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tommie gorman

How many people feel strongly about the USA, and what it stands for?  

95 members have voted

  1. 1. How many people feel strongly about the USA, and what it stands for?

    • Yes, a tear
    • Not a tear
    • Don't care

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The Sack Lunches

I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down

in my assigned

seat. It was going to be a long flight. 'I'm glad I

have a good book to

read. Perhaps I'll get a short nap,' I thought.

Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the

aisle and filled all

the vacant seats, totally

surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation.

'Where are you headed?' I asked the soldier seated

nearest to me.

'Chicago - to Great Lakes Base. We'll be there for

two weeks for special

training, and then we're

being deployed to Iraq '

After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made

that sack lunches

were available for five dollars. It would be several hours

before we

reached Chicago, and I quickly decided a lunch would help

pass the time. As I reached for my wallet, I overheard

soldier ask his

buddy if he planned to buy lunch.

'No, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack

lunch. Probably wouldn't

be worth five bucks. I'll wait till we get to

Chicago.' His friend agreed.

I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying


I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight

attendant a fifty

dollar bill. 'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.'

She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with

tears, she

thanked me. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq; it's

almost like you are doing it

for him.'

Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the

soldiers were

seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you

like best - beef or


'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked.

She turned and went to the front of plane, returning a

minute later with a

dinner plate from first class.

'This is your thanks.'

After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the

plane, heading

for the rest room. A man stopped me. 'I saw what you

did. I want to be part

of it. Here, take this.' He handed me twenty-five


Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain

coming down the

aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked. I hoped

he was not

looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers

only on my side of

the plane.

When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his

hand, and said, 'I

want to shake your hand.'

Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the

Captain's hand.

With a booming voice he said, 'I was a soldier and I

was a military pilot.

Once, someone bought me a lunch. It was an act of kindness

I never forgot.'

I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all of the

other passengers.

Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could

stretch my legs. A man

who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out

his hand, wanting

to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my


When we landed in Chicago I gathered my belongings and

started to deplane.

Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who

stopped me, put

something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away

without saying a word.

Another twenty-five dollars! Upon entering the terminal, I

saw the soldiers

gathering for their trip to the base. I walked over to them

and handed them

seventy-five dollars. 'It will take you some time to

reach the base. It will

be about time for a sandwich. God Bless You.'

Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect

of their fellow

travelers. As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a

prayer for their

safe return. These soldiers were giving their all for our

country. I could

only give them a couple of meals.

It seemed so little...

A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a

blank check made

payable to 'The United States of America' for an

amount of 'up to and

including my life.' That is honor and there are way too

many people in this

country who no longer understand it. But for those who do,

I thank you from

the bottom of my heart.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Best danged idea I have heard in forever. I love it and am gonna get a rubber stamp with it on it.  :smitten:

Payback is fun!!!!!!!!!!!!WRITE IT ON THE




You may have heard in the news that a couple of Post Offices in Texas

have been forced to take down small posters that say


WE TRUST ,' The law,they say, is being violated.

Anyway, we heard proposed on a

radio station show, that we should all write 'INGOD WE TRUST'

on the back of all our mail. After all, that's our National Motto, and it's on all the money we use to buy those stamps. We think it's a wonderful idea.

We must take back our nation from all the people who

think that anything that offends them should be removed. 

If you like this idea, please pass it on and DO IT. The idea of writing or stamping!


GOD WE TRUST' on our envelopes sounds good to us .. WE'RE HAVING A STAMP MADE TOO! Heck,lets use it as our signature on e-mails too!

It's been reported that 86% of Americans believe in God. Therefore, we have a very hard time understanding why there's such a mess about having 'In

God We Trust!' on our money and having God in the pledge of Allegiance.

Could it be that WE just need to take action and tell the 14% to 'sit down and shut up'?

If you agree, pass this on, if not, delete!!! BUT REMEMBER IF YOU DELETE THIS,that's 1 reason why this world is in the mess we're in now.WE SIT BACK & LET IT HAPPEN!!

That should pass the idea on to congress.  :angel: 

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Just like everything else, it may be a good idea, but people are just to apathetic about most everything. Sure, they'll pass it on in an e-mail, but to actually do it ? I think not.

Besides, the other half don't even believe there is God.

Boy thats the fighting spirit. Glad to have you on the same side.  :idiot2: And that half about believing in god needs more research I think.
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  • 3 weeks later...
  • 4 weeks later...
February 14, 2008..ONE FINGER SALUTE�

AWESOME!!!� Read below pic before making judgment on 'The Finger' gesture and you'll understand... SEMPER FI !

Leading the fight is Gunnery Sgt Michael Burghardt, known as 'Iron Mike' or just 'Gunny'. He is on his third tour in Iraq . He had become a legend in the bomb disposal world after winning the Bronze Star for disabling 64 IEDs and destroying 1,548 pieces of ordnance during his second tour.�

Then, on September 19, he got blown up. He had arrived at a chaotic scene after a bomb had killed four US soldiers. He chose not to wear the bulky bomb protection suit. 'You can't react to any sniper fire and you get tunnel-vision,' he explains. So,protected by just a helmet and standard-issue flak jacket, he began what bomb disposal officers term 'the longest walk', stepping gingerly into a 5 foot deep and 8 foot wide crater.�

The earth shifted slightly and he saw a Senao base station with a wire leading from it.� He cut the wire and used his 7 inch knife to probe the ground. 'I found a piece of red detonating cord between my legs,' he says. 'That's when I knew I was screwed.'�

Realizing he had been sucked into a trap, Sgt Burghardt, 35, yelled at everyone to stay back. At that moment, an insurgent, probably watching through binoculars, pressed a button on his mobile phone to detonate the secondary device below the sergeant's feet. �'A chill went up the back of my neck and then the bomb expl oded,' he recalls. 'As I was in the air I remember thinking, 'I don't believe they got me.' I was just ticked off they were able t o do it. Then I was lying on the road, not able to feel anything from the waist down.'�

His colleagues cut off his trousers to see how badly he was hurt. None could believe his legs were still there. 'My dad's a Vietnam vet who's paralyzed from the waist down,' says Sgt Burghardt. 'I was lying there thinking I didn't want to be in a wheelchair next to my dad and for him to see me like that.�

They started to cut away my pants and I felt a real sharp pain and blood trickling down. Then I wiggled my toes and I thought, 'Good, I'm in business.' 'As a stretcher was brought over, adrenaline and anger kicked in. 'I decided to walk to the helicopter. I w asn't going to let my team-mates see me being carried away on a stretcher.' He stood and gave the insurgents who had blown him up a one-fingered salute. 'I flipped them one. It was like, 'OK, I lost that round but I'll be back next week'.'

Copies of a photograph depicting his defiance, taken by Jeff Bundy for the Omaha World-Herald, adorn the walls of homes across America and that of Col John Gronski, the brigade commander in Ramadi, who has hailed the image as an exemplar of the warrior spirit.

Sgt Burghardt's injuries - burns and wounds to his legs and buttocks - kept him off duty for nearly a month and could have earned him a ticket home. But, like his father - who was awarded a Bronze Star and three Purple Hearts for being wounded in action in Vietnam - he stayed in Ramadi to engage in the battle against insurgents who are forever coming up with more ingenious ways of killing Americans.�

Are you proud enough to send this on ?��


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Another great email. Probably true.


As I came out of the supermarket that sunny day, pushing my cart of

groceries towards my car, I saw an old man with the hood of his car up

and a lady sitting inside the car, with the door open.

The old man was looking at the engine. I put my groceries away in my car

and continued to watch the old gentleman from about twenty five feet


  I saw a young man in his early twenties with a grocery bag in his arm,

walking towards the old man. The old gentleman saw him coming too and

took a few steps towards him.  I saw the old gentleman point to his open

hood and say something.

  The young man put his grocery bag into what looked like a brand new

Cadillac Escalade and then turn back to the old man and I heard him yell

at the old gentleman saying, 'You shouldn't even be allowed to drive a

car at your age.' And then with a wave of his hand, he got in his car and

peeled rubber out of the parking lot.

  I saw the old gentleman pull out his handkerchief and mop his brow as he

went back to his car and again looked at the engine. He then went to his

wife and spoke with her and appeared to tell her it would  be okay.  I

had seen enough and I approached the old man. He saw me coming and stood

straight and as I got near him I said, 'Looks like you're having a


  He smiled sheepishly and quietly nodded his head. I looked under the

hood myself and knew that whatever the problem was, it was beyond me.

Looking around I saw a gas station up the road and told the old man that

I would be right back. I drove to the station and went inside and saw

three attendants working on cars.  I approached one of them and related

the problem the old man had with his car and offered to pay them if they

could follow me back down and help him.

  The old man had pushed the heavy car under the shade of a tree and

appeared to be comforting his wife. When he saw us he straightened up and

thanked me for my help.  As the mechanics diagnosed the problem

(overheated engine) I spoke with the old gentleman.

  When I shook hands with him earlier he had noticed my Marine Corps ring

and had commented about it, telling me that he had been a Marine too. I

nodded and asked the usual question, 'What outfit did you serve with?'

  He had mentioned that he served with the first Marine Division at

Tarawa, Saipan, Iwo Jima and Guadalcanal.  He had hit all the big ones

and retired from the Corps after the war was over. As we talked we heard

the car engine come on and saw the mechanics lower the hood. They came

over to us as the old man reached for his wallet, but  was stopped by me

and I told him I would just put the bill on my AAA card.

  He still reached for the wallet and handed me a card that I assumed had

his name and addr ess on it and I stuck it in my pocket. We all shook

hands all around again and I said my goodbye's to his wife.

  I then told the two mechanics that I would follow them back up to the

station.  Once at the station I told them that they had interrupted their

own jobs to come along with me and help the old man.  I said I wanted to

pay for the help, but they refused to charge me.  One of them pulled out

a card from his pocket looking exactly like the card the old man had

given to me. Both of the men told me then, that they were Marine Corps

Reserves. Once again we shook hands all around and as I was leaving, one

of them told me I should look at the card the old man had given to me. I

said I would and drove off.

  For some reason I had gone about two blocks when I pulled over and took

the  card out of my pocket and looked at it for a long, long time. The

name of the old gentleman was on the card in golden leaf and under his

name....... 'Congressional Medal of Honor Society.'

  I sat there motionless looking at the card and reading it over and over.

I looked up from the card and smiled to no one but myself and marveled

that on this day, four Marines had all come together, because one of us

needed help.  He was an old man all right, but it felt good to have stood

next to greatness and courage and an honor to have been in his presence.

  ' Remember, old men like him gave you FREEDOM for America '

  America is not at war.

  T he U.S. Military is at war.

  America is at the Mall.

  If you don't stand behind our troops,

  PLEASE feel free to stand in front of them!

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The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's, but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.

He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.

He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend

his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.

If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.

He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.

He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away ' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy.

He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.

He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.

Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

Of all the gifts you could give a  US  Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine, Airman, prayer is the very best one.

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Yes our young men do a lot indeed. And get little credit usually.  :icon_salut:


US Army Retired & proud of it. Go Army!!


This is very heart-felt video, please watch!


John Ondrasik (the singer-songwriter who is Five for Fighting) is one of the most pro-GI people in pop music.

And in this video, it shows.

You may have heard the song before but this video is new.

In the beginning, he goes into a pawn shop to pawn a flag... the pawnbroker is in his sixties, and over his shoulder you see a photo of a young Vietnam era warrant officer with aviator wings and the M.O.H. Yes, that's really a Medal of Honor recipient in the video as the pawn shop owner, is not an actor.

That is good ol' Fred Ferguson.

The guy in the bed with the cast on his right arm is John McCain.




Come on American People, stand behind our troops,


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