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Jon Deisher
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Jon Deisher's Discussions
VA Watch Dog
Started Jan 28
Passing of a hero ... the bell tolls ...
Started Nov. 24, 2008
A Flag to remember our Fallen Brothers and Sisters
Started Oct. 28, 2008
Jon's "Welcome Home!" Page
Profile Information
- What is your connection to this site?
- Veteran
- With which country's military are you connected?
- US
- In which American conflict were you engaged?
- Vietnam
- How did you arrive at this site?
- Friend's recommendation
- About Me:
- I served with Naval Riverine ("Brown Water") Forces on the Mekong River in South Vietnam, 1969-70. I also served aboard the USS Jamestown (sister ship of the USS Pueblo), and was stationed at NAVCOMSTAPHIL Yokosuka, Japan, Bainbridge, MD and San Diego, CA.
I am a trained counselor specializing in Vocational Rehabilitation, Trauma and PTSD, and Life Care Planning. I have 30 years experience working with Combat and Injured Veterans.
- Relationship Status:
- Married
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.
"Your son is here," she said to the old man.
She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened.
He was heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed.All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.
He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.
Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.
"Who was that man?" he asked.
The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.
"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."
"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"
"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed."
The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.
**************
Jon Deisher's Photos
Jon Deisher's Blog
The Story of "Taps"
But, do you know the story behind the song? If not, I think you will be interested to find out about its humble beginnings.
Reportedly , it all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison 's Landing in Virginia .. The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land… Continue
Posted on July 27, 2008 at 5:55pm —
The Path to Peace
The Path to Peace.
Jon C. Deisher
April 04, 2001
Brother Warrior.
In a previous life,
I served with the U.S. Navy in the Western Pacific
And on the brown water of the Mekong River.
I, too, was a thread in the blanket spread to defend those at home:
Thos… Continue
Posted on July 23, 2008 at 7:49am —
The gratitude campaign
http://www.gratitudecampaign.org/shortmovie.php
Comments?
Posted on July 22, 2008 at 7:57pm — 1 Comment
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I want to tell you how much I appreciate your comments and insights in our community.
You are the rational voice of experience and boots on the ground reality for the items that get posted here.
Thank you for your contributions.
Ken
Cemetery Escort Duty
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's for a few cold ones.
Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day.
Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever -- the heat and humidity at the same level -- both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new.
It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed. She had a cane and a sheaf of flowers, about four or five bunches as best I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!'
But for this day my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along , we might make the last half of happy hour at Smokey's.
I broke Post Attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch.
I must have made a real military sight; middle-aged man with a small pot-gut and half a limp, in Marine Full Dress Uniform, which had lost its razor crease about 30 minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery. I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk.
She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.
'Ma'am may I assist you in any way?'
She took long enough to answer.
'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'
'My pleasure Ma'am.'
Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.
She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?'
' Vietnam , Ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'
She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine I'll be as quick as I can.'
I lied a little bigger 'No hurry, Ma'am.'
She smiled, and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'
'Yes, Ma'am. At your service.'
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out.
The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC, France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek.
She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman USMC , 1944.
She paused for a second, 'Two more, son, and we'll be done'
I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, Ma'am. Take your time.'
She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.'
I pointed with my chin. 'That way, Ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at.
She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted.
She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.
'OK, son , I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.'
'Yes, Ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk ?'
She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father; Stephen was my uncle; Stanley was my husband; Larry and Darrel were our sons.
All killed in action, all Marines.'
She stopped, whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly, and painfully.
I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin waiting by the car.
'Get to the 'Out'-gate quick. I have something I've got to do.'
Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him.
He broke the rules to get us there down the service road.
We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand to attention next to the gate post. Follow my lead.'
I humped it across the drive to the other post. When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice:
'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to Kevin, he never blinked an eye; full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing Duty, Honor and Sacrifice.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End'.... just think of 'Taps'.
Steve
http://g.dwgsee.com/wake/index.htm
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