How does a son say goodbye to his father? While this is a profoundly painful question to ponder, in this instance, the answer is really very simple – by honoring my father’s request to be buried and celebrated as a great Marine.

To Ed’s millions of fans around the world, he was an entertainment icon who’s brilliant and colorful career spanned some 70 years and included work as a bingo caller in a traveling carnival – yes, that’s right, Ed spoke Carnie.  Ed also worked in radio, theater, movies, and of course television.  Ed was the quintessential pitchman – selling everything from the famous Morris Metric Slicer to Budweiser Beer and even some of Mr. Carson’s jokes that didn’t always work as planned.  In Ed’s words: “jokesters joke, actors act, entertainers entertain”.  Ed was a consummate entertainer.

However, those who knew Ed best knew that while he loved being an entertainer, he truly loved being a Marine.

Ed’s Marine Corps career began during World War II and lasted 23 years.  At the end of it all, Ed was promoted to Colonel – he considered this to be one of the greatest accomplishments of his life; amazing when you consider the body of his work.

Over the years, Ed told me that he wanted to be remembered as: “a good entertainer, but a great Marine!” Considering Ed was an entertainment giant, this speaks volumes in regards to his love of the Marine Corps, with its inherent brotherhood and Corps values of respect, honor, and integrity – the defining elements of Ed’s character.

A few of the notable highlights of Ed’s service in and life-long involvement with the United States Marine Corps include:

• Eating powder eggs during Officers Candidates School – even though they were billeted on a farm with hundreds of chickens – some things in the Corps never change!
• Being commissioned as a 2nd Lt.
• Being made a flight instructor while still in flight school.
• Earning his Naval Aviator wings on 4/4/44.
• Flying the hottest fighter in WWII – the F4U-Corsair.
• Being placed in hack for conducting “training missions” over his girlfriend’s house.
• Becoming a test pilot.
• Being placed in hack for conducting “training missions” over his girlfriend’s house again.
• Teaching carrier landings.
• And yes, being placed in hack for flying “training missions” over his girlfriend’s house AGAIN.
• Telling NBC he’d love to sign a big contract to be their next star– but he had just received orders to report to Korea.
• Meeting Marilyn Monroe prior to deploying to Korea and having her impishly tell him: “Ed, I’m not wearing anything underneath”.
• Flying 85 combat missions in Korea as an artillery spotter – Ed earned six Air Medals for his tenacity and proficiency at closing with and destroying the enemy.
• Cornering the market on food and alcohol by becoming his squadron’s Officer-in-Charge of the Mess Tent and Officer’s Club.
• The 3-day long party in Tent 7 with 55 gallon drums of “truce juice” when the armistice was signed.
• Participation in creating the Toys for Tots program.
• Being promoted to Colonel.
• Promoting his son to the rank of Corporal.
• Passing a flight physical at age 70 and flying the Harrier Jump Jet.
• Working with The Flying Leatherneck Historical Foundation to cement the legacy and traditions of Marine Corps Aviation.
• And being Major General Lenhert’s Guest of Honor at the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Ball in 2005 – Sir, he had tremendous respect for you and was humbled to be your guest of honor.

Colonel Edward Leo McMahon – Dad – on behalf of a grateful nation, fiercely loyal United States Marine Corps, assembled friends, loving family, and me – a devoted son – it is the highest honor of my life, to fulfill your request to be buried as a Marine.  I wish you Godspeed, as you pull chalks and embark on one last mission in your Corsair – destined for the final rally point– Valhalla – warrior heaven.  I salute you!

NYTimes:

June 24, 2009
Ed McMahon, America’s Top Second Banana, Dies

By RICHARD SEVERO
Ed McMahon, who for nearly 30 years was Johnny Carson’s affable second banana on “The Tonight Show,” introducing it with his ringing trademark call, “Heeeere’s Johnny!,” died early Tuesday in Los Angeles. He was 86.

His publicist, Howard Bragman, told NBC that Mr. McMahon died at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center surrounded by his family. Mr. Bragman did not give a cause of death, saying only that Mr. McMahon had a “multitude of health problems the last few months.”

A person close to Mr. McMahon, speaking anonymously because he was not authorized to release information, said Mr. McMahon had bone cancer, among other ailments, The Associated Press reported. In February he had been hospitalized with pneumonia, Mr. Bragman told CNN.

With his broad, genial, regular-guy features, Mr. McMahon had the face of someone you would buy a used car from. Indeed, for decades he was one of television’s most ubiquitous pitchmen, selling everything from boats to beer. He also took a few acting roles and in later years was the host of the television talent show “Star Search” and wrote some popular books, includinghis memoirs.

But it was in the role of the faithful Tonto to Carson’s wry Lone Ranger that Mr. McMahon made his sideman’s mark. After he rolled out his introduction like a red carpet for the boss, and after Carson delivered his nightly monologue, Mr. McMahon, in jacket and tie, would take his seat on the couch beside the host’s desk, chat and banter with Carson a bit before the guests came on and almost invariably guffaw at his jokes, even when he was the butt of them. When the guests did arrive, he would slide over to make room and rarely interrupt.

6 years, 2 wars, and 85 combat missions serving in the Marine Corp. That was part of Ed McMahon’s 86 year history, as well.

It’s the passing of a generation, folks.

Andrea Shea King did an interview with him November 30, 2007. Worth a listen to.

The rest of the NYTimes piece, by Richard Severo:

The work paid handsomely — some reports said $5 million a year — and it made Mr. McMahon a familiar face, and voice, in millions of households. “The Tonight Show” became the country’s most popular late-night television diversion, and the “Heeeere’s Johnny” introduction became a national catchphrase.

“I laugh for an hour and then go home,” Mr. McMahon once said. “I’ve got the world’s greatest job.”

Off camera he and Carson were friends and occasional drinking buddies, although Mr. McMahon noted that Carson, who died in 2005, was not terribly social. “He doesn’t give friendship easily or need it,” he said. “He packs a tight suitcase.”

Mr. McMahon rarely ran the risk of upstaging Carson. “To me, he’s the star and I’m on the sidelines, just nudging him a bit,” he said. But early in their association he slipped up.

It happened one night when Carson was telling the audience about a study concluding that mosquitoes preferred to bite “warm-blooded, passionate people.” Before Carson could deliver his punch line, Mr. McMahon slapped his own arm, as if crushing a mosquito. The audience roared. Carson coolly produced a giant can of insect spray from under his desk and said, glaring at Mr. McMahon, “I guess I won’t be needing this prop, will I?”

It was a rare flare-up in an association that began in the late 1950s, when Carson was the host of the ABC comedy quiz show “Do You Trust Your Wife?” and Mr. McMahon was hired to announce the show and read the commercials. (The title was later changed to “Who Do You Trust?”) In 1962, when Carson moved to “The Tonight Show,” replacing Jack Paar, he took Mr. McMahon with him.

Mr. McMahon warmed up the studio audience, read commercials and served as Carson’s straight man until Carson left the show in 1992. Though Mr. McMahon sometimes projected the image of an amiable lush and got laughs for it, the cup that was always before him on “The Tonight Show” held only iced tea, he said. Years later, he said he had missed only three tapings in 30 years, because of colds or the flu.

Edward Leo Peter McMahon Jr. was born in Detroit on March 6, 1923. His father, a vaudevillian, had to move a lot to find work, and young Ed had attended 15 high schools by the time he was a senior. Edward Sr.’s career was so erratic that one year, awash in money, the McMahons lived in the Mark Hopkins hotel, atop Nob Hill in San Francisco; another year, flat broke, they existed in a cold-water flat in Bayonne, N.J.

As a boy in Bayonne, Mr. McMahon recalled, he dreamed of becoming an entertainer and did imitations of stars, using a flashlight as his microphone and his dog, Valiant Prince, as his audience. He shined shoes, sold newspapers, dug ditches, sold peanuts, worked as an usher, labored on a construction gang and sold stainless-steel cookware door to door.

At his request he spent his last high school years in Lowell, Mass., where his grandmother lived. By the time he was 18 he had been a traveling bingo announcer in New England and had sold a gadget called the Morris Metric Slicer to tourists on the Atlantic City Boardwalk and in Times Square. He also took elocution lessons at Emerson College in Boston.
Mr. McMahon enlisted in the Marine Corps toward the end of World War II and became a fighter pilot, but did not see combat. After his discharge he attended the Catholic University of America in Washington, receiving a bachelor’s degree in 1949. He then landed a job at a Philadelphia radio station and began appearing on television as, among other things, a clown and the host of a cooking show.

But his budding television career was interrupted when he was recalled into military service during the Korean War. He flew 85 combat missions in 15 months, winning six Air Medals, and remained active in the Marine Corps Reserve afterward.

Returning from the war, he resumed his television work in Philadelphia while traveling to New York hoping to break into network television. He also pursued a separate career as a businessman. By the time he made it as an announcer, he had acquired a stationery company, a company that made knickknacks, two television and film companies and a talent agency. He also speculated in real estate.

Even when he got his big break with Carson, he never let up on his business activities. Carson would tweak him about them on “The Tonight Show,” suggesting that after that night’s show was over, Mr. McMahon would be selling jams and jellies in the elevator.

Over the years Mr. McMahon became a paid spokesman for many products and companies, including Budweiser beer, Alpo dog food, Chris-Craft boats, Texas Instruments, Breck shampoo, Sara Lee baked goods and Mercedes-Benz. His name and photograph were fixtures on the form letters mailed by American Family Publishers announcing sweepstakes winners. He marketed his own brand of liquor, McMahon Perfect Vodka. Most recently, he and the rapper MC Hammer promoted a gold-buying business called Cash4Gold.

And for more than 40 years, Mr. McMahon appeared with Jerry Lewis on Mr. Lewis’s Muscular Dystrophy Association telethon over Labor Day Weekend. He did some acting as well. Among the movies he appeared in were “The Incident” (1967), in which he played a passenger brutalized by young thugs on a New York subway train; “Slaughter’s Big Rip-Off” (1973); and “Fun With Dick and Jane” (1977).

After leaving “The Tonight Show,” Mr. McMahon appeared in summer stock and kept his hand in television. He was the host of the talent show “Star Search”; he joined Dick Clark on “TV’s Bloopers and Practical Jokes”; he was Tom Arnold’s sidekick on the short-lived sitcom “The Tom Show.” For the USA Radio Network, he broadcast “Ed McMahon’s Lifestyles Live” weekly from his home.

There were books, too, most recently the best-selling “Here’s Johnny! My Memories of Johnny Carson, the Tonight Show, and 46 Years of Friendship” (2005). Others were “For Laughing Out Loud: My Life and Good Times” (1998), written with David Fisher; “Ed McMahon’s Barside Companion” (1969); and “Here’s Ed, or How to Be a Second Banana, From Midway to Midnight” (1976).

Despite his many business ventures, Mr. McMahon encountered hard times in his last years. He was forced to sell his Beverly Hills mansion last year after falling behind in payments on $4.8 million in mortgages, and a former lawyer sued him for nonpayment of fees.

Mr. McMahon blamed two divorces, bad money management and bad investments for his woes. “I made a lot of money, but you can spend a lot of money,” he said by way of explanation.

He was plagued by health problems as well, undergoing a series of operations after breaking his neck in a fall in 2007.

Mr. McMahon married Alyce Ferrell during World War II. They were divorced in 1976. They had four children, Claudia, Michael, Linda and Jeffrey. His second marriage, to Victoria Valentine, in 1976, ended in divorce in 1989. They adopted a daughter, Katherine Mary McMahon. Mr. McMahon and his third wife, Pam Hurn, a fashion designer, were married in 1992.

Mr. McMahon regarded his friendship with Johnny Carson as a marriage of sorts. “Most comic teams are not good friends or even friends at all,” he wrote in “Here’s Johnny.” “Laurel and Hardy didn’t hang out together, Abbott and Costello weren’t best of friends.” But, he added, “Johnny and I were the happy exception.”

”For 40 years Johnny and I were as close as two nonmarried people can be,” he wrote. “And if he heard me say that, he might say, ‘Ed, I always felt you were my insignificant other.’ “

No matter what he did after “The Tonight Show,” however, Mr. McMahon will likely always be remembered as America’s favorite second banana, perhaps the most famous sidekick in television history.

“For 40 years Johnny and I were as close as two nonmarried people can be,” he wrote in “Here’s Johnny! My Memories of Johnny Carson, the Tonight Show, and 46 Years of Friendship,” a best seller in 2005. “And if he heard me say that, he might say, ‘Ed, I always felt you were my insignificant other.’”

“He told us … `I don’t want you to remember me in tears,”‘ his mother, Gail Johnson-Roth, told about 250 mourners at his funeral at Los Angeles National Cemetery in Westwood. “`I want you to remember me with laughter.”‘
-from the Daily Breeze, two years ago

Yesterday afternoon I went to the Los Angeles National Cemetery in Westwood.

Not long after arriving, as I was walking through the cemetery, a particular gravesite stood out because it was embraced by flowers and balloons. I guessed it was a recent soldier who had died. Walking over to it, I recognized the name of who I stumbled upon: Daniel Patrick Cagle. I had put together a post when he was buried two years ago, moved by the above photo. It had caught my attention on the front page of a local paper (Torrance, actually; but still part of the greater LA area), The Daily Breeze, as I was waiting in a diner.

Here are a few photos I took yesterday:

I do hope and pray that Cagle’s family and friends can remember him with laughter amidst the tears.

Missy alerted me to the story of Marine Lieutenant Colonel Strobl’s escort of the remains of Lance Corporal Chance Phelps to be an HBO movie, airing in February and starring Kevin Beacon. Phelps was killed in action on April 9, 2004 in Iraq and buried April 17th in Dubois, Wyoming. Read the moving account if you have not yet done so.

Thanks Missy.

Yesterday, I received an email from CJ, going over the proper etiquette and ceremonial symbolism behind the folding of the American flag that drapes military coffins (apparently, the symbolism/recitation for each of the 13 folds wasn’t originally attached to the ceremonial 13-step folding; but it has become part of the time-honored tradition worth preserving):

Meaning of Flag Draped Coffin

All Americans should be given this lesson. Those who think that America is an arrogant nation should really reconsider that thought. Our founding fathers used GOD’s word and teachings to establish our Great Nation and I think it’s high time Americans get re-educated about this Nation’s history. Pass it along and be proud of the country we live in and even more proud of those who serve to protect our ‘GOD GIVEN’ rights and freedoms.

I hope you take the time to read this….. To understand what the flag draped coffin really means….. Here is how to understand the flag that laid upon it and is surrendered to so many widows and widowers.

Do you know that at military funerals, the 21-gun salute stands for the sum of the numbers in the year 1776?

Have you ever noticed the honor guard pays meticulous attention to correctly folding the United States of America Flag 13 times? You probably thought it was to symbolize the original 13 colonies, but we learn something new every day!

The 1st fold of the flag is a symbol of life.

The 2nd fold is a symbol of the belief in eternal life.

The 3rd fold is made in honor and remembrance of the veterans departing the ranks who gave a portion of their lives for the defense of the country to attain peace throughout the world.

The 4th fold represents the weaker nature, for as American citizens trusting in God, it is to Him we turn in times of peace as well as in time of war for His divine guidance.

The 5th fold is a tribute to the country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, ‘Our Country, in dealing with other countries, may she always be right; but it is still our country, right or wrong.’

The 6th fold is for where people’s hearts lie. It is with their heart that They pledge allegiance to the flag of the United! States Of America, and the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.

The 7th fold is a tribute to its Armed Forces, for it is through the Armed Forces that they protect their country and their flag against all her enemies, whether they be found within or without the boundaries of their republic.

The 8th fold is a tribute to the one who entered into the valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day.

The 9th fold is a tribute to womanhood, and Mothers. For it has been through their faith, their love, loyalty and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great has been molded.

The 10th fold is a tribute to the father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of their country since they were first born.

The 11th fold represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon and glorifies in the Hebrews eyes, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

The 12th fold represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in the Christians eyes, God the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit.

The 13th fold, or when the flag is completely folded, the stars are uppermost reminding them of their nations motto, ‘In God We Trust.’

After the flag is completely folded and tucked in, it takes on the appearance of a cocked hat, ever reminding us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington, and the Sailors and Marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, who were followed by their comrades and shipmates in the Armed Forces of the United States, preserving for them the rights, privileges and freedoms they enjoy today.

There are some traditions and ways of doing things that have deep meaning. In the future, you’ll see flags folded and now you will know why.

After reading this, I derisively thought to myself, “Don’t let Michael Newdow hear about this.” (Apparently his latest “I’m offended” atheist jig is to file a lawsuit regarding President-Elect Obama’s inauguration to leave out all references to God and religion).

Then I remembered that this suppression by secular fanatics already took place. Rob posted this from late October of 2007:

Through thousands of military burials, Memorial Honor Detail volunteers at Riverside National Cemetery in California have folded the American flag 13 times and recited the significance of every fold to survivors of those being laid to rest.

The first fold, a narrator tells relatives, represents life, the second a belief in eternal life.
The 11th fold celebrates Jewish war veterans and glorifies the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

A single complaint lodged against the words for the 11th fold recently prompted the National Cemetery Administration to ban the entire recital at all 125 national cemeteries.

A spokesman in Washington said the complaint originated from someone who witnessed the ceremony at Riverside National but would provide no other details and declined to release the directive banning the flag-folding recital, saying it was “an internal working document not meant for public distribution.”

Veterans are furious.

“That the actions of one disgruntled, whining, narcissistic and intolerant individual is preventing veterans from getting the honors they deserve is truly an outrage,” said Rees Lloyd, 59, a Vietnam-era veteran and Memorial Honor Detail volunteer. “This is another attempt by secularist fanatics to cleanse any reference to God.”

World War II Navy sailor Bobby Castillo, 85, another member of Memorial Honor Detail 12, called the federal decision “a slap in the face to every veteran.”

“When we got back from the war, we didn’t ask for a whole lot,” said Castillo, who was wounded in 1944 as he supported the Allied landings in France. “We just want to give our veterans the respect they deserve. No one has ever complained to us about it. I just don’t understand.”

The pair, part of a team that has performed military honors at more than 1,400 services, said they were preparing to read the flag-folding remarks when workers in a staff car came up to them and stopped them.

Charlie Waters, parliamentarian for the American Legion of California, said he’s advising memorial-honor details to ignore the edict, even if it means being kicked out of cemeteries.

“This is nuts,” Waters, a Korean War veteran, said in a telephone interview from Fresno. “There are 26 million veterans in this country and they’re not going to take us all to prison.”

Mike Nacincik, a spokesman for the National Cemetery Administration, said the new policy, which was outlined in a Sept. 27 memo, is aimed at creating uniform services throughout the military graveyard system.

He said the 13-fold recital is not part of the U.S. Flag Code and is not government-approved. After the complaint made its way through government channels, Steve Muro, director of field operations, wrote the new policy.

Nacincik said that while the flag-folding narrative includes references to God that the government does not endorse, the main reason for the new rules is uniformity.

“We are looking at consistency,” Nacincik said. “We think that’s important.”

As for comments that the edict is an attack on religious beliefs, Nacincik said, “People are going to have their own views on that.”

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller, of Temple Beth El in Riverside, said he understands the government’s decision to ban the recitation but believes it is a quick solution to a complex issue.

“It is a perfect example of government choosing to ignore religion in order to avoid offending some religions,” Miller said. “To me, ignoring religion in general is just as problematic as endorsing any one religion.”

Hot Air:

a coast-to-coast ban on the recital at all 125 cemeteries overseen by the National Cemetery Administration. The families can read it aloud if they want, says the NCA, but no cemetery workers will be allowed to do so.

A spokesman for the California Defense of Veterans Memorials Project says: nuts.

“It’s outrageous,” he says bluntly. “These are decisions that should be made by the families of our deceased veteran comrades and not by Washington bureaucrats — and most certainly not by any narcissistic, disaffected, offended atheist, agnostic, or any other [person] who is upset or offended by the word ‘God’ or a religious symbol which might offend his delicate sensibilities.”

Lloyd vows that even if there are “a hundred-million offended atheists,” he and other American Legionnaires will stand against the ban.

“We will defy this ban, pure and simple,” he states. “If the families ask us to recite the flag-folding ceremony, we will abide by the wishes of the family — not [by the wishes of] some bureaucrat sitting in an air-conditioned office in Washington, DC, or some lawyer wearing a diaper back there whose main mission in life is to protect his own behind instead of standing up for the American people and saying enough is enough.”

Thanks to Duncan Hunter and about 25 other Congressmen, as well as overwhelming public outcry, the ban was lifted fairly soon afterward.

Thank God.

He had been admitted to ICU with a serious cystic fibrosis attack about 18 days ago.

Something Dean Barnett wrote a year ago:

As I mentioned yesterday and long-time readers know, I have Cystic Fibrosis. CF is a genetic disease, the number one genetic killer in the country. The average age of death is 36. I’m now 39; when I was born in 1967, the life expectancy for a newborn with CF was 8 years.

CF is a strange disease inasmuch as there are 1500 genetic variations of it. That means in an American patient population of 40,000, most “Cystics” are battling essentially different diseases. With the advances in genetic understanding made over the past two decades, it has become clear that some CF patients draw a much better lot than others.

Until I was a teenager, I was mostly asymptomatic. Even after I was a teenager, I enjoyed what is considered good health in the CF community. I’ve certainly been luckier than most CF patients.

About five years ago, my condition deteriorated suddenly and rapidly. One thing about a lung disease that I’m not sure many people know is that because of the scarring of the lungs that occurs during exacerbations, ground once lost is often impossible to reclaim. In other words, a serious exacerbation causes a new lower baseline. My initial deterioration five years ago reset my baseline, and many of the activities that I had once loved like running and racquetball became memories.

Over the next few years, I continued to get sicker. That’s one of the reasons I decided to remake myself as a pundit. I needed to find an activity that I’d find satisfying but didn’t require 50 hours a week of work or travel or any of the other demanding accoutrements that my business life had featured.

A couple of years ago, I went on the lung transplant list. A lung transplant is what’s known as a treatment of last resort. The survival expectations are rather grim. 30% of recipients don’t make it one year; 50% don’t make it three years. Obviously you don’t go on the list unless your time is winding down.

IN THE SUMMER OF 2005 I made the top of the list. That meant that the next set of lungs that came available in New England and matched my relatively rare blood type belonged to me. I got a new cell phone whose number only the hospital had and waited for a call that could come in a week or might take years.

Shortly thereafter, something that I consider a miracle occurred. Some clever CF doctors in Australia noted that several of their patients who were avid surfers enjoyed much better pulmonary health than their non-surfing compadres. Although the CF gene was discovered almost two decades ago, the way the disease functions is not well understood. Still, the medical community has reached a consensus that CF’s problems originate with sodium transfer issues at the cellular level.

Those of you who remember your high school chemistry no doubt recall that sodium is a key component of salt. The Australian CF doctors figured that maybe the time their surfing patients spent inhaling the salt water was having a salubrious effect on their pulmonary systems.

The doctors wanted to run a study seeing how patients fared inhaling a hypertonic saline solution. (“Hypertonic saline solution” is basically a scientific way of saying sea-water without mud.) They sought funding, they got funding and the results were amazing. The patients in the program showed a remarkable level of increased lung function and a remarkably decreased frequency of exacerbations.

When I heard about the results of this study, I wanted to try the hypertonic saline even though the study’s sample size was tiny. From my past experiences inhaling other drugs, I sensed the treatment would be successful and was at the very least unlikely to be harmful. About nine months ago, I became the first patient at the Massachusetts General Hospital CF clinic to go on the hypertonic saline solution.

As was the case with the Aussie surfer dudes, my results were amazing. My lung function improved to the best it had been in five years. I dropped off the transplant list. I had a shot at a future. Who says miracles don’t happen?

I KNOW THE preceding is a familiar story to some of you, and for that I apologize. But I had to bring everyone up to speed so what follows will make sense.

A couple of months ago, I bumped into an old friend of mine who I’ve known for decades, since I was a small child. His son Joey had CF, and was seven years younger than me. Remember what I said about their being a range of CF cases? These run from the relatively benign like mine to the truly vicious. Joey had a vicious case; he was an incredible fighter, and it was amazing that he made it as long as he did. Joey succumbed when he was 12 years old.

Joey’s father is Joe O’Donnell. For those of you in the Boston area, “Joe O’Donnell” is probably an instantly recognizable name. Joe’s an extremely prominent businessman, a member of Harvard’s board of overseers, an almost-purchaser of both the Patriots and the Red Sox, and was recently coronated by Boston Magazine as Boston’s most powerful citizen.

When Joey was born, my father was head of the local Cystic Fibrosis chapter. He called Joe and said, “I understand your son has CF.” Joe said, “What of it?” My father said that Joe had to get involved. I’m not sure how much (if any) convincing Joe needed, but regardless my father doesn’t take no for an answer. Joe almost instantly became a pillar of the CF community.

When Joey O’Donnell died, it would have been completely understandable if Joe and his family turned away from CF and never looked back. Indeed, that perhaps would have been the normal thing to do. There is no agony like losing a child, and every time the O’Donnells are reminded of Cystic Fibrosis, there must be a measure of a pain involved.

But the O’Donnells didn’t go that way. In their son’s memory, Joe and his wife Kathy formed The Joey Fund to raise funds for research, treatment and support for the Cystic Fibrosis community. As Joe’s business and public profiles have grown over the past decades, so too has his commitment to the Cystic Fibrosis community.

When I bumped into him a couple of months ago, he asked me how I was doing. I told him I was doing amazingly, much better than the recent past and that I felt like I had a new lease on life. He said that was great. He then asked if I was on the hypertonic saline inhalant. I told him I was, and that’s what had made all the difference. He made a little fist-pump, and told me that it had been the Joey Fund that had financially supported the doctors in Australia and that had then made the product available to the CF community. My eyes welled up a bit as did my wife’s and I told my old friend, “You saved my life.”

THE SIGNATURE annual event of the Joey Fund is a Boston area film premiere held in Joey’s honor. Unlike most charity events, this one is a blast. The food is great, the movie is usually good, and since it’s a premiere you get to see it before anyone else on your block. But the most impressive thing about the event is the list of attendees. Politicians, athletes, business tycoons – they’re all there.

Last week, I got a call from the local CF chapter asking if I would participate in the making of a little film that would run before the movie. Of course I agreed, and yesterday I went down to Joe’s office to talk with a camera crew about my experiences with CF and with the hypertonic saline. The point of the film is to tell the audience at the film premiere that their generosity has made a difference. While the search for a cure for CF remains a frustrating one, the Joey Fund and the CF Foundation have produced treatments that have made a difference. I’m living proof of that.

At one point during my interview, the questioner asked me if I expected to see a cure to CF in my lifetime. I answered no, but that it doesn’t really matter. When you see death up close, a couple of things become clear. One is that we all die, and that death is just part of the deal. The other is that life is such a blessing, that’s it just so great, even though you know the inevitable might be near you still want as many bites of the apple as possible.

None of us know what the future of the salt water treatment might be. My health will maintain its current state indefinitely in the truest sense of the term. The good times could continue for years, or it could all crash tomorrow.

But regardless, this treatment has given me time – time to spend with my wife and family and friends. Time to hit golf balls (usually sideways, but even that’s alright). Time to chase my dogs around the house. Time that frankly I didn’t expect to have. There could be no greater gift, and it’s a miracle in so many ways.

The miracle has its roots in my persistent father who got Joe O’Donnell involved in the fight against CF. It continues through the incredible courage shown by Joey O’Donnell, who fought CF with such bravery that he inspired his family to fight the disease long after Joey succumbed. And it finishes with Joe O’Donnell and the rest of the amazing O’Donnell family who have given so much of themselves in so many ways and to such great effect.

There are indeed heroes out there. And miracles, too.

He will be missed. I followed his guest hosting on the Hugh Hewitt Show and read his writings. His family are in my prayers.

*UPDATE*
Hugh Hewitt’s Farewell post

Through the tears of anguish I cried upon hearing the news I felt a genuine anger beginning to envelop me. I felt the injustice and inequity that comes with experiencing the death of not only a 23-year old, but a genuine and fine individual. But then I began to contemplate the words Eddie chose to share with us from Ramadi, Iraq, an earthly hell which he endured and will never return from. I reflected on his concerns and his worries and I realized that anguish and anger – in the context of his sacrifice and the sacrifice of his family – are selfish.

I am not related to Eddie, but I feel a special brotherhood with him. I will be celebrating Eddie’s life, saluting his honor and I am motivated by his service and dedication, his patriotism and heroism, his memory, to make sure that our country does right by his life.

Eddie wrote a piece that was widely read last February.  Bill O’ Reilly mentioned it on his show.  In honor of this young man I am reposting that piece which shows us the true character of a hero:

Hope Rides Alone
USA Sgt. Eddie Jeffers, USA (Iraq)
February 1, 2007

I stare out into the darkness from my post, and I watch the city burn to the ground. I smell the familiar smells, I walk through the familiar rubble, and I look at the frightened faces that watch me pass down the streets of their neighborhoods. My nerves hardly rest; my hands are steady on a device that has been given to me from my government for the purpose of taking the lives of others.

I sweat, and I am tired. My back aches from the loads I carry. Young American boys look to me to direct them in a manner that will someday allow them to see their families again…and yet, I too, am just a boy….my age not but a few years more than that of the ones I lead. I am stressed, I am scared, and I am paranoid…because death is everywhere. It waits for me, it calls to me from around street corners and windows, and it is always there.

There are the demons that follow me, and tempt me into thoughts and actions that are not my own…but that are necessary for survival. I’ve made compromises with my humanity. And I am not alone in this. Miles from me are my brethren in this world, who walk in the same streets…who feel the same things, whether they admit to it or not.

And to think, I volunteered for this…

And I am ignorant to the rest of the world…or so I thought.

But even thousands of miles away, in Ramadi, Iraq, the cries and screams and complaints of the ungrateful reach me. In a year, I will be thrust back into society from a life and mentality that doesn’t fit your average man. And then, I will be alone. And then, I will walk down the streets of America, and see the yellow ribbon stickers on the cars of the same people who compare our President to Hitler.

I will watch the television and watch the Cindy Sheehans, and the Al Frankens, and the rest of the ignorant sheep of America spout off their mouths about a subject they know nothing about. It is their right, however, and it is a right that is defended by hundreds of thousands of boys and girls scattered across the world, far from home. I use the word boys and girls, because that’s what they are. In the Army, the average age of the infantryman is nineteen years old. The average rank of soldiers killed in action is Private First Class.

People like Cindy Sheehan are ignorant. Not just to this war, but to the results of their idiotic ramblings, or at least I hope they are. They don’t realize its effects on this war. In this war, there are no Geneva Conventions, no cease fires. Medics and Chaplains are not spared from the enemy’s brutality because it’s against the rules. I can only imagine the horrors a military Chaplain would experience at the hands of the enemy. The enemy slinks in the shadows and fights a coward’s war against us. It is effective though, as many men and women have died since the start of this war. And the memory of their service to America is tainted by the inconsiderate remarks on our nation’s news outlets. And every day, the enemy changes…only now, the enemy is becoming something new. The enemy is transitioning from the Muslim extremists to Americans. The enemy is becoming the very people whom we defend with our lives. And they do not realize it. But in denouncing our actions, denouncing our leaders, denouncing the war we live and fight, they are isolating the military from society…and they are becoming our enemy.

Democrats and peace activists like to toss the word "quagmire" around and compare this war to Vietnam. In a way they are right, this war is becoming like Vietnam. Not the actual war, but in the isolation of country and military. America is not a nation at war; they are a nation with its military at war. Like it or not, we are here, some of us for our second, or third times; some even for their fourth and so on. Americans are so concerned now with politics, that it is interfering with our war.

Terrorists cut the heads off of American citizens on the internet…and there is no outrage, but an American soldier kills an Iraqi in the midst of battle, and there are investigations, and sometimes soldiers are even jailed…for doing their job.

It is absolutely sickening to me to think our country has come to this. Why are we so obsessed with the bad news? Why will people stop at nothing to be against this war, no matter how much evidence of the good we’ve done is thrown in their face? When is the last time CNN or MSNBC or CBS reported the opening of schools and hospitals in Iraq? Or the leaders of terror cells being detained or killed?  It’s all happening, but people will not let up their hatred of President Bush. They will ignore the good news, because it just might show people that Bush was right.

America has lost its will to fight. It has lost its will to defend what is right and just in the world. The crazy thing of it all is that the American people have not even been asked to sacrifice a single thing. It’s not like World War II, where people rationed food and turned in cars to be made into metal for tanks. The American people have not been asked to sacrifice anything. Unless you are in the military or the family member of a servicemember, its life as usual…the war doesn’t affect you.

But it affects us. And when it is over and the troops come home and they try to piece together what’s left of them after their service…where will the detractors be then? Where will the Cindy Sheehans be to comfort and talk to soldiers and help them sort out the last couple years of their lives, most of which have been spent dodging death and wading through the deaths of their friends? They will be where they always are, somewhere far away, where the horrors of the world can’t touch them. Somewhere where they can complain about things they will never experience in their lifetime; things that the young men and women of America have willingly taken upon their shoulders.

We are the hope of the Iraqi people. They want what everyone else wants in life: safety, security, somewhere to call home. They want a country that is safe to raise their children in. Not a place where their children will be abducted, raped and murdered if they do not comply with the terrorists demands. They want to live on, rebuild and prosper. And America has given them the opportunity, but only if we stay true to the cause and see it to its end. But the country must unite in this endeavor…we cannot place the burden on our military alone. We must all stand up and fight, whether in uniform or not. And supporting us is more than sticking yellow ribbon stickers on your cars. It’s supporting our President, our troops and our cause.

Right now, the burden is all on the American soldiers. Right now, hope rides alone. But it can change, it must change. Because there is only failure and darkness ahead for us as a country, as a people, if it doesn’t.

Let’s stop all the political nonsense, let’s stop all the bickering, let’s stop all the bad news and let’s stand and fight!

Isn’t that what America is about anyway?

A Navy SEAL sacrificed his life to save his comrades by throwing himself on top of a grenade Iraqi insurgents tossed into their sniper hideout, fellow members of the elite force said.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael A. Monsoor had been near the only door to the rooftop structure Sept. 29 when the grenade hit him in the chest and bounced to the floor, said four SEALs who spoke to The Associated Press this week on condition of anonymity because their work requires their identities to remain secret.

“He never took his eye off the grenade, his only movement was down toward it,” said a 28-year-old lieutenant who sustained shrapnel wounds to both legs that day. “He undoubtedly saved mine and the other SEALs’ lives, and we owe him.”

Monsoor, a 25-year-old gunner, was killed in the explosion in Ramadi, west of Baghdad. He was only the second SEAL to die in Iraq since the war began.

[...]Prior to his death, Monsoor had already demonstrated courage under fire. He has been posthumously awarded the Silver Star for his actions May 9 in Ramadi, when he and another SEAL pulled a team member shot in the leg to safety while bullets pinged off the ground around them.

Monsoor’s funeral was held Thursday at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego. He has also been submitted for an award for his actions the day he died.

Blackfive has more on this great man:

SEAL Team THREE deployed to Iraq last Spring and within a month of arriving, Mike had already distinguished himself. As one of the platoon machine gunners, Mike made quite an impression on the battlefield. On May 9, 2006 a teammate was shot in the legs, immobile, and exposed. Suppressing enemy fire with his M60, Mike fought his way to his wounded comrade’s position and dragged him out of the line of fire while maintaining constant pressure on enemy insurgents with his weapon. That action earned him a Silver Star… in the first month of his first deployment.

Fast forward to the final weeks of that deployment and Mike along with two fellow SEALs were occupying an overwatch position on a rooftop in the Mulab district of Ramadi which is basically the most dangerous neighborhood of the most dangerous city in Iraq. A hidden enemy managed to toss a grenade onto the rooftop near the three SEALs, and Mike without hesitation warned his comrades verbally before placing himself in a position to block the lethal blast of the grenade from killing his teammates. One of the SEALs he saved said that Mike’s countenance was completely calm and he showed no fear only resolve. No short timer’s disease infecting this man, he had only a couple of weeks remaining in the deployment and he did not flinch at the moment of truth.

Froggy and others are calling for Michael to be awarded the Medal of Honor, which I fully endorse. I would also like to see Peralta be awarded this honor. The History Channel is doing a special on Peralta soon, but these two men need to be recognized by our Country with our highest award.

Other’s Blogging:

• Blue Crab Boulevard
• Gateway Pundit
• Riehl World View
• The Steel Deal

Sports Illustrated is putting on it Sportsman of the Year award. If you believe that Pat Tillman should be No. 1 then please click on the link and vote.

Tim Layden of SI gives a few reasons why he should be Number 1.

“Ask yourself, what is a sportsman? I submit that a sportsman is someone who plays games for the joy of playing them and nothing more. Not for fame. Not for money. He plays because in the games he finds a primal happiness. I didn’t know Pat Tillman well, but I knew him a little and I talked to people about him. By this definition, he was the ultimate sportsman for this or any other year.

As a high school football player, he once kept re-entering a blowout until the coaching staff hid his helmet so that he could play no more. He didn’t want to humiliate anybody, he just wanted to keep playing. He came to Arizona State as a far-too-small strong safety and before two-a-days were finished in his freshman year the upperclassman had nicknamed him “Hit Man” because of the way he threw his body around.

When I interviewed him at the end of the his senior season, he was loathe to talk about his athletic or academic honors because he’d feared he’d become complacent. When I asked Snyder back then if Tillman could play in the NFL, he said, “When teams ask me, I say, ‘If you don’t want him on your team, don’t draft him, because he won’t let you cut him.’”

When the St. Louis Rams offered him a huge raise, he turned it down to stay in Phoenix because it wasn’t about the money. When he felt a stirring in his soul to go fight wars, he left football because football was no longer enough. It was just a sport.

People play sports for all of the wrong reasons. Little children play because their parents foolishly imagine themselves freed from paying for college because their little boy or girl will win a scholarship. Grown children play because they foolishly imagine themselves fabulously wealthy, hosting a televised tour of the their mansion. Even those who hit the sports lottery drain the joy from the games, playing only for fringe benefits. There’s precious little joy in any of this.

Pat Tillman played football because he loved it with a child’s passion. As a kid, he used to climb slender trees in windstorms and sway on the breeze. He played football the same way and when he found something more important, he moved on. That’s a sportsman. That’s my Sportsman of the Year. And he would probably hate that, too.”

Thanks to Blackfive for bringing this up.

FALLUJAH, Iraq — Sgt. Rafael Peralta built a reputation as a man who always put his Marines’ interests ahead of his own.

He showed that again, when he made the ultimate sacrifice of his life Tuesday, by shielding his fellow Marines from a grenade blast.

“It’s stuff you hear about in boot camp, about World War II and Tarawa Marines who won the Medal of Honor,” said Lance Cpl. Rob Rogers, 22, of Tallahassee, Fla., one of Peralta’s platoon mates in 1st Platoon, Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment.

Peralta, 25, as platoon scout, wasn’t even assigned to the assault team that entered the insurgent safe house in northern Fallujah, Marines said. Despite an assignment that would have allowed him to avoid such dangerous duty, he regularly asked squad leaders if he could join their assault teams, they said.

One of the first Marines to enter the house, Peralta was wounded in the face by rifle fire from a room near the entry door, said Lance Cpl. Adam Morrison, 20, of Tacoma, who was in the house when Peralta was first wounded.

Moments later, an insurgent rolled a fragmentation grenade into the area where a wounded Peralta and the other Marines were seeking cover.

As Morrison and another Marine scrambled to escape the blast, pounding against a locked door, Peralta grabbed the grenade and cradled it into his body, Morrison said. While one Marine was badly wounded by shrapnel from the blast, the Marines said they believe more lives would have been lost if not for Peralta’s selfless act.

“He saved half my fire team,” said Cpl. Brannon Dyer, 27, of Blairsville, Ga.

The Marines said such a sacrifice would be perfectly in character for Peralta, a Mexico native who lived in San Diego and gained U.S. citizenship after joining the Marines.

“He’d stand up for his Marines to an insane point,” Rogers said.

Rogers and others remembered Peralta as a squared-away Marine, so meticulous about uniform standards that he sent his camouflage uniform to be pressed while training in Kuwait before entering Iraq.

But mostly they remembered acts of selflessness: offering career advice, giving a buddy a ride home from the bar, teaching salsa dance steps in the barracks.

While Alpha Company was still gathering information, and a formal finding on Peralta’s death is likely months away, not a single Marine in Alpha Company doubted the account of Peralta’s act of sacrifice.

“I believe it,” said Alpha’s commander, Capt. Lee Johnson. “He was that kind of Marine.”

I have so many mixed feelings right now. I’m proud of his bravery, he didn’t hesitate to die so that his buddies might live. Then there are the feelings of anger towards the terrorists who caused this, to the left wing idiots who think they know about life while drinking there Vente Cappuccino…and could care less about this Marine. I will raise a toast to Sgt. Rafael Peralta tonight.

UPDATE – 12/5/04

Above is a picture of this true hero plus the below information from Lance Cpl. T. J. Kaemmerer, a combat correspondent:

“You’re still here, don’t forget that. Tell your kids, your grandkids, what Sgt. Peralta did for you and the other Marines today,” said Cpl. Richard A. Mason, to a group of Marines after a fierce firefight in the battle-scarred city of Fallujah.

I am attached to Company A, 1st Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment, for Operation Al Fajr. My job is to tell the stories of the heroic actions and daily realities faced by Mason and the rest of Co. A, 1/3, during Operation Al Fajr. The most telling story of that operation was the heroics of Sgt. Rafael Peralta.

I normally have to interview Marines to get the full story, but on Nov. 15 I witnessed for myself Peralta’s selfless act of heroism, the likes of which generations of Marines have heard about, but so few have actually experienced.

With the batteries to my camera dead, I decided to leave it behind and live up to the ethos that “every Marine is a rifleman” by volunteering to help clear the buildings that lined the streets of Fallujah.

I was the third man in a six-man group, or what Marines refer to as a “stack.” Two stacks of Marines were used to clear a house. Moving quickly from the third house to the fourth, our order in the stack changed. I found Peralta in my spot, so I fell in behind him as we moved toward the house.

Peralta was a platoon scout, which meant he could have stayed back in safety while the squads of 1st Platoon went into the danger-filled streets, but he was constantly asking to help out. I learned by speaking with Peralta and other Marines the night before that he frequently put his safety, reputation and career on the line for the needs and morale of the junior Marines around him.

When we reached the fourth house, we breached the gate and swiftly approached the building. The first Marine in the stack kicked in the front door, revealing another locked door to the front and another to the right.

Kicking in the doors simultaneously, one stack filed swiftly into the room to the front as the other group of Marines darted off to the right.

After successfully clearing the front rooms in the house, we met up to clear the back room of the house.

Two Marines stacked to the left of the door as Peralta, rifle in hand, tested the handle. I watched from the middle, slightly off to the right of the room as the handle turned with ease.

Peralta threw open the door and was met by gunfire from three insurgents.

Peralta was hit several times in his upper torso and face at point-blank range by the fully automatic 7.62 mm weapons employed by the three terrorists.

Mortally wounded, he jumped into the already cleared adjoining room, giving the rest of us a clear line of fire through the doorway to the rear of the house.

We opened fire, adding the bangs of our M-16A2 service rifles and the deafening, rolling cracks of a Squad Automatic Weapon to the already nerve-racking sound of the AKs.

I saw four Marines firing from the adjoining room when a yellow, foreign-made, oval-shaped grenade bounced into the room and rolled to a stop close to Peralta’s wrecked body.

In his last fleeting moments of consciousness, Peralta reached out and pulled the grenade into his body.

The four Marines scrambled to the corners of the room as the majority of the blast was absorbed by Peralta’s now lifeless mass. His selflessness left the four Marines with only minor injuries from smaller fragments of the grenade.

During the fight, a fire was sparked in the rear of the house, and the flames grew.

The Marine in charge of the squad ordered us to evacuate the injured Marines from the house, regroup and return to finish the fight and retrieve Peralta’s body.

We quickly ran for shelter, three or four houses up the street, to a house that had already been cleared and was occupied by the squad’s platoon.

The ingrained code that Marines have of never leaving a man behind drove the next few moments. Within seconds, we headed back to the house, not knowing what we may encounter, yet ready for another round.

I don’t remember walking back down the street or through the gate in front of the house. When we walked through the door the second time, I prayed that we wouldn’t lose another brother.

We entered the house and met no resistance. We couldn’t clear the rest of the house because the fire had grown immensely, and the danger of the enemy’s weapons cache exploding in the house was increasing by the second.

Most of us provided security while Peralta’s body was removed from the house.

We carried him back to our rally point and upon returning were told that other Marines who went to support us encountered and killed the three insurgents from inside the house.

Throughout Operation Al Fajr, we were constantly told by our leadership that we were making history, but even if the history books never mention this battle and Peralta’s heroism, I’m sure that Nov. 15, 2004 and Peralta’s sacrifice will never be forgotten by the Marines who were there.

Tell that to the family of Margaret Hassan, the school teacher who was brutally tortured and then slaughtered by these same guys, they ain’t so bad are they Chris Matthews? This women who was known for her 30 years of work in Iraq, distributing medicine, food and supplies to Iraqis suffering under the sanctions of the 1990s.

British officials say they believe Hassan was a blindfolded woman seen being shot in the head by a hooded militant on a video obtained but not aired by the Arab television station Al-Jazeera. She would be the first foreign woman to die in the wave of kidnappings in Iraq. No group has claimed responsibility.

On Sunday, Marines found the mutilated body of what they believe was a Western woman on a street in Fallujah during the U.S. assault on the insurgent stronghold. The body, clothed in what appeared to be a purple, velour dress, was wrapped in a blanket, with a blood-soaked black cloth nearby. As of Tuesday night, the U.S. command said the body had not been identified.

These are the reasons that none of these mothereffers should ever see the light of day…they need to be all lined up and shot. Torturing this poor women for what? WHAT? And we should treat them as enemy soldiers under the Geneva Convention. Last I remember the convention applies to countries that signed the document and the two countries must have standing armies with uniforms….the Iraqi military is at our side, the terrorists are not. Since when are terrorists soldiers? They are lower then dogs.

Finally there is this written by a student of Mrs. Hassan

She was my English teacher

In the memory of my teacher and a fellow aid worker colleague Mrs. M. Hassan

Mrs. Hassan was my English teacher in The British Council in Baghdad in Al-Wazirya district, I remember her years ago with her Irish accent telling me it’s not Important how many words I must learn but the pronunciation of the words I already knew must be perfected.

Mrs. Hassan speak s perfect Arabic and she has a heart of gold, she’s been killed by (men in pajamas), turn Iraq upside down and find them.

The Marines will find them, and when they do they shall die.