterans Community Navigator Program.

The Veteran Community Navigator (VCN) program is a holistic, short-term case management model to assist Veterans in multiple life domains to achieve stability and sustainability.

The Veteran Community Navigators: Receive referrals from various community partners (Denton County Veterans Coalition, Texas Workforce Commission, Catholic Charities, Giving Hope, Law Enforcement, Denton County Veterans Service Office, etc.). Assess the extent of the Veterans needs as they relate to mental health (may include substance abuse, TBI, PTS, or physical health component), and emergency financial needs such as food, housing, transportation, etc. Determine a plan of action, level of case management, and follow-up required. Make referrals to community service providers (help set appointments, arrange transportation, etc.). Follow up as necessary to assure the Veteran and his/her family is getting the help needed. Coordinate regular case staffing meetings to determine clients’ stabilization.

The Veteran Service Office, located in the Mary and Jim Horn Government Building (940)-349-2950 can assist with a referral to the VCN Program. Additionally, the Denton County Veterans Service Office offers vital assistance to Denton County Veterans and their dependents in filing VA benefit claims. The veterans’ benefit counselors of the Denton County Veterans Service Office assist veterans of the Armed Forces and their dependents file claims and obtain their benefits from the Department of Veterans Affairs after service to our country.

There are many service providers willing to assist. There are resources available but identifying the need and getting the right contact for resolution is key. Texas Veterans Commission Employment Services, Denton County Veterans Services and the Veterans Community Navigator Program are ready to assist.

WE GOT YOUR SIX

by shannon robinson

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Walking into Patriot Sandwich Company off Loop 288 in Denton, Texas, you’re immediately struck by a wall dedicated to each service branch with military memorabilia enveloping the walls. Take a few more steps, and you’ll notice one of the many shadow-box tables, displaying letters, medals, uniforms, and other trinkets of military service Owner and operator David Jordan has spared no expense in serving patrons a comprehensive and personal experience. He is bridging the gap between the military and civilian worlds.

The environment is driven to both embrace service in the armed-forces and point out its quirks. Each item on the menu is named after something military-related, and the sandwiches are served in two sizes—officer (6 oz.) and enlisted (8 oz.)—because, as Jordan clarified, “everybody knows officers don’t do any work.” An Army veteran himself, Jordan has even included a box of red crayons near the front of the store, so any visiting Marines won’t have to go too far for their preferred snack.

While its fun for Vets to take a jab or two at each other, the Patriot Sandwich Company is serious about the health and well-being of Veterans. That is why It is a spoke in the wheel of a much larger mission. David Jordan created this sandwich shop in February of 2020 as a financial backer to his nonprofit organization, We Got Your Six.

We Got Your Six was founded in August 2015 by Jordan, Angela Messerlie, and James Lopez. All three Veterans have one mission: “helping Homeless Veterans rebuild their lives and gain their self-confidence.”

Jordan was once a homeless veteran himself and has a keen insight into the trouble and difficulty that plague Veterans when they return to civilian life. Despite the hundreds of veteran organizations in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, Jordan noticed a lack of collaboration. That’s why one of his first goals was to communicate his plans and build relationships with as many other organizations as he could.

We Got Your Six focuses on three elements: career, housing, and education. While homeless, Jordan lived in a shelter and said their idea of helpful resources was a board with available job postings and a well-intentioned, empty-hearted “good luck.” It is already exhausting building a resume, searching for work, and looking the part; so it’s no surprise such a hands-off approach leads to hopelessness and defeat in so many Veterans who are trying to rebuild their lives from rock-bottom. That’s why Jordan and his co-founders take such a systematic approach in helping Veterans get back on their feet.

To date, We Got Your Six has helped 40 veterans and their families with a hand-up, to help get them out of the homelessness blackhole and into a much more stable and healthy lifestyle.. The founders have plans to extend the nonprofit into a full-fledged compound that can house and educate veterans while giving them jobs, training, and income.

Most importantly, We Got Your Six will continue to help veterans re-instill confidence and pride in their lives.

MORE THAN AN ENDOWMENT

BY SHANNON ROBINSON

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When COVID-19 struck the United States in March 2020, our nation was upended. Schools and businesses closed; we were confined to our homes with the fear of what the “new normal” would look like lodged in the back of our minds. While our social and economic landscapes were drastically changing, the Veteran students of UNT were now faced with the real possibility of eviction with nowhere to go.

That’s when the University of North Texas Veterans Services stepped up to keep their veteran students at some level of normalcy amidst the chaos, donating $30,000 to keep Veterans in school or in their homes.

The donation came from a variety of sources. The Emergency College fund is a public fund open to donations from anyone; even as little as $5 can help. The CARES Act contributed a large amount to the generous donation for Veterans as well. One of the sources of this $30,000 donation is from an endowment given to the Veterans Services and ROTC at UNT by Bette and Robert Sherman.

Bette Sherman is the daughter of Maj. Gen. Olinto Barsanti, who—despite being a highly decorated One Star General, the commanding general of the 101st Airborne Division, and charged with the largest and longest military airlift ever attempted in a combat zone—could not afford to send his daughter to school. Because of her upbringing, Bette is a huge supporter of the ROTC students and veterans of the Univeristy of North Texas.

Robert Sherman’s father was a professor at UNT and the Faculty Advisor for Veteran’s Village, a neighborhood constructed for veterans returning from World War II. His home in the Village tragically burned down, but the Village went on to house hundreds of veterans who contributed to Denton’s growth and UNT’s student body.

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James Davenport, director of UNT’s Student Veteran’s Services and retired Army veteran, remarked on the generosity and kindness of the Shermans. With the unpredictability of the past year, the endowment, as part of the larger $30,000, has helped a number of veterans and their dependents with tuition and rent. With approximately 2,900 students at UNT on Veteran’s benefits, the money goes a long way in serving those who have already given so much in their service to our Country.

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Visit UNT’s website here for more information on Veteran Services and Online Degree Programs

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A FEMALE VETERAN

Written by: Cristie Campo

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Cristie Campo

When people ask me; what does it mean to be a female veteran? I honestly don’t know how to answer that question because it implies that I am special or that there is something amiss with being a female veteran. I am the same as any other man who has served and yet when I think about it, I realize that I am different. “I am special! “ I served during a time when fewer women were serving in the military. A lot has changed after 9/11. 

I am a Persian Gulf War Veteran. The first “war” after the Vietnam war. That is significant enough to make our generation “special” although we are special in the fact that everyone forgets about us. 9/11 takes precedence in benefits, resources, special programs, etc... We are the forgotten war just like the Korean War veterans. Funny isn’t it? We get lost in the system, nothing is available to us and yet we are just as deserving as anyone else.

Growing up in El Paso, my desire was to see the world, do something in return for all the opportunities given to us as the first generation of legal Mexican immigrants in this country. I also wanted a better life and the opportunity to do something bigger and better for me and my future generations to come. I knew that college after High School was probably not an option. My mother was a single mother and could not afford to pay for college. I also knew that I could not afford college on my own even with student loans, minimum wage was not enough to help me pay for the extra expenses not covered by student loans. I was being pressured to graduate from school and find a full-time job to help support our family. I didn’t mind working and helping, I just wanted a different life than what El Paso had to offer at that time.

I had taken JROTC as an alternative to PE in High School and I loved the structure and what the military had to offer. It became a viable opportunity in my junior year when I actually had to start making decisions about my future. After some serious consideration, I settled on enlisting in the Navy. The uniform sold me on it. I spoke to a recruiter, who had me take the ASVAB, and soon thereafter I was enlisted in the Navy. My journey began with basic training in Jacksonville FL, Hospital Corps school (medic school) in Great Lakes IL, and my first duty station at Pax River MD. About a year or so later there were some issues at home that prompted me to ask for a transfer to the west coast. The recruiter asked me if I was willing to go to school at Camp Pendleton Ca. I said “yes” I actually had no idea what I said yes to but I needed to be as close as I possibly could to my family. I would soon find out that I was going to be an FMF Corpsman whatever that meant…

Cristie with friends Ron & Willie @ FMF School

The Marines were accepting female FMF Corpsmen into their program, something that was new and they needed to fill the female billets. The recruiter had looked at my records and thought I was a good candidate for the school. In a class of about 30 people, I was one of 3 women who went thru the program. We pulled our weight, we physically passed every single test the men took. I had no idea they were trying the program out. I thought women had come before me and never gave it a second thought. I did what I had to do.  I was physically and mentally ready to do whatever it took to pass. We had a few guys who did not make it thru the program. I was not going to wash out of school and I was determined to finish. After graduation, I was attached to MAG 39 ( Marine Air Wing 39). I had a blast. My motto was that if the Marines let me do something, then I was going to do it because I was not going to pass that way again and it was an opportunity to do things I would never do on the Navy side. I most definitely took advantage of everything the Marines let me do.

Unfortunately, the war was imminent, we began processing people for deployment. A female FMF Corpsman was requested for MWSS 373 (Marine Wing Support Squadron 373) in Bahrain and I was deployed to the Persian Gulf for 6 long months… “homey don’t camp anymore” unless there is a hotel with a bed and air conditioning, just sayin’…I played in the sand, ate sand, had sand in my clothes, hair, boots, etc…

We didn’t complain because it’s part of the living environment we found ourselves in. That has forever cured me of ever wanting to camp again, period. I don’t recommend going to war. I have some really cool fun memories and some really bad ones I would rather forget. In spite of it all, I have no regrets...

Cristie, standing next to a missile in Bahrain.

After my honorable discharge, I used the GI bill and focused on attaining my bachelor degree in Graphic Design and my Master’s degree in Fine Art. The Marines taught me how to be a “man” (resilient would be the word, but “man” sounds so much better…) I learned to commit and accomplish the goal. This skill has continued to be a part of my life all these years. I am a proud business owner and a single mother of 3 girls. 

I continue to be of service in the veteran community as a volunteer in several veteran organizations but I am most proud to be the Founder/ CEO of the DFW Veterans Chamber in the Dallas/ Ft Worth area.   

In short, what does it mean to me, to be a female veteran? It means I did things no one else had done before; I was part of opening doors for those who would come after me. That is what it means…It means I am a rebel, a trailblazer, a United States Devil Doc who forged ahead with sweat, tears, and pain. I did what I did out of love of country and duty to my fellow brothers and sisters. That is what it means to be a female veteran to me. I am part of history…I am a Proud Female Veteran, forever a Devil Doc. Semper Fi!

AN UNASSUMING HERO

the story of captain jonita r. bonham

CAPTAIN JONITA R. BONHAM

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On September 26, 1950, Jonita Bonham and her friend, Vera Brown boarded a plane from Japan to Korea. Jonita and Vera were both small-town girls. Jonita was raised in Bennington, thirty-minutes east of Durant in Southern Oklahoma and Vera hailed from Wedowee located one-hundred miles southeast of Birmingham, Alabama.

But these young women weren’t naïve tourists going on vacation, in fact, this was just one of many flights they often took as Air Force flight nurses, assigned to the 801st Medical Air Evacuation Squadron out of Tachikawa Air Base, Japan, during the Korean War. First Lieutenant Jonita Bonham, 28, and Captain Vera Brown, 29, were well-seasoned officers, both having served during WWII and then choosing to serve again in Korea. Together they flew 265 combat hours and evacuated approximately 600 American soldiers out of the front lines.

September 26, 1950

First Lt. Bonham (Left) & Captain Brown (Right)

The alarm clock went off at 0300. Jonita was used to two transport flights a day, nurses were scarce and well, frankly, isn’t this what she signed up for? Throwing on her uniform, she made her way to the nurses’ kitchen to put on a pot of strong black coffee. After two cups, she was ready to start another day … another flight to the front lines in Korea. It was rainy and extremely windy on the airfield, but she was used to this too.

In the operations room, her fellow nurse and friend, Captain Brown, and medical technician, Sergeant Foster Steele were already there waiting on the assignments and ready to go. Out of the clear blue, Jonita heard, “Hi, Bonnie!” it was First Lieutenant Walter Ward, a pilot. His plane was loaded and ready to go, now! The four made their way to the loaded C-54 Medical transport plane. First Lieutenant Ward said, “Why don’t you girls grab some sleep” escorting them to the two bunks located just behind the flight deck. Vera settled in for a nap while Jonita and Foster sat on the edge and prepared for take-off.

What started as a typical flight departing from Ashiya Air Base to transport cargo and troops to the front lines in Ximpo, Korea, soon turned into a terrifying event over the Sea of Japan.

At 0400, take-off was normal, albeit the weather was stormy. Minutes later, however, the plane dropped thousands of feet and within seconds hurtled into the water less than one mile from the edge of the runway. Immediately, the plane broke apart and sank.

One minute Jonita was taking one of her infamous catnaps, the next she was injured, but conscious. As she fought to free herself from the wreckage, in an instant, she was completely submerged in the cold icy water.

Amazingly, she was somehow able to free herself from a certain watery tomb and swim to the surface. “All I remember is that the plane nosed over and we hit the water hard! There wasn’t time to think. Just an awful noise and the whole ship submerged at once. I was underwater, fighting to get up to the surface. I don’t know how I got out.

They tell me the ship broke in two. I felt someone rush past me, going up, felt the kick of a boot in my face. Then I was swimming. We didn’t have our ‘Mae Wests’ on. Things were floating all around me. I found a soldier’s barracks bag and a B-4 bag and hung onto them. I could see heads in the water. Some men were swimming, some just floating, terribly still. It was very dark and for the first half-minute, very quiet.”

The silence was broken by the cries of men in fear and pain. “Here’s a life raft” a soldier yelled. “How do you inflate one of these things? It’s all tied up!”

Jonita was very familiar with the neatly stored life rafts on the C-54. “Pull it apart! Yank it out of its case. It will inflate itself.” She bellowed.

Swimming towards the raft, and at that moment, she felt an arm propel her forward towards the raft and heard a soldier shout, “Here’s one of the nurses!”

Jonita managed to get a firm grasp on the rope attached to the dingy. She cleared the stinging saltwater from her eyes. In the darkness, she could see men swimming towards the raft and pulled the first man into it, guiding his hand to the lifeline she herself was holding onto. Then she pulled another man in, and another.

“I don’t remember anything clearly, I just remember someone helping me toward the raft. I don’t believe I helped anyone else.”

However, according to the official record of report by seasoned combat soldier, Private First Class Percy Johnson, his account tells a very different story. “Lieutenant Bonham took command. None of us guessed that she was badly hurt. She wasn’t excited and she used her head. She was in full charge and all the men took orders without question. She sure saved lots of guys.”

Hanging on with one hand, she directed the men to the raft and noticed a second raft.

Exhausted herself and suffering from a fractured skull, broken wrist, cheekbone, shoulder, and six broken ribs, Jonita refused to get into the dinghy until the wounded men around her were secured and safe first. “I didn’t have time to think about it.”

As each survivor made their way to one of the two life rafts and pulled into the protection of their fellow soldiers, only then, did Jonita allow herself to be drawn out of the water to safety.

“I knew that sharks were one of our great dangers. I found the repellent and threw it into the water, all of it. It may have saved some lives.” she recalls.

Lieutenant Bonham could now see the bloodied faces and bodies of those who survived. Of her crew, the pilot, First Lieutenant Walter Ward, medical technician, Sergeant Foster Steele, and Captain Vera Brown, were not among them.

Jonita’s job wasn’t finished. Unbeknownst to her, she was the highest-ranking officer who survived. She mentally triaged the other wounded, but with the rough seas and her own injuries, there really wasn’t much she could do. Her primary concern was keeping everyone calm. At that moment, a soldier announced, “I’m going to try to swim to shore and get help.” Jonita recalled.

“You stay on this raft! You’d never get to land, the water is full of sharks. Besides, you’d be blown out to sea. Take it easy, soldier. Rescue boats will be here in a minute now.” she ordered.

Jonita knew she had to keep the men busy. She ordered some to communicate back and forth between the life rafts, others were ordered to bale the water the high waves were splashing into their only means of safety. Lieutenant Bonham talked for what seemed like hours, assuring the soldiers that they were safe and help would arrive soon, sometimes having to bark orders to keep panic from setting in.

Help Arrives!

As the sun began to slowly frame the horizon, a soldier yelled out “I see a light!”

Jonita saw it too. “Yell!” she commanded. “ Everybody yell, all together! Everyone on both rafts! Keep on yelling!”

It didn’t seem to be working. Finally, Jonita decided to use the last thing she had in her arsenal, she took a deep breath, letting out the longest and loudest piercing whistle she could muster. That did it! They heard her.

In those early morning hours, help arrived in the form of a small Japanese fishing boat. After a stint of charades, since the fishermen did not speak English, and keeping several men from leaping from the raft, that would have certainly capsized all of them, the fishing trawler pulled the wounded to the shore and it was only then, that First Lieutenant Bonham, allowed herself to give in to her pain and exhaustion, although she was still semi-conscious.

September, 27th 1950 - Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

It was a typical Wednesday evening for Joe and Kate Bonham. Joe was sitting in his chair reading the paper and Kate had just finished up the dinner dishes when the doorbell rang.

Western Union was at the door. They both knew that could only mean one thing, something happened to Jonita. The telegram read:

30304 THE SECRETARY OF THE AIR FORCE HAS ASKED ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR DAUGHTER, FIRST LIEUTENANT JONITA R. BONHAM HAS BEEN SERIOUSLY ILL IN JAPAN SINCE 26 SEPTEMBER 1950 AS THE RESULT OF INJURIES RECEIVED IN AN AIRCRAFT ACCIDENT ACCIDENT PROGRESS REPORTS WILL BE FORWARDED TO YOU IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT ADDRESS MAIL FOR HER QUOTE RANK

NAME SERIAL NUMBER 118TH STATION HOSPITAL APO 24 CARE POSTMASTER SAN FRANCISCO CALIFORNIA = HOYT S VANDENBERG. CHIEF OF STAFF USAF

As Kate tried to wrap her head around the words in the message. Joe re-read the telegram for the umpteenth time, he had fought in the 140th Infantry Regiment in France during the Meuse-Argonne offensive during World War I and Joe knew this was more than just an illness.

Kate’s instinct kicked in and she knew she had a lot of phone calls to make. The first one was to her oldest daughter, Florabelle who lived in Kansas City with her husband and four children. The next call was to her sister Bertha, who still lived in Bonham, TX where they had been born and raised.

After an exhausting evening, Joe and Kate settled in for the night. Around midnight, the doorbell rang for a second time. Joe got up, answered the door and it was Western Union again!

He fought the knot growing inside the pit of his stomach, took the telegram, and then a deep breath… Lo and behold! It was a telegram from Jonita!

HOSPITALIZED FOLLOWING AIRPLANE CRASH TUESDAY BROKEN ARM SHOULDER AND BRUISES DOING FINE LETTER FOLLOWS = JONITA =

Relief washed over Joe and Kate.

Over the next few days, more telegrams and phone calls ensued with a few letters from Bertha with more news.

9-28-50 – Evening

Dear Kate & Joe,

I talked with Charlie Jordan last night after talking with you. He is very efficient in radio work and always seems to know or finds out for folks what if anything can be done, to get more information. He talked with the associated press today and found out it was a C-54 …

Bertha’s letter went on to recount the events of the plane crash.

Shortly thereafter, a letter arrived from Major Clifton Bovée.

28 September ‘50

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Bonham,

Your daughter is making a splendid recovery from the injuries she sustained in the airplane crash last Tuesday morning. She suffered a broken left forearm, a fracture of the right shoulder blade, and some painful lacerations of the scalp, with, of course, a general shaking up and numerous bruises and scratches. However, there is nothing critical nor of a permanent nature about her condition…

I am taking the liberty of writing you as a personal message because I am sure you both wish to know these details…you may be very proud of your splendid daughter. She won the respect and admiration of everyone for her courage, bravery, resourcefulness and clear thinking during this disastrous tragedy… I trust there is nothing contained in this letter which may give you any cause for alarm, for rest assured that you need have none. Your daughter is progressing very, very well and after a few days rest for the effects of the shock to wear off, will be up and about, though of necessity, she will be hospitalized for probably two or three weeks to allow the fractures to knit.

Respectfully,

C.W. Bovée

Major, M.S.C

Award of The Distinguished Flying Cross

Jonita was transferred from the 155th Station Hospital in Fukuoka, Japan to the 49th Army Hospital in Tokyo, Japan, where she would spend the next nine months recovering from surgeries to repair the damage caused by her injuries.

In typical ‘Bonnie’ fashion, she didn’t reveal the extent of her skull fracture injuries to her family right away, so as not to cause more worry than she thought necessary. And they would have had every right to worry, as multiple times the pressure on her brain became life-threatening and they had to relieve it with surgery.

On October 18, 1950, after her last skull surgery, First Lieutenant Bonham received a very distinguished visitor. General George Stratemeyer, Commander of the Far East Air Forces arrived to award Jonita with the Distinguished Flying Cross, the highest honor given in the Air Force, making Jonita the first and only living female soldier to receive this honor during the Korean War.

When Jonita heard that General Stratemeyer was coming to meet her, she panicked. Now she panics? Well, not only was Jonita nervous to meet him, but they had shaved her head to repair the damage to her skull and her shoulder was still in the monstrosity of a cast. In typical fashion of the day, the nurses scurried around, found a small towel to create a headdress, and helped her apply a little make-up. After all, she had to be presentable! “I must have looked funny, with my shoulder in a cast, my arm in a splint, and my head wrapped up in a towel to hide the fact that they’d cut off all my hair to get at my skull.” she recalled.

Home is Where the Heart is…

In 1951, First Luetinent Jonita R. Bonham returned to the States, was promoted to the rank of Captain, and took an assignment in Alabama training other nurses.

‘Bonnie’ would never fly another mission again.

She married Major Clifton Bovée that same year and medically retired from the Air Force in 1952.

She would end up telling her story over and over again to newspapers and magazines throughout the country. The Cavalcade of America, a radio program at the time even dramatized her experience and broadcast it across the country.

Jonita settled into life as a wife and mother of three. She never saw herself as a hero, in fact, even being showered with so much media attention at the time, her response was “I’ve done nothing to write about.”

Jonita passed away in 1994 but has left a legacy of heroism, grace, and humility.

Editors Note - Christine Walker is the Grand-Neice of Jonita R. Bonham. Even among the family stories, the heroic tale of Jonita was never mentioned. It was not until 2019 that Christine came across her story after doing a google search. Thankfully, Christine was able to connect with her cousin, Renée Bovée, Jonita’s daughter, and will be forever grateful to her for providing so much data, including articles, telegrams, and personal family letters used in this article. All quotes by Jonita in this article were taken from “A Night Off Kyushu” written by Karl Detzer in EveryWoman’s Magazine, dated February 1952.