Actually....I just remebered he told me how he got his silver star and bronze star & his Father got the Navy Cross. I'll be real honest......he didn't go into great detail about his award or his fathers award. He really didn't seem like the kind of person that talks about himself. When somebody had asked him about the Silver Star he earned......he replied it was "it's nothing compared to my Fathers Navy Cross"
He then quickly changed the mood & went into this story about a young marine in his rifle company in nam. When he told this story.....it just gives people chills.
Attached is the story....if you have time.....it's worth the read:
"I can tell you from personal experience that combat is the most traumatic human event. It strips away an individual's veneer, exposing their true character. If a character flaw exists, it will appear in combat--guaranteed.
This morning, I will tell the story of an American whose true character was tested and exposed in the crucible of war. I will then draw some conclusions that are applicable to how the rest of us should live our lives ... lives where combat will hopefully never play a role. He was a 19 year old Marine-about the same age as most of you in the audience this morning. His name was LCPL Grable. He was a man of courage ...a man of character ... and this is his story ... Vietnam ... It was 0600, the third of June, 1966. I was in command of "G" Company, Second Battalion, First Marine Regiment. I was a First Lieutenant at the time, and had been given this command because the previous commander had been killed about one week earlier. My Company had been given a simple mission that began with a helicopter assault. We would land in a series of dried-up rice paddies about 6 football fields in length, and three football fields in width. These paddies were surrounded by jungle-covered mountains, with a dry stream bed running along one side. We were supposed to land, put on our packs, and do what all Marines do: find the largest mountain, and climb to the top. There we would put ourselves in a defensive perimeter to act as the blocking force for an offensive sweep conducted by two battalions.
The helicopters landed, unloaded my company of Marines, and had just started to leave when the world collapsed. Automatic weapons, mortar fire, artillery--it was hell on earth. Fortunately, a good portion of my Company had managed to move into the dry stream bed where they were protected from most of the fire. However, one platoon had landed too far west to move immediately to the cover of the stream bed. As they tried to move in that direction, the fires on them became so heavy they had no alternative but to hit the deck. One particular squad found itself directly in the line of fire of a North Vietnamese 12.7mm heavy machine gun. In a matter of seconds, two Marines were killed and three were seriously wounded.
As I watched what was happening from my position in the stream bed, I knew that it was just a matter of time before that machine gun would systematically "take out" that whole platoon--squad by squad. If I didn't act immediately, they would be lost in just a matter of minutes. I made a call to the commander of the first platoon that had made its way into the stream bed, directing him to move up the stream bed so he could attack across the flank of the gun position--not having to assault it directly from the front. At the same time, I directed another platoon to provide suppressive fire that might diminish the volume of fire coming from the machine gun position. All this was happening in the midst of smoke, multiple explosions, heavy small arms fire, and people yelling to be heard over the din of battle.
Suddenly, my radio operator grabbed me by the sleeve and pointed toward the middle of the rice paddy where a black Marine--a Lance Corporal by the name of Grable--had gotten to his feet, placed his M-14 rifle on his hip, and charged the machine gun--firing as fast as he could possibly fire. He ran about 40 meters directly toward the machine gun and then cut to the side, much like a running back might do during a football game. Sure enough, the machine gun, which had been delivering heavy fire on his squad, picked up off of the squad and began firing at Grable. Seeing the fire shift away from them, the squad moved immediately to the cover of a small rice paddy dike--thick ground, about a foot high separating each paddy from the other. Both they, and the other two squads were able to drag their casualties and gear to the position of safety behind this dike.
Grable didn't look back. He didn't see what happened. He kept on fighting. He dodged back and forth across these paddies, firing continuously. He would run out of ammunition, reload on the run, and continue forward--dodging back and forth as he ran. BAM! Suddenly he was picked up like a dishrag and thrown backward--hit by at least one round.
The rest of the platoon charged. My radio operator grabbed me again, but saying nothing, he just pointed to the middle of the rice paddy. That young Marine--Lance Corporal Grable--had gotten to his feet. As he stood, he didn't put the rifle to his hip; he locked the weapon into his shoulder...took steady aim--good sight picture, good sight alignment--and walked straight down the line of fire into that machine gun.
About four minutes later, my command group and the rest of the unit finally arrived at the now-silent machine gun position. There were nine dead enemy soldiers around the gun... Lance Corporal Grable was draped over the gun itself. As only Marines can do, these battle-hardened young men tenderly picked up Grable and laid him on the ground. When they opened his "flak jacket" he had five massive wounds from that machine gun. FIVE...
About seven months later, I traveled back to Headquarters Marine Corps in Washington and watched the Commandant of the Marine Corps present Lance Corporal Grable's widow with the nation's second highest decoration for valor--the Navy Cross. In this woman's arms was the baby boy that Grable had only seen in a Polaroid picture.
Grable displayed great physical courage. Somewhere in his character was another kind of courage as well--moral courage--the courage to do the right thing. When he had the chance to do something else, he chose to do the right thing. His squad was in mortal danger. He had a choice to make, and he did what was right, at the cost of his life. Let me remind you, this was 1966. Grable was a black Marine from Tennessee, who couldn't even buy a hamburger at the McDonald's in his hometown.
Grable ... moral courage ... personal courage ... character ... So, what of your character? Who are you? No, not the way you look in the mirror or in photographs ... but who are you really? What do you stand for? What is the essence of your character? Where is your moral compass pointing? Which course do you follow?"
