PRESIDENT'S PROFILE

6 JUNE 2010

How many of us are awed by Medal of Honor recipients when in their presence- engaging them in conversation, and find that they “put their pants on one leg at a time.” Self effacing, men who view their exploits as necessity under fire - seldom an act of heroism. I am putting aside a note about the coming 2010 Convention in Kansas City, Missouri to honor those who gave their lives to preserve freedom around the world in all the Wars of the last century by remembering one who represents every Soldier, Marine, Sailor, and Airman who passed beneath the ‘colors’ to their eternal rest.
Profiles of Valor: John Finn, 1909-2010

With Memorial Day memories still fresh, and the 66th anniversary of D-Day this June 6, it's certainly worthwhile to spend a few more minutes reflecting on the courage and valor of America's fighting forces, both past and present. Last Thursday, May 27, the man who was America's oldest Medal of Honor recipient died at the age of 100 at the Veterans Home of California in Chula Vista. Retired Navy officer John Finn had received America's highest medal of valor for bravery during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Awakened by the first bombs from the attack, Finn found a .50-caliber machine gun, mounted it on a platform, which gave him no protection, and began firing at the Japanese planes that were on their way to Pearl Harbor. Despite numerous wounds (a bullet wound in his left arm, shrapnel in his chest and stomach, a broken left foot and a laceration on his scalp), he kept reloading and firing for more than two hours, giving heart to his fellow sailors, dazed from being suddenly thrown into a world war. Finn didn't leave his post for treatment until directly ordered, and even then soon returned to help rearm planes. As with most U.S. warriors, Finn was humble about his exploits, saying he just "did what I was being paid for.”

Lt. Col. John McRae has passed the gauntlet from generations past to generations now and yet to come, by composing:
“IN FLANDERS FIELD.”
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks bravely singing , fly
Scarcely heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Requiescat in pace

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