North Coast Online

Taking Chance Home

Chance Phelps was wearing his Saint Christopher medal when he was killed on Good Friday. Eight days later, I handed the medallion to his mother. I didn’t know Chance before he died. Today, I miss him.

Over a year ago, I volunteered to escort the remains of Marines killed in Iraq should the need arise. The military provides a uniformed escort for all casualties to ensure they are delivered safely to the next of kin and are treated with dignity and respect along the way.

Thankfully, I hadn’t been called on to be an escort since Operation Iraqi Freedom began.

Read the rest of Chance's journey home here.

Rolling Thunder

Cole Kayser signs his name on a white shirt for fifth-grader Christian Martin, then rises from the grass outside Rainelle Elementary School, a tall and imposing figure.

He is every inch the retired Marine, from silvery brush-cut hair and camouflage cap to black leather motorcycle boots and the ``USMC'' tattoo on the edge of his right hand, on display when he salutes.

But ask him how it feels to be here, in a sleepy southern West Virginia town where children chase one-time warriors like Hollywood paparazzi, and a tear slides down his cheek.

``I've been holding back for 40 years, keeping all that emotion inside,'' said Kayser, a Vietnam veteran from La Habra, Calif. ``I found a family.''

Read the whole thing.

Memorial Day

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce 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.

We must not break faith with those who've died.