I am just an old country boy. Not a big writer but just a man like each and everyone of you. We are all stuck in this world together. I have had some readers wanting to donate to keep me going so. I am giving you this place to give as was asked. PayPal.me/djackson1954. my email address is email@example.com.
Mew-hu-she-kaw, known both as White Cloud and No Heart-of-Fear, was one of several tribal chiefs of the Iowa people in the mid-nineteenth century. His father, also named White Cloud, had been a tribal chief before him. By the time this portrait of the younger White Cloud was painted in 1844/1845, the Iowa population had dwindled from fourteen hundred to about 470 people. Treaties, some signed by the senior White Cloud, and laws passed to promote America’s westward expansion had forced the Iowa people from their traditional territories on the plains of eastern Iowa to a small reservation in southeast Nebraska. Missionaries tried to convert the Iowas to Christianity and teach them farming, contrary to the tribe’s traditional beliefs and customs. Deprived of their hunting lands and related livelihood, the Iowas became increasingly impoverished.
At this time of great crisis, White Cloud decided to raise money for the tribe by taking a small group of his people to London around 1844–1845. There the American artist George Catlin had opened an exhibition of his large collection of paintings and artifacts representing American Indians. A decade earlier, Catlin had traveled across the American West, recording images of American Indian life and customs (see slideshow below for more works of art by Catlin in the National Gallery of Art). In Iowa territory, he visited with White Cloud’s father. Knowing Catlin’s sympathy for American Indian life and ways, the younger White Cloud hoped that he could raise money by performing within Catlin’s exhibition. White Cloud and thirteen other Iowas wore their native costumes and performed tribal dances at Catlin’s gallery and met with British dignitaries while touring London.
The Q drops line up with The Law of War military manual. We the People can push the timeline forward by asking our military to go in and remove Biden the usurper/resident and restore our Republic. Take to social media and ask the national guard, the army and every branch of government to remove the unlawful resident and free us this foreign occupation.
Re: subchapter 11.3.2 ‘Duration of GC Obligations in the Case of Occupied Territory’, the Geneva Conventions last for 1 year after the end of occupation in a territory (after the military occupation was ended there). The occupation hasn’t ended yet, therefore 1/20/2022 bears no significance because 1/20/2021 – when Biden was inaugurated as President – was the beginning of occupation, not the end of occupation.
Just actually read the 11.3.2 subchapter, it’s honestly not that hard to understand. People have been pushing dates since the very beginning of this movement, but it was never about dates (see proof), but about MILITARY LAW, and the Q Plan, which is based on military law. Since the Law of War/Q proof connections are far too strong to ignore or refute, clowns have changed their tactics to mislead gullible anons about the Law of War. These clowns were unable to contain the spread of the Law of War/Q theory aka my LOWTS proofs/videos, which shows how big this decode has become at this point (i.e. too hot to handle). These channels/personalities are trying to mislead anyone they can at this point by presenting a half truth and half falsehood and getting their followers’ hopes up, only for their hopes to be inevitably dashed once these dates/time frames pass, in an endless cycle of an abuse relationship.
18.18 Reprisals by the US Military will trigger 11.3 End of Occupation, which is when the US Military does a military capture (arrest) of the Biden administration for violations of the laws of war by pretending to be, and acting like a sovereign power, when they are legally an occupying power; when this happens the US Military will take over the government and White House, instituting military government and martial law in America. The Biden administration is a puppet government for China, the occupying power, holding control of the White House in Washington DC (the occupied terriroty) via election fraud since the 2020 Presidential election.
If this occupation is taking too long for you, then FORCE the Military’s hand. Call on them to remove the Biden administration/occupying power. Tell them that if they don’t end the military occupation of China, then YOU will. YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE THE TIMELINE Go on social media and ask the military to restore our Republic! 🇺🇸💪
You need to read this all the way through and do your research.
Life in the Holler…Once upon a Time…I’m like the old house standing there in the shadows at the edge of the woods. Time has taken it’s toll, left it’s mark. No one pays its much mind anymore. Now I’m a seasoned person, weathered by time. But “there was a time”. When I was a kid a lot of times I would hear old folks say “once upon a time” or “back when” or “there was a time”. I would listen intensity to what they were saying & try to harvest the wisdom that was there. Of course they were referring to yesterday, days gone by. I find myself saying that a lot today & I reminisce & wander back to different times. Young’ins today don’t see the value in it. Come set a spell & we’ll walk thru the holler a bit. “There once was a time” I walked pathless woods just to see what I could see. Seeking guidance, solitude for pondering remedies for life. I walked the creek searching for flints, hoping to visualize, to see remnants of a time long since gone. I plowed the fields, fell the timber & huened the beams. Stacked hay high in the barn loft. I still do these things but only in memory while setting on the porch. “There was a time” I walked from one end of the holler to the other looking for that lost pony. I was glad to find her & she was glad also as we walked back to the barn together with a new bond. I climbed to the top of the ridge just for some mistletoe for my wife. Helped a neighbor rise a barn. Now mind is falling down but I’m too proud. I stood at the forge & beat hot iron into hinges for the gates & barn doors, that sag now with time & drag the ground. I hear the ring of that anvil, feel the heat from the fire & the hammer vibrate in my hand now only while I stand & stare into the ashes of that old forge. “Once upon a time” there was fences & livestock in the pastures. Now only deer, turkey, cayotes & other wildlife roam the meadows. Honeysuckle & morning glories have taken the fences for their own. Critters with masked faces & white stripes down their backs & varments live in the barn now, stealing eggs & helping themselves to the cat food. “Yesterday” baby goats sucked from bottles I held in my hands. Ponies pushed & nudged for treats in my pockets. Pulled the handkerchief from my pocket & ran off. Dogs pointed as birds took to wing. Red shinning eyes watched from the tree tops in the lamp glow. All fond stories to tell from the rocker now if only someone would want to listen. “Yesterday” there was the sound of drums calling from a place far away from the holler. Things I didn’t want to know of or see. Friendships forged in fire & than gone forever, fair wells said. Memories not mentioned on the porch, but while alone in the silence pondered, still visited, faded with time but not gone. The strengths you have today were forged & hammered out yesterday. So are the aches & pains. “Yesterday” on bent knee I folded my hands & asked for guidance. I still do, somethings don’t have to change. Time is priceless & we don’t know how much of it we are given, some had so very little. Use it wisely, be kind. “In days gone by” the song of the whippoorwill echoed thru the holler, It still does, maybe its not about yesterday but a new dawning in the holler…Lame Turtle.
My grandmother, Grace Caldwell Bayes, was born on May 20, 1910. When I was a child and needed a home, she took me in. I spent about half of my childhood under her care. She looked after me. She cared about me. Such things were at a premium in my spotty childhood.
She was a walking, breathing stereotype, tough as an old boot with a heart of gold. She was born on Mud Creek, in eastern Kentucky, 3 miles south of a godforsaken hamlet by the name of Tram. On the 1920 census, she’s listed as Gracie, 10 years old.
By the time I tumbled into her life, she had lived through two world wars and had birthed and raised seven daughters. She had four teeth, untreated diabetes, a bad case of arthritis, and bulging varicose veins.
Despite the aches and pains, I remember her working that old farm in her bare feet, day in, day out, singing songs about Jesus and warning me about the devil. She usually wore a big scarf around her head like a Russian peasant and looked twenty years older than her actual age.
I traipsed after her, wanting to help. Mostly, however, I was an overeager, inept little companion. But I tried to overcome that with my willingness to risk life and limb to win her approval.
We were partners, and we were always doing. Sometimes we would wander out into the fields foraging for a mess of greens. Other times we would kill a chicken. In the evenings we would sit on the porch and break green beans, and we would play word games and, in the fading light, she would tell me stories about the old times. About bad old times.
I still love words, like she did, and people tell me I’m a story-teller, like she was. I like to think that, like she was, I’m tough as an old boot, and I am certain that whatever kindness lies within me, I gained from her for she was the kindest person I have ever known. All of that is my inheritance. From Gracie, born on Mud Creek.
I’m grown now, grown old now, but I’ll tell you straight out that losing her still cuts through my soul.
A couple of years before I was born Mom and Dad bought about 10 to 12 acres of land for $14.00 and a gold watch. Dad built a four room house, living room (it doubled as a bed room for Mom and Dad) one bedroom, dining room and kitchen. We had a large fire place and of course Mom had a wood cook stove. These kept us fairly warm in the winter, yet the cold air seem to come in from somewhere. I can remember Dad took felt paper and covered the inside walls and he put shingles on the outside with linoleum rugs in every room. We still got cold. Dad and my oldest brother put plastic around all the windows yet we were still cold in the winter. It seems we all looked forward to bed time because we could get warm. I was born in this home along with my little sister and brother. All total we had six kids with Mom and Dad. Dad worked in the coal mines at times and did logging as well. We farmed what few acres we had and cut our wood from the other trees we had so as to increase our farming fields. Mom worked in the home doing the motherly things of a farm wife. She was the greatest house keeper and cook on our little mountain top. She always took time for us kids and told us stories from her childhood and books that she read. She loved westerns, Mark Twain, and wildlife books and her Bible. The way she told us or read these stories made you go there in our mind to enjoy the things as they unfolded. Mom would sing the old time hymns and some old folk songs she had learned. I remember the songs Barbra Allen and Jennie with the light brown hair as she would sing while doing her chores. I surly miss those wonderful days. Oh yes, Mom’s cakes, cobbler pies, cinnamon rolls, tea cakes and other goodies were the best. The smell of these cooking would fill our little home, so good. Dad built another kitchen for Mom that ran from one side of the house to the other. It also enclosed our well access so we could draw water in a not so cold area. Mom loved it. Dad saved enough money to install proper siding on the house and put up sheet rock inside as well. He bought a wood heating stove and closed off the fire place. All of these made the home warmer in the winter months. Mom moved hers and Dad’s bed into another room (Old dining room) and my oldest brother took the old kitchen as his room. All of us kids grew up, my oldest sister got married, the oldest brother took work in a northern state, my next brother married, I joined the military and later married, my little sister and brother got married and we all moved away. Mom and Dad passed in their late years and the old home was sold. The old house was taken down later then my oldest sister bought the old place. My nephew now owns the old place and trying to keep it alive. My two sisters and one brother have passed away, my oldest brother lives in North Carolina, my little brother still lives on top of our little mountain and there is me. I retired from the military and returned to Tennessee in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains We have made our home. I retired with Olan Mills Photography and American Electrical. I could not just sit at home doing next to nothing, so I have worked a few part-time jobs here and there to keep busy. My life has been good through the grace of God who keeps my family well and safe. I give thanks to God above every day and strive to obtain that blessing hope at the end of my time on earth.
I grew up in Hickory Flat Ga. and Canton GA.in the late 50’s , I was raised by middle to low income parents during a time when most everyone treated each other with respect. We didn’t eat a lot of fast food because it was considered a treat, and we couldn’t afford it. We drank Kool-Aid and lemonade made from water that came from our kitchen sink with real sugar. We ate beans & rice, beans & chicken from our chickens we raised,, bacon from our pigs we killed every Thanksgiving, eggs from our laying hens, beans & potatoes, beef from our own raised cows, which we raised a calf one time cause it’s mother died giving birth and when it got older my dad said he had to sell it to put food on the table, because this baby had become our pet , but we found our later the food we where eating was our pet. Raising our own animals was the only way we could afford meat like that. We had a large garden and an ole mule who plowed the garden and we canned or froze everything we planted so we did have plenty food I never remember going hungry. But I sure liked getting some sweets when mom and dad could afford it like at Christmas time, we got a lot of fresh fruit and candy and only one present each when we where small and clothes as we got older for school. When mommy bought groceries they gave you stamps that you put in a book and when you had a few of them full you could buy things , that is how I got my first bible. On Thursday nights was our treat night daddy always brought home moon pies, coke, and mommy made hats out of the newspaper for us to put popcorn in. All kids where at home for that and we watch movies like John Wayne , Lucy , wizard of Oz what ever we agreed on for that night , we laughed told jokes. With some of the money I worked for at 13 after my 2 sisters got married I bought Walkie talkie￼s so my brothers and I could tell jokes we heard at school that day. I keep one and boys all slept in same room so they had one but my dad would still hear us and would say go to sleep kids I have to work tomorrow, but I could here him laughing at some of the jokes.
We grew up during a time when we delivered papers, sold empty coke bottles, mowed lawns, pulled weeds, babysat, helped neighbors , worked in a chicken plant , to be able to earn our own money, we didn’t get money for doing chores as my daddy said our food was our pay. We went outside a lot to play games, ride bikes & horses, tag, kick the can, dodge ball, basketball in our old barn, baseball with my siblings , walked to our well down the Creek in the summer time to stay cool, running with brothers, sisters, families and friends , also played spin the bottle with friends & played hide and seek.
We drank tap water from the water hose outside… and took a bath in a wash tub outside . Mommy carried hot water from stove to put in wash tub in winter time. Bottled water was unheard of. If we had a coke -it was in a glass bottle … and we took the empties back to the store for a penny or 2 cent deposit.
We watched TV shows like Bonanza, Leave It To Beaver, Gilligan’s Island, Happy Days, Bewitched, The Brady Bunch, Little House On The Prairie, and I Love Lucy. After school, we came home and did homework and chores before going outside or having friends over. We had to ask and let our parents know where we were going, who we were going with, and what time we’d be back and always before dark.
You LEARNED from your parents instead of disrespecting them and treating them as if they knew absolutely nothing. What they said was LAW and you did not question it, and you had better know it!!! When the sun was starting to set you had better be home. In school we said the Pledge of Allegiance, we stood for the National Anthem , said the Lord’s Prayer before lunch and listened to our teachers.
We watched what we said around our elders because we knew that if we DISRESPECTED any grown-up we would get our behinds whipped, it wasn’t called abuse, it was called discipline! We held doors, carried groceries and gave up our seat for an older person without being asked. You didn’t hear curse words on the radio in songs or TV, and if you cursed and got caught you had a bar of soap stuck in your mouth and had to stand in the corner. “Please, Thank you, yes please no thank you were part of our daily vocabulary!
You grew up to respect the Nation, the flag, and the President, NO MATTER who it was or what party they were from.
Wasn’t it amazing how much we got done with our phones, and before cell phones and internet there wasn’t as much killing, child porn, or kids disrespectful to their parents on FB. But it has helped in our business, I thank God my mom and dad for bringing me up the way they did because it made me appreciate more , what I have now. God Bless you wonderful people.
Re-post if you’re thankful for your childhood and will never forget where you came from & the time you came from! Wouldn’t it be nice if it were possible to get back to this way of life? I really liked that life!!!!!!!!!🇱🇷🇱🇷🇱🇷🇱🇷🇱🇷🇱🇷🇱🇷❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
When I was just a small boy, my mother and I moved in with her parents. They were elderly and granddad had what was called ‘hardening of the arteries.’ It affected his thinking. He got mad and came after my gram with a butcher knife. They needed help.
Now his other daughter lived next door with her family. But they couldn’t be there all the time, my mom had divorced my finagaling dad and so it was a way good for all of us. Momma allus had a hard life from a girl. She just kept a smile on and kept going.
Iowa winters can be some cold, now. And we were right poor. Although, as a young boy of 6 or 7, it didn’t seem that way. Our house was old and right primitive by today’s standards.
We had electricity all right, but our running water was me running over to my aunts house with a bucket! She had a spigot on the side of the house for us. Their water came from a cistern. I’d run the water back home and pour it into an old butter crock. We drank from a dipper on the side.
Our bathroom was a stand in the kitchen, where the crock and basin sat. My fold down rollaway bed would be on the other side of the room as I got older. But as a child, I slept on the fold out davenport with my momma in the front room. The one bedroom was for my grandparents.
We had an old outhouse out back. But on cold nights, we had a metal five gallon bucket in the kitchen/bathroom. Pine Sol was added and a rug put on top until morning, when it was emptied. That kept the smell down some.
At Halloween, often the bigger boys would tip our outhouse over, making it pretty beat up. My uncle had finally had enough. One Halloween day he moved it ahead about three feet. That night there was a squalling and cussing going on when they tried to tip it over! Yep, their night ended right soon.
I remember the old windows in the kitchen was right loose. Momma would push newspaper in the cracks around the window and them trim it off with scissors. We also used a lot of rope caulk. The other windows had glass screens and the ones what didn’t, we put plastic on them, with cardboard strips tacked around them. It worked fairly well. We had a big oil tank that ran our one heater in the front room.
Funny, ain’t it? You don’t know you was poor until you get old. We got ADC (aid for dependent children) for me, my granddads railroad pension and social security. Even as a kid, I remembered that if his pension went up a dollar, the Social security would take a dollar away. They just wouldn’t let you get ahead no way.
A whole mess of years has gone by. I’m gonna be 69 in a tidy bit. It was good to be poor. I taught me to be grateful. To be appreciative. And to tote my own tote. Lessons that don’t be always taught except by living through some things.
I live in the south now, NE M’sippi. It’s a little ‘Mayberry’ kinda town. It suits my shoes right fine. I got four country acres and even running water and a flush toilet! How ‘bout that? I truly am a blessed man.
I’ve always said that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. But after reading the following, you’ll see what I just realized. 💜💜
Cheyenne “Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!” My father yelled at me. “Can’t you do anything right?”
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn’t prepared for another battle.
“I saw the car, Dad. Please don’t yell at me when I’m driving.” My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts…. dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon .. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn’t lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn’t do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor’s orders.
Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad’s troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, “I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article…”
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair.
As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world’s aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. “Can you tell me about him?” The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. “He’s a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we’ve heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.” He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. “You mean you’re going to kill him?”
“Ma’am,” he said gently, “that’s our policy. We don’t have room for every unclaimed dog.”
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. “I’ll take him,” I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. “Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!” I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. “If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don’t want it” Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. “You’d better get used to him, Dad. He’s staying!”
Dad ignored me. “Did you hear me, Dad?” I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw…
Dad’s lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad ‘s bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.
Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne ‘s cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father’s room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad’s bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad’s peace of mind.
The morning of Dad’s funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.
And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.”
“I’ve often thanked God for sending that angel,” he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article… Cheyenne ‘s unexpected appearance at the animal shelter… his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father… and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live while you are alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second chance.
And if you don’t send this to anyone — no one will know. But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found. God answers our prayers in His time… not ours.
God doesn’t give us what we can handle, He helps us handle (stands with us, and gets us thru) what we are given. In other words, God’s Grace keeps Pace with what we Face!!
Aren’t you glad you read this to the end ?? Please say “Yes” if you did ♥️ —–2 Corinthians 12:9
Today we honor the memory of Medal of Honor recipient Green Beret Gary Beikirch who passed away today at 74.
Beikirch was a medical aidman with the U.S. Army, who was awarded the Medal of Honor for valorous action while serving with Detachment B-24, Company B, 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne), 1st Special Forces, on April 1, 1970. The group was stationed at Camp Dak Seang in Vietnam’s Kontum Province when the enemy attacked along the Laotion border.
“During the intense firefight that ensued, Beikirch repeatedly exposed himself to enemy fire and mortars to treat the injured and dying and carry them back to shelter, ignoring his own wounds,” a press release stated.
According to his citation, Beikirch ran multiple times into the line of fire to retrieve the bodies of fallen comrades. Despite being wounded by mortar shell fragments, he searched and cared for other casualties until he became incapacitated.
“Pairs of Montagnard troops helped him reach the wounded when it became too difficult to move under his own command,” the release noted. “He continued aiding others until he collapsed and was immediately medevacked from the area.”
After being discharged in 1971, Beikirch went on to pursue higher education, becoming a veterans’ counselor and a middle school guidance counselor, the release said.
President Richard M. Nixon awarded Beikirch with the Medal of Honor on Oct. 15, 1973
Sergeant Beikirch’s Act of Heroism Congressional Medal of Honor Recipient for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sgt. Beikirch, medical aidman, Detachment B-24, Company B, distinguished himself during the defense of Camp Dak Seang. The allied defenders suffered a number of casualties as a result of an intense, devastating attack launched by the enemy from well-concealed positions surrounding the camp. Sgt. Beikirch, with complete disregard for his personal safety, moved unhesitatingly through the withering enemy fire to his fallen comrades, applied first aid to their wounds and assisted them to the medical aid station. When informed that a seriously injured American officer was lying in an exposed position, Sgt. Beikirch ran immediately through the hail of fire. Although he was wounded seriously by fragments from an exploding enemy mortar shell, Sgt. Beikirch carried the officer to a medical aid station. Ignoring his own serious injuries, Sgt. Beikirch left the relative safety of the medical bunker to search for and evacuate other men who had been injured. He was again wounded as he dragged a critically injured Vietnamese soldier to the medical bunker while simultaneously applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to sustain his life. Sgt. Beikirch again refused treatment and continued his search for other casualties until he collapsed. Only then did he permit himself to be treated. Sgt. Beikirch’s complete devotion to the welfare of his comrades, at the risk of his life are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit on him, his unit, and the U.S. Army.
The Giant Killer book details the incredible life of the smallest soldier, Green Beret Captain Richard Flaherty along with the harrowing stories from the men of the 101st Airborne in Vietnam. The Giant Killer FB page honors these incredible war heroes making sure their stories of valor and sacrifice are never forgotten. God Bless our Vets! Available now on Amazon & Walmart. Story by Sarah Sicard
101st Airborne Division at Hamburger Hill – The Battle of Hamburger Hill was fought May 10-20, 1969, during the Vietnam War (1955-1975). In late spring 1969, American and South Vietnamese forces commenced Operation Apache Snow with the intent of driving North Vietnamese troops from the A Shau Valley. As the operation moved forward, heavy fighting developed around Hill 937. This soon became the focus of the battle and additional American forces were committed with the goal of securing the hill. After a grinding, bloody fight, Hill 937 was secured. The fighting on Hill 937 was covered extensively by the press who questioned why the battle was necessary. This public relations problem escalated when the hill was abandoned fifteen days after its capture.
In 1969, US troops began Operation Apache Snow with the goal of clearing the People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN) from the A Shau Valley in South Vietnam. Located near the border with Laos, the valley had become an infiltration route into South Vietnam and a haven for PAVN forces. A three-part operation, the second phase commenced on May 10, 1969, as elements of Colonel John Conmey’s 3rd Brigade of the 101st Airborne moved into the valley.
Among Conmey’s forces were the 3rd Battalion, 187th Infantry (Lieutenant Colonel Weldon Honeycutt), 2nd Battalion, 501st Infantry (Lieutenant Colonel Robert German), and the 1st Battalion, 506th Infantry (Lt. Colonel John Bowers). These units were supported by the 9th Marines and the 3rd Battalion, 5th Cavalry, as well as elements of the Army of Vietnam. The A Shau Valley was covered in thick jungle and dominated by Ap Bia Mountain, which had been designated Hill 937. Unconnected to the surrounding ridges, Hill 937 stood alone and, like the surrounding valley, was heavily forested.
Terming the operation a reconnaissance in force, Conmey’s forces began operations with two ARVN battalions cutting the road at the base of the valley while the Marines and 3/5th Cavalry pushed towards the Laotian border. The battalions from the 3rd Brigade were ordered to search and destroy PAVN forces in their own areas of the valley. As his troops were air mobile, Conmey planned to shift units rapidly should one encounter strong resistance. While contact was light on May 10, it intensified the following day when the 3/187th approached the base of Hill 937.
Sending two companies to search the north and northwest ridges of the hill, Honeycutt ordered Bravo and Charlie companies to move towards the summit by different routes. Late in the day, Bravo met stiff PAVN resistance and helicopter gunships were brought in for support. These mistook the 3/187th’s landing zone for PAVN camp and opened fire killing two and wounding thirty-five. This was the first of several friendly fire incidents during the battle as the thick jungle made identifying targets difficult. Following this incident, the 3/187th retreated into defensive positions for the night.
Over the next two days, Honeycutt attempted to push his battalion into positions where they could launch a coordinated assault. This was hampered by difficult terrain and fierce PAVN resistance. As they moved around the hill, they found that the North Vietnamese had constructed an elaborate system of bunkers and trenches. Seeing the focus of the battle shifting to Hill 937, Conmey shifted the 1/506th to the south side of the hill. Bravo Company was airlifted to the area, but the remainder of the battalion traveled by foot and did not arrive in force until May 19.
On May 14 and 15, Honeycutt launched attacks against PAVN positions with little success. The next two days saw elements of the 1/506th probing the southern slope. American efforts were frequently hindered by the thick jungle which made air-lifting forces around the hill impractical. As the battle raged, much of the foliage around the summit of the hill was eliminated by napalm and artillery fire which was used to reduce the PAVN bunkers. On May 18, Conmey ordered a coordinated assault with the 3/187th attacking from the north and the 1/506th attacking from the south.
Final Assaults: Storming forward, Delta Company of the 3/187th almost took the summit but was beaten back with heavy casualties. The 1/506th was able to take the southern crest, Hill 900, but met heavy resistance during the fighting. On May 18, the commander of the 101st Airborne, Major General Melvin Zais, arrived and decided to commit three addition battalions to the battle as well as ordered that the 3/187th, which had suffered 60% casualties, be relieved. Protesting, Honeycutt was able to keep his men in the field for the final assault.
Landing two battalions on the northeast and southeast slopes, Zais and Conmey launched an all-out assault on the hill at 10:00 AM on May 20. Overwhelming the defenders, the 3/187th took the summit around noon and operations began to reduce the remaining PAVN bunkers. By 5:00 PM, Hill 937 had been secured.
Due to the grinding nature of the fighting on Hill 937, it became known as “Hamburger Hill.” This also pays homage to a similar fight during the Korean War known as the Battle of Pork Chop Hill. In the fighting, US and ARVN forces suffered 70 killed and 372 wounded. Total PAVN casualties are unknown, but 630 bodies were found on the hill after the battle.
Heavily covered by the press, the necessity of the fighting on Hill 937 was questioned by the public and stirred controversy in Washington. This was worsened by the 101st’s abandonment of the hill on June 5. As a result of this public and political pressure, General Creighton Abrams altered US strategy in Vietnam from one of “maximum pressure” to “protective reaction” in an effort to lower casualties.
US Casualties: 70 Killed 372 wounded North Vietnamese: 630 Killed
The Giant Killer book details the incredible life of the smallest soldier, Green Beret Captain Richard Flaherty along with the harrowing stories from the men of the 101st Airborne in Vietnam. The Giant Killer FB page honors these incredible war heroes making sure their stories of valor and sacrifice are never forgotten. God Bless our Vets! Story by Kennedy Hickman