Veteran's Day 2012

On the eve of Veterans Day 2012 my thoughts reflect back to the greatest soldier I had ever known, my dad Cpl. Patrick Harper. In 1949, at age 17, my father escaped from the orphanage in Brooklyn New York and joined the United States Army. He was sent to Oklahoma and trained as a forward field artillery observer (radar man). He learned in three months what it took a World War II soldier one year to learn. He got his real training for what was ahead of him growing up in the orphanage in Brooklyn, New York, during the 1930s. He said the North Korean's could take lessons on torture from the preist and nuns he knew. At the end of July 1950, he boarded a US Navy ship in San Francisco headed for some "easy duty" in Japan. At the last minute the ship turned away from Japan and  entered the harbor at Pusan, South Korea. The Communist had crossed the 38th parallel and push the South Korean troops all the way to the Pusan Harbor. Pres. Harry S Truman decided to fight communism. This was the first military action for the newly formed United Nations. My father's first  combat started the day he landed in South Korea August 5, 1950, in what was known as the Pusan perimeter. The first three months were a brutal battle for the United States, 8th Army. My father was in the eighth Army 24th infantry division, first Field artillery Battalion, Company A. After three months, they had pushed the North Koreans back. General Arthur had his famous Inchon  landing and met up with the advancing 8th Army. By this time, my father could best be described as, a seasoned combat veteran. He had seen more combat in three months than most soldiers see in a lifetime. Daily they would carry out the dead American soldiers and new soldiers would arrive. To the soldiers that were scared they refer to my dad as Cpl. Harper. To the soldiers that my dad save their lives. He was known as Pat from Brooklyn. The 8th Army arrived at a river and asked for a volunteer to swim to an Island in the middle of the river to see if there were any North Koreans on the Island, if so how many? and what equipment they possesed. My dad volunteered mainly because he didn't trust anyone else's observations. He wanted to see for himself. He swam at night in the cold, frigid water to the island and found it to be swarming with North Korean soldiers very heavily armed. After making his observations without  detection. He swam back to the shore and made his report, and saved hundreds of lives. The eighth Army advanced and liberated the capital of Korea, Seoul. They pushed the Communist North Koreans back past the 38th parallel. They advanced into North Korea. And arrived at the Manchurian border and looked over the Yalu River into China. In October of 1950 they had noticed that some of the dead enemy soldiers were not North Korean but Chinese. Things settled down in the month of November, as they prepared for a big Thanksgiving dinner. The rumor was they would be home by Christmas. On the night of November 25, 1950, the temperature droped 70°, to 50° below zero. The eighth Army soldiers were equipped with spring clothing. That night, 900,000 Red Communist Chinese soldiers sneaked attack the Americans. My dad fought all night long. My dad was on a hill surrounded by Chinese. They had used all their ammunition and as dawn approached the Chinese sounded a bugle and made one last charge up the hill to take the Americans. My father jumped out of his foxhole with his rifle and used it as a baseball bat and started hitting Chineese soldiers and knocking them to the ground, this startled  the Chinese, they had never seen a 6 foot tall red-headed irishman using his gun like a baseball bat and they turned and ran. Mortars rang out throughout the night and my father was wounded. Every other man lay dead. The American soldiers were told "leave the dead behind". One of my father's fellow soldiers threw my dad over his shoulder and carried him out. My father was wounded twice during the Korean War. Both times he was sent back to the front line. Because my father was an orphan and had no family back home he would take other soldiers place on the front line who had families back home and were scared, because of this, he spent more time on the front line then any other soldier in the Korean War. My father was captured by the Chinese and taken prisoner of war. They tied bamboo poles to his arms and marched him through villages toward Manchuria. When going through the villages. The people would come out and throw rocks at his face and punch him and hit him and kick him.  That night, he and his fellow POWs were housed in an old barn in the morning were they were going to go on a forced death march to Manchuria. My father told his fellow POWs "I'm going to take this size 13 foot and kick out this wall and escape"he told the others to all run in different directions and the chineese could shoot, but couldn't kill everyone. My father kicked the wall out and ran. He ran all through the night. He would run into tress and would be knocked to the ground and get up and keep running, he ran and ran and ran all through the night.Then a new fear set in. He had reached the front line and didn't want to be shot by an American soldier. He arrive safely in camp. I met a man at my father's funeral. He knew my father before the war in New York. He also had joined the Army and was sent to Korea in the eighth Army. He knew my father before the war, during the war and after the war. He told me after three months in Korea your father changed, he said not only were the North Koreans afraid to your dad and the Chinese afraid your dad. He said that the Americans were afraid of your dad also, He said whenever there was any kind of combat action. This fellow would go and hide in the rear somewhere so he wouldn't get hurt. He said my father would pick up a machine gun and run to wherever the fight was. A man wrote a book about the Korean War and told the story about my father. He said one day they were attacked by Chinese and everyone turned around and ran. He said my father grabbed machine gun and ran out to the middle of a rice paddy and started shooting Chinese. My father told me when he escaped from the orphanage that what had happened to him in the past was not his fault, but from that moment on, he was responsible for his own destiny. My father was awarded the bronze Star with the "V" insignia for Valor. This metal was pinned on his chest in North Korea by Gen. Ridgway. He was also awarded the Purple Heart. He liberated Seoul South Korea twice. After the war, my father never picked up a gun, ever again. He was asked to go hunting one time, and he responded that he had done enough killing. The man that I knew was kind, gentle and non-violent and never beat me ( even though I deserved it sometimes.) I saw him bravely stand up to the Ku Klux Klan in Sherman, Texas in 1962 defending civil rights.I asked my father to tell me the story about the Korean War when he was 60 years old. He had never talked about his experience before, but on that particular night in that particular tavern, he told me the story. I have shared some of the story with you here today. Some of the story, I'll never repeat to anyone for it was to horrific. So, on the eve of this Veterans Day 2012, as I sit back and enjoy freedom and liberty. I recall the greatest soldier I ever knew.

Summer 2012

Some of you might have wondered where I've been and what I've been up to. Well, I have been working very hard in school. In order for me to enter the BSN program in the fall,I had to raise my GPA. I was told I would not be admitted unless I obtain a B- or better in English 101.There I was again backed into a corner. How many times has this happened in my life? And like all animals backed into a corner I fought back. Something I remember from my  New York City days. Inadequacies," you'll never amount to anything," I'll be damned. I didn't believe them then and now that I am hearing their voices (authority) telling me I won't amount to anything I rise to the challenge. My official grade came in the mail today "A" GPA 4.0. My score for the class was 99%. I had the satisfaction of going to the University officials and handing over my grade. I am officially back. I am back in the New York groove.

Choice

        Studying, sitting in the comfort of an air conditioned classroom with an intelligent friendly teacher and clean students is much easier than studying, standing at attention, on a drill pad in the hot July heat of San Antonio, Texas, while in the Military, with a bunch of sweaty recruits and a drill Sergeant yelling at me.

          As a teenager growing up in New York City, in the 1970’s I couldn’t wait to leave there. I was much “cooler” than the average teen. I would look out the window of my classroom and think that I would rather be outside, traveling to far off places than sitting in this dilapidated school building, surrounded by barbed wire. The teachers there were just plain mean. I was informed many times that I wouldn’t amount to anything. The high school guidance counselor told me to try to get in the military, that it would give me the opportunity to travel and besides, the food was good.   So, a few months later I found myself standing on a drill pad in one of the hottest places on the planet Earth, standing at attention, with this crazy drill sergeant yelling at me.

          I found myself thinking that the teachers weren’t that mean, and that dilapidated school building surrounded by barbed wire seemed much nicer and safer than the old world war two barracks with no air conditioning in which I lived while I was being trained for war. The drill sergeant marched out to the middle of the drill pad in the 100 degree heat. He called us to attention. It was so hot my combat boots melted to the drill pad. It smelled like asphalt and an old high school gymnasium. I was trying not to lock my knees to prevent me from passing out. I wiggled my toes to increase the circulation to my feet. The drill sergeant yelled “I have the results of the written tests that qualify you for basic military training!” He stated that one person had scored 99 out of 100. Two people had scored 98. One person had scored 95. On and on he went reading off the scores, till he finally came to the lowest grade. He smirked one idiot scored 12 out of 100. We all knew who the idiot was. We had avoided him like the plague hoping his stupidity wouldn’t rub off on us. I never thought that getting the highest score was a bad thing, but now I did. The drill sergeant stared at me. He looked through my eyes, deep into my soul. He yelled at everyone to get out their notebooks. He had the first guy in line read the first sentence, “Welcome to basic military training.” Then he told us to write down that sentence in our notebooks. He had the next guy in line, read the next sentence and had us write it down. This went on for hours. I truly thought I might die from heat stroke, but I just kept on writing. I chose to persevere. The thought of giving up and returning to the hopeless situation in New York City was not an option. I had burnt all my bridges when I left. It would be a long time before I returned to New York City.

            It now seemed in our best interest to help the idiot pass the test so we wouldn’t have to stand in the sun all day “studying.” Over the next few weeks, the sergeant watched as I buddied up to Ralph who had been struggling with the test because he couldn’t read. Ralph was from New York as well and his situation was worse than mine. I tutored him night and day and he memorized the entire manual word for word. One day he finally passed the test that was administered to him verbally. The last day of training the drill sergeant came up to me and I snapped to attention. He stared at me again, looking deep into my soul. Then he said “Good job Harper!” Then he said  very sincerely “ you remember to keep your head down when they are shooting at you.” I smiled, something that was forbidden in boot camp. I thought that man was the smartest man I had ever met.

          Today, I am attending college studying for my Bachelor Of Science degree. The campus is beautiful. All the buildings are new with state of the art equipment. The climate control system is calculated perfectly for my maximum comfort. My peers are all friendly and clean. The professor is smart, kind, and very informative. The Academic and Career Enhancement Center is very helpful. They have tutors and instructors available to assist with all my academic needs. If I am stressed out, there is help available at the Student Veteran Resource Center. There are stress management services, mental health services, financial aid counseling, career services, and numerous general services available. There are many fun activities available. There are theatrical plays, live music, and informative seminars. The library is fully stocked with the latest text and information. There are numerous opportunities to volunteer in our communities. An example would be helping illiterate adults learn to read, something I am good at. The best of all is I have been afforded certain inalienable rights endowed by my creator that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.(US Declaration of Ind.)

          I look at my fellow students that don’t complete assignments exactly as the professor instructed or arrive late for class. I was trained to be the first to arrive and the last to leave if I want to succeed. I was taught to do the right thing and to concentrate on the task in front of me. I read a book entitled “The Greatest Miracle in the World,” that guided me to count my blessings, to proclaim my rarity, and to use wisely the power of choice. I see the student staring out the window thinking there is something better or easier out there and I think  just one afternoon with my drill sergeant would make this place seem like paradise. 

Timothy A. Harper

Professor Guneyli

English Composition 101-001

6 June 2012                                                Irish

          
        When you mention the word Irish, most people smile. They might think about Celtic music,

celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, or Irish Dancing. They may picture a lad with red hair and freckles.

Some people cringe. They think about all the violence in Northern Ireland, Politicians, Cops, and

strict Catholic beliefs. There are some that think all Irish people are drunkards, that fight all the

time, or they eat potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That the Irish throw garbage out of

their houses and are sloppy people. Some ignorant narrow minded people use an ethnic slur to

refer to my people. They use the ‘S’ word. They call us shanty Irish. What does it mean to be an

Irish American man, in today’s culture? Three men that I know that define the modern Irish

American man is my dad, my son and I.

         

          My father grew up in a catholic orphanage in Brooklyn, New York during the 1930’s. His Mother, who came from Ireland, at the turn of the 20th century, as an indentured servant, scrubbed floors for pennies. At age seventeen, my father went to war in Korea. He was wounded twice, and was taken prisoner of war. He escaped by kicking out the side of a barn where he was being held.  He was awarded the Bronze Star with the “V” insignia for valor. He had many friends and had a natural way of making a person feel like they had someone on their side. People would come up to me and say “your old man is alright.” My father married and had four sons. He was a successful businessman and owned an international textile firm. He was awarded a medal from Queen Elizabeth for bringing a large amount of business to the United Kingdom. He ran for political

office and won. He became the Housing Commissioner in northern New Jersey. He loved and played baseball. He stood 6 feet 1 inch and had a size 13 shoe. He was honest, smart, and fearless.

When he got emotional he talked in Gaelic. He was a very proud man, with a strong sense of fairness. He embraced his heritage. Whenever there was a St. Patrick’s Day parade, he would be wearing green clothes, march in the parade, smile and wave to the crowd. He loved corn beef and cabbage. He loved to eat, drink, and be merry. He was faithful to my mother till the day she died. He could make you cry when he sang “Ole Danny Boy.” He feared failure or being perceived as lower class. My Father was a great man.

          I on the other hand, hide my cultural heritage. I don’t drink alcohol. I am a sober person. I rarely show my emotions. I rarely sing in public even though I write songs and play the guitar, quite well. I dislike my heritage. I have three sons. I built a home overlooking a lake in a private gated community. I am a hard worker. I served in the military. I have worked as a paramedic and emergency department nurse. I am a pacifist. I am very sane. I heard someone say in the movie Spanglish “being to sane can drive you nuts” that fits me to a tee. I am quick witted and funny. I am faithful, kind, and religious (protestant). I am a family man. I have numerous friends. I was a campaign manager on a senatorial campaign. I am a good organizer. I am very tolerant of people different than me. I am a people watcher. I fear being perceived as stupid. I cringe every time my wife throws food scraps off the deck, for the raccoons. I can’t eat corn beef and cabbage it makes me sick. I feel most comfortable when the house is clean and everything is in its proper place. I am 5ft 11 inches tall, and have a size 11 ½ foot. I am a good person.

          My son on the other hand, has the word Irish tattooed across his abdomen, in big letters. He is a trained boxer. At sixteen, he wanted to be a gang member and emulated a hip hop singer

named slim shady. He dropped out of school and joined the army. He was a patriot missile operator on 9/11/2001. He obtained a GED and won a scholastic scholarship to Tufts University in Boston. Yikes! Boston is the Irish capital of the world. The ghetto housing projects in Boston are filled with poor lower class Irish Americans. He got in trouble with the police. The old Irish legal political machine went into motion, and he was found not guilty. He graduated with honors. He was recruited to a private international contracting firm. I have no idea what that means or what he does. He travels the world spreading his Irish charm to whoever deserves it. He is extremely intelligent. He converted to Catholicism. He has a very appealing personality. He is funny and quick witted. He loves corned beef and cabbage. He plays the harmonica, badly, but it doesn’t stop him. He is 5ft 11 inches tall. His shoe size is 10 ½ .He is honest. He has a deep sense of responsibility. He is a leader.

           You're probably wondering what shoe size has to do with defining the modern American Irish man. My father used that foot size to kick out the wall of that barn he escaped from during the Korean War. He kicked in the door of the neighbor's house, when in the early morning hours, he heard screams and ran out and saw the neighbor's house on fire. He was able to rescue the mother and three children, but the father had stumbled, got disoriented, and lost his way. With total disregard for his own life he ran back into the burning house and pulled the man to safety.

          Those are hard shoes to fill. I work in an emergency room and save people’s lives every day. I started a rescue program for heroin addicts called the McNod. My granddaughter looks up to my son in awe. She will have to have big feet to be able to walk in his shoes. I think these qualities define the modern Irish American man.

          As I reflex on this essay, I think you could probably substitute Irish with any ethnicity. I think a culture and a people are all these qualities and more. Some of these qualities are good and some of them are not so good.  Honesty, hard work, humor, faithfulness, and fairness, represents all cultures. I chose to see the good qualities in a culture.