Previously Held NEC MM-0000-Machinist's Mate
MM-9585-Navy Recruiter Canvasser
MM-4204-Steam Propulsion Maintenance Supervisor
MM-4296-Shipboard Elevator Hydraulic/Mechanical System Mechanic
MM-4502-Boiler Repair Technician
U16A-Shipboard Engineering Plant Program Manager
I am the flag of the United States of America.
My name is Old Glory.
I fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America's halls of justice.
I fly majestically over great institutes of learning.
I stand guard with the greatest military power in the world.
Look up! And see me!
I stand for peace - honor - truth and justice.
I stand for freedom
I am confident - I am arrogant
I am proud.
When I am flown with my fellow banners
My head is a little higher
My colors a little truer.
I bow to no one.
I am recognized all over the world.
I am worshipped - I am saluted - I am respected
I am revered - I am loved, and I am feared.
I have fought every battle of every war for more than 200 years:
Gettysburg, Shilo, Appomatox, San Juan Hill, the trenches of France,
the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome, the beaches of Normandy,
the deserts of Africa, the cane fields of the Philippines, the rice paddies and jungles of Guam, Okinawa, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Guadalcanal
New Britain, Peleliu, and many more islands.
And a score of places long forgotten by all but those who were with me.
I was there.
I led my soldiers - I followed them.
I watched over them.
They loved me.
I was on a small hill in Iwo Jima.
I was dirty, battle-worn and tired, but my soldiers cheered me,
and I was proud.
I have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of
countries I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of
my country, and when it is by those
with whom I have served in battle - it hurts.
But I shall overcome - for I am strong.
I have slipped the bonds of Earth and stand watch over the
uncharted new frontiers of space
from my vantage point on the moon.
I have been a silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hour comes when I am torn into strips to
be used for bandages for my wounded comrades on the field of battle,
When I fly at half mast to honor my soldiers,
And when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving
mother at the graveside of her fallen son.
I am proud.
My name is Old Glory.
Dear God - Long may I wave.
Other Comments:
THE 'SNIPES' LAMENT
(Author Unknown)
Now each of us from time to time, has gazed upon the sea
And watched the warships pulling out, to keep their country free
And most of us have read a book, or heard a lusty tale,
About the men who sail these ships, through lightning, wind, and hail.
But there's a place within each ship that legends fail to teach.
It's down below the waterline; it takes a living toll.....
A hot metal living hell, that sailors call the "hole".
It houses engines run by steam that makes the shafts go round
A place of fire and noise and heat that beats your spirit down.
Where boilers like a hellish heart, with blood of angry steam.
Are like molded gods without remorse, are nightmares in a dream.
Whose threat from the fires roar, as like living doubt,
That any minute would with such scorn, escape and crush you out.
Where turbines scream like tortured souls, alone and lost in hell,
As ordered from above somewhere, they answer every bell.
The men who keep the fires lit, and make the engines run,
Are strangers to the world of night, and rarely see the sun.
They have no time for man or God, no tolerance for fear,
Their aspect pays no living thing the tribute of a tear.
For there's not much that men can do, that these men haven't done,
Beneath the decks, deep in the hole, to make the engines run.
And every hour of every day, they keep the watch in hell,
For if the fires ever fail, their ship's a useless shell.
When ships converge to have a war, upon an angry sea,
The men below just grimly smile, at what their fate might be.
They're locked in below like men fore-doomed, who hear no battle cry,
It's well assumed that if they're hit, the men below will die.
For every day's a war down there, when the gauges all read red,
Twelve hundred pounds of heated steam can kill you mighty dead.
So if you ever write their sons, or try to tell their tale,
The very words would make you hear, a fired furnace's wail.
And people as a general rule, don't hear of these men of steel,
So little heard about the place that sailors call the hole.
But I can sing about this place , and try to make you see,
The hardened life of men down there, cause one of them is me.
I've seen these sweat-soaked heroes fight, in superheated air,
To keep their ship alive and right, though no one knows they're there.
And thus they'll fight for ages on, till warships sail no more,
Amid the boiler's mighty heat, and the turbine's hellish roar.
So when you see a ship pull out, to meet a warlike foe,
Remember faintly, if you can, "THE MEN WHO SAIL BELOW".
"It is not the critic who counts, or the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, wose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows in the end the truimph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."
-Theodore Roosevelt
.png?ixlib=java-2.3.0&w=100&s=a8b328796c87336667b2ded7ec058fd2 "Recruiting Command of Excellence (3 Silver Stars)")
.png?ixlib=java-2.3.0&w=100&s=4cabb16c4bb63567ecc81f2bec05c4b6 "Did the Ditch (Suez Canal)")
