By Ray Lenarcic
The word hero has often been misused and, similarly, properly applied. As an example of the former I cite the following based on Dee Brown’s classic “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.” At Wounded Knee, South Dakota in 1890, several hundred Minneconjou and Hunkpapa Sioux were deemed by the Seventh Cavalry (Custer’s unit) to be threats for leaving the Pine Ridge Reservation and forced to encamp. In the morning while collecting their weapons, a shot went off and the “battle” ensued. When the smoke cleared, an estimated 300 Lakota, including women and children, lay dead. Twenty bluecoats died, several by the friendly fire of Hotchkiss guns-the latest in artillery. Twenty members of the 7th received the Medal of Honor for their “heroism.”
As an example of proper application I offer Woodrow Wilson Keeble, also a Lakota, who lost his mother at a young age and whose father , too impoverished to feed his family, enrolled Woodrow and his siblings at Wahpeton Indian School. There he excelled as an athlete-so proficient a pitcher that he was recruited by the Chicago White Sox. Sadly, his dream of big league stardom was shattered when his National Guard unit was called to active duty on February 10, 1941. What follows could have been made into a movie.
Fighting with the North Dakota 164th Infantry Regiment which received a Unit Citation for supporting Marines on Guadalcanal, the giant warrior was wounded twice and at war’s end received a Silver Star, Bronze Star with V and Purple Heart for his actions. But you ain’t seen nothin yet. On January 16, 1951, his regiment was reactivated. Although he didn’t have to go, Woody volunteered for deployment on the front lines in Korea. When asked why he said-“Somebody has to teach these young kids how to fight.” And the lesson he taught them would never be forgotten.
Beginning on October 13th, his George Company was ordered to take out Chinese troops entrenched on Hill 675-770. In the process, Keeble was wounded on the 15th, 17th and 18th-two gunshot wounds to his left arm, grenade shrapnel that almost blew off his nose, a badly twisted knee and 83 pieces of shrapnel removed after being incapacitated by a concussion grenade. And then dawned October 20. Despite his wounds, Woody led three platoons in charges against fortified enemy positions. All three were repulsed with heavy casualties. Not wanting to risk the loss of more of his men, he decided to charge the enemy by himself. He crawled under heavy fire to an area 50 yards from a ridgeline, flanked the left pillbox and took it out with grenades and his BAR. Then he worked his way to the opposite side of the ridgeline and eliminated the right pillbox. Next, using his good arm, he lobbed a grenade into the back entrance of the middle pillbox and with additional fire wiped it out. All told, he singlehandedly destroyed three enemy machine gun bunkers and an additional seven enemy soldiers in nearby trenches.
For these acts of heroism he received a Distinguished Service Cross but not a Medal of Honor. ” Twenty of the latter awarded to the bluecoats who participated in the slaughter at Wounded Knee but nada for the big Lakota whose heroism knew no bounds. After all, he was just an “Injin.” Ironically, the Congressional Medal of Honor he deserved was never awarded until 1985, posthumously, thanks to the efforts of family, friends and Dakotas four Senators. Incidentally, Woody was one of 28 Forgotten Americans to earn our nation’s highest military award.
Speaking of forgotten heroes, I introduce to you Sgt. Merlin German. The Miracle Man. First Marine Division. While a student at Woodlands High in Hartsdale, Merlin was renowned for his sense of humor, toughness and confident demeanor. According to brother Ariel, on the gridiron, he always wanted the pigskin and often proclaimed-“Nobody can knock me down.” Words that could have been his epitaph.
Two weeks before his tour in Iraq was over, February 21, 2005, a roadside bomb exploded near his Humvee hurling him out of the turret, a veritable torch. The 19 year- old was burned over 97% of his body. His days of waging war against the bad guys were over. He had a new war to wage. Against the odds, doctors at the Burn Unit at Brooke Army Center in San Antonio sent Merlin back to his loved ones so they could say goodbye.
Three years later, after enduring unimaginable pain and over a hundred surgeries and procedures, the city kid was not only breathing but up and kicking. Unfortunately, the repercussions were severe. His once handsome face was raw and ripple-scared. No more riffing on the sax. What once were his fingers were now a mass blob. More painful skin graft operations in the future to endure. Through it all he never complained. As mentioned earlier, everyone loved Merlin the Magician-especially children. And he them. Kids saw past his face and into his soul. They forged an inseparable bond with him, particularly those with burns. In the latter’s behalf he established a foundation. Merlin’s Miracles raised money so the kids could enjoy life be it getting an air conditioner for their home or a trip to Disney World. One can only wonder how much more he could have accomplished.
On April 11th, 2008, Merlin German died on the operating table. He was 22. The docs were doing routine surgery to add skin under his lower lip. They still don’t know why. Guess a body that had taken so much just couldn’t take any more. The chief doctor said it best-“I may no more understand why he left us when he did than why he survived when he did.” He was buried among the giant oaks and Spanish moss of Florida National Cemetery; remembered by all as the quintessential Marine who never gave in to the enemy or to his pain.
For a long time, fellow Marine Joseph “Stash” Zawtocki was a forgotten hero. Still is by our government as far as I’m concerned. I knew Stahu deep down and personal. He was a member of the Furnace Street Gang (gang in the good sense), playing ball, raising cane and swigging down cokes outside of Frederica’s with Gabby, Fitz, Bruddy, Bobby Eb, Ronnie W., Greg B, the Urich and Long brothers and all the other denizens of the “Gut.” Time, as always, passed. We went our separate ways. I later learned that he signed up for a stint in the Corps and did a tour in ‘Nam. Stash always had a big heart for children, befriending several while stationed in that jungle hell-hole. Even though he didn’t have to, like Woodrow Keeble, he reupped for another tour. Had to finish the job. And there were those kids who needed a big hand up.
Shortly after arriving, he was captured by the NVA. And in respect to that big heart referred to earlier, his beat on for 686 days at the hands of a heartless enemy. Things were bad enough, but after an unsuccessful escape attempt, things got a helluva lot worse. On Christmas Eve, 1969, that heart finally gave out. He was 23. After missing for 16 years, his remains were finally found and brought home. He rests in Section 69 of Arlington Cemetery and I will never allow his heroism to be forgotten. His Medal of Honor will always be his memory.
A few days ago, thanks to Herkimer County Legislator John Brezinski, I was reminded about another group of forgotten heroes-our four-legged warriors. I speak of Military Working Dogs whose unique abilities make them ideal for tasks such as tracking, patrol and scent detection. In the process of performing their vital duties these courageous canines are exposed to harsh environments and battlefield dangers that increase the risk of disease, injuries and deaths. Between 2001 and 2013, 109 MWDs died from wounds or disease in Iraq or Afghanistan. Also too often forgotten have been their handlers the final analysis the dogs’ “bestest” friends.
John told me about one in particular, Marine Sgt. Adam Cann. While performing their duties, an explosion killed the Sarge. Bruno, his four-legged partner, survived. When the smoke cleared, he was found lying on his handler’s body-loyal to the end. These two inseparable heroes were pretty much forgotten until today. Shortly, a bronze statue of Sgt. Cann and Bruno will be unveiled near Thruway Interchange 30 in Herkimer, N.Y. Brezinski personally raised c.$90,000 to create this memorial. Asked why, he simply replied-“We can never forget our four-legged warriors.”
As a society, we should never forget our true heroes. Each in his or her own way went beyond what was expected in answering their country’s call. John Brezinsky, the Avon, Connecticut veterans and Carrie Firestine working on behalf of the Afghan translators, and Kelly Brown and his Fallen Stars Memorial recognizing the men and women from this state who died in Iraq and Afghanistan have proven that our forgotten heroes can be remembered. For Woody, Merlin, Stash and Sgt. Cann-Semper Fi.
TOMORROW
We have wept the blood of countless ages as each of us raised high the lance of hate…
Now let us dry our tears and learn the dance and chant of the life cycle. Tomorrow dances behind the sun in sacred promise of
Things to come for all children yet born,
For ours is the potential of truly lasting beauty born of hope and shaped by deed.
Now let us lay the lance of hate upon this soil. Let us never forget.
Peter Blue Cloud
Ray, You do a wonderful job of presenting historical events from a holistic perspective. Well researched and composed , balanced in presentation, and most insightful to the traditional view of historical events held by so many. I don’t need to tell that until very recently, most Americans view and opinions of historical events, as formally learned in school, and continuously reinforced by both family and community, are essentially from a Eurocentric, monolithic, xenophobic point of view designed to promote the status quo version of American history. Diversity, inclusion of non European/American peoples and their perspective, as well historical acts of violence against them are almost always lacking. I would also like to thank you for continuously keeping alive the memory of Stash Z and others who have made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.