Courage, Pt. 1

Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities...because it is the quality which guarantees all others. ----- Winston Churchill

Pictured below is an extraordinary 14 year-old girl and her reining horse, Wrench.

Reining is a western horse competition that poses a severe test to both horse and rider.  It is, I believe, the most exciting western event. All the work is done at the lope or gallop.  It involves circles, flying lead changes, backups, spins, and sliding stops.

All aboard a 1500 pound horse.  Wrench is a great horse and his rider is a great girl.

This is one example of what courage looks like.

A Proud Day. For Us All.

Today is February 19.  A proud day for us all.

On this day in 1945, at precisely 8:59 am (one minute ahead of schedule - gotta love the Marines), the first of over 30,000 Americans stormed ashore on the Japanese island of Iwo Jima.  Many of those brave lads, men from the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Marine Divisions, never returned home.  In fact, nearly 1/3 of all Marine deaths in World War II occurred on Iwo Jima.

The initial carrier raids against Iwo Jima began as early as June 1944.  The island defenders were subjected to 3 days of naval bombardment.  Then the assault began.

The 36-day battle resulted in more than 26,000 American casualties, including 6,800 dead.  Of the 20,000 Japanese defenders, only 1,083 survived.  Historians described the US Marines' attack as "throwing human flesh against reinforced concrete."  In the end, Iwo Jima was won by the indominable spirit of the Corps.

Twenty-seven medals of honor were awarded to Marines and sailors, most posthumous.  More than any other single operation of the war.

Of its efforts to take this vital island, the United States Marine Corps is justly proud.

 

 

 

 

A Good Fire

I love a good fire.

Sure, you can cook on it and warm yourself by it, but the best thing about a good fire is that it generates conversation and introspection. It makes me feel good.  Plus, I love the smoky smell of my clothes after sitting by a fire.  It stays trapped in my clothes until they are washed.

Many of my best memories took place around a fire.  I think of camping in the Big Bend with my children.  I think of hunting trips with my brother.  I think of young Marines huddled around a warming fire along the Columbia River, and those same Marines huddled together on the banks of the Canadian River north of Amarillo.  Boy, those were some cold nights.  Maybe the coldest of my life. 

I love a good fire.

Blemishes

Have you looked at your hands lately?  Really looked at them?

If your hands are like mine, they are blemished.

My left hand has no hair on it.  It was burned off on my latest camping trip to Oklahoma's Wichita Mountains.

My left hand has six scars.  Two resulted from unsafe whittling.  I got one in a pencil fight with a girl in third grade.

Two scars are particularly hard for me to look at because I was bitten by my favorite dog, Molly, the day that she died.  Molly was a treasured companion who lived with us for fifteen years.  The day she died she was very old, partially deaf, and mostly blind.  She was asleep under my truck and I backed over her.  That's right, I hit my own dog.  When I heard her cry out, I jumped out of the truck and cradled her in my arms.  In terrible pain, she bit me on the left hand.  The veterinarian couldn't save her.

As I look at my left hand I don't see blemishes.  I see life.

My blemishes make me think of great times exploring nature with my students, of my father teaching me how to shape a piece of wood, of childish flirting with a friend, and of my sweet companion Molly.

I don't have blemishes on my hand.

Routine Interrupted

If you are like me, you have routines.

These simple activities give us comfort.  When asked about them, we often reply, "It's just what I do."

I have a very special routine each morning.  I wake up at 4:30 am, dress, get a cup of coffee, then watch CNN.  At precisely 5:10 am, I drive to meet my running companions, an extraordinary group of people we call The Running Club.  Bob, Kathryn, John, Steve, Kendall, Alee, and Debby.  More of a social club, really.  We only have a few simple rules - we never run so fast that we can't visit (we stay at a 'conversational' pace), we always enjoy a cup of coffee afterward, and we never stretch.  In the immortal words of Steve, "Dogs don't stretch."

Today, because of ankle pain, my routine was interrupted.  (Perhaps because I didn't stretch.)

But that's okay.  I got up, enjoyed a cup of coffee, visited with my dogs, and read the paper.  Slowly.  Read each page.  That's something that I rarely do, because I seem to be in such a hurry.  Today I slowed down and enjoyed a few simple things.

Even though my routine was interrupted, it was a good morning.

And it's going to be a good day.

Semper Fi, My Brother

Semper Fidelis means "Always Faithful."  It is the motto of the United States Marines.

One thing that the Marine Corps does very well is honor its heroes.  I want to tell you about one such man.

His name is David R. "Chip" Herr.

Chip is the only graduate of my school, Fort Worth Country Day, to die in battle.  He fell on February 3, 1991 in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

Chip was known by his schoolmates as a "gentle giant." He was a smart, red-headed baseball and soccer player, loved by his teachers and classmates.  After he graduated from FWCD in 1980, he attended Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia.  When he graduated from W&L four years later, he was commissioned a second lieutenant, with orders to the Basic School in Quantico, Virginia.  Upon graduation from the Basic School he was selected for flight school at Naval Air Station, Pensacola.  He proudly received his gold Naval Aviator's wings on October 16, 1987 and was assigned as a UH-1 helicopter pilot with the III Marine Air Wing at Camp Pendleton,  California.  It was from Camp Pendleton that he deployed with his unit to Saudi Arabia after Saddam Hussein's invasion of Kuwait in 1990.

I remember where I was when I heard of his death.  I was with my wife Debby at our apartment in Elizabethtown, Kentucky.  I was myself a new lieutenant, struggling through tank school at Fort Knox.  My mother called to share the tragic news.  I cried for Chip.  I cried for his parents, Connie and David.  I cried because I was sad, and I cried because a fellow Marine had perished.

After I hung up the phone I walked to my bureau and stared at a wooden box that held my military insignia and decorations.  The box had been a gift from the Herr family upon my commissioning and graduation from the Virginia Military Institute the previous May.  When I called Connie to thank her for the gift, I remember how excited she was.  She said that Chip had recommended that she get it for me and she knew I would love it.  I treasure it to this day.  It serves as a reminder of Chip and why he was so proud of his beloved Corps.

If Chip were with us today he would tell us all about the Corps.

He would tell us that he loved the Marine Corps because he got to serve with other Marines.

He would tell us that Marines place mission accomplishment above comfort, safety, or reward.

He would tell us that the Corps is a tough, regimented society of men and women consumed by a heroic mission.  That mission is to win battles, and that it has done so for over 230 years.

Chip would tell us that Marines from Camp Pendleton have distinguished themselves in such faraway places as Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Okinawa, Peleliu, Khe Sahn, Kuwait City, and Fallujah.

He would tell you that if you weren't a Marine, you "just wouldn't understand."

He would love to tell us that the Marine Corps was founded on November 10, 1775 at Tun Tavern in Philadelphia.  The Corps, or "Soldiers of the Sea," were a new branch created as shipboard security and boarding parties for US Navy vessels fighting the British during the Revolution.  These were men recruited from the wharves - tough men - fearless men and their ferocity toward their adversaries soon established them as a force to be reckoned with.

Chip would tell us that over the centuries the Corps has constantly had to redefine its mission.  From the Quasi War with France to the War of 1812, from the Civil War to World War I, the Marine Corps has had to work very hard to justify its existence.  It has done so on the battlefield and it has done so with valor.  Two instances come to mind: the Battle of Belleau Wood in 1918 (where the Marines earned the sobriquet Teufel Hunden, or Devil Dogs) and the Battle of Iwo Jima.  You have all seen the famous photograph of the flag raising, but what you may not know is that there were more valorous combat awards handed out at Iwo Jima than in any other battle in American history.

Chip was proud of his service, and we will forever be proud of him.

As a Marine myself, I understand that the responsibilities I have to my fellow Marines don't end when they die.  To the contrary, my responsibility is is to keep his memory alive, to honor the traditions and values that he held dear.  It is my duty to never forget the patriotism, valor, and selflessness of he who fell in battle.  It is my challenge to be worthy of his legacy.  I believe that Chip's example is the standard by which we must measure our service to America.

I am proud of you, Chip.  I am proud of who you were and what you meant to me.  I never served under your command, but I know those who did loved you and respected you as much as we do. You are my brother.

Semper Fi, Chip.  Semper Fi.

My Friend Mike

I have a very dear friend who lives in Springfield, Virginia.

His name is Mike Smith.  He is a happy, contented man.  He resides with his remarkable wife Jill and their precious twins Connor and Kate.  I am not sure if he knows this, but I treasure his friendship because of his kindness, his loyalty, and his deep commitment to his family, his university,  and his country.

Mike also saved my life in Iraq.  Twice.

Mike recently submitted a book manuscript for publication.  It is titled RedCon-1, and I believe it to be a first rate effort.

Those who have experienced battle firsthand will immediately recognize Mike’s authenticity.  I can report, and official records confirm, that he is a brave, committed, and resolute Marine noncommissioned officer.  He is also a vicious fighter seemingly undeterred by fear or self-doubt.  These are the qualities that make him the fine man he is, and these are also the qualities that enabled him to gain the trust and assurance of the men so ably described in this book.

Those who have studied battle will no doubt applaud Mike’s ability to describe Fallujah’s essential lessons.  The Iraq War, particularly activities in the Anbar province, is quite confusing due to the complex religious, tribal, and commercial alliances that are found there.  As Americans we like absolutes; we want to easily define good and evil, right and wrong, just and unjust.  Unfortunately the Iraq War does not fit neatly into these categories.  Human beings are simply not always ‘good’ or always ‘bad.’ We all have the capacity to be both, sometimes at the same time.  If one takes the time to study the war – really study it – telling its story becomes very difficult.  Yet Mike does so with aplomb.

RedCon-1 identifies many great themes that all Americans should consider fully.  The book illuminates Marine Reservists in extreme circumstances and gives readers a better understanding of the citizen-soldiers who answered their nation’s call in 2004.  Mike shows how they prepared for war, how they were employed, and, ultimately, how they executed the missions to which they were assigned.  Americans need to know such things.  Wars are costly in blood and treasure.  We need to know that our forces are capable both of winning battles and building a lasting peace.  Service members serving abroad represent those of us at home and carry the burden of representing the values upon which our nation was founded.  This burden is what makes us unique in the world.  No matter how ugly the enemy becomes, no matter the methods they employ, our forces are responsible for conducting missions consistent with the 1st Marine Division’s motto of “No Better Friend, No Worse Enemy.”

I once remarked to my wife that I wished I had a web camera on my truck in Fallujah so that Americans could see what Scout Platoon accomplished in Iraq.  I am so proud of our efforts there.  We fought hard and with honor.

No such video recording of Scout Platoon in Fallujah exists.

But now we have RedCon-1.  Thank God we do.

Read the book when it comes out, hopefully this year.  Consider it.  Think on it deeply.  It is an important piece of a gigantic, complex puzzle that is the Iraq War.

Philosophy. Of Education.

I have long admired Thomas Jefferson's vision for the University of Virginia as an academic village.  His vision has always provided me inspiration and has greatly afffected my philosophy on education.

My vision parallels his.  When I close my eyes and dream of Jefferson's village I see the ideal school.  It is a safe place, bustling with inquisitive students who accept the responsibilities of service and the trials of academic rigor.  These children are welcomed each morning by professional teachers, lifelong learners who embrace their roles as mentors and scholars who welcome lively debate.  School leaders accept their roles as problem-solvers and are devoted to freeing students and teachers from the unnecessary distractions that keep them from their learning and teaching tasks.

The village is progressive without deviating from established core values, and its leaders believe that the moral and ethical development of young people is a fundamental responsibility.

Listed here is what I believe.

• I believe in the historical goals of liberal arts education.  High school is a time of exploration and discovery.  We must help our students build a solid foundation upon which they can specialize later in life - but not now.  It is not our responsibility to provide what each child wants, but rather what we believe they will need for a life of progress and   fulfillment.  The twenty-first century promises turbulent change, and I believe the best way to prepare our students for an unpredictably complex future is to encourage well-roundedness.  Independent school graduates continue to distinguish themselves later in life precisely because they are well rounded.

• I believe that academic pursuits must be of primary importance.  Schools must cultivate intellectual freedom by encouraging inquiry, debate, and criticism.  We must create an environment where students believe they can survive mistakes and are comforted by a spirit of intellectual optimism.

• I believe that faculty must be subject experts and serve as advisors who know their students, understand their needs, and effectively communicate and enforce high expectations.

• I believe that physical and emotional hardships must be addressed in a timely manner and nutrition and physical fitness given priority.

• I believe that schools should celebrate the successes of their past, honor their founders, and model the core values upon which they were established.

As someone who has embraced independent education as a professional calling, my job is to help to create the academic village where I live and teach and learn.

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GoodReads, Pt. 1

I love books.

Over the past few months I've read some great ones - Rick Atkinson's "The Guns at Last Light," Scott Anderson's "Lawrence in Arabia," Simon Winchester's "The Men Who United the States," and Rick Lynch's "Adapt or Die."

I've just started Bill Bryson's "One Summer: America, 1927" mainly because my father, Charles Arnold, was born on March 15, 1927 in Oil Trough, Arkansas.

Books have become an important part of my life, and I consistently look forward to that special part of my day when I can get back to reading.

What do we really need?

Mentors.

That's right.  We all need people to help us negotiate the complex and confusing world in which we live.    When you think about it, really think deeply, isn't it true that most of what we've achieved has been due to the kindness of others?

Tim Donovan.  John O'Reilly.  Chris Harlow.

These men are very important to me.

• Tim Donovan always said "bloom where you grow."


• John O'Reilly told me repeatedly to "count to ten before making a decision…and  count to one hundred if you're emotional."


• Chris Harlow (pictured below), my dearest travel companion, finishes every letter with "I love you."

These are three wise men.  My mentors.