VFW Family Freedom Festival Saturday Welcomes All, Honors Vets

PROFILE IN COURAGE: VFW VETERAN SERGEANT ARNIE SILVERMAN: THE KOREAN WAR

(Mission Viejo, Ca) — The Poppy flower’s bright red color and graceful cupped petals offer stark contrast to the image of spiked black barbed wire, coiled in the dirt. The jagged metal painful even in sight. There is no sun. The white background feels cold. The dark, blackened silhouette of a hill stirs sadness. The collusion of competing emotions: love and loss. Captured in ink.

Memories of war and sacrifice our fellow countryman have made. While Veterans Day is a week away and a more reflective occasion, Saturday’s event is designed to instill that patriotic American pride and spirit.

VFW FAMILY FREEDOM FESTIVAL SATURDAY 1-4 P.M. MURRAY CENTER IN MISSION VIEJO

VFW’s Family Freedom Festival takes place from 1 to 4 p.m. at the Norman P. Murray Center in Mission Viejo, 24932 Veterans Way. The event is free.

“The Family Freedom Festival is a family-friendly event that will feature snack food, music, games and more. It’s a festival to celebrate the freedoms we enjoy and will include activities and entertainment for all ages,” said VFW Auxiliary District 2 President Jackie Heddlesten.

VFW Buddy Poppies will be offered at the event and can be worn in preparation for upcoming Veterans Day. Also featured will be U.S. Flag education; making patriotic themed cards to send overseas to active duty American soldiers; information about educational scholarships offered by the VFW; Voice of Democracy; Patriots Pen; Patriotic Art Contests and a photo booth.

“It will be a chance for our community to get to know the members of the Veteran Posts/Auxiliaries and the work we do for our Veterans,” she said.

PROFILES IN COURAGE: VFW KOREAN WAR VETERAN SERGEANT ARNIE SILVERMANANSWERED THE CALL TO SERVE WHEN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CALLED ON HIM: PUTTING COUNTRY BEFORE HIMSELF

VFW Veteran Sergeant Arnie Silverman of South Orange County was born during the Golden Age of radio broadcasting in America. The time was 1929. Things were simpler. Less complicated. George Gershwin’s ’An American in Paris’ debuted along with the ’Amos ’n Andy show. Early social networks were formed between Americans and their radio set. The more channels added, the more Americans connected with each other -- and eventually a much larger world surrounding us.

So many young American men sacrificed their independence and way of life when a ’report for duty’ letter arrived in their mailbox.

At 90, kind-hearted, handsome and extremely dapper Silverman graciously agreed to share his very personal story of war time in his own words…(Thank you sweet Arnie! What a gift you are!)

I was born in Washington DC in 1929. In the midst of the Great Depression, because the New Deal was aggressively hiring and starting new organizations to relieve those in economic distress while the rest of the country was economically suffering, it was a great place to grow up in.

Essentially then a small somewhat southern city (very Jim Crowe then), I have memories of a very happy childhood there.

My father was a so-called debit salesman for the Metropolitan Life Insurance Co. While he never earned more than $50-$60 a week, there was always enough for the necessities - food, shelter, clothing, etc. - of life.

I attended grammar school in DC and when my father requested a transfer to Jersey City, NJ, his home town, we moved there.

My living in DC and then moving to Jersey City had a profound effect on my interest in politics.

Growing up in DC, we had the exciting years of the New Deal and FDR and in Jersey City we had one of the great, historical, crooked “bosses”, Mayor Frank (I am the boss) Hague.

In those desperate Depression times I was very moved by the long lines of people across the country looking for any kind of work or just lining up for a bowl of soup and bread.

The plight of the Oakies as depicted in newsreels and papers and ultimately by Steinbeck was particularly disturbing to the extent that even as a young boy, I committed myself to helping others in such distress.

I went to high school in Jersey City, played football and baseball for the team and after graduation went to Rutgers University. Not able to afford living on campus, I commuted each day to New Brunswick, NJ. After a year of that and not wanting to take the mandatory Military Science course (RU is a land grant Univ.), I enrolled at the Newark Campus and graduated with a degree in Accounting.

I never got to practice because I was drafted 2 months later.

I did my basic training in heavy weapons at the Army base in Indian Town Gap in PA. After receiving CIC (Counter Intelligence Corps) training at Ft. Holabird in Baltimore, I was sent to the office in Tokyo. I was there for just a week when the line broke north of Pusan in Korea and because I had a heavy weapons MOS, was sent to a combat infantry battalion where I was assigned as a forward observer for an 81mm mortar platoon (a “front row seat”).

We engaged the N. Korean and Chinese forces and ultimately arrived at what was referred to as the Punch Bowl, a deep, wide canyon running several miles north to the N. Korean position, again north of the so-called demarcation line. Under constant artillery barrages and skirmishes, we fought and held our ground. The North wanted to extend the demarcation line south, but again, we held our position. The winter I spent there was the coldest of my life (I am still cold after 66-years).

After 7-months of tough duty at the Punch Bowl, we were relieved and sent to the prison island of Koji Do just south of Pusan to rebuild the camp after one of the compounds was seized by prisoners, and to do guard duty. A few months later we were moved back to the front lines to a place adjacent to Heartbreak Ridge, called Jackson Heights.

Truce negotiations had commenced and while the bombardments continued, they were sporadic. Finally, in March of 1953 I rotated back home. Years later I wrote and published a book of my Korean experiences for my family members. Not until I reached 80 did they know that I was in combat in Korea.

You asked what did I learn from my service? Really, not that much. Oh, of course you learn the necessity of acting as a unit and performing your responsibility as expected.

You also learn to be always prepared for all contingencies.

The negative result of my experience was that after all I had seen, my religious convictions were considerably diminished.

I also had confirmed that there is no place for color, religious, culture or gender prejudices. White, black, oriental, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Italian, Irish; you name it, we were brothers ready to defend each other to the end.

I made a serious error when I returned home. Not realizing the impact of my experience on me, I accepted a job as an accountant a week after I came home. I took the job thinking that if I did not like what I was doing, I would quit in a year.

No longer able to immerse myself in the minutiae of that profession, I resigned, and took a job as a sales guy, selling wet, photo copy machines. My territory was the Empire State Building in NYC. The sales experience doing that was invaluable and in time I was hired by one of my customers, ITT Data Services. For the next 40-years I had a successful and personally rewarding and fulfilling career selling and marketing software solutions and managing national sales forces for several computer companies. I retired when I hit 70.

It was then that I joined the VFW. In spite of both organizations doing commendable work with veterans and the local community, I chose the VFW over the American Legion because it is less conservative than the Legion. I have held every Post position including that of commander. In addition to participating in patriotic events, I write our VFW newsletter (see attached), visit VA hospitals, assist at the Wounded Warriors Battalion at Camp Pendleton, am a mentor at the Orange County Combat Veterans Court in Santa Ana, assist homeless veterans in need and various other veteran-related activities. Incidentally, I am also a volunteer reader to elementary school students in Orange County.

Family-wise I have been very fortunate. My wife and I celebrated our 62nd anniversary in June, my daughter is Marketing Director for Trojan Battery, my son Robert is an Anesthesiologist in Atlanta and son, Donald is a pilot for Delta Airlines. We also have six achieving grandkids.

If it can be called a hobby, I collect first editions of quality books. I do some story and political writing and reading and am active, particularly now, with the Democratic Party. If you want to read some of my stories about Korea and my life along with some attempts at so-called poetry, I will loan you my last copy of the book I wrote.

Silverman also shared his war time experience in the following excerpt from a book he wrote, called “My War”:

“ My War” - Intro

I guess I saw them all.

I mean those weary, war movies with the “melting Pot” infantry squads. You know -the alcoholic, Irish sergeant making life miserable for the gesticulating Italian, the tough but simple Greek, the Irish boy (innocent and trusting; usually first to get killed), the Anglo-Saxon, blond, “all American” boy and, of course, the wise cracking Jew (from New York and usually, depending on the movie’s budget, played by Sam Levine or John Garfield.)

I was discharged from the Army in March of 1953. To this day when March rolls around, I think of Company M of the 3rdbattalion of the 35th Regimental Combat Team of the 25thDivision of the 8th Army. Our squad was not a melting pot; we did not fit Hollywood casting. We were, believe it or not, mostly New York Jews who somehow found ourselves in that 81mm mortar platoon in those God forgotten hills of South Korea in 1951. Oh the platoon might have qualified. With Kevin Kelly, Paulio Bambino, John (Cornbread) Saunders, James Montgomery Rowan 111 and Jonas Haranzansky Napoli (who was his own melting pot) the elements were there.

Our platoon leader was Lieutenant Lloyd Henry Harrison (Garrison Harrison we called him) from a place called Townsend, Alabama. He was probably the only officer in the history of the American Army who was intimidated by his own ½ minyan. When the talk of truce commenced and aggressive actions on both sides were at a minimum, “old” Lloyd (he was younger than I) would lie on one of the improvised bunks, drink his private stock of Jim Beam and sleep morning into evening into night.

While he slept and dreamed, we cynically surmised of honey suckled vines in Alabama, we played gin rummy morning into evening into night. As far as we were concerned, we could just as well have been in Flatbush or Fairfax. Except for an occasional artillery blast or participation in a night patrol, we played and played without interruption.

We once continued playing after being flooded out of our makeshift bunker home during a particularly violent monsoon downpour. Even then, each card hand was placed securely in the only dry place we could find – Lt. Harrison’s “secret”, water proof pouch for his Jim Beam cache – before we retrieved our mortars from the flooded firing position. After all, what was more important? When I finally rotated back to the States, I owed over $2800 which, being the generous person I am, I passed on to my replacement.

Generosity hath no bounds.

I tell you this as a prelude to the events I am about to describe so that you will have an understanding of who and what we were in that place at this time.

The Players:

The ½ minyan in our platoon consisted of, in addition to me, the following:

Jonas Harazansky Napoli: To understand him you would have to see him which when you saw him you would not believe him. He was short: short to the extent that I questioned his passing the minimum physical requirements for military service. Crowning that compact frame was one of the largest heads I have ever seen and attached to that head was a nose that Jimmy Durante would have envied. His mouth was wide and usually spread in a happy smile. His short legs were in proportion to his middle frame, but his feet, ah, that’s another story. You see supporting this 5’4” nightmare were two size 17’s. He must have had considerable pride in those dogs because at every opportunity he would trim and manicure them. Jonas was a happy, carefree, young man. I never saw him angry or upset. He took that lousy experience in stride and, good events or bad, he smiled. He smiled his way through until he rotated back home, and if he is still around, I will bet that he is smiling at this very moment.

Herbert Malcolm Blum: Herb was an archetypical, wise cracking New Yorker if there ever was one. Always able to summon a curt, cruel and acerbic quip no matter what the situation was, he had the smirk to go along with those remarks. Whenever he could, he shirked his responsibilities, always looking for the fast and easy way out. I recall one night when we were ordered to fire our rifles into the black emptiness in front of our lines to test our weapons. While all of us fired away, Herb, with a mocking cynicism, cried “bang!” as he simulated the firing of his weapon. He did not, he explained, want to have to clean his rifle after the session. You either loved and laughed with Herb or you hated him. There were not too many of the former.

Aaron Turitz: Aaron was one of those people for whom you felt a responsibility to protect, but could not resist the temptation to make the object of your humor or ridicule. In a situation of danger you could depend on him, but in between those events we tortured him with cruel humor. It was partially his own doing. He was one of the homeliest humans I have ever known. With a right angle aquiline nose, beady eyes and the largest of mouths, we often threatened to place him in front of our position to frighten off the enemy. His responses to our gestures were always good-natured. He was a kind and generous man. If he had it, he would share it with you. Once, when we were on leave in Pusan, he offered to share his Korean lady with me. I declined, but was moved by the unique generosity. We all were fond of him.

Aaron Wasserstrom: Carefree is the best word to describe Aaron. We could be under attack by a swarm of screaming Chinese in the middle of an encroaching mortar attack, lost at night in a mined field, flooded, soaked and forlorn during a cold, bone chilling monsoon storm, or in the throes of rolling 8 straight 7’s with their dice in a crap game, and his demeanor would never change. He was like an iceberg. Nothing fazedhim. “If they’re gonna get me, they’re gonna get me”, he would say. While not particularly religious, he had at sometime accepted the Hebrew doctrine of being or not being entered into the Book of Life at the beginning of each Hebrew New Year. While the word predestination had no meaning for him, the idea that he could not escape his fate did. He accepted life as it rolled by and good times or bad, he did not seem to give a damn.

Other important participants were:

Colonel William S. Conley: He epitomized for me every absurd, ridiculous, mean and ill tempered action that occurred in my military experience. In his manner and dress he tried to mirror George S. Patton. He wore pearl handled pistols around tailored riding britches which fit into expensive, high-polished boots. In spite of the fact that he had not yet experienced combat, he walked and talked with the swagger of the great, war general and in so doing earned the ridicule and disrespect of everyone in the battalion. He was, however, our most senior discernible officer and leader and the one on whom at that time in that place our lives depended.

Captain John C. Davis: I met this fine gentleman while he was lying drunk and delirious, face down, in a rain ditch. Unfortunately, he was the company commander at that time. After I laboriously (he was a bulky 6 footer) helped him from the ditch, he was terrified that I would pass the word about the experience. From that day on he was defensive and protective whenever he saw me. The following morning he called me into his quarters. When I appeared, he became vindictive and, bellowing the ancient prejudicial tirades that my people had endured for centuries, threatened to destroy me. I explained that I had never spoken of the night to anyone nor would I. Lieutenant Harrison, our platoon leader, waved me out of the bunker, but I could hear his beseeching the captain to subdue his anger or face the possibility of my bringing him up on charges for his prejudicial comments. Now, at that time in that place that thought did not enter my mind. My only fear was that I would be transferred to a front line rifle company. By today’s standards, I did the unacceptable. I kept my mouth shut and avoided the good captain whenever I could. However, when it really counted, he was capable of greatness.

Paulio Bambino: He and I were together at the Punch Bowl in Korea. In the period we spent together I have never been closer to anyone in my life. Though we were opposites in background, in heritage, socially – you name it, we shared everything we had – clothes, food, water, everything. When action occurred, he was there ready for duty.

Arthur U. Tollman: A boisterous epicurean, one of the loveliest, finest people I ever met. I will remember him forever for his generosity, his joie de ville and the way he ended.

The stories that follow were not written contiguously, in calendar order. If during the many years that followed I remembered an event or incident that I felt worth telling, I wrote the story without regard to when or whether certain correlating events might have been described before in another tale. Thus, as you journey through, you will encounter some repetition.

Also, in order to relate properly and accurately the times and place, I felt compelled at times to resort to raw vernacular. For those of you who are offended by such language I apologize.

AHS 06/2008

By Arnie Silverman

’My First Night Patrol’

My squad’s turn it was that night.
Winds whipped as if to warn.
Boots and coat could not compete against

Creeping cold that conquered me to fright.

Cruelest cold of all was fear that gripped my

Throat with threat that of our eight who Ventured through that vast, pray vacant valley
Some would not return that night.

Probed we the darkness of that doomed place.
Each sound seemed certain source of death.
Sweat dripped down my fearful face though
Cutting cold still held me in its grip.
Fear was not of pain nor even death,
But loss of promise never filled.
Signs of dawn at last led back to base where
Fire’s warmth was like my mother’s arms.

“UNWAVERING SUPPORT FOR UNCOMMON HEROES” - VFW AUXILIARY SUPPORT ACROSS AMERICA AND LOCALLY IN ORANGE COUNTY

“For more than 100 years, the VFW Auxiliary has been fulfilling its original objectives by supporting the Veterans of Foreign Wars, serving veterans, active-duty service members and their families, and spreading patriotism nationwide. Our members have volunteered millions of hours, donated millions of dollars and honored hundreds of thousands of veterans. Volunteer with us and celebrate the freedoms we enjoy in America.” – https://vfwauxiliary.org

Heddlesten said the VFW has three Auxiliaries and six Posts inSouth Orange County. They are San Clemente (Post 7142); Dana Point (Post/Auxiliary 9934); Laguna Beach (Post 5868); San Clemente (Post 7142); San Juan Capistrano (Post/ Auxiliary 3801) and Mission Viejo (Post/ Auxiliary 602).

”We also have Posts and/or Auxiliaries in Anaheim, Fontana, Garden Grove, Rancho Cucamonga, Santa Ana, Westminster,” said Heddlesten, who serves her District Auxiliary as theincoming 2018-2019 President. “My plan this year is to have three VFW Family Freedom Festivals: one in South County, North County and Riverside County.”

For more information, about local VFW Auxiliaries and Posts in Orange County:

• https://vfworg-cdn.azureedge.n...
• www.vfw.org
• https://www.vfw.org/about-us
• https://www.vfw.org/find-a-post
• http://www.vfwcadistrict2.org

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Photos courtesy copyright The Silverman Family