THOUGHTS ON VETERANS DAY

 

 

I'm going out on a limb here, but bear with me. Memorial Day and Veterans Day always involve reflexive tributes to those who "defended our freedom."

But there's a huge difference between freedom and security, and we should not confuse the two. Absent Britain long ago, no foreign enemy has possessed the ability to deprive us of our freedom. The Soviets could've destroyed us, but they couldn't conquer us. And in the world wars the enemy couldn't even get here.

Only Americans can deprive Americans of their freedom(s), and frequently it appears that some of them are succeeding. But here's the thing: generations of Americans have left these shores bound for places some of them never heard of, risking and often losing their lives TO RETURN FREEDOM TO CONQUERED NATIONS WHO HAD LOST IT. That is a magnificent testament to the character of the American nation, and IMO it does not get one tiny smidgen of the recognition it deserves, hence this post.

A heartfelt salute to those who served over the centuries, in war or in peace, and often both.

Family Ties

 

Most readers can tell similar stories to my family. My mother joined the Daughters of the American Revolution on Captain John Parker who commanded the Lexington, Massachusetts, militia on 19 April 1775, and Colonel James Barrett at Concord.  My mother had a cousin named Parker Barrett.

 

My father’s family included Lieutenant Colonel Tench Tilghman, George Washington’s aide from 1775, who took word of the momentous victory at Yorktown, Virginia, to Congress in Philadelphia in 1781.  It’s significant that Tench’s father remained a crown loyalist and a brother became an officer in the Royal navy. 

 

 

In the Civil War the families again parted ways.  Based on geography the Tilghmans/Tillmans went for the Confederacy by 8 to 1 although at least four died wearing the blue. The Barretts, on the other hand, were from Maine. 

 

As a lifelong shooter I grew up knowing of Sergeant (then Corporal) Alvin York’s combat marksmanship in October 1918.  But not until I saw the 1941 Gary Cooper movie did I realize that one of York’s commanding officers was Captain, later Major, James M. Tilghman from Georgia.

 

Meanwhile, a cherished friend is a retired vice (three-star) admiral who spent a typical amount of time away from home.  He says, “We have a lot of unsung veterans among us we need to also honor on this day.  These are our wives and kids.

 

“We held a ceremony of sorts this morning at this senior facility where the wife and I now reside.  We have five World War II veterans residing here, one being a WAVE Yeoman, and a lot from Korea and Vietnam. I am the senior military veteran in rank, so was given the opportunity to say a few words. 

 

“My words pointed out that our families were also veterans, mentioning the fact my wife orchestrated 30 moves in 40 years, including four ocean crossings and a lot of cross the USA moves, while I flitted from one assignment to another.  This included raising two great kids, who had as many as three schools in one year on one occasion, and whose lives were constantly in motion.  I owe my career to Doree and the kids.”

 

Forgotten Nurses

 

Recently there’s been discussion of issuing a Congressional Gold Medal honoring the 74,000 U.S. military nurses in World War II.  My wife’s aunt was one of 59,000 Army nurses, and the Navy had 14,000.  Together they served in the States and abroad, in field hospitals, evacuation centers, on hospital ships, and as flight nurses.  (My favorite example is the fetching young lady supervising loading a C-47 transport, accessorizing with a Colt .45 pistol in a shoulder holster.)

 

The official figure is 241 who died on active duty, 201 Army personnel.  Sixty-seven Army nurses –“The angels of Bataan”--were captured when Manila fell in 1942, remaining until freed in early 1945.

 

As of this month, five are known living, all well over 100 years of age.

 

Presumably medical facilities and personnel were immune to attack owing to international conventions.  But some nations—notably Japan—ignored such protection.  On a clear April night in 1945 the hospital ship Comfort steamed near Okinawa, illuminated as a noncombatant and painted white with red crosses on the hull.  Then a single Japanese plane passed overhead, came back for another look, and dived into Comfort’s superstructure, killing 28 people including six nurses.

 

Draftees to Volunteers

 

Within living memory, the height of American patriotism undoubtedly was the Second World War—“the good war”--although that pool is rapidly draining.  (I lost my last World War II veteran this year, a 103-year-old naval aviator).  However, even amid that four-year crisis, over 60 percent of military personnel were drafted. 

 

The U.S. military has been all-volunteer since January 1973, the month of the Vietnam War cease fire (predictably resumed two years later when Hanoi’s army smashed into Saigon and conquered the South.)

 

Since then, recruiting has waxed and waned.  The services struggled with serious shortfalls especially from 1999 to 2022, when enlistments hit a 40-year low.  This year, with patriotism surging again, every branch expects to exceed its goal.  Interviews show a significant reason is patriotism and return of “the warrior ethos” after years of tepid leadership from uniformed sociologists. 

 

For years, recruiters have noted the appeal of martial masculinity among young Hispanic males. Recent figures show 18 percent in the army—matching all branches combined--and 27 percent in the Marine Corps.

 

Today’s troops are tomorrow’s veterans, and they earn our respect now—and later.

THE OK CORRAL PLUS 144

 

The 26^th of this month was the 144^th anniversary of the classic Old West Gunfight, the Shootout at the OK Corral.

 

What follows is a pistoliferous author’s take on the subject.

 

But first, my immodest credentials:

 

I’ve shot thousands of rounds from single-action Colts and clones in .44-40 and .45 Long Colt, on the clock.  Got tolerably good at it back in the day as a life member of the Single Action Shooting Society (SASS).  During the late 90s when I was in my prime (yeahright) I led the national championship team/posse and finished in the top 10 percent individually.

 

The OK Corral shootists used various modes of carry.  Some—notably the Clanton gang’s Cowboys—wore holsters while the Earps mostly carried hoglegs in a pocket or waistband.  The latter methods do not enhance speed, as hammer spurs and front sights can snag.

 

I just mention the foregoing to establish my bona fides.

 

Nowthen:

 

As per Prof. Bill O’Neal’s essential Encyclopedia of Western Gunfighters, from 1857 to 1924 there were a few hundred dustups over those 60 years.  (The last year is significant to me because it was when my distant kinsman and SASS alias Marshal William “Billy” Tilghman was murdered by a drunken federal prohibition agent.)

 

Arizona logged 60 shootouts in the study period, obviously averaging one a year.  Texas won going away with 160, followed by Kansas and New Mexico with about 70 each.

 

In 1881 Arizona was second overall with seven gunfights, barely behind New Mexico and just ahead of Texas.       

 

The political-economic dispute between the Clanton-McLaury faction and the Earp faction needn’t divert us.  We’re concerned with the immediate factors attending the Shootout at the OK Corral.  (Which, incidentally, was a fur piece from the corral/stable, but editors decided that The Shootout at the OK Corral sounded a lot juicier than The Shootout Behind C.S. Fly’s Photo Studio.)

 

A sidebar:

 

Folks wonder how the corral got its name.  Some clever Googling showed that it stood for “Old Kindersley,” though how owner John Montgomery arrived at that decision seems unknown. The shooting venue was a narrow, vacant lot reported at 15 to 18 feet wide.  Call it six yards; maybe seven or eight paces. Which bears upon our story.

 

Back to the event:

 

The Tombstone lawdogs--Wyatt, Morgan, and Virgil Earp with Dr. John Holliday bearing a shotgun—confronted miscreant Ike Clanton and some of his Cowboys who were carrying in violation of civic ordinance.  (Apparently Second Amendment concerns did not arise.)  Ike had said repeatedly that he intended to kill some Earps.

 

Originally the four lawmen faced six Cowboys.  After some back-and-forthing at a reputed six feet, Wyatt and Billy Clanton simultaneously opened the ball, and the fight was on.

 

When the Earps began firing, Billy Clanton and Frank McLaury were hit immediately.  Morgan shot Billy point-blank, knocking him down.  Seconds later Billy’s right wrist was broken so he gamely shifted to his left hand, firing from the ground.

 

Billy Clanton missed Wyatt, who prioritized Frank McLaury, considered a dangerous shooter.

 

Ike Clanton rushed up to Wyatt, pleading for an end to the violence.  According to most accounts, Wyatt pushed him back saying, approximately, “The fight’s started, get to fightin’ or get away!”  Ike fled, as did Billy Claiborne and Wes Fuller, leaving three against four.

 

In the flurry of shooting, Morgan took a hit and went down but his blood was up.  He rebounded, remaining in the fight.

 

Tom McLaury, who possibly was unarmed, stood behind his horse with a rifle in the scabbard.  He tried to unlimber the Winchester but when the horse spooked, Doc unloaded his shotgun into him, sending Frank reeling into Fremont Street where he died.

 

Doc dropped his scattergun and pulled his revolver, shooting at Ike who hastily followed Wyatt’s advice.

                                                                                                  

As per Wyatt’s concern, Frank McLaury (and probably with the fatally wounded Billy Clanton) shot Doc and Morgan.  Then, pulling his horse by the reins, Frank staggered into the street, still shooting, then was killed by a head shot, likely from Doc.

 

By most accounts, in about 30 seconds the three Cowboys were dead or dying while Virgil, Morgan, and Doc were wounded. 

 

Hits and Misses

 

Doctors examined the three Cowboys’ bodies, finding that

 

Billy Clanton was hit three times.  He lingered awhile, reportedly asking that his boots be removed, as he had promised his mother he would not die with his boots on.

 

Frank McLaury was hit in the torso and killed by a round near the right ear, the most difficult shot of the fight although the distance is uncertain.

 

Tom McLaury’s 12 buckshot wounds measured four inches across, indicating that Doc fired from 12 to 15 feet. (Modern buckshot spreads an inch per yard.)

 

The Tombstone Epitaph headlined: “Three men hurled into Eternity in Duration of a Moment.”  But the incident did not gain public traction until 1931 with Stuart Edward Lake’s biography of Wyatt, who died in 1929.

 

Otherwise:

 

So: how many rounds were loaded in seven shootists’ revolvers?  (There’s some question whether Tom McLaury was heeled but let’s assume he was.)  Frontier wisdom held that you carried a six-shooter with five rounds loaded, hammer down on the empty sixth chamber for safety reasons.

 

So, let’s assume at least 35 loaded pistol rounds plus Doc’s double-barrel.  We know that of the reputed 30-plus rounds fired, the Earps scored five pistol hits plus the shotgun blast to Tom McLaury.

 

The Cowboys—probably limited to Frank McLaury and Billy Clanton—hit three lawmen once each.

 

That’s a combined total of eight hits among the reputed thirty, a 26 percent ratio.  The ranges largely were at conversational distances, from near muzzle contact to no greater than 15 of the 18-foot-wide lot.

 

Actually, 26 percent isn’t bad within the broader context.  Start with an adrenaline spike, in-your-face lethal stress, some marginal marksmanship skills, plus a cloud of black powder smoke, and you have some idea of the factors.  In the 1880s hardly anyone shot pistols two-handed, as do most SASS competitors who can cock a Colt really fast with the thumb of the support hand.

 

In recent years police gunfight hit rates vary considerably, though there’s no national database.  New York for instance stopped reporting misses around 2006 but NYPD’s figure from 1998 until then ran from 18 to 37 percent, including incidents with no return gunfire.

THE ROUND-UP PLUS 80

  

Following August’s reprise of the August 1945 atomic bombings that ended World War II, I’m devoting this month’s retrospective to the sudden onset of peace.  With a very personal view.  It's excerpted from my 2023 history August 1945: When the Shooting Stopped.  Far as I know, it's the only one-volume account of global events in that world-shaping month.

 

==

 

Beverly Jean Barrett was a princess on the Pendleton, Oregon, Round-Up court in September 1945. A 25-year-old green-eyed brunette, she rode a large sorrel horse called Jimmy who enjoyed ice cream cones and the occasional hamburger. During the week-long rodeo, she and her friends became acquainted with some naval aviators who attended the event with all the innovative enthusiasm of Frederick Wakeman’s wartime novel, Shore Leave.

 

Beverly explained, “The ’45 event was the first full-scale rodeo since the war, and a lot of boys were home from the service. It was and is the major event in Umatilla County every year, and my family had been involved since it began in 1910.”

 

On the first day – Wednesday, September 12 – the queen and court rode into the arena, waving to the crowd in the grandstand, and went to the box seats. Beverly recalled, “We were just sitting down when I heard a sudden, loud noise. I turned around just in time to see a fighter plane swooping down into the arena and pulling up on the other side. There were American flags all around the top row, so I don’t know how the pilot missed any of the poles. He was very low.”

 

That was just the beginning. The miscreant aviator was about 50 air miles off track from NAS Pasco, Washington, across the Columbia River. Pasco was home to part of a light carrier air group and Composite Squadron 82, which had completed a combat tour aboard the escort carrier USS Anzio (CVE-57) in March. Lieutenant Commander F.A. Green’s unit, with FM-2 Wildcats and TBM-3 Avengers, was recycling for another deployment when the war ended. But flying continued with instrument practice and rocket firing.

 

Aside from their end-of-war exuberance, the Navy fliers probably relished the opportunity to upstage their khaki counterparts. Pendleton Army Airfield was home of the B-25 group that provided the Doolittle Raiders in 1942 and continued as an operational training and maintenance facility. Shortly after Pearl Harbor, then-Major Curtis LeMay briefly flew from Pendleton.

 

The blue intruders made themselves known to Umatilla County. Wildcats buzzed tractors in fields and cars on highways– allegedly running an Oregon State trooper off the road. Local legend related the tale of an Avenger that executed a mock torpedo attack against fishing boats on the reservoir south of town–with bomb bay doors open. Finally enough was enough. Some high-decibel phone calls were made, and Pasco grounded the errant tailhookers.

 

Nobody complained–the Navy men were stranded for the duration of Round-Up. Beverly Barrett explained, “They were definitely ready to party. They sort of attached themselves to us, though the court had escorts as well as a chaperone. I had already met Jack Tillman when he was a flight cadet. I had seen him in his dress uniform, leaning against a light pole, and I remember thinking, ‘Hmmm…how did I miss that?’”

 

Tillman had already encountered the Pasco fliers downtown, where they carried a 20mm ammunition case filled with ice and beer.

 

Beverly continued, “One evening the Round-Up court was at the country club for an event. The fliers from Pasco were there in dress blues,

because some of them had met other local girls. It got to be late and we decided to go to dinner, and I got up to leave. Then somebody asked, ‘Where’s Mac?’

 

“Mack was a short, stocky young man. I never did know the full names 

of any of the fliers because they came and went so much. But we all knew Mack. Finally somebody found him out behind the club house, asleep under a tree with the club’s big Saint Bernard. Mack had drunk about 12 Alexander cocktails and apparently crawled through the sprinklers on the green, because his blues were ruined from water and grass stains.

 

I’ve often wondered if Mack or any of those other fliers remember that night. But I certainly do!