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  Go to the 503d PRCT "Heritage Bn. " Website

Go to "Corregidor: Then & Now" Website  

 

 

DOES IT MATTER?

by

William T.  Calhoun
__________________

 

 

The sun shone brightly as the great ship passed under the Golden Gate and followed the Navy blimp, November 23, 1943. It carried over 14,000 Army and Navy passengers headed for points they had never been. My group knew we were bound for the 503rd Parachute Infantry Regiment.

After serving longer than any other officer in with F Company, almost unbelieving, I walked down the gang plank from the old ship to the wharf at Portland, Oregon a week before Christmas 1945. The physical trials had been great: thirst, hunger, bone tiredness, filth, heat, cold (yes, it's cold up on 4,000 feet, wet mountains even in the tropics), and times when a cigarette was our only recreation. But physical discomforts are superficial which can be laughed at... later.

    It is the mental trials that are seared in the soul. The memory of those young men with whom you served will never end. We were a close team, brothers following orders in every move. Our association was seven days a week. More that that, we company grade officers were required to censor mail- a hated task. I learned their loved ones, their dreams, their fears, their plans for the future, and often their inner thoughts. To some I became father-confessor.  As some made the supreme sacrifice, the living became more precious. "Oh, God, don't let them die!" Though that pain began so long ago, it is still here today. The tears still flow and will as long as I draw breath. 

    Does it matter? Do the thoughts that remain cemented in my mind for over 50 years matter? As long as I live, it matters. My obsession is a holy quest to remind all who will listen of the brave who gave their lives for us. Can I forget my thoughts, as I saw 20 year old Theodore's dying spasms, of his two baby boys, one who he had never seen? Can I forget my thoughts of 19 year old Karl whose last word were "Momma." Of his letters full of assurance to his older parents assuring them that their only son would be safe? Our regimental song has words which express my pride in serving with them: "...I'm proud I'm allowed..."  My hopes are in inscribed in the Pacific War Memorial on Topside:

  

 

SLEEP, MY SONS , YOUR  DUTY DONE,

FOR FREEDOM'S LIGHT HAS COME,

SLEEP IN THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA, 

OR IN YOUR BED OF HALLOWED SOD,

UNTIL YOU HEAR AT DAWN

THE LOW, CLEAR REVEILLE OF GOD

 

 

 

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