ALL IN THE FAMILY:THE BEST OF MILITARY MEMORIESBY MAUREEN MORIARITY

Special to The Star

Military memo-ries are someof the best andsome of the

worst for those of us whohave served this greatcountry. For me, militaryhas been a family affair offollowing some mighty bigboots.

My grandfather camehere from Greece andshortly thereafter joinedthe U. S. Army when WorldWar I started. He fought inFrance and was injuredthere.

One day, in 1959, he gaveme a directive that I neverforgot. “Give back to thiswonderful country,Maureen,” he said in thatwonderful Greek accent.“You don’t know how luckyyou are to live in such acountry.”

He was so proud whenhis only son joined theNavy! My Uncle George wasstationed in Pearl Harborwhen the Japanese bombed— he survived, but wasnever the same.

Years later, I felt I hadnot fulfilled the promise Imade to my grandfatherthat day in 1959. I had vol-unteered and helped when-ever I could with any wor-thy community function…but not enough to believe I“gave back.” So, at almost 29years old, I joined the ArmyReserve and served for sixyears. It was during mybasic training at FortMcClellan, Ala., thatIranian militants in Tehrantook our embassy andapproximately 70Americans hostage. For thismother of three, that wasan exclamation point as towhy I joined the military.

I served with some ofthe best people I have everknown. Most of the guys Iserved with were Vietnamveterans. I strove to meettheir skills or expectationsas much as possible — Ithink I could still be amarksman with an M-16 ortake it apart and put it backtogether again. And I stillremember how to crawlaround on a tank safelywith their clear, concise

instructions ringing in myears. They were specialmen and it was an honor toserve with them. They willalways be heroes to me.

Annual weapons qualifi-cation always seemed to fallon the coldest, rainiest fallday possible. I remembergetting home from qualifi-cations still cold and wet.My then 7 year-old son,Greg, knelt down by meand helped me pull offthose soaking wet boots.He told me then that hewanted to join the Armyand wear boots, too. Healso enjoyed telling every-one he could that his moth-

er really did wear Armyboots.

My mother and fatherand my Aunt Helen andUncle Ray met each otherin Chicago during WorldWar II at Navy Pier during aUSO function. My dad wasin the Navy, my uncle in theAir Force.

Greg joined the NationalGuard while in college. Hewas in the early surge intoIraq, an engineer. He toldme of one convoy storywhere a lead truck had bro-ken down. There were a lotof Iraqi’s then that werehungry. The troops sharedwhat food they had when-

ever it was safe to do so.Greg explained that

most Iraqi men would eatfirst, then the kids, then thewives. But on this day, Gregshared food with a youngIraqi man and his two chil-dren. The man fed his kidsfirst — then he ate.

Greg was impressed bythis young man and theyboth did their best to com-municate. Just before theconvoy took off again, theman begged my son to takehis little girlwith him,explainingas best hecould that itwas not safefor his daughter in Iraq.

Greg’s daughter, Claire,was about the same age asthis little girl — around 3years old. It saddened Gregthat he could not help thislittle family. He remembersit still. It was hard to juxta-pose the opulence of one of

Saddam Hussein’s palacesand the way most Iraq’s hadto live.

Once you have been inthe service, any branch, youfind you are part of anextended family that iswarm and accepting — avery special bond.

Shortly after I beganworking at Thermal SprayTechnologies in the SunPrairie Business Park, Ilearned that there werethree of us veterans work-ing there: Daryl, a very tall,wonderful man who hadbeen in the Air Force;Karen, tall and slender, hadbeen in the Navy; and me— short and a bit pudgy,Army.

One day, someone hademailed me a video abouttwo older veterans — oneArmy, one Navy — whowould try to out-do theother raising the flag eachmorning. Then comes theday when one of them doesnot show up — when theremaining vet realizes hisArmy nemesis was not evercoming back, he honoredthe other’s service branchand life. It was very touch-ing.

I shared it with Daryland Karen one morning.

When it was over, Ilooked up at them, notashamed that there weretears in my eyes, only to seetears were running downtheir faces, too.

Even the big, toughDaryl was moved by thevideo, although he quicklytried to hide those tears. Iwill never forget that morn-ing and how three peoplewho could not be more dif-ferent, shared somethingvery special that those whohave served and those who

are serving,mostassuredlyunderstand.

Mygrandson,Andrew, is

now walking proudly in AirForce boots.

It’s all in the family —one kind of family, oranother.

Maureen Moriarity, apast correspondent, nowcompiles Winnowings forThe Star.

WE SHALLNOT FORGET

CONTRIBUTED PHOTOSABOVE: Housecleaning duties? No problem for Maureen Moriarity, who wascomfortable on a tank in thisphoto taken in early 1980’s.LEFT: This was precious timeMaureen Moriarity spent withher son, Greg, before he leftfor Iraq as part of OperationIraqi Freedom in 2003.