Christmas season is coming around again, soon to be upon us. Minds will automatically start racing ahead to daydreams of holiday cheer, family reunions, good times with friends and a general bon ami of good will towards men and peace on earth.

So it is every year as days grow short and the air grows chilly. And so it was as winter approached in 1944. Particularly vibrant that year was that last daydream: peace on earth. At long last, the second great war in the first half of the twentieth century was grinding towards an end. Like Christmas, drawing palpably close.

Now would be a good time to reflect back on that dawning Christmas season, which instead turned out to presage one the darker periods of World War II, dashing hopes and holiday reveries.

In early December 1944, German resolve was seen to be near exhaustion. The Soviets, for all of the mutual mistrust and growing rivalry among the Allies, was steadily moving in from the east, vivified by the Nazis' humiliating retreat from the very doorstep of Moscow. The western Allies, having liberated France, were advancing on the Brandenburg gate. The feeling was growing that the war in Europe was almost at its end.

Then, on December 16, 1944 Germany sprang its Ardennes Counteroffensive, The Battle of the Bulge. The end of the war was just the beginning of the end of the war, it turned out. The "Bulge" was the largest and bloodiest battle fought by the United States in World War II and the third-deadliest campaign in American history.

The battle got its name came from of the westward-bulging shape of battle lines drawn on a map. The fighting lasted six weeks, from mid-December until the end of January. It was the largest land battle of World War II that the United States directly participated in. More than a million men fought in the counteroffensive: 600,000 Germans, 500,000 Americans, and 55,000 British. It would turn out to be the last major German offensive campaign on the Western Front.

Winston Churchill called The Battle of the Bulge "the greatest American battle of the war." But that's not what it felt like at the start. The allied command was caught completely of guard, and the surprise German attack broke through the front on its very first day.

The Germans launched their attack in the densely forested Ardennes region comprising eastern Belgium, northeast France, and Luxembourg. American forces bore the brunt of the melee, which created higher casualties than any other operation of the war.

Hitler's hope was that the counteroffensive would both halt Allied use of the Belgian port of Antwerp and split the Allied lines, thus allowing German forces to encircle four Allied armies and force the West to negotiate a peace treaty more favorable to the Axis powers.

Approximately 250,000 soldiers took part in the initial assault, 14 German infantry divisions guarded by five panzer divisions-against a mere 80,000 Americans

The Battle of the Bulge was fought in frigid weather conditions, with some 30 German divisions attacking battle-fatigued American troops across 85 miles of thick woods. It would be the costliest battle ever fought by the U.S. Army, which suffered nearly 100,000 casualties. The Ardennes was hacked into chaos by the fighting as GIs dug in against the German advance at St.-Vith, Elsenborn Ridge, Houffalize and Bastogne.

The timing of the attack was no accident. Freezing rain, snow drifts and record-breaking low temperatures gave an added stinging aspect to the Counteroffensive. "I was from Buffalo, I thought I knew cold," baseball Hall of Famer and WWII veteran Warren Spahn wrote in his book, The Love of Baseball. "But I didn't really know cold until the Battle of the Bulge."

Another Nazi stratagem was to attempt to infiltrate the Allied troops and spread confusion and disarray. German paratroopers had been dropped behind US lines dressed like American soldiers. They changed road signs, cut telephone lines and fed U.S. troops false directions.

"The Nazis were carefully groomed for their dangerous mission," Life magazine reported in 1945. "They spoke excellent English and their slang had been tuned up by close association with American prisoners of war in German camps." To combat infiltrators, U.S. troops learned to challenge suspected Germans with American trivia questions.

On the morning of December 16, the German divisions struck, in heavy fog, along a 50-mile front. They were outfitted in white uniforms to blend in with the snow. They pushed American forces west, back nearly to the Meuse River, and surrounded the town of Bastogne in Belgium.

The German offensive lasted for more than a month, yet the first four days accounted significantly for the outcome. The battle of the Bulge actually comprised a series of distinct separate regional battles as might be expected along such a long front.

The Siege of Bastogne: The goal of the German offensive was the harbor at Antwerp. In order to reach it before the Allies could regroup and bring their superior air power to bear, German mechanized forces had to seize the roadways through eastern Belgium. Because all seven main roads in the Ardennes mountain range converged on the small town of Bastogne, control of its crossroads was vital to the German attack. The siege ran December 20-27 at which point the besieged American forces were relieved by elements of General George Patton's Third Army.

The Battle for Clervaux: The battle for this town in northern Luxembourg lasted from December 16-18. German forces encircled numerically inferior American forces, and, after heavy fighting, forced them to surrender. The battle has been referred to as the Luxembourg "Alamo." The first tank battle of the Ardennes offensive ended in disaster for the Allies, who lost nearly 60 tanks to the Germans' four. Still, the stubborn resistance of the military units involved greatly slowed the German advance.

Battle of Lanzerath Ridge: Fought on the first day of the Counteroffensive, near the town of Lanzerath, Belgium, this day-long conflict matched 18 men belonging to an American reconnaissance platoon, four U.S. Forward Artillery Observers, against a battalion of about 500 German paratroopers. The American reconnaissance men inflicted dozens of casualties on the Germans and bottled up the advance along a key route planned for the German SS Panzer Division that was spearheading the entire German 6th Panzer advance. The Germans finally flanked the American forces at dus and captured them. One American, an artillery observer, was killed and 14 others wounded, while German casualties totaled 92. The Germans then fatally paused their advance, believing the woods were filled with more Americans and tanks.

Battle of St. Vith: The town of St. Vith stood at a vital road junction on the way to Antwerp. It was also close to the western end of the Losheim Gap, a critical valley through the densely forested ridges of the Ardennes Forest and a focal point of the entire German Counteroffensive. Allied troops eventually fell back from their defense of the town on December 21. Given that the Germans' plan was to capture St. Vith by December 17, the prolonged action in and around the town presented yet another major blow to their objectives.

The Elsenborn Ridge: A ridge line east of the town of Elsenborn, Belgium was the main line of advance for Hitler's prized 12th SS Panzer Division Hitlerjugend. However, units of First U.S. 1st Army held the ridge preventing German forces from reaching a vast array of supplies near the cities of Liége and Spa, Belgium and the road network leading west to the Meuse River and Antwerp. This was the only sector of the American front line where the Germans failed to advance during the Battle of the Bulge.

Losheim Gap: Accounts of the Battle of the Bulge generally focus on the Siege of Bastogne and the Battle of St. Vith. But the Germans' primary ambitions were focused on taking the Losheim Gap, a narrow 5-mile long valley on the border of Belgium and Germany. It is the only region conducive to military movement. In this region of thick forests, US troops halted the best of German war machine, including the 12th SS Panzer and the 3rd Fallschirmjager Divisions.

Operation Bodenplatte: On January 1, the Luftwaffe attempted a campaign to cripple Allied air forces in the Low Countries. The goal was to gain air superiority during the stagnant stage of the Battle of the Bulge so that the German Army and Waffen-SS forces could resume their advance. It was originally planned for December 16 but delayed repeatedly due to bad weather until New Year's Day, the first day that happened to be suitable. Secrecy for the operation was so tight that not all German ground and naval forces had been informed of the operation and some units suffered casualties from friendly fire.

In point of fact, while delivering harsh doses of reality to Allied Christmas hopes of a pending victory, ultimately the Battle of the Bulge was probably doomed from its inception. By that point in the war, Germany simply lacked the manpower and resources to maintain such an ambitious offensive for any sustained period of time, much less muster what would be required to reverse their by-then untenable defensive posture. As it turned out, the Counteroffensive wound up costing the Nazis more in lost men and expended matériel than it did the Allies, as expensive as it was to the latter.

Len Fullenkamp, a retired U.S. Army Colonel and a professor of military history and strategy at the Army War College, postulates that Hitler mistakenly believed American commanders would not be able to respond the German Counteroffensive with necessary rapidity.

Fullenkamp writes that the success of the German attack relied heavily on the presumption of temporary paralysis within the Allied high command. Hitler presumed his enemy's generals would have to clear counterattack plans through higher military and political channels as would have been the case within Germany's command structure.

But General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander, had long enjoyed the authority to act on his own initiative, which he did. On December 16, the first day of the Counteroffensive, Eisenhower ordered Armored divisions posted to the north and south of the Bulge into the flanks of the German offensive.

Also, notwithstanding surprise, unpreparedness and early setbacks, Allied forces fought well enough to slow the German drive to secure the road network at Bastogne and to defend St. Vith and other key Nazi objectives. They held off German attackers for almost seven days, effectively stalling the German command's strategic timetable.

On December 23, American forces began their first counterattack on the southern flank of the "Bulge," The encirclement of Bastogne finally broke with American units pushing from the north and south, and the German advance stopped. In addition, British paratroopers and infantry units began an attack on the western tip of the German advance.

On January 1, the Germans launched two new operations aimed at opening second fronts in Holland and northern France. The Luftwaffe launched its bombing campaign against Allied airfields and succeeded in destroying or severely damaging more than 460 aircraft. But in the process it suffered massive losses of its own: 277 planes. While the Allies recovered quickly from their losses, the Luftwaffe could not.

The Battle of the Bulge was more than an embarrassing setback for the Allied military command. It proved a very expensive one for the country in general and in a very personal way for the men who fought in it. Early in the war the bulk of American POWs in Europe were pilots and bomb crews. While in the European theatre 93,941 Americans in total would be held as prisoners of war in all of World War II, in the Battle of the Bulge alone 23,554, mainly infantrymen, were taken prisoner by Germans —4,000 in one day.

The most infamous massacre of American troops in World War II took place during the Battle of the Bulge: The Malmedy Massacre. On December 17, 1944, halfway between the town of Malmedy and Ligneuville in Belgium, an American battalion was captured by an SS force. About 150 POWs were disarmed and sent to stand in a field. About 80 men were killed by gunfire, and their bodies were left where they fell. Many prisoners escaped into nearby woods.

On January 7, Hitler began pulling back from the Ardennes. The last of the German reserves were gone, the Luftwaffe had been broken, and Russian troops were casting their shadows on Germany's eastern edge. Her defeat at last loomed, mere months away. But won at far greater expense than had been envisioned by Allied leaders, and a hopeful American public, in the waning days of 1944.

On April 30, during the Battle of Berlin, the last major offensive of the European theatre, Adolf Hitler committed suicide in his bunker.

On May 8, the Allies accepted Germany's unconditional surrender, and 7.6 million soldiers began the ritual of demobilization. It took about four months, and many GIs complained about the slowness of the process.

All that were coming home made it in time for Christmas 1945.

[Editor's Note: William W. Williams III was sailing as a member of the Navy Armed Guard. Armed Guard units were established in the early days of World War II in an attempt to provide defensive firepower to merchant ships traveling in convoy or alone. The ships and men of the merchant marine were what transported the war materiel, supplies, equipment and even troops needed to fight and win the war.

The Merchant Marine suffered a casualty rate higher than any other branch of the military, losing 9,300 men. Most of the losses occurred in 1942. The United States Navy Armed Guard (USNAG) were U.S. Navy-enlisted gun crews (Gunner's Mates, Coxswains and Boatswains, Radiomen, Signalmen, Pharmacist's Mates and, toward the end of the war, radarmen serving at sea on merchant ships.

The vessels in the Carlton's convoy was proceeding under a close British and US naval escort but were left unguarded and then scattered after covering cruiser forces withdrew to intercept a German raiding flotilla. The convoy subsequently lost 24 of its 35 ships in a week of daylight attacks by German U-boats and aircraft, and the Carlton was one of those lost.]

SS Carlton

I was one of 24 "rescued" by German seaplanes (the rest of the crew drifted, rowed and sailed for nearly three weeks, landed in Norway, and joined us in Milag-Marlag Nord much later.)

(Copyright unknown)

SS Carlton aflame after being torpedoed in Arctic Ocean.

We who were picked up landed in Kirknes, Norway, and were incarcerated in Stalag 322, a camp for dissident Norwegian schoolteachers. I was given a dog tag hammered out of a tin can with the number: 322/1927, my identification for the entire time—I still have it!

On a German cargo ship we reached Oslo, Norway. On a larger and faster ship we came to Aarlborg, Denmark, and by train to Wilhelmshaven, Germany. Because we were the first Americans to be captured, and there were no American camps at the time, we were taken to Milag-Marlag Nord, in Tarmstedt, a short way from Bremen, a stalag for British Navy prisoners.

Non-commissioned officers were not required to work, and I could have remained there for the rest of the war, but I wished to escape. So, I exchanged identity with a British seaman who was being forced to work. In April 1943, posing as Henry Rose of England, I went by train to Charlottenhof, Obersilesia, to work with a small group of prisoners repairing an irrigation canal.

Five days later, another prisoner and I walked off the job. We thought we had everything planned, except that we didn't know about the tracking dogs in the next village. They soon found us, and we surrendered and were separated. I was taken to Stalag 8B in Lamsdorf.

A short time after, I was called to headquarters, presented with my original dog-tag (322/1927), and sentenced to five days solitary confinement on bread and water for escaping and trying to confuse my kind "rescuers." I never found out how they discovered the switch in identity.

At that time (April 1943), an American Army sergeant and I were the only Americans in 8B. Because we were non-British, we were housed in compound 10 with prisoners from India, Australia, New Zealand, North Ireland, Greece and Canada. The Canadians were from the Black Watch Division and had been captured in the failed landing at Dieppe, France. Because of circumstances surrounding their capture, they were forced to wear handcuffs day and night.

[Editor's note: As the only sailor in camp Bill was affectionately given the nickname "Seaweed," which stayed with him for the rest of his days and is inscribed on his gravestone.]

While in 8B, I began attending church services and was called into the Christian ministry. After the war, I returned home, went to college and seminary, and am now a retired American Baptist minister.

In February of 1944, I was transferred to Stalag 2B in Hammerstein, Pommerania, an all American camp. I became the acting chaplain when the present chaplain was repatriated. In this capacity, I went out of the camp for many weekends to hold services at the various arbeits kommandos.

I was in the city of Danzig in January of 1945 when the Russian army broke through on the Eastern Front. The city was evacuated, and I was on the last train to leave the city.

By early February, the Russians were approaching Stalag 2B, and the camp was abandoned by the Germans. We were placed in groups of three hundred or more and headed west on foot.

[Editor's Note: In the final stages of World War II in Europe, as the Soviet Army advanced into Germany, Allied POWs, without adequate rest, shelter, food, clothing and medical supplies, were force-marched westward in groups of 200 to 300 in the so-called "Long March." German authorities had decided to evacuate their POW camps in order to delay liberation of the prisoners.

From a total of 257,000 western Allied prisoners in German military prison camps, over 80,000 were forced to walk across Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Germany in extreme winter conditions over a period of some four months.

At the same time, hundreds of thousands of German civilian refugees, most of them women and children, as well as civilians of other nationalities, were also making their way westward on foot.

January and February 1945 were among the coldest winter months of the 20th century in Europe. The march from Stalag VIII-B (referred to as the "Lamsdorf Death March") was similar to the better-known Bataan Death March (1942) in terms of mortality rates. Official sources estimate that 1,121 U.S. POWs did not survive.]

After wandering around for sixty days, we crossed the Elbe River at Domitz. On April 14, we were strafed by American planes and I ran away. I was lucky to come upon an American outpost and was free at last!

[Editor's Note: (The following account was provided by Rev. Williams's daughter.) "After he escaped and made it to the American army encampment, Bill played an instrumental role in rescuing the 300 prisoners he had left behind. He led an army truck convoy back to where his fellow marchers had become pinned down in a firefight with German soldiers. He was in the front seat of the first truck waving frantically to his friends, who at that point must have figured they had pretty much run out of luck."]

By truck I went to Hildesheim, by plane to LeHavre and Camp Lucky Strike, where I rejoined some of the men from my ship whom I had not seen since my first escape. By plane together, we went to England and by ship to Boston, MA and home.

Epilogue:

For many years after my return, I entertained the hope of revisiting the sites where I had been held as a prisoner of war. Finally it became possible. My son William W. Williams IV and I flew out of Logan airport in Boston on Oct. 10, 2000 at noon and landed at Tegel in Berlin.

We picked up our rental car and headed for Bremen where we stayed the first night. In the morning we traveled east to Tarmstedt, the location of Milag-Marlag Nord, just eighteen miles away. It had been a camp for enemy Navy and Merchant Marine sailors and was where I spent the first nine months of my captivity.

During my 33 1/2 months I was also in Stalag 344/8B in Lamsdorf, Obersilesia for ten months, and lastly in Stalag 2B, Hamerstein, Pomerania for twelve months, followed by a sixty-day march in the winter of 1945, from which I escaped.

To conserve travel time, we decided to go to 2B next and then to 8B before returning to Berlin for the trip home.

MILAG-MARLAG NORD: Our first stop in Tarmstedt was at a bank to exchange some currency, and begin our inquiry to locate the camp. No one in the bank could speak English, but as I am still conversant in Deutsch, I said I had been a "Kriegsgefangener" there in 1942, and wanted to visit the area.

An elderly farmer was in the bank cashing a check. When he heard the word "Kriegsgefangener" he came right over to us and said "Warten sie hier, bitte", and then went to the telephone.

He had asked me to wait while he called the Burgermeister (Mayor), who knew all about the prison camp and would like to meet us. We got in the car and followed him to the mayor's house.

What a stroke a luck! We could never have found it by ourselves. The entire area had been demolished and obliterated and planted to forest some forty years ago.

The mayor took us in his own car down an old logging road to one lone barracks that had been preserved in the middle of the forest. It was now a private dwelling.

That is all there is left of a compound that held Royal Navy sailors and Merchantmen since 1940 and the crew of my ship which had been sunk in 1942. Incidentally, the area is now called "Westertimke."

The mayor told us of the editor of a nearby newspaper who had collected a documentary of the camp. After good-bye to the mayor and the farmer, we headed for the town of Zeven, and found the newspaper office. The editor himself was not available, but had left word for one of the staff to take us upstairs to the archives and show us newspaper size photographs of the camp taken through the years. On the table was a documentary brochure that had been printed and was for us to take home.

STALAG 2B HAMERSTEIN: Our next destination was Stalag 2B. That was the last camp I was held from Feb. 1944 to Feb. 1945, when it was abandoned in the face of the Russian advance from the East. The camp was broken up into groups of three or four hundred men and marched on foot westward, wandering seemingly aimlessly until we reached Saltzwedel some sixty days later. That's where I left the column and liberated myself into the hands of an American gun emplacement.

I remembered most of the towns through which we had passed: Stargard, Stettin, Neubrandenburg, Teterow, Gustrow, Parchim, Ludwigslust, Domitz.

Starting with Saltzwedel, my son and I retraced my footsteps in reverse, crossing the Elbe River at Domitz, where we spent the night at a country inn. I was anxious to see again the town of Parchim where our march group passed the end of an airport runway lined with fire engines manned by women, and from which experimental jets took off. After the war, it was occupied by the Russian military who used it as a military air base. Now it again is a Polish town. The airport has been completely modernized and has scheduled weekly international flights to Spain.

As we wound our way eastward to Stettin, where we stayed overnight, I recalled we had been herded into barns at night to sleep and were now passing the very ones in which we had stayed.

Hamerstein is no longer on the map. It is now a town called "Czarne."

We inquired at Town Hall, and one of the employees graciously drove us to the campsite. Like Marlag, it had been leveled and planted to trees. Because thousands of Russian soldiers had been imprisoned there too and had perished through disease and neglect, during the Russian occupation the mass graves had been dug up and the bodies reburied with markers.

In a small park there is a tall memorial marker and as far as the eye can see there are the grave markers with the hammer and sickle emblem. The town has a public relations booklet which contains a short history of Stalag 2B and a picture of the memorial park.

STALAG 344/8B LAMSDORF, OBERSILESIA: Before going to Stalag 8B, Bill and I took a side trip to Gdansk. I was there on a preaching mission out of 2B in Jan. 1945 when the Russian army broke through on the eastern front. Because of the Russian advance, the entire civilian population was evacuated. I was on the last train to leave the city on my way back to 2B.

After spending the night in Gdansk, Bill and I headed south to Lamsdorf, now Lambinowisce, the site of Stalag 8B. The Lamsdorf camp complex was created during the Franco-Prussian war and operated during the First and Second World Wars. Soldiers from all the armies fighting Germany were imprisoned there. During WWII, around 300,000 prisoners of 50 nationalities passed through Lamsdorf. It is now an elaborate POW museum similar to our Andersonville.

Nearby there is a huge public park where thousands of Russians had been housed, and where they died by the thousands. In the midst of the park there is a huge monument commemorating all the prisoners of all the wars. The site where the British (4,000) and the Americans (2) were held is now a Polish army artillery range and not accessible to the public.

The staff at the museum was glad to see me as the first confirmation that there had been any Americans there at all. I was there for ten months from May 1943 to January 1944, where I did 5 days solitary on bread and water for having escaped originally. The museum has publications and videos and a website well worth visiting. www.cmjw.pl/en/lambinowicki-rocznik-muzealny

Before returning home, Bill and I spent two nights and a day seeing the sights of Berlin.

The oldest commissioned vessel in the U.S. Navy is the USS Constitution. Known affectionately as "Old Ironsides," this wooden-hulled, three-masted heavy frigate is also the oldest commissioned naval vessel still afloat in the world today.

She was launched in 1797. She acquitted herself with distinction in the War of 1812, capturing numerous merchant ships and defeating five British warships.

Today, still seaworthy and with a crew of 60 officers and sailors, USS Constitution participates proudly in ceremonies, educational programs, and special events. She is berthed at Pier 1 of the old Charlestown Navy Yard at one end of Boston's Freedom Trail and is open to visitors year-round (free tours).

The Navy's second oldest commissioned vessel leads a life considerably less glamorous. The USS Pueblo has the dubious distinction of being the only commissioned ship of the U.S. Navy being held captive by a hostile power. Launched in 1967, she is today moored in the Potong River in Pyongyang, where she, too, serves as a museum ship, but of a different sort: part of North Korea's "Victorious War Museum."

On January 23, 1968 the USS Pueblo (AGER-2) was attacked in international waters by North Korean forces. Eighty-two surviving crewmembers were captured and held prisoner for eleven months.

The ship that would become Pueblo was originally christened in 1944 as a U.S. Army vessel. She was an 850-ton general-purpose small-cargo ship. During World War II she, with a sister ship, saw duty to the South Pacific theatre.

Mothballed after the war, she was transferred to the Navy in April 1966 and renamed. Shortly after, she was converted to a research ship and re-designated AGER-2 (part of the Navy's Auxiliary General Environmental Research program). Following training operations off the U.S. West Coast, Pueblo departed for the Far East to undertake electronic intelligence collection and other duties.

On the day of her capture, the USS Pueblo was running an electronic surveillance mission for the National Security Agency some 14 miles off the North Korean coast when she came under attack by gunboats and warplanes. One of her crew members was killed and her captain and 10 others were wounded in the melee.

The North Korean vessels attempted to board Pueblo, which was slow and heavily outgunned, but the U.S. ship managed to maneuver to thwart their attackers for over two hours. A submarine chaser then opened fire with a 57 mm cannon, and smaller vessels fired machine guns into Pueblo, which at that point signaled compliance.

credit: Laika ac from USA / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)

The Pueblo was not meant to be configured for battle. Her defensive posture was as a civilian merchant vessel. Her armament consisted of two M2 Browning .50-caliber machine guns, which were wrapped in cold-weather tarpaulins. The ship's ammunition was stored belowdecks. The guns were unmanned, and no attempt was made to man them.

According to a National Security Agency monograph, the machine guns took at least ten minutes to activate and only one crew member had ever had any experience with such weapons, and that gained while he had been in the Army.

The Pueblo followed the North Korean vessels as ordered, but stopped immediately outside North Korean waters. She was again fired upon, and a sailor, fireman Duane Hodges, was killed. The ship was boarded and crew members had their hands tied and were blindfolded, beaten, and prodded with bayonets.

Pueblo was taken into port at Wonsan on the eastern side of the Korean Peninsula, and the crew was moved twice to different prisoner of war (POW) camps. Upon release, the crew reported that they had been starved and regularly tortured while in North Korean custody. This treatment turned worse after the North Koreans realized that crewmen were surreptitiously extending their middle fingers in staged propaganda photos.

credit: photo by Joseph A. Ferris III

The captain, Cmdr. Lloyd Bucher, was psychologically tortured and put through a mock firing squad. Eventually the North Koreans threatened to execute his men in front of him unless Bucher agreed to confess to his and the crew's transgressions. Korean authorities failed to catch the meaning of some of the phrasing the captain used in his hand-written confession. "We paean the DPRK [North Korea]. We paean their great leader Kim Il Sung."

Negotiations for the release of the crew that took place at Panmunjom were lengthy and difficult. At the same time, U.S. officials had to be concerned with conciliating the South Koreans, who expressed discontent about being left out of the process.

Following 11 months of captivity, an official apology by the United States government (later retracted), a written admission of spying and an assurance the U.S. would not conduct spying activities in the future, the men were taken to the southern edge of the Demilitarized Zone.

President Lyndon Johnson had considered a number of aggressive response plans, including a nuclear option. But with the U.S. bogged down militarily, at the height of the Vietnam war, no retaliation would be forthcoming.

Johnson was persuaded that diplomacy was the best option for getting the Pueblo's crew home safe.

credit: U.S. Navy / Public domain

At length, after 335 days of confinement the crew was allowed to walk across the "Bridge of No Return" into South Korea. Many were crippled, malnourished and half blind from their detention. But they were at last free.

The ship was not; North Korea held onto that.

In 2006, a suit was filed in the U.S. District Court on behalf of crew members under the Anti-Terrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act, which provided an exception to the immunity of foreign states. Their lawyers claimed compensation under the Justice for Victims of State-Sponsored Terrorism Act, an act originally designed to benefit the Iranian hostages. They argued that it be construed more broadly to include their four clients from the U.S.S. Pueblo.

In 2017, the court awarded the three surviving crew members $16.75 million each, and Bucher's estate $12.5 million for the abuse suffered during capture and the "physical and mental harm that (they) likely will continue to endure throughout the rest of their lives."

In 2018, more than 100 crew members and relatives subsequently joined a lawsuit, filed in a federal court under the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act, which allows suits against state sponsors of terrorism for torture, hostage-taking, personal injury or death.

North Korea has not responded to the lawsuit, but plaintiffs are eligible for relief from a US government fund set up to support victims of terrorism. President Trump added North Korea to the list of countries designated as state-sponsors of terrorism in 2017 (after it was removed from the list in 2008 by President Bush), re-opening the window to litigation against Pyongyang under the 1976 Act.

There has never been a great clamor to try to persuade North Korea over the return of the ship itself, so there she sits. Some former crewmembers have sought to call attention to this fact.

Richard Rogala is one of those crewmembers. His story eventually came to the attention of Billy Cox, a writer for the Sarasota Herald-Tribune (Florida).

When the U.S. announced that on April 2018 it had seized North Korea's second-largest cargo ship for violating sanctions, Rogala suggested exchanging that ship for the Pueblo.

"The Pueblo shouldn't be a propaganda museum," he told Cox.

The Herald Tribune story recounts: "More than 51 years after the Pueblo's seizure, America's confiscation of North Korea's "Wise Honest" freighter is stirring dim hopes for an exchange among the 60 survivors, thanks at least in part to a symbolic Congressional resolution introduced in the House on June 20, 2019.

"Like so many Americans, U.S. Rep. Greg Steube (R.-Sarasota, the resolution's sponsor, knew little about the incident until Rogala pulled him aside following a county veterans' meeting that April.

"'Rick brought it to my attention, I looked into it, and it was a surprise to me that, over all these years, we had done no work to get the vessel back,' says Steube, an Army veteran."

Rogala, like most of the captives had been beaten and placed on starvation rations during the ordeal. While he was not in the infamous "middle finger" propaganda photo, one morning he was called to the door of his cell and suddenly punched in the mouth and knocked to the floor.

"I didn't see it coming," he said. "They asked me something in Korean and I must have answered 'yes' when I should have said 'no.' They started kicking me to get me up, and when I did, someone blasted me in the mouth again."

credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Pueblo_(AGER-2)

"Within hours of the announcement of the capture of the "Wise Honest," Sen. Cory Gardner, chairman of the Senate subcommittee on East Asia, began tweeting for a ship swap. Colorado Rep. Scott Tipton, who introduced a symbolic resolution last year similar to Steube's, echoed the senator's idea.

"Prior to President Trump's Memorial Day summit in Japan in May 2019, National Security Adviser John Bolton fired up the crewmembers by telling reporters 'Maybe now would be an appropriate time to talk about return of the Pueblo.' But no high-level statements have been issued since."

Nor has Rogala heard any more on the subject since.

"Time is running out," he lamented recently. "A lot of our guys are losing their enthusiasm. It's been so long, and we're all getting older, tired of pushing it."

"The people in Washington at this point have other things on their minds, both in general and with North Korea specifically."

As of this writing, approximately 55 of the original 82 officers and men still survive. Rogala mentions that the Pueblo Veterans Association will meet for its 52nd anniversary reunion in September 2020. "We'll see then whether it's still a hot topic for them and how much they still want to pursue." He's not optimistic. But he's not lost hope.

Maybe sometime in the next fifty years.

By the time I deployed for my war—the Vietnam War—on the USS Ticonderoga, Carrier Air Wing Nineteen, Attack Squadron One Ninety Two (CVA-14; CAW 19; VA-192) —there were not too many noticeable changes. My best friend, Michael Estocin (MOH) and I attended Mass on the forecastle of the Ticonderoga every day we were not on the flight schedule .

Seated on folding chairs scattered between the two anchor chains, we followed along with the new order under the guidance of our Priest chaplain, figuring that he would not lead us astray.

Circumstances reached a confluence wherein I had the opportunity to shoot myself down in January 1967 (flying an A-4 Skyhawk as part of an armed reconnaissance mission over Thanh Ha Province). Mike had the opportunity to martyr himself in July 1967, taking the mission of a new kid the day before they were to come home and never returning

Mike had volunteered for his hop and, strangely enough, I had volunteered to take Mike's hop when I was shot down. He had a critical shipboard meeting to attend. So we had not gotten to attend Mass that day.

Based on my own personal experience, the North Vietnamese communists were a brutal, inhumane, power-hungry group of misanthropes. Americans they captured in Southeast Asia were tortured, beaten, starved, isolated, denied medical care and humiliated beyond belief, except when it served the interests of the communist propaganda machine.

It was not a racial thing. They meted out the same treatment to their own people who dared to dissent as well to as the Republic of Vietnam patriots who dared oppose them. They inflicted (and continue to inflict) the same punishment on Chinese Vietnamese, native populations and those of mixed race.

At the urging of American peace groups, the communists decided some favorable propaganda was needed around Easter time of 1967. One spring evening they dressed me up in their "mess dress" striped-pajama prisoner uniform (the uniform of the day was black boxer shorts and T shirt) and at bayonet point marched me off to the interrogation room.

The timing was not unusual, as the most feared interrogations occurred after dark. They sat me down on an interrogation stool and told me that I was to meet a priest and make my "Easter Duty."

In the Catholic Church, "Easter Duty" traditionally referred to the rule that required each practicing Catholic to go to communion once a year. And to do so meant that one also had to go to confession unless he was free of mortal sin.

The practice was that everyone went to confession and communion at Easter time no matter what. In retrospect, the communists had in mind that I would confess my "war crimes" and receive communion as a visible sign of my repentance.

The interrogation room was decorated for Easter as only an infidel could imagine with a bunny rabbit. The guards trotted an elderly Vietnamese gentleman dressed in priestly garb into the interrogation cell.

I asked him: "Ubi est domus tui?" [Where do you live?] He replied: "Hanoi." At that point the interrogators burst into the room obviously telling him to "shut mouth." But his reflexive response to my crummy Latin convinced me that he was indeed a Catholic Priest.

He appeared to be startled at the intrusion of the interrogator and aghast at the follow-on film crew. The Priest via sign language offered me the opportunity to receive Communion. I accepted the invitation and dropped to my knees. He placed a host on my tongue, the cameras rolled, the lights went out. The Priest got the hook. I was marched back to my cell. At least I received the host on my tongue&nmdash;for the last time as a normal protocol.

The propaganda war was heating up over Communist mistreatment of prisoners in North Vietnam. The Red Cross was denied entry to the prisons. Amnesty International never even tried. The internal and international communist position was that American fighting men were "The Blackest of Criminals," "Air Pirates" not entitled to any protections under international law.

However, the Hanoi government recognized that the war was going to be won by turning the American people against their own government. As a result the communists had to put on a propaganda front acceptable to American dissidents.

Christmas 1967 was their next opportunity. Sometime in December, well after dark, I was told to suit up in my "Mess Dress" again. Nothing good ever happened after dark. At bayonet point I was marched off into a weapons-carrier sized vehicle. I was very nervous. The last time a night time trip like this happened, Doug Hegdahl and I were similarly mounted up, driven to a soccer stadium, exposed to a howling, out-of-control crowd, assaulted in the vehicle and driven off to the Plantation Prison. This time I disembarked at what I found out later was the Hanoi Catholic Cathedral.

I was marched into a side door near the rear of the church. They placed me half way down the nave on the Gospel side isolated from everyone else. The place looked like it could hold about 800 to 1,000 congregants. There were maybe 100 people in church. There were perhaps 10 other POWs also in their Mess Dress garb scattered about. The cameras were there.

It was obviously a Roman Catholic house of worship. One could never expect to find such an automatic identification in that day and age except by accident.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph were in their appointed places. The tabernacle was centrally located with a burning red candle clearly visible indicating the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. There was a Crucifix and it was where it belonged, centrally located above and behind the altar. Various and sundry Saints (Peter, Paul, Teresa, Francis Xavier) were all visible and identifiable.

The sanctuary exuded the tradition and magisterium of over 400 years. I was in a spiritual refuge. "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."

An interrogator barked at me: "Go visit the barn!" I was initially nonplussed until I realized he meant the creche at the altar rail. I had no desire to contribute to the success of their propaganda effort, but since I was in a losing situation, I should try to get some benefit out of it. I saw one of our guys approaching the altar rail so I took off to join him. The VC wanted to keep us separated but could not overreact in front of the cameras.

The other guy was Jim Mulligan. We knelt there side by side and swapped information as to where we thought we were located, who was our SRO (Senior Ranking Officer), who was in our prisons and when we thought the war would be over.

This is where I found out that a small group of super-resistors were under the shadow of the walls of the Ministry of Defense opposite our jail (the Plantation Prison main gate, 17 Ly Nam Dai). Jim reaffirmed the resistance posture advanced by these leaders.

The Mass started and progressed according to the Pre-Vatican II rubric of the Roman Ritual. After the Priest read the gospel of the day and gave a brief homily in Vietnamese, one of our more malicious interrogators, known as "The Rabbit," took the pulpit, and gave his English "Communist Christmas Sermon." Its essence was that baby Jesus, a good communist of a working class family, being born into poverty, was persecuted by the capitalists. He and his family were forced to flee Bethlehem for their lives in their Jeep into Egypt to avoid the American Imperialists and the Yankee Air Pirates. It was a most inspiring sermon; it made one weep with laughter.

credit: Arno Kohlem [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)]

credit: Wikimedia Commons, Gryffindor [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

The rest of the Mass went the way it had gone according to the Church of my youth, my seminary days (six years) and up until Vatican II. It was invigorating, reinforcing, inspiring, reassuring, encouraging and inspirational. I was not required to sing, shake hands, swap germs, jiggle, dance, listen to guitar-based protest songs, watch pagan dances on the altar, listen to the priest play the flute, raise my arms in an "alleluia," stomp my feet, clap my hands, or listen to the latest bloviation of the Bishops regarding their personal version of current fads in political correctness or inclusiveness.

When Mass was over, the POWs were held in their places and then removed in such a way that they could not come in contact with each other. We had had one more shot to communicate at the Communion Rail after "the barn" visit, but then we were on our own. I was marched back up the center aisle towards the back doors and then pushed off to the left to exit a side door.

There was a group of Vietnamese crowded into the inside main entrance. A woman pushed a ten-year-old child towards me as I turned left. He came over and held my hand as I walked towards the left exit. My guard backhanded the youngster away from me. I went off by myself into the darkness not realizing that I had just attended my last traditional Roman Catholic Latin Mass: December 1967.

Fast-forward to March 1973. Among the reception team for Operation Homecoming at Clark Air Force Base there was to be a Chaplain of your choice. I don't remember the name of the guy I was talking to or much else except that he was a Jesuit.

He was playing the role of the "good ole boy," using his first name and wearing sports clothes. I made a general confession and received Communion. But I was confused by the lack of specifics I received when I expressed interest in hearing about the state of the American Catholic Church as of that date.

About six months after my return I figured out that the Church of my youth had gone the way of the world and was no more. The Episcopal High Church and Lutheran liturgies were more traditional than the succession of the Catholic entertainment fads and circuses-in-the-round being passed off as "The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass."

My Church had left while I was gone, or else it had been hijacked.

Guess this marks me as a Traditionalist, but I realized I had, in fact, attended my last Catholic Mass of the "Old Dispensation" -- at bayonet point -- in St. Joseph's Roman Catholic Cathedral, Hanoi, Democratic Republic of Vietnam, December 1967. How about those sour apples!

Postscript:
In 2007, I came across a traditional Tridentine Mass** offered at the Immaculate Conception Church, downtown Jacksonville, Florida. I have been attending with great appreciation most Sundays of the year.

credit: AndrewAvitus [CC BY 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)]

It only took forty years!

(In Honor of: Rev. Charles Costello OMI, Novice Master)

----
* MOH: Medal of Honor.

** Also known as the Traditional Latin Mass or Usus Antiquior, the Roman Rite Mass that appears in typical editions of the Roman Missal published from 1570 to 1962. The Tridentine form of the Mass is available only occasionally in Vietnam.

The Bridge on the River Kwai was released in 1957 by Columbia Pictures. The movie was based on the novel Le Pont de la Riviere Kwai (1952), written by French author Pierre Boulle and based on the construction of the Burma Railway in 1942-1943.

It was a wildly successful movie, winning seven academy awards including Best Picture. It was the top money maker of 1958, beating out Peyton Place.

The film has demonstrated considered staying power over the years. In 1997, it was selected for preservation in the National Film Registry by the United States Library of Congress. It is included on the American Film Institute's list of best American films ever made. The British Film Institute voted The Bridge on the River Kwai the 11th greatest British film of the 20th Century.

The movie is almost entirely a work of fiction. Reality was far more grim.

The River Kwai bridge as seen from the tourist plaza (NNE side) in Kanchanburi, Thailand in 2017.

The railway bridge that inspired the movie didn't cross the river known at the time as the Kwai. Boulle — who would later write another novel that turned into a highly successful movie, Planet of the Apes — had worked in Malaya and was interned for a time by the Vichy French in Hanoi where he himself suffered severe hardships and forced labour. However, he had never been to the actual location of the Burma railway.

He knew its route ran parallel to the Kwae River and just assumed that it was the Kwae that it crossed.

The dramatic destruction of the bridge depicted in the film was purely a creation of the screenwriters. In the movie's most dramatic scene the newly-finished bridge is blown up by the British POW Colonel who had built it. That, too, had no parallel in reality.

At the time of its filming, the explosion scene ranked as the most expensive special effects shot in movie history. Rather than use a miniature, the production crew opted to build a full-sized bridge in a valley in Sri Lanka. They wired $50,000 worth of explosives onto the span and to the train that would run along it. Six cameras would cover the shot, one of them aboard the train. The cameramen were to start their cameras and then jump clear of the explosions.

On the first filming attempt, one of the cameramen failed to get away and the explosives weren't triggered: the locomotive was run off the end of the bridge into a pile of sandbags. Two days later, after necessary repairs, the shot was ready again. This time, everything went according to plan: the bridge went up in a spectacular fireball, and the train plunged dramatically into the deep gorge below.

The movie's first two screenwriters had to conceal their identidy because they were on the infamous Hollywood Blacklist for past political views, real or imagined, and were prohibited from working in the US film industry.

One of the seven academy awards the film won was for Best Adapted Screenplay, which put the Academy in an awkward position. It gave the statue to the French author Boulle, who did not speak English. (Foreman and Wilson eventually received Academy Awards as well, posthumously.)

What is true is that in 1943 a railway bridge was built by Allied POWs and Asian forced laborers over the Mae Klong river (which would be renamed "Khwae Yai" in the 1960s following the film's success) at a place called Tha Ma Kham, five kilometres from Kanchanaburi, Thailand.

Actually, two bridges were built: a temporary wooden one and a permanent steel/concrete bridge a few months later. Both bridges were used for two years, until they were destroyed not by saboteurs but by Allied bombers. Neither looked anything like the bridge in the movie. The steel bridge was repaired and is still in use today.

These bridges and many others were critical parts of a 415 km rail line referred to today as the Trans Burma Railway (TBR.) It was constructed starting at its two ends simultaneously: Thanbyuzyat in Burma and Nong Pladuk in Thailand, north to south along the western edge of Indochina, which we now call Southeast Asia.

Once completed, it would link the Thai and Burmese railway systems. Owing to the inhumanely harsh condisions attendant to its construction it also gained the name "Death Railway."

The purpose of the railway was to give the Japanese military a much-needed land route for expanding their supply lines. It was needed to compensate for reversals suffered at sea against resuscitated Allied naval power.

Supposedly many Japanese viewers resented the film's story-line, that incompetent Japanese military engineers had to turn to British expertise to plan and complete the bridge on time. The Japanese were in fact expert engineers. The POWs were nothing to them but manual laborers. The railway was finished ahead of schedule, an extraordinary accomplishment given the extreme conditions, circumstances and terrain.

Dysentery, malaria, beriberi, fungal infections known simply as "jungle rot" and savage cholera epidemics were routine. Over one-fourth of the entire workforce is believed to have died during construction.

At the turn of the 19th century the British had surveyed a for such a rail route but concluded the project was too difficult, costly and dangerous to build through such dense jungle and wild and uneven topography. But pressing strategic needs and an unexpectedly surging POW population (aggregated from victories in Malaya, Singapore and the Philippines) gave the Japanese strong motivation to tackle the challenge.

(Using POWs for war-related work was illegal under the Geneva Conventions, but Japanese General Tomoyuki Yamashita had extracted a promise from British General Arthur Percival, as part of the Singapore surrender terms, that he would not object to what in effect became forced labor.)

One thing the movie got dead right was that the project was built with slave labor including impressed locals and massive numbers of British and U.S. POWs.

An estimated 180,000 and 250,000 Southeast Asian civilian laborers and about 61,000 Allied prisoners of war were subjected to forced labor during construction. Truly accurate figures will never be known. About 90,000 civilian laborers and more than 12,000 Allied prisoners died. This according to Wikipedia reports.

The Thailand-Burma Railway Centre in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, is dedicated to exploring the wider history of the railway. Its estimates are that over 13,000 prisoners of war perished between late 1942 and late 1945, and it calculates the death toll among Asian laborers probably exceeded 100,000.

Everyone agrees the working conditions on the "Death Railway" were beyond appalling. Dysentery, malaria, beriberi, fungal infections known simply as �jungle rot" and savage cholera epidemics were routine. Starvation rations, overwork, poor or no sanitation and systematic brutality on the part of Japanese and Korean engineers and guards were the normal conditions of the day.

Prisoners were described by some observers as nothing more than walking skeletons. Medical facilities and drugs were practically non-existent. Over one-fourth of the entire workforce is believed to have died during the actual construction. At a spot called Konyu, a 500-yard stretch of railroad was laid in a gap that that had to be carved through a mountain ridge by hand with picks and shovels. Of the 1,000 men who began the initial digging, only 100 survived.

From July to October 1943, desperate to finish construction against a deadline, Japanese engineers forced the pace to the point where many men were working virtually around the clock—as much as 62 hours work in a 72-hour period. Rest days were a rarity.

The first POWs to go to Burma were Australians. They worked on airfields and other infrastructure initially before beginning construction of the railway in October 1942. The first POWs to work in Thailand at the southern terminus were British soldiers. More POWs were imported from Singapore and the Dutch East Indies as construction advanced.

Construction camps housing at least 1,000 workers each were established every 5-10 miles (8-17 km) of the route. Workers were moved up and down the railway line as needed.

The real bridge on the "River Kwai" (actually built over the Mae Klong river). Aerial photograph shows severe damage to the middle spans caused by Allied bombing in May 1945.

U.S. POWs represented a very small part of the overall POW contingent of the sixty-some- odd-thousand POWs assigned to the TBR. They came mainly from just two sources, the 2nd Battalion, 131st Field Artillery and the survivors of the sunken Navy ship USS Houston.

Both groups were captured on the island of Java in March 1942. In all, 534 soldiers from the battalion and 368 survivors of the Houston were taken as prisoners of war. They remained so for 42 months until the end of the war. Most of them were sent to Thailand to work on the Railway, Of the 902 soldiers and sailors taken captive, 163 died in captivity.

The parent organization of the 2nd Battalion was the 36th Division, Texas National Guard. The majority of the men in the battalion ranged from 18 to 22 years old. The 2nd Battalion was the only U.S. ground force sent to the Dutch East Indies. The mission was to help the Dutch defend the islands against an invasion, which in fact began February 27, 1942 On March 8, the allies in the Dutch East Indies surrendered and 32,500 soldiers were taken prisoner, mostly Dutch, British, and Australian, and 534 members of the 2nd battalion.

The USS Houston was at sea when the Pacific War began and spent the first two months of the war escorting convoys from Australia to the Dutch East Indies. On February 3, 1942 the Houston was damaged in an air attack at the Battle of Makassar Strait which killed 48 men. The Houston also participated in the Battle of the Java Sea on 27 February before being sunk in the Battle of Sunda Strait, February 28 - March 1, along with the Australian light cruiser HMAS Perth and the Dutch destroyer HNLMS Evertsen. 696 crew members died; the remaining 368 were captured by the Japanese

JJ Karwacki, a retired US Army Colonel living in Kanchanaburi, worked with The Thai-Burma Railway Centre and Museum to to as precisely as possible document the numbers of US POWs who worked on the TBR, the numbers of U.S. deaths and those liberated, name by name. His detailed findings go so far as to identify the cause of death and final resting place of each person in his database.

He puts the number of US POW deaths at 131: 65 from the Army, 62 from the Navy and 4 from the Marines.

The total number of US POWs who labored on the TBR, he concludes, was 779, mostly as noted from the 131st FA and the USS Houston. .

There were also 28 from the 39 survivors of the sinking of the Merchant Marine ship SS Sawokla who were sent to the TBR (all were liberated) plus one civilian volunteer pilot with the Flying Tigers. He likewise survived.

If the ambitious engineering feat pulled off by the Japanese in the Southeast Asian jungle was ruthless and brutal, it was also short lived. When the war ended, the railway was confiscated by the British.

On January 16, 1946, the British ordered Japanese POWs to remove a four-kilometer stretch of rail between Nikki and Sonkrai. The railway link between Thailand and Burma was separated to protect British interests in Singapore. The line was closed completely in 1947, but the section between Nong Pla Duk and Nam Tok was reopened ten years later and still operates to this day.

The British government sold the functioning railway and related materials to the Thai government for 50 million baht ($1,575,746 in current U.S. dollars).

The Burma section was sequentially removed, the rails were gathered in Mawlamyaing, and the roadbed was slowly reclaimed by the jungle.

Hellfire Pass: a railway cutting on the railway noted for harsh conditions and the heavy loss of life suffered during construction. The name was supposedly inspired by the sight of emaciated prisoners laboring at night by torchlight, said to evoke a scene from Hell. Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0

Overall, 30,000 Union and 26,000 Confederate soldiers died in captivity. At Andersonville alone, nearly 13,000 men died over 14 months—an average of more than 30 a day in that span. Following the war its commander, Captain Henry Wirz (1823-65), was tried, convicted and executed for war crimes.

In addition, Andersonville had a population of less than 20 persons, and was, therefore, politically unable to resist the building of such an unpopular facility. So Andersonville was chosen as the site for a prison that would later become infamous in the North for the thousands of prisoners that would die there before the war ended.

After the prison site was selected, Captain Richard B. Winder was sent to Andersonville to construct a prison. Arriving in late December of 1863, Captain Winder adopted a prison design that encompassed roughly 16.5 acres which he felt was large enough to hold 10,000 prisoners. The prison was to be rectangular in shape with a small creek flowing roughly through the center of the compound. The prison was given the name Camp Sumter.

In January of 1864, slaves from local farms were impressed to fell trees and dig ditches for construction of the prison stockade. The stockade enclosure was approximately 1010 feet long and 780 feet wide. The walls of the stockade were constructed of pine logs cut on site, hewn square, and set vertically in a wall trench dug roughly five feet deep. According to historical accounts, the poles were hewn to a thickness of eight to 12 inches and "matched so well on the inner line of the palisades as to give no glimpse of the outer world."

Thomas Nast, German-born American caricaturist considered the "Father of the American Cartoon," created both the Republican Elephant and the Democratic Donkey, not to mention the modern illustrative version of Santa Claus. He also weighed in frequently on the Civil War. President Abraham Lincoln once referred to Nast as "our best recruiting sergeant." This postcard drawing, "Union soldiers in Andersonville prison / The rebel leader, Jeff Davis, at Fortress Monroe," was produced by King & Baird, Printers, Philadelphia, in 1865.

A light fence known as the deadline was erected approximately 19-25 feet inside the stockade wall to demarcate a no-man�s land keeping the prisoners away from the stockade wall. Anyone crossing this line was immediately shot by sentries posted at intervals around the stockade wall.

Cover of Haunted by Atrocity: Civil War Prisons in American Memory. Some 56,000 Union and Confederate soldiers died in military prison camps during the Civil War. The book offers a cautionary tale of how Americans have unconsciously constructed recollections of painful events in ways that protect cherished ideals of myth, meaning, identity, and, ultimately, a deeply rooted faith in American exceptionalism. Tthe author, Benjamin G. Cloyd, teaches history at Hinds Community College in Raymond, Mississippi. Published in 2011, Available in bookstores and online.

Included in the construction of the stockade were two gates positioned along the west stockade line. The gates were described in historic accounts as "small stockade pens, about 30 feet square, built of massive timbers, with heavy doors, opening into the prison on one side and the outside on the other." Each gate contained door-sized entryways.

Prisoners began arriving at the prison in late February of 1864 while it was still under construction. By early June the prison population had climbed to 20,000.

Consequently, it was decided that a larger prison was necessary, and by mid-June work was begun to enlarge the facility. The prison�s walls were extended 610 feet to the north, encompassing an area of roughly 10 acres, bringing the total prison area to 26.5 acres.

The extension was built by a crew of Union prisoners consisting of 100 whites and 30 African Americans in about 14 days. On July 1, the northern extension was opened to the prisoners who subsequently tore down the original north stockade wall, then used the timbers for fuel and building materials. By August, over 33,000 Union prisoners were held in the 26.5 acre prison.

Due to the threat of Union raids (Sherman�s troops were marching on Atlanta), General Winder ordered the building of defensive earthworks and a middle and outer stockade around the prison. Construction of the earthworks began July 20th. These earthworks consisted of Star Fort located southwest of the prison, a redoubt located northwest of the north gate, and six redans.

The middle and outer stockades were hastily constructed of unhewn pine logs set vertically in wall trenches that were about four feet deep. The middle stockade posts projected roughly 12 feet above the ground surface and encircled the inner prison stockade as well as the corner redans. The outer stockade, which was never completed, was meant to encompass the entire complex of earthworks and stockades. The posts of the outer stockade extended about five feet above the ground surface.

By early September, Sherman�s troops had occupied Atlanta and the threat of Union raids on Andersonville prompted the transfer of most of the Union prisoners to other camps in Georgia and South Carolina. By mid-November, all but about 1500 prisoners had been shipped out of Andersonville, and only a few guards remained to police them. Transfers to Andersonville in late December increased the numbers of prisoners once again, but even then the prison population totaled only about 5000 persons.

The number of prisoners at the prison would remain this low until the war ended in April of 1865. During the 15 months during which Andersonville was operated, almost 13,000 Union prisoners died there of malnutrition, exposure, and disease; Andersonville became synonymous with the atrocities which both North and South soldiers experienced as prisoners of war.

After the war ended, the plot of ground near the prison where nearly 13,000 Union soldiers had been buried was administered by the United States government as a National Cemetery. The prison reverted to private hands and was planted in cotton and other crops until the land was acquired by the Grand Army of the Republic of George in 1891. During their administration, stone monuments were constructed to mark various portions of the prison including the four corners of the inner stockade and the North and South Gates.

On April 9, 1865, Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered his forces to Ulysses S. Grant, Commanding General of the Union Army, at Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia, an act that effectively ended the Civil War. The following month, Henry Wirz, Andersonville's commander was arrested for the murder of soldiers incarcerated at the prison during the war.

Captain Wirz had overseen an operation in which thousands of inmates died. His trial lasted two months. More than 100 witnesses were called to testify. But he was, historians agree, in part a scapegoat. Throughout his tenure, he was given few resources to work with, and as the Confederacy faltered, its soldiers starving and dying from injury and disease, food and medicine for Wirtz's prisoners grew almost impossible to come by.

He was executed by hanging in Washington, D.C., on November 10, 1865, Wirz reportedly said to the officer in charge, "I know what orders are, Major. I am being hanged for obeying them." The 41-year-old Wirz was one of the few people convicted and executed for crimes committed during the Civil War.

In her book, We Band of Angels, Elizabeth Norman describes the Army nurses who served on Bataan and Corregidor, and after the surrender of Corregidor were transferred to Santo Tomas Internment Camp. On Bataan their field hospitals were sometimes clearings in the jungle subjected to Japanese artillery fire. Just before Bataan fell, the nurses were evacuated to Corregidor, where they served in the hospital wards buried in the tunnels and subjected to heavy Japanese artillery.

When Corregidor surrendered on May 6, 1942, the men captured, including military and civilians, were marched through the streets of Manila to Bilibid, the old Spanish prison which the American Federal Bureau of Prisons had declared unsuitable and had started to tear down before the war.

From there they were transferred to Camp O�Donnell, Cabanatuan, and eventually back to Bilibid for transport on the Hell Ships to the slave labor camps in Japan, Korea, and Manchuria. But what to do with the women nurses was a dilemma for the Japanese, and they chose to imprison them with the civilians in Santo Tomas Internment Camp.

On July 2, 1942, the 68 captured Army nurses arrived at Santo Tomas from Corregidor and were temporarily isolated in the dormitory of the Santa Catalina Hospital across the street from the main campus. Shortly afterwards, the Japanese Commandant approved the rental of Santa Catalina as a hospital for the camp.

Joining the 12 Navy nurses who had been interned in Santo Tomas since March 8, the Army nurses were assigned to staff the Santa Catalina hospital as well as the isolation hospital inside the camp and assist at various clinics. In May of 1943, the Navy nurses all transferred to join in organizing the Los Banos Camp.

For the first two years, the medical staff within the camp included doctors and nurses from outside the camp, and with the ability to transfer patients to Manila General Hospital and other hospitals outside the camp, the medical staff was able to work effectively, though with a chronic shortage of medications.

In early 1944, the Japanese forbade any outside doctors or nurses to enter the camp. This put a strain on the camp doctors and nurses, which was further exacerbated by a lack critical medication and surgical supplies. This would have been a greater crisis if not for the presence of the Army nurses, who had to take on the added burden of the outside nurses who were no longer permitted into the camp.

On February 3, 1945, the night of liberation, the flying column arrived with some casualties incurred on their way into Santo Tomas and during the firefight that ensued when the Japanese took hostages in the Education Building. The Army nurses assisted the Army doctors and corpsmen in operating on these troopers and providing other medical assistance.

Their assistance was also invaluable during the Japanese shelling of the camp, which resulted in the deaths of 21 people and wounding of 100 more.

On February 9, 100 new Army Nurses flew in from Leyte to relieve them. The ones who had been in Santo Tomas remained on duty with the new nurses to help orient them.

Then on February 12, while the Battle of Manila was raging just a little over a mile away, they boarded an Army truck and were taken to a temporary airstrip for their flight to Leyte. The group of 71 included 67 nurses, the physical therapist, the dietician, and the Red Cross representative, plus the Lt. Col. in charge of the nurses.

Many internees were there to see their departure from camp and to cheer them and wish them luck. They boarded a C-46, which developed engine trouble and landed on Mindoro. There they changed to two planes, which landed at the Tacloban Air Strip, where they were taken to a convalescent hospital.

Some of the nurses were hospitalized due to malnutrition and fatigue, but the rest stayed at the convalescent hospital located on a wide, spacious beach. There they were issued the latest nurses uniforms, which were quite different from what they had before, which delighted them.

They had been wearing the same shirts and skirts that had been made by the Quartermaster on Corregidor, supplemented by a few items they had picked up during internment.

Arriving in the States, they realized that they had so much to catch up with and to learn, what with advances in medicine and surgery that had been made during the war. They had missed a lot; now they would have time to absorb and understand those advances and to continue with their careers.

But the nation still remembers the angels as they were and the way they distinguished themselves in their service even when they were prisoners of the Japanese.

Reprinted from "Beyond the Wire," May 2018 Angus Lorenzen, Commander bacepow@earthlink.net

“In the fall of 2017 two events caught my eye: a news item in the Manchester Guardian and a PBS program announcement.

The Guardian reported that more than 30 of Saudi Arabia�s most senior and elite figures, among them blood relatives of senior rulers, were locked inside the five-star Riyadh Ritz-Carlton hotel, accused of corruption." This news gave me one of those Yogi Berra moments: "It's d�j� vu all over again." For it was 50 years since I had been checked into Hanoi�s Maison Centrale for a six year�s stay as a Yankee Air Pirate, Blackest of All the Criminals in the DRV. And any time PBS claims to be executing a "documentary" it is guaranteed to be a screed slanted against our country.

In 1965 one of the earliest North Vietnam shoot-downs (Bob Shumaker?) made the facetious and infelicitous designation of the Maison Centrale as "The Hanoi Hilton." To the citizenry of Hanoi it was the Hoa Lo Prison; ostensibly so-called for being located where pottery furnaces used to be. However it was really so tagged by the slang usage of Hoa Lo as "fiery furnace" referring to the prison�s reputation for miserable treatment of those incarcerated therein for over the past 100 years.

At the time I arrived (1/ 6/1967), as I found out later, it housed in addition to administrative personnel and their families, US & RVN prisoners, female civilians, crooks, street people and political prisoners. As far as Maison Centrale went, a Hilton Hotel it was not; five stars were not even in the firmament.

Striped PJs: POWs called them "Mess Dress"

Every wound on my body was the direct result of the Check-In process. There were puncture wounds on the back of my wrists that went to the bone, inflicted by the primitive gear and screw handcuffs they used to immobilize my hands.

Where the ropes were tied across my elbows my left arm was cut to the muscle and the right elbow to the bone as a result of the sawing motion they used to apply force the various parts of the body.

I have those scars with me even to this day. The shackles and bar arrangement they used to immobilize my legs tore away the skin to bone at both ankles. No one of these injuries in themselves or in combination was life threatening until all six became infected.

At that point my survival was in the hands of God.

To counter the results of the trauma I decided to check out of my accommodations. Physical escape was not in the cards. However I was able to disassociate.

It took a while to develop this talent. I started by talking to various parts of my body commiserating with them. I scolded the pain saying that we were well aware that something was out of whack and we needed no more prompts.

My favorite perch was up on the ceiling where I could look down on myself and observe what was going on with me or, if in the Knobby Room, what was being done to me. I became a master of critical evaluation regarding my interrogators' and torturers' techniques.

"Christmas time was coming, and one guy in our room suggested that we start saving our food for the holidays.

Then the idea came to us to make a cake for Christmas day. Each of us gave something from our parcels such as powdered milk, chocolate, sugar, or salt.

When Christmas day finally arrived we were ready to clebrate. We had lots of food and a big, beautiful Christmas cake.

WASHINGTON � Twenty-one bells rang out Thursday at the National World War II Memorial in Washington, paying tribute to those who were killed at Pearl Harbor 76 years ago when the empire of Japan attacked an unsuspecting nation and kicked off America�s involvement in World War II.

Few of those who were at Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, are still alive; only a handful were able to attend the memorial ceremony at which Washington Redskins president Bruce Allen and other dignitaries extolled their virtues and celebrated their heroism.

Not many of the veterans were able to walk unassisted around the monument�s perimeter as they placed wreaths at the foot of the inscription that reads"Here we mark the price of freedom." Still, it�s an event that most said they�d attend again.

"I wish sometimes that I could live down here," said retired Senior Master Sgt. Harry Allen about the monument."I was here for the dedication, and I�ll come back every time.

A member of the military color guard passes by the Lincoln Memorial as the guard retires the colors toward the end of a wreath-laying ceremony held in Washington, D.C., as part of the remembrance for the 76th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Allen served in the Army during the war, and switched to the Air Force later on. On Thursday he was able to catch up with other vets. During and after the official ceremony, they grouped together, chatted and spent more than a little time talking to well-wishers, curious young people and folks just wanting to shake the hand of a bona fide war hero.

That interaction with the public is important to keeping the history of war fresh in people�s minds, said one veteran, and is a large part of why he shows up to these types of events.

"It�s a real pleasure to come out here and join them," said retired Army Col. Frederick Clinton, who fought across the French and German fronts in 1944-1945.

Like many at the time, Clinton lied about his age to join the military. At 16, he was already working a full-time job repairing aircraft wings for the Navy. When the other young men in town began to join the fight, he knew he had to as well.

"War was going on, I wanted to do my part," he said. That part extended past his initial enlistment � past World War II and into Korea, where he turned down a battlefield promotion since it hinged on him remaining in the infantry. He had had enough of that life, and became an adjutant general officer instead.

Like Allen, Clinton enjoyed attending the ceremony. It was somber, to be sure, but it was also a way for those being honored to connect with other veterans and to help keep the memory of those who died alive.

(Photo gallery of at Stars and Stripes website. Click here.)

Horses have been an integral part of military history for thousands of years, in and out of battle. For the most part, many of these practices have been phased out. (Although it should be noted that for the first time since WWII and the cessation of the Cavalry, at the beginning of Operation Enduring Freedom American soldiers on horses were inserted into the mountains of Northern Afghanistan.)

However, one of the most familiar and compelling rituals involving horses endures: their visually haunting participation in a Full Military Honors funeral. The elegant precision, memorable beauty and professional majesty of these horse units deserve further investigation.

Most prominent are the members of the Caisson platoon of the 3d United States Infantry "The Old Guard." Located at Joint Base Myer/Henderson Hall (Ft. Myer), The Old Guard is a remarkable volunteer unit, the Army�s oldest infantry regiment, dating to 1784. It is responsible for military ceremonies at The White House, the Pentagon and at national memorials; maintains the 24/7 vigil at the Tomb of the Unknowns; and serves as mounted escort for funerals at Arlington National Cemetery.

Utilization of the Caisson Platoon is an honor reserved for officers of the U.S. military who are eligible for burial or inurnment] The horses are saddle-broken when received, but the soldiers are infantrymen, not usually trained horsemen; both undergo rigorous training.

Each horse gets a daily pre-dawn shower: some love it, some merely tolerate it, and some consider it a time to"horse around." The soldier dries, grooms and prepares his horse to be hitched up to the caisson, taking several hours (starting at 0400 hours). The Army has a designation of Caisson Soldiers with the Additional Skill Identifier D2 - Army Horseman. The unit is relatively self-supporting and even trains soldiers as farriers (skilled combination of a blacksmith and part veterinarian for all those equine hoof problems). Full vet facilities are available close-by.

Soldiers enjoy long but apparently fulfilling hours in their weekly alternating stints, taking care of the horses and the equipment, and ceremonial duties. Most horses live at Ft. Myer but some rest during off-weeks at nearby Ft. Belvoir. The platoon is comprised of 4 riding teams, roughly 50 service men and women, and about 60 horses, all observed by a watchful stable-resident black tabby cat called Rihanna.

The 5 black caissons, built in 1918, and used for 75mm cannons, were originally equipped with ammunition chests, spare wheels, and tools. Today these have been removed and replaced with the flat deck on which the casket rests. For cremains, the urn may be placed in an elevated niche at the casket back which is covered by the flag. For casket security, they are currently replacing brass tabs; the paint and other accoutrements are kept immaculate.

The two on-duty teams at any given time consist of seven horses, six of whom pull the caisson. Horses, matched gray (or"white") or black (or dark brown), used to be purchased or bred by the Army, but now come through donations (e.g., 7 elegant Spanish Riding Stable Lipizzaners were given to the Army in 1981 by Temple Smith, Jr. of IL). Each team has one Section Horse; two Lead Horses (second most experienced); Two Swing Horses (least experienced, in the middle); and Two Wheel Horses (most experienced, nearest the caisson, acting as brakes, (e.g., Lee and Grant tried to stop a runaway caisson and were injured some years ago).

All seven are saddled, but only the three on the left side and the Section Horse (which is the guide horse) are ridden. In war, the three without mounts would have held supplies, feed or were intended as replacements. The horses may mischievously roll their eyes or nip at one another while being prepared, but once hooked up and work starts, they are categorically all business. One of the oldest and most evocative of military traditions in a full honor funeral is that of the rider less, caparisoned ("cap" or ornamented horse).

It is said that this dates back to the time of Genghis Khan, the saddle being empty and the rider�s boots reversed in the stirrups, signifying that the service member would never ride again (the ancient ceremony also involved sacrificing the horse for burial alongside the deceased warrior). The riderless horse is now authorized for Army and Marines burials for those of the rank of COL and above. A service member escort carries the deceased�s colors with the unit.

Riderless horses participated in the funerals of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, according to various histories and The Washington Post in February 2016. Other sources note that Lincoln was the first to have a caparisoned horse, although Tobias Lear, Washington�s personal secretary recorded that Washington�s horse was part of his funeral. Similarly, Zachary Taylor�s personal horse, Old Whitey, was in his funeral procession.

Perhaps the best known equine member of the Caisson Platoon of the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard) was the coal black Morgan-American Quarter Horse Cross named for GEN John J. (Black Jack) Pershing. Foaled in KS, January 19, 1947, he was said to be"sleek, beautiful, fiery and sometimes hard to manage."

He arrived as a 6-year old at Ft. Myer from the Ft. Reno, OK cavalry remount station. He was the last of the Quartermaster-issue horses branded with the U.S. Army brand on his left shoulder and his Army serial number 2V56 on the left side of his neck. Black Jack served in more than a thousand funerals (mostly at Arlington), but is perhaps best known as the compelling rider-less horse at state funerals including John F. Kennedy (1963), Herbert Hoover (1964), Lyndon B. Johnson (1973), and General Douglas MacArthur (1964).

The horse unit and caisson were also used for Washington portions of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt funeral in 1945, and the Dwight David Eisenhower funeral in March 1969.

For the mourning, assassination-stunned nation watching the Kennedy funeral on TV, Black Jack and his remarkable spirit would symbolize the event�s aura. According to an article by a Pentagram reporter, on the day of that funeral, his handler (who had been with him in 70 funerals), said he was particularly unruly and nearly uncontrollable. Spooked by a loud noise as a caisson wheel snagged on a large steel grate as they passed the Treasury Department, the horse also stepped on the handler�s foot at St. Matthews Cathedral, and remained agitated throughout the procession.

One of his greatest admirers was Jacqueline Kennedy, who asked the Secretary of the Army if she could purchase him when he retired. Her request was acknowledged; she later received his caparison, which included his saddle, bridle, saddle blanket, sword, boots and spurs. However, when not working, the horse was known in the barn as a"ham," putting on a show when a child or camera was present. Thousands swarmed to his fan club and even baked him his favorite butter pecan birthday cakes, fed him sugar cubes and generally fussed over him to his delight. Richard Nixon sent him a birthday card.

He retired in 1973, his health deteriorating. Following his death in February 1976, some 400 people attended the funeral. His cremains were carried on the caisson he had led so many times. He was buried with Full Military Honors on Summerall Field, a parade site usually reserved for senior retirements, near the flagpole, with a special horseshoe configuration of shrubs and a bas-relief headstone. Several books were written about him including Robert Knuckle�s Black Jack: Americans Famous Riderless Horse (2002).

The riderless horse tapped for Ronald Reagan�s funeral in June 2004 was Sergeant York, a black 15-hands Standardbred gelding with bright eyes and a roached mane (making him look a bit like Opie Taylor on The Andy Griffith Show, apologies to Ron Howard).

He started out life with the insipid name of Allaboard Jules who"tried hard" but had had a rather lackluster career until 1996 (in 3 years, won 5 of 23 starts) at Freehold Raceway in NJ. Donated to the Army in 1997, he had an undeniably engaging personality, but at the first, he was said to be"more Gomer Pyle than George Patton."

Since he was stabled with other horses with historically relevant names such as the two brothers Grant and Lee, who had already made themselves known for excellence, the Old Guard soldiers gave Jules a much more suitable name (for the WWI hero Sgt. Alvin C. York). The skinny new arrival needed to bulk up a bit. In describing his stable behavior, it was said that whenever there were visitors, he would stick his head into the aisle and shake it in circles to get attention for a pat.

His initial goofiness morphed into a more enduring gentle charm, although he (like many of his stablemates), continued to mug for the cameras. He came to love his new home where he was decidedly the"king", even in retirement; and developed into a master of all responsibilities from pulling marriage carriages to pageants and parades, and was never distracted. He became more and more professional in demeanor and accepted all responsibilities with grace and class. See http://www.equisearch.com.

Of more recent horses, Freedom is a 12 year old cream-colored Quarter Horse gelding at 15.2 hands, acquired in 2010 as a therapeutic riding horse at the Ft. Belvoir Training Facility. He had to be retired from caisson duty when he was diagnosed with uveal cysts of his eye; put up for adoption, he is now living with 27 year old Jenna Sears in King George County, VA, where he will be used for casual trail riding.

Kennedy is a 15-year old black Standardbred gelding at 14.3 hands. Purchased after retiring from racing and groomed to be a caisson horse, he impressed all who encountered him with his professionalism and elegance as the riderless horse. However, in time, Kennedy developed the habit of kicking soldiers as well as the occasional car tire, so he was retired from service and put up for adoption.

An article in The Washington Post on July 12, 2016 noted that Kennedy had just been adopted by a former caisson soldier, Carroll Urzendowski, at Ft. Polk, LA., whose family includes his wife, 3 and 4 year old kids, and an 85 acre ranch in TX. Urzendowski described Kennedy as"interesting: Let�s say he will take advantage of his handler if the handler allows him to .... It�s like raising a child." He intends to stop the hoof pawing business by getting Kennedy to trust him again and giving him something else to think about.

Quincy is an 11 year-old black Quarter Horse gelding. He briefly worked in the caisson group, and is known for being approachable and loving with visitors, particularly children. In the funeral processions, Quincy usually walked at the front or in the middle position. Articles featuring Quincy note that he seems to know when someone is praising him, to which he responds by nodding, a gesture that is similar to what he gives when they play music in the barn. His stall was next to Kennedy�s.

Quincy developed sore feet (diagnosed as navicular disease, requiring a special therapeutic shoe and medications), was retired and made available for adoption. The Post�s July piece noted that Quincy had just been adopted by Sean Sutton and Kristen Whittaker, a veteran and his wife with a 7 and a 10 year old at Whit Acres Farm in MA. Quincy�s new digs include automatic fly spraying in summer, heated barn in winter, a padded stall and 7 other permanent horse residents and 5 or more boarders receiving veterinary care.

In the long list of larger-than-life Arlington military horses, Klinger is unique. A black Percheron Morgan Cross Breed with a white star on his forehead, Klinger weighs 1,400 pounds and stands 16 hands high. He was born on a farm in Lamar, IA and worked there until he was 3 years old when he was donated to the Caisson Platoon (March 2003).

In 2010, Betsy Beard [who lost her only son Army Specialist Bradley S. Beard in Operation Iraqi Freedom in 2004] of the nonprofit Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS) lovingly wrote a fictionalized version of his story, Klinger: A Story of Honor and Hope (ISBN #978-0-578-05431-5, published by TAPS with the help of the American Legion Child Welfare Foundation).

She made special note of the extraordinary bond that had developed between this special horse and the children and mentors of the TAPS Good Grief Camp who had begun to visit the stables at Ft. Myer during the annual TAPS seminar. (The book is suitable for both children and adults, is beautifully illustrated by Shelley Johannes, and may be purchased on the secondary market).

In describing the award-winning small book, Deborah Mullen, wife of former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff ADM Mike Mullen (who gave a copy of the book to England�s Queen Elizabeth II), said:"Klinger is a beautiful touching story, and written so simply, yet managing to capture the sadness, the pride, the honor — and more. Every American should read this book."

Klinger, one of the largest of the horses, was also one of the most gentle and soon became a favorite. Klinger has served as the Wheel Horse closest to the caisson and as the Section Horse, leading the others through the cemetery. Inducted in 2012 to the Equus Foundation Horse Stars Hall of Fame, Klinger has become a celebrity around Washington, having participated in more than 5,000 burial ceremonies, led Presidential Inaugural Parades, and has been the repeated guest of honor at the Washington International Horse Show Kids Day which established the Klinger Award in 2012.

The sometimes mischievous Klinger (many will remember the favorite actor Jamie Farr�s Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, of M*A*S*H) is an easy-going giant who loves visitors and sometimes lets soldiers sit on him when he is lying down. Klinger patiently worked with the wounded warriors undergoing Equine Assisted Psychotherapy Program at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.

It is worth mentioning that Arlington National Cemetery is not the only facility that reveres and well uses their equine soldiers�one perfect recent collateral example was the horse who drew the caisson at the September 2015 Andersonville POW Museum and Cemetery burial ceremony for 13,000 POWS. The earnest hard working white horse, named Traveler, was purchased in Georgia from the Amish in Ohio who had trained him. According to Charles Barr, Cemetery Administrator in correspondence with Florida�s Jim"Moe" Moyer of The Ride Home, Traveler worked the funeral in association with the Hall County Sheriff�s Department Honor Guard team, pulling the caisson on which rested the pine casket containing child-made individual 13,000 stars.

When an Army caisson horse is retired from caisson duty, and if no other equestrian military units need his services, he may go on the literally greener pastures, as part of the adoption process. The Defense Reutilization and Marketing Office, in association with the 3d U.S. Infantry Regiment�s Caisson Horse Adoption program ensure that the horses are all placed for free in good homes and are well cared for in retirement from military service. This is not an insubstantial commitment for the adopter.

The program publishes horses ready for retirement to a Website, identifies potential adopters, and selects the best candidate. The specifics of the Caisson Horse Adoption Program is governed by October 14, 2014, The Old Guard Regimental Policy Letter #17 — Caisson Horse Adoption. Details are found at Caisson Horse Adoption Application to be sent to usarmy.jbmhh.mdw.mbx.tog-pao@mail.mil.

In the most recent cases of Kennedy and Quincy, the press became involved, thousands of individuals posted messages, and 25 families applied for each horse showing a willingness to accept quite a responsibility. A vigorous vetting process is undertaken including site visits after review of the extensive questionnaire responses.

These huge, valiant proficient four-legged soldiers are known as consummate professionals when at work; they hold heads high, remain unperturbed (by flapping flags, cannons and planes, guns, kids, noise and sundry frights), are calm and motionless for hours and diligently perfect the routine of 8 funerals a day.

They must be unexcitable but alert, and have steady nerves. They are bright, clever, occasionally moody, beautiful and often funny, and tend to be playful or mischievous when bored...well rounded soldiers who honor others with their expert precision and presence.

The bonds between these horses, each other and their human associates are extraordinary.

There is much written about the noble horse, but two adages seem appropriate in this context: An old Yiddish proverb states:"The wagon rests in winter; the sleigh in summer; the horse never"; and an old Arabian proverb similarly notes:"The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse�s ears."