Army Reserve Spec. Richard A. Alvaro is returning to the U.S. after a deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan in support of Operations Iraqi Freedom or Enduring Freedom, respectively. The soldiers return to Fort Dix, N.J. for debriefing, evaluations and out-processing procedures before returning to their regularly assigned Army Reserve or National Guard units. The specialist served in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in the Iraq Theater of Operations. Alvaro, a movement control specialist, is assigned to the 427th Transportation Company Movement and Control Team, Norristown. He has served in the military for four years. He is the son of Gina M. Budine of ouderton. In 2007, he graduated from Souderton High School.

Army National Guard Pvt. Sean P. Whaley has graduated from Basic Combat Training at Fort Sill, Lawton, Okla. During the nine weeks of training, the soldier studied the Army mission and received instruction and training exercises in drill and ceremonies, Army history, core values and traditions, military courtesy, military justice, physical fitness, first aid, rifle marksmanship, weapons use, map reading and land navigation, foot marches, armed and unarmed combat, and field maneuvers and tactics. He is the son of Patricia Rosenberger of First St., Hatfield, Whaley is a 2008 graduate of North Penn High School, Towamencin.
Army Pvt. Kaitlin M. Fegely has graduated from basic combat training at Fort Jackson, Columbia, S.C. During the nine weeks of training, the soldier studied the Army mission, history, tradition and core values, physical fitness, and received instruction and practice in basic combat skills, military weapons, chemical warfare and bayonet training, drill and ceremony, marching, rifle marksmanship, armed and unarmed combat, map reading, field tactics, military courtesy, military justice system, basic first aid, foot marches, and field training exercises. She is the daughter of Jennifer Holton of Perkasie. The private is a 2009 graduate of Penridge High School, Perkasie.
Army Pfc. Erica E. Hunsberger has graduated from Basic Combat Training at Fort Leonard Wood, Waynesville, Mo. During the nine weeks of training, the soldier received instruction in drill and ceremony, weapons, rifle marksmanship qualification, bayonet combat, chemical warfare, field training and tactical exercises, marches, military courtesy, military justice, physical fitness, first aid, and Army history, traditions, and core values. She is the daughter of Patti Crossin of Souderton, and Michael Hunsberger of Telford. Hunsberger is a 2004 graduate of Souderton Area High School.

Air Force Airman 1st Class David McCool, son of David McCool of Harleysville and Sandra Heyward of Roslyn, is a security forces specialist at this intercontinental ballistic missileb ase, one of only three remaining in the U.S.
The 341st Missile Wing isoneof the largest units in the Air Force, with 150 Minuteman III missilesspread out over 13,800 square miles within 15 missile alert facilities,andmore than 4,000 military and civilians, making it the largest complex ofitskind in the western hemisphere. McCool is assigned to the 341st Security Forces Squadron with theresponsibility of providing security at the missile base.
"I patrol thebasewith another airman," said McCool, a 2007 graduate of Souderton AreaSchoolDistrict.
"I am responsible for guarding and protecting the people andassets on Malmstrom Air Force Base." To support such a large operation requires help from just aboutevery corner of the Air Force career specialties. Everything from admintochefs, missile crewman, missile alert officers, security forces,helicopterpilots and maintenance, communications, services, medical and dental -itall adds up to one of the biggest support operations in the military.
"The mission at Malmstrom is one of the more important in the AirForce," said McCool. "Without me, and the others that perform my job,thenation and ultimately the world would be at risk of great devastation."
For McCool and other airmen stationed here, Montana is either one ofthe best places to be stationed or one of the worst. Montana can be ahavenfor the outdoorsman and traveler with major national parks like GlacierandYellowstone just a few hours away.
For others, being in an out-of-thewayplace like Malmstrom, with no major metropolis or urban centers nearby,canmake a tour seem isolated. "In my off-duty time, I have been hiking and camping in the nearbyLewis and Clark National Park," said McCool. McCool has been in the Air Force for two years.

Ashley P. Feldman has entered Basic Cadet Training at the U.S. Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, Colo., in preparation to enter the first academic year at the academy. The six-week, two-phased orientation program must be successfully completed by the cadets prior to entering their freshman year. The training prepares men and women to meet the rigorous mental and physical challenges experienced by new cadets. Phase one involves personal in-processing, orientation, and training in the fundamentals of being a cadet. Cadet trainees are prepared to adjust from civilian to military life and disciplines, and learn proper wear of the uniform, saluting policies and procedures, drill and ceremony, marching, and living quarters standards. During phase two, cadets train outdoors living in tents while learning to function in field conditions. Cadets apply and practice team work, cohesion and learn to deal with physically and mentally demanding situations. They complete the obstacle, confidence, assault, and leadership reaction courses, and participate in a rescue mission termed Operation Warrior. She is the daughter of Barbara and Gary Feldman of Broad St., Perkasie, Pa. Feldman is a 2010 graduate of Pennridge High School, Perkasie.

Submitted by Janet Miner of Lansdale.

When the Nazis invaded Poland, our dad, Joe Borawski, along with many others in the Port Richmond community, began sending care packages of clothing to the occupied areas. Dad said that they tried to smuggle money to them by sewing it into the clothes. He said they later received a note from Poland asking them to stop sewing money into the clothes, because the Nazis were ripping it out, leaving them only with rags.

When the Japanese bombed Pear Harbor in 1941, our dad was a 19-year-old welder at the Navy Yard. He could have probably stayed at the Navy Yard for the duration of the War: Welding at the Navy Yard was about as vital a wartime activity as it gets.

But in a decision that probably involved a few “choice words,” he decided to enlist in the Army Air Corps in late 1942. He wanted to be a pilot.

Dad’s time in the Air Corps lasted a little less than a year. He told stories of survival training in the desert where he had to eat rattlesnake (to no one’s surprise he reported that it tasted like chicken).

He remembered that the British were training with his unit at Lowery Field and would get airsick inside the B-17s and would leave the planes a mess. Apparently, in the RAF, they had servants to deal with such things.

He also remembered telling the wrong person that he didn’t want to do an assigned task and was assigned to fly in a B-25 target plane. This was a plane that was towed behind another and was used for target practice: a clay pigeon with wings, dad in the driver's seat.

Dad was assigned to a B-17 crew as a flight engineer. He remembered the pilot's name as Staber, co-pilot Martinelli, and radio operator was Tacarski. Another crew member was Red Frazier.

Dad remembered his unit as the 498th Bomb Group, 603rd Bomber Squadron. My brother thinks he was mistaken. Because dad also remembered an “eight with wings” patch on his uniform, my brother believes his military unit was the 398th Bomb Group, not the 498th.

It is also appropriate: on the unit patch for the 398th/603rd Squadron was a dog – a black bull dog chewing on the tail fin of a bomb. Dad was a dog person through and through.

The 398th would drop almost 16,000 tons of bombs onto the Nazis. But they would do it without dad.

One day in October 1943, dad's B-17 was flying over Kansas when one or both of the wings blew up. Apparently, the pilot attempted to make an emergency landing in what looked like an empty field. It was not empty. There was some kind of stone structure, a fence or barn, in the field and the B-17 crashed into it, 50 miles outside of Salina, Kansas.

There were three survivors of the crash: dad, Red Frazier and a third person who dad couldn’t remember and soon thereafter died.

Dad said that as he remembered it, one minute he was in the plane, the next, on the ground in a stretcher. He was taken to Schick General Hospital in Clinton, Iowa.

In a scene straight out of Catch-22, he remembered being interrogated in the hospital about the crash.

My brother has not been able to find any record of the crash of dad’s plane. It probably has remained classified information.

Think about what you were (or are) doing as a 22-year-old, the fun you were having and all the hopes and dreams of the future looking bright.

Then think about spending your 22nd year in a body cast in a Veterans Hospital. Think about having to turn in more than 80 percent of your pay to the hospital.

Dad spent his 22nd to 27th years recovering from this accident.

At 32 years old he met and married our mom. They had five kids between 1955 and 1961. Next Christmas Eve will mark the 10th year of my dad’s death. Thanks to all the dedicated servicemen and women who keep our country ours.

Submitted by Richard A. McGeary, Towamencin. Sergeant Abbott was his great-grand-uncle.

John Abbott was working the family farm at Gravelly Run, just outside Mays Landing, N.J., when the Civil War broke out.
A devout Methodist, John decided to serve both his nation and his God by fighting to preserve the Union and help destroy the evil institution of slavery.
In July 1961, two months after shots were fired at Fort Sumter, S.C., 22 year-old John Abbott enlisted in the 48th New York State Volunteers.
A well-known Methodist minister in New York, the Rev. James H. Perry, led the 48th. Although the regiment was officially known as the Continental Guards, it soon took on the name of its founder and was called Perry’s Saints or The Fighting Parson’s Regiment.
Recruits from New Jersey, including John Abbott, formed Company D. John’s older brother, the Rev. William T. Abbott, joined the 23rd New Jersey Volunteer Infantry as chaplain.

Camping on Capitol Hill, the regiment initially protected Washington, D.C., as a part of Gen. Sherman’s 1st Brigade. In late October 1861, the 48th embarked for Beaufort, S.C. The regiment engaged the enemy at Port Royal Ferry and participated in the capture of the fortifications in January 1862. The 48th then took a prominent role in the siege of Fort Pulaski, Georgia, performed garrison duty, conducted several expeditions in the region, and fought a number of skirmishes.
John Abbott rose through the ranks and was promoted to sergeant. However, in the summer of 1863, Sgt. Abbott and the 48th were about to meet their greatest challenge, one that would earn Company D its nickname in blood, “The Die No Mores.”

Union leaders decided to strike a major blow against the Confederacy by taking the city of Charleston, where the war had begun two years earlier. However, the Confederate Fort Wagner on Morris Island, across from Fort Sumter and Charleston, blocked that objective. In early July an amphibious federal force landed at the north end of Morris Island but was repulsed. The fort was well-protected by a narrow approach up the beach, a moat and then a ditch with pointed spikes.

On July 18, 1862, Gen. Strong led a brigade of six regiments, including the 48th, in an assault on Fort Wagner from the south. Made famous in the motion picture “Glory,” the 54th Massachusetts, a regiment of African-American soldiers led by Col. Robert Shaw, led the attack with fixed bayonets.
In fierce fighting with terrible casualties, the 54th briefly occupied a small portion of the fort but was forced to withdraw. The 48th with 500 men and 16 officers charged directly toward Fort Wagner’s seaward wall only to be mowed down by concentrated Confederate fire, including a fearsome coastal howitzer.
Still, the 48th courageously stormed the rampart and held it for three hours before being forced to retreat. Casualties numbered over 1,700; Confederates counted 800 Union dead within the walls of the fort. The 48th alone suffered 242 casualties, including 14 of its 16 officers. Sgt. Abbott was severely wounded leading his men in the attack. The Army evacuated him on the steamer Cosmopolitan to the Army Hospital at Fort Schuyler, N.Y. (at Throggs Neck, Bronx, which is the current site of the State University of New York Maritime College).
Unwilling to repeat the carnage of July 18, Union generals placed Fort Wagner under siege for 58 days until the Confederates evacuated. Charleston fell soon after.

Abbott arrived at Fort Schuyler on July 30 but despite treatment of his wounds, he died the morning of Aug. 7, 1863. He was 24 years old and single. His service record describes him as having brown hair and hazel eyes.
Ironically, he died just a few miles across Long Island Sound from where his Abbott ancestors first set foot on American soil from England in 1693. Abbott’s body was returned to Mays Landing, and he was buried in the family plot at Union Cemetery just down the road from the fields he peacefully farmed before he answered the call to serve his nation.

On the day he died, Sgt. Abbott dictated a final letter to his father and in closing stated:

“Say to the people of Mays Landing that I died at my post. When I joined the Army I was willing to die for my country, and to prove my devotion to the flag. It demanded my life which I willingly give.”

Submitted by Josephine Labate Gallagher

This is an entry from my father’s World War II journal. His name was Angelo Labate and he was a sailor on the USS Kitkun Bay.

They were involved in the battle of Leyte Gulf, the battle off Samar Island. The ship was damaged by a kamikazi plane. They survived, although with casualties.

I picked this entry, because along with the joy of the Japanese surrender, there was reflection of the price paid by fellow sailors.

Then later that night came the thought of partying, American style.

======

Aug. 15, 1945:

The day that we all been fighting for. On this day Japan accepted our terms of unconditional surrender. When our skipper announced the official news, we all just sort of stood right where we were, not moving or making a sound.

Finally when we seemed to come to our senses, we discussed the latest news with beaming smiles. There was not loud shouting or celebrating, instead most of us gave silent thanks to God because we were able to survive the horrible war.

Then our thoughts wandered to our shipmates who gave their all for the cause and each sailor went his own way in deep thought.

That night the fellows in the gear shack brought forth bottles of liquor we’d been saving for just this sort of an occasion. We bribed the fellows who took care of our ice machine aboard with a couple of shots. Thusly we received the ice we need.

Then we went to the galley and got some orange flavoring to make the punch with. We made a very fine punch which was enjoyed by all. Toward the end of the celebration we managed to get some beer, which we promptly poured into the punch.

Despite the fact we were miles away from the U.S., we had an American party with all the trimmings.

Submitted by Joanne Kratz, Souderton

I am writing about my cousin, Paul Yoder, who was killed in action on Feb. 11, 1945, in Germany, shortly before I was born.
My parents told me about him and always said that he was such a fine young man.
At this point in the war, there was a shortage of men to fight. He was drafted into a war for which he was not adequately prepared to fight.
At the age of 19, he lost his life.
His older brother, George, was also a soldier and received the news of his brother's death in a letter from his mother.
His father, whose name was also Paul, was in charge of freight at the Souderton train station. His son's body was shipped home from overseas, and it was his dad's job to receive his son's casket.
Paul is buried at Leidy's cemetery, Franconia Township.
I am writing this in his honor and in memory of all the men and women who died while serving our country.

Submitted by: Capt. Stephen J. Fireoved, JAGC, USN, Hatfield

As I conclude over 33 years of service with the U.S.Navy, I cannot help but think what an extraordinary privilege and honor it has been to serve in support of the world’s finest Navy.
I recall quite clearly when I was sworn in on Jan. 11, 1977, I was merely looking to secure a job during my first year of law school. Never did it occur to me that I was embarking on a great journey that would present not only interesting and challenging work but, more importantly, an incredible opportunity to work shoulder to shoulder with phenomenal individuals.
What was most striking about the people I served with was that they were all ingrained with a “can do” attitude, always looking for the next assignment and how they could help the unit, the supported command, and their shipmates. I always knew that if I needed help, a fellow JAG officer could be relied upon to drop everything and supply whatever assistance was necessary when I called for help.
Without question, my work has been professionally gratifying. I have served in positions of leadership with two commanding officer tours and three tours as a staff judge advocate.
Assignments such as the V-22 Osprey aircraft mishap investigation; mobilization support for various military initiatives; assignment as counsel on numerous significant JAGMANUAL investigations; providing command and individual service member support in New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf region post-Katrina as a member of Task Force Navy Family; and winning the Rear Admiral Hugh H. Howell, Jr. Award of Excellence and the Gilbert Cup as the commanding officer of LSO North Central 104 for services in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom will never be forgotten.
But it was not the work that kept me showing up for drill. It was, and will always be, the great people of our corps that makes it so special.
I sincerely appreciate the opportunity to have been able to serve with you to ensure the continued freedom of our nation. There is no greater motivating force than to be dedicated to a cause greater than self.
It is indeed a great honor to have worn the uniform and to state with pride that I have served the U.S. Navy.
I wish all of you fair winds and following seas!

Submitted by George Di Domizio, Salford

What are the odds that I’d be sitting in the living room of Private Elvis Presley’s rented home in Bad Nauheim, Germany listening to him talk about his Hollywood adventures and lots of other show biz topics?
What are the odds that Elvis would learn that I played quarterback at Lansdale Catholic High School?
What are the odds that he would invite me to join a group of Army buddies in a Sunday
afternoon touch football game?
What are the odds that on Sunday, September 13, 1959, 14-year-old Priscilla Beaulieu, dressed in a Navy blue and white dress, would visit Elvis for the very first time while we were playing football?
What are the odds that I’d slip on the muddy field, land face down in the mud and get up with a clump of mud on my chin?
What are the odds that Elvis would be nearby and decide to flirt with Priscilla by showing her and other fans on the sidelines the clump of mud?
What are the odds that Ron Caley, an Army buddy from Canton, Ohio would have a camera handy and catch the scene?
Despite the long odds, all that happened and the photo captured the story.
Here’s the way it happened. Wes Daniels, the Army photographer for Combat Command
C of the Third Armored Division, became friends with Elvis as part of his assignments to
cover routine military and civilian activity in and around the Army base location in Friedberg, Germany. Wes, from New York City, struck up a friendship with Joe Esposito, who hailed from Chicago. The two big city guys found lots to talk about, and among the topics was Elvis.
Wes arranged an Elvis visit for Joe and they hit it off. Joe became part of the small group of GI’s who had a standing invitation to drop by the Bad Nauheim house anytime he was in the area. Since Joe and I shared a two soldier room in the Friedberg barracks, it was only natural that I wanted to be part of the Elvis adventure.
Joe arranged for me to meet Elvis. As we made our way through the crowd of about 30 eager German fans to the front door of the Bad Nauheim home, Joe warned me that Elvis makes quick judgments about people. He either likes you or he doesn’t.
Red West, one of Elvis’s pals from Memphis, opened the door and announced that Elvis wasn’t feeling well. He had a cold and would probably go to bed early. My first thought was that he’d probably say hello and head off to bed to nurse his cold. Then, I’d never know if we didn’t hit it off or if he disappeared because of the cold.
I shouldn’t have worried. My first interaction with Elvis produced one of his famous belly
laughs that seem to start at his toes.
Elvis always greeted people with the line: “Hello. I’m Elvis Presley.” We were still shaking
hands when I said: “Hello. My name is George Di Domizio.” He stepped back, flashed a big grin and said, “I’ll call you D.” I said: “OK. And, I’ll call you E.” That produced the belly
laugh and an invitation to join the group that led to the football game and the photo.
After our discharge in 1960, Joe went on to become part of the Memphis Mafia, became Elvis’s road manager and best man as his wedding. Joe was there at Graceland when Elvis died. He was unable to revive Elvis by CPR.
Joe and I kept up our friendship over the years and it continues today, some 52 years after our first meeting. Over the years, there have been many Elvis experiences. One of the highlights was the chance for my wife, June, to meet Elvis in 1968 in Apache Junction in Arizona. Wewere on our honeymoon in Scottsdale, Arizona, about 30 miles from Apache Junction whereElvis was on location for the film, Charro. He invited us to visit him on the set.
Joe called me yesterday to touch base upon his return from Sweden where he was involved in Elvis tribute events. He’ll be part of an Elvis tribute at the Vegas Hilton July 15 to 17, Elvis
tribute week in Memphis in August, then off to Canada in late August before he heads to Genoa, Italy for an Elvis cruise. The Army adventure continues.

Submitted by Kenneth F. Schrepfer, Lansdale

On June 23, 2010 I was awarded France’s highest military decoration by the Consulate General of France at a ceremony in the French Embassy in Washington.
I was named a “chevalier,” as a sign of France’s gratitude for my contribution to the liberation of France during World War II. I was a corporal in the 26th Infantry Division of the Gen. Patton Third Army. I was in the campaigns of northern France and Rhineland, and was awarded two Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts.
I am 100 percent disabled because of severe war wounds suffered in France in 1944, when my unit was ambushed by a German Panzer division in a quarry outside the town of Guebling, France.
I spent two years in Army hospitals.
Following my honorable discharge from the Army in 1946, I attended the University of Pennsylvania, earning an A.B. and M.S. degree. I also received a doctorate in educational psychology from Temple University.
In the late 1990s, I graduated from Montgomery County Community College, specializing in modern languages and history. At the time I was 75 years old.
I will soon be 87 and am very proud of my military service.
I am also very proud of the French Legion of Honor and very humble at the same time.

Submitted by Charles Sisian, Hatfield
U.S. Army, 1965 - 1967

Like many young men of my generation, I knew I had a military draft obligation to fulfill.

However, after high school graduation, I took a year off to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

Shortly after I registered for college, I received my draft notice to report for active service. So I guess you could say my informal education to the real world was about to begin. I
n that summer of 1965, every male I knew who was not married or in college was called to serve. Suddenly, we all had an interest for news regarding a place most of us had never heard of, -- Vietnam. Something was happening and it was happening fast. It was the early stages of a troop build-up.

I had basic training at Fort Gordon, Georgia, where they were preparing for a surge of incoming new recruits. My barracks last housed World War II prisoners of war from Europe, and had been marked for demolition; however, the training cadre was top-notch. I was young and eager to serve and felt invincible.

Shortly after arriving in Vietnam, a nearby helicopter base was attacked by the Viet Cong. Our response included a C130 aircraft gun ship known as Puff the Magic Dragon. Its traces from the machine gun fire and flares lit the night, and wreaked havoc on the enemy. I soon came to the realization that these people wanted to kill me, when only a few months earlier I had been looking forward to college life and fraternity parties. Vietnam was truly an eye-opening experience.

Some of the local Vietnamese were villagers by day and Viet Cong by night. This led to frustration among the soldiers, causing some to say, “I wonder how many Vietnamese fought in our Civil War?”
As time passed, I came to respect the Vietnamese people and their adaptability.

When I returned home, or as we said then, “return to the world,” there were no parades or appreciation given for a job well done. Reports on the war were broadcast daily on the evening news while many watched hoping to catch a glimpse of a loved one.
Ironically, on the same channel some people were burning their draft cards and protesting against the war. It was a time of conflicting emotions.

My Vietnam experiences weren’t that different from thousands of other soldiers who served. I thank God I wasn’t wounded or injured, but none of us returned home the boys we once were.

The Vietnam War was not a popular war, but everyone was focused on it due to concerns for a family member or friend serving in the military. My brother was seriously injured in Vietnam shortly after I returned home and my wife’s cousin, a Navy corpsman attached to the Marines, was killed.
In contrast, today the military is comprised of men and women dedicated to an all-volunteer military serving multiple tours in war zones. They have earned the admiration of the country for their service and sacrifice in defense of our national security.
God bless and protect them all!

Submitted by Sally K. Neiderhiser, North Wales

This is a story of a serviceman from long ago. He is a World War II vet, serving from 1942 to 1945. He will be 92 in September. He fought in the Battle of the Bulge as a machine gunner infantryman.
In the 30 years I have known him, he would not talk about his war experience, saying it was too hard and emotional for him.
When he had to enter an assisted-living facility, I helped him with the transition, and have been his “No. 1 Gal Friday” ever since. This has been since 2003.
He began to talk little by little about the war. His name is Robert C. Sands.
He first showed me his medals, one of which was pinned on him by Gen. Eisenhower. There was a story for each one.
He talked about walking for miles and that his feet hurt to this day.
He talked about never changing clothes for a year.
He talked about his buddies who never came home. He saw them die and he wondered why he made it home. He shed tears every time he spoke of this. “Why me?” he said.
He talked about spending Christmas in the snow-covered Ardenne Forest. He was proud that he saw Gen. Patton as he crossed the bridge at Remendan, just as he finished crossing himself.
Every Memorial Day he honors all servicemen by going to Lansdale’s Memorial Park and salutes our flag during the service, remembering the fallen soldiers and those still fighting.
He wishes he could fight but knows he cannot so he remembers always the sacrifices made and shares the same all-knowing look in his watery eyes that only fellow veterans understand.
Knowing him has changed me. I am proud to stand with him and honor the men and women who fight today and remember those who have never come home.
He/we will never forget. A thank you seems so small, but is necessary, and Bob is proud to wear his cap identifying him as a World War II vet.
He never takes it off and people salute him and acknowledge him, as we all should for brothers and sisters in arms.
Prayers are always near. His story is a remarkable one and should be told.

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