Serving imprisoned veterans creates bonds with warriors who took part in wars spanning Korea, Vietnam, and the Gulf War. One vet, who was jailed at the Federal Correctional Institution at Terminal Island, California, precedes all these wars and has become a valued friend over the past five years. Because of confidentiality issues, I will not give his complete name but will refer to him simply as Rene. This is his story.
Rene is a World War II veteran, a Marine, and one of the many Marines who took part in Iwo Jima, the invasion under the leadership of General "Howlin' Mad" Smith, on February 19th, 1945. Rene was part of the 5th Marine Division that was there on the first day when U.S. Marines took 2,400 wounded and 600 dead. Historians agree that the invasion of Iwo Jima was the bloodiest battle of the Pacific. During the entire operation, Marines and sailors suffered 6,800 killed and more than 18,000 wounded. Japanese soldiers fared far worse. Of the 21,000 Japanese soldiers entrenched on the island, 20,000 were killed.
Rene was born in upstate New York in 1924. He and his family lived through the Great Depression. They were a close-knit and loving family. He was in tenth grade when a radio news flash announced the attack on Pearl Harbor. 
He recalls all the students being called to assembly to hear President Roosevelt's remarks, including "a day that will live in infamy." Conscription would soon be instituted to draft all high school graduates and men from 18 to 27 years of age.
For Rene, it seemed that life had been forever changed and was now full of uncertainty. He graduated from high school in 1943, moved with his family to California, and volunteered for the U.S. Marine Corps. He took his boot camp training in San Diego. He became an expert with the M-1 rifle 
and graduated Private First Class. From San Diego, he was shipped out to Camp Pendleton, where the 5th Division (Spearhead Division) was formed.
The Story in Rene's Words
After six months of intense training, our division was shipped out to Camp Tarawa on the Big Island of Hawaii. Another four months of vigorous training followed. Finally, in January of 1944, the division sailed out of Hilo to take on supplies. 
We had no idea of what our final destination would be. Some 800 vessels 
of all types made up the invasion armada, and after several days at sea, we were finally told that the target was a small volcanic ash island just 350 miles southwest of Japan, called Iwo Jima.
We were also told that the island was made up of earth-covered structures, with connecting tunnels that ran from one end of the island to the other. At the left end of the island stood Mount Suribachi, where defenses were coordinated. The division was briefed by intelligence and told that the operation could probably be accomplished in short order. It soon became evident that support, such as battle wagon guns was lacking, and that Admiral Spruance, Chief of our Task Force, had decided that the attacks on Tokyo took priority over Iwo Jima.
The main objective for taking Iwo was to destroy the Japanese radar station that alerted antiaircraft stations on the mainland and to seize the airfields there. Japanese fighter planes, attacking from the Iwo Jima airstrips, were shooting down too many American B-29s returning from bombing runs over Japan. General Curtis Lemay wanted those airstrips for his B-29s and P-51 Mustangs.
U.S. forces dropped 5,800 tons of bombs in over 2,700 sorties. This bombing only seemed to strengthen the enemy's fanatical will to defend Iwo Jima at all costs. Each Japanese soldier was instructed to kill at least six or seven Marines before dying.
At 3:30 a.m., we were awakened and given a breakfast of steak and eggs, and given a "good hunting" message from our commanding officer. The first wave of the attack hit the beach around 9:00 a.m. climbing down the cargo net was a tricky maneuver with full packs and weapons. One missed step would result in being tossed into the churning ocean. There were 40 men per landing craft.
As we neared the beach, we observed devastating gunfire coming from the island and blanketing the beach, blowing up landing craft on either side of us. It was the most frightening moment in my life. Our training paled in comparison to what was actually happening.
As we hit the beach, the ramp was dropped, and we dashed through raindrop-like barrages and explosions, trying to get to some protected coverage. I ripped my pack off to move faster and dug in. When I went back to retrieve my pack; the only thing that was left was a crater hole from where a mortar had hit. 
The landing beach was a mass of Marines being put ashore and having almost no place for cover. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
This lasted all morning and intermittently throughout the day and night. Our landing on the Red Beach 2 location was about 500 yards from Iwo's number one airfield and about 2,000 yards from the base of Mount Suribachi. During the devastating barrages from enemy weapons, we attempted to dig our foxholes. My buddy and I, along with the rest of our troops, were taking sniper fire from the airstrips in front of us. Hidden behind a wrecked Zero aircraft above our elevation, he had good cover. The sniper was eventually silenced after an hour or so, and after taking his quota of young Marine lives. The Japanese had the advantage of directing gunfire from Mount Suribachi. Our commanders considered withdrawing us from the battle because of the great losses we incurred through our first day.
Everything had been stalled on the beach. That night, we finally started to slowly move inland. The constant rain, along with the volcanic sand, caused our heavy equipment to be bogged down, making it difficult to move off the beach. This amphibious landing was a nightmare, but we were to prevail in spite of the odds. How did any of us survive the beach landing? This is a question that I have asked myself over and over again. 
It's a very haunting memory that I have carried and will carry with me the rest of my life.
Picking Up Where Rene Left Off
Rene was unable to share the rest of his Iwo experience because of the distress and anguish these memories evoke. He tells me that he feels guilty because he was able to come home when his buddies didn't make it through the battle. I've heard this sentiment many times from veterans of all wars. At one point in his life, Rene made a wrong turn - a mistake, and he was incarcerated. Now, he would become just another forgotten veteran, joining the many others incarcerated or homeless out on the streets. But an unexpected phone call changed all that for the man who just turned 80 years of age. The curator from the Veterans Museum of Los Angeles called me. She said that the museum had just dedicated a section to the battle of Iwo Jima, and that she was given a lithograph of the flag-raising on Mount Suribachi to hang in the museum - (the original hangs at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, DC). 
The curator asked me if I knew any veterans of this battle because she wanted some veterans of the battle to put their signatures on the lithograph before she hung the piece in the museum.
I told her that I only knew one man who had taken part in that battle and that he was incarcerated at Terminal Island. The curator asked if I thought he might be able to sign the lithograph. I promised her that I'd find out. I called the administrators at Terminal Island and explained the situation. To my surprise, they gave their permission for the curator to enter the facility, and have Rene sign the lithograph. Arrangements were made, and a date was set.
On the day of the event, my team and I, the curator, and Rene's 85-year old sister (to whom he is devoted) gathered at the institution. We were led into a special room and joined there by prison administrators and the warden. Then all the veterans we serve at this institution were led in to witness the event. The lithograph was unrolled, Rene signed it, and recognition came in the form of applause, hugs, handshakes, and some tears. The institution even provided refreshments for attendees to enjoy after the ceremony took place.
The lithograph once hung in the Veterans Museum of Los Angeles, and Rene is no longer just another forgotten vet. He will be remembered for as long as that lithograph is displayed and as long as people come to honor those who served in one of America's fiercest battles for freedom.
Rene was released from prison in 2007. He moved in with his beloved sister in Yucca Valley. Before he left, a good friend and attorney for Public Council got him 100% disability for PTSD. Whether he is still alive or not is an unknown. Rene and I communicated by phone for a while, and then communications broke down. If he is still alive, he would be quite elderly by now. Rene was old school. One of the kindest gentleman I've ever known.
Matt Davidson is a Vietnam era disabled Veteran who, for 15 years, has been advocating for and serving homeless, addicted, dual-diagnosed, and incarcerated Veterans. He was recently hired by the Long Beach VAMC to continue his service to our brother and sister Veterans. He is married with a son and two grandsons.
eIn April 1943, a badly decomposed corpse was found by Spanish fisherman Antonio Rey Maria off the coast of Huelva in southwestern Spain. He dragged the corpse ashore, contacted the local police and military in Huelva, and reported what he had found. Spanish authorities arrived, finding an adult male dressed in a trench coat and wearing the uniform of a British officer. A black attache case was chained to his wrist. His wallet identified him as Major William Martin of the British Royal Marines. (Photo from the 1956 movie "The Man Who Never Was ")
The case with its unopened content was offered to the local British vice-consul, Francis Haselden, who declined it, suggesting that the handover go through official channels. 
The Spanish Navy then turned over the documents to the Alto Estado Mayor of the Supreme General Staff. From there, the attache case disappeared, and even the Gestapo in Spain could not locate it. Meanwhile, British authorities in London sent a series of increasingly frantic messages to Madrid asking the whereabouts of Major Martin's briefcase. 
The dead man's documents seemed to have been a major intelligence victory for the Nazis except for one thing: they were fakes. The man they believed to be a high-level courier was really a 34-year-old mentally ill Welsh tramp by the name of Glyndwr Michael. He had died after eating rat poison. As part of a plan dubbed "Operation Mincemeat, " British spymasters had dressed Michael's body in the guise of a fictitious Royal Marine courier named William Martin. A briefcase stuffed with phony military plans, false identity cards, faked personal letters, 
receipts, bills, photographs, and other "wallet litter" that gave the dead man a father, a fiance, and a backstory. After the black attache case was attached to his wrists, the body was taken aboard a Royal Navy submarine, the MHS Seraph, and secretly slipped it into the ocean off Spain in the hope that it might deceive the Nazis. It was the perfect con. The Germans intercepted what they believed was crucial information about where the Allies would attack the Mediterranean; they were also convinced they had done so without tipping off the British. 
When a hundred and sixty thousand Allied troops invaded Sicily on July 10, 1943, it became clear to the Germans that they had fallen victim to one of the most remarkable - and successful - deceptions in modern military history.
Oddly this highly successful and innovative twosome could not have been more different. Cholmondeley was a dreamer seeking adventure. Montagu was an aristocratic, detail-oriented lawyer.
But together they were the perfect team and created an ingenious plan: Get a corpse, equip it with secret (but false and misleading) papers concerning the invasion and drop it off the coast of Spain where German spies would, they hoped, take the bait. The idea was approved by British intelligence officials and Winston Churchill, who believed it might ring true to the Axis and help bring victory to the Allies.
an irascible admiral who loved fly-fishing; and a dead, Welsh tramp. Using fraud, imagination, and seduction, Winston Churchill's team of spies spun a web of deceit so elaborate and so convincing that they began to believe it themselves. From a windowless basement beneath Whitehall, the hoax traveled from London to Scotland to Spain to Germany and ended up on Hitler's desk.
According to Ben Macintyre, author of 'Agent Zigzag and Operation Mincemeat,' the incredible plan was the one brilliant deception that turned the course of World War II, helped the Allies defeat Nazi Germany and saved the lives of some 40,000 Allied servicemen and women. Macintyre also wrote that Montagu and Cholmondeley had a specific target in mind for their elaborate deception: Adolf Clauss, part of the Abwehr (German military intelligence) who was active in the area and one of Germany's most successful spies. He was known to be efficient, ruthless, and extremely gullible - the perfect 'sucker.' 
'Operation Mincemeat' was immortalized in the 1956 film "The Man Who Never Was, " released by Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corp. and starring Clifton Webb as 
Lt. Cdr. Ewen Montagu. 
Along the Cambodia border in the Central Highlands, roughly 35 miles southwest of Pleiku sits the Chu Pong Massif, a 2,401-foot-high piece of ground that stretches to the Cambodian border and beyond for several miles. The impenetrable rain forests covering the high ground gives way to thick jungle on the flat lands where there are open spaces with small strands of scrubby trees and large patches of razor-sharp elephant grass. So inaccessible is the region, neither French forces, South Vietnamese Army, nor the newly arrived American combat troops had ever been there. The area also belongs to North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces. It was into this enemy sanctuary that a lone, understrength battalion of the 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile) made a helicopter combat assault.
Lt. Col. Hal Moore, commander of the 450-man 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry Regiment, was chosen to make the combat assault. Several days before the airlift was to take place, he and members of his staff made a cautious aerial reconnaissance by helicopter to check over the area and to locate a suitable landing zone. 
Moore selected a football field-sized clearing at the base of Chu Pong Massif. American intelligence said the area was home to possibly an enemy regiment. In fact, there were three North Vietnamese Army regiments within an easy walk of that clearing.
The bitter fighting continued all day and into the night with the enemy relentlessly making assault after assault. Only through carefully placed massive fire support from nearby artillery and tactical air strikes outside the perimeter where they stopped, but casualties mounted on both sides. 
positions, and many of the American leaders had been felled in the initial stages of the ambush.
As night fell, the cavalrymen waited for the North Vietnamese to attack, but illumination flares provided by Air Force aircraft made the enemy cautious. At daybreak, the North Vietnamese 66th Regiment joined the 33rd Regiment in the attack against the Americans. Again, tactical air strikes and well-placed artillery took a toll on the enemy allowing the U.S. troops to hold out against repeated assaults. 
The smell of rotting corpses hung heavy over X-Ray. With the arrival on foot of the 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry commanded by Lt. Col. Robert McDade, on the morning of November 16, there were now three Cavalry battalions crammed into that clearing, including Lt. Col. Walter Tully's 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry. By the third day of the battle, the Americans had gained the upper hand. The three-day battle resulted in 834 North Vietnamese soldiers confirmed killed, and another 1,000 communist casualties were assumed.
As the battle on X-Ray subsided, McDade's 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry, was ordered to move cross-country to LZ Albany, where it was to be picked up by helicopter and moved to a new location. The U.S. unit was moving through the jungle in a long 
column when the 8th Battalion of the North Vietnamese 66th Regiment sprang a massive ambush along the length of the column from all sides. Of the 500 men in the original column, 150 were killed, and only 84 were able to return to immediate duty. Companies C and D took the brunt of the Communist attack - within minutes, most of the men from the two companies were hit. It was the most successful ambush against U.S. forces during the course of the entire war. Photo by war journalist Joseph L. Galloway.
Despite these numbers, senior American officials in Saigon declared the Battle of the Ia Drang Valley a great victory. The battle was extremely important because it was the first significant contact between U.S. troops and North Vietnamese forces. 
The action demonstrated that the North Vietnamese were prepared to stand and fight major battles even though they might take serious casualties. Senior American military leaders concluded that U.S. forces could cause significant damage on the Communists in such battles. In essence, this tactic leads to a war of attrition as the U.S. forces tried to wear the communists down. Thus began the 'body count' as the measure of success. Photo by war journalist Joseph L. Galloway.
The North Vietnamese also learned a valuable lesson during the battle: by keeping their combat troops physically close to U.S. positions, U.S. troops could not use close-in artillery or airstrikes without risking injury to American troops. This style of fighting became the North Vietnamese practice for the rest of the war.
It became more than obvious that the war had changed suddenly and dramatically in those few days. At higher levels, both sides claimed victory in the Ia Drang, they may not have used so grand a word and for something so tragic and terrible. It would become for many, the making of their worst nightmares for a lifetime.
Vietnam War. It focuses on the role of the First and Second Battalions of the 7th Cavalry Regiment in the Battle of the Ia Drang Valley, the United States' first large-unit battle of the Vietnam War; previous engagements involved small units and patrols (squad, platoon, and company-sized units).
We've spent plenty of time talking about the "Greatest Generation," those who fought WWII. 
Now I want to focus on some of those who were their kids - those who went to Vietnam.
But after a while, it soon began to have an effect on me. As I was doing the research of these soldiers still on patrol, I really began to learn a little part of their lives, and how their loss affected loved ones and is still affecting those who lived the experiences with them and many times held them as they died. 
And for a while, I had to stop working on them just to collect myself.
We'll never really know what they were thinking.
nor do I want to think about it. I've read what parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, guys who fought, bled, and held them have written, and it has really affected the way I look at these profiles. Most all of these young men were counting on coming home. Many had plans for a job, school; they had their favorite car, a motorcycle just waiting for them. Many had girlfriends,
engaged to be married; many were married, many had children they never got to hold or know. Many had little ones they left at home who hardly have any memories of their Dads.
who loved to work on cars. That ranch kid who'd grown up on a horse working cattle, the farmer's son who knew how to grow a crop and was coming home to take over the family business. Many were from the city who had no idea what being out in the jungle was until they hit the Army or Marines. All walks of life were represented by the fallen of Vietnam. I just wonder how the world would have been changed if these lives could have been spared to sudden end they came to and was able to fulfill their lives?
Every generation has those who've answered the call and hopefully always will. My generation's war was nothing like the "Great Generation's" war, but we did our part as have everyone before me, and as those who follow me will continue to do.
Many of these men have lived with the feelings of guilt - they survived, and their buddy didn't. A picture can bring back those vivid memories and events as if they were yesterday. From my research, I know for the past 30-years, or so, the living never forgot their buddies, nor will they ever.
Mikel W. Dawson grew up as a country boy west of Caldwell, Idaho. Worked a number of years as a professional guide in the Wilderness Area in Central Idaho. Completed almost 23-years military service as a Sergeant Major. Currently reside in Lintrup, Denmark, he runs his own business shoeing horses. In addition to his writing and his work with horses, the author enjoys metalworking, studying history, and travel. He has written and published two books: GUIDE'S LIFE and THOUGHTS OF A CRAZY OLD MAN.
Like most Americans in the late 1930s, President Franklin Roosevelt was not eager for the United States to get embroiled in a global military conflict. 
However, unlike fervent isolationists, he felt it was inevitable over time and began taking some steps in preparation for such an eventuality. 
Even with all the preparation, many Americans still refused to believe the war was inevitable. Then on a quiet, peaceful Sunday morning on December 7, 1941, Japanese naval and air forces launched a surprise attack on the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor. More than 2,400 military men were killed, 
150 planes destroyed, and eight battleships were sunk or badly damaged. 
The draft was greatly increased, and with every available man being inducted, war industry jobs went unfilled. American women stepped in to take their place, taking over a wide variety of positions previously closed to them. The aviation industry saw the greatest increase in female workers. More than 310,000 women worked in the U.S. aircraft industry in 1943, representing 65 percent of the industry's total workforce (compared to just 1 percent in the pre-war years). 
The munitions industry also heavily recruited women workers, as represented by the U.S. government's "Rosie the Riveter" propaganda campaign. Though women were crucial to the war effort, their pay continued to lag far behind their male counterparts: 
Female workers rarely earned more than 50 percent of male wages.
However, there was a move underfoot to introduce women into the military ranks beginning in May 1942 when Congress instituted the Women's Auxiliary Army Corps, 
later known as Women's Army Corps (WACS). Gen. George Marshall was fully behind the move, and soon there were the Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Services (WAVES) and, in smaller numbers, women serving in the Coast Guard and Marine Corps. Photo is Col. Oveta Culp Hobby (right), first director of the WACS.
Altogether 28 women with an average of 1,000 flying hours were sworn into the WAFS.
about the WAFS, she flew back to Washington and confronted Arnold. Arnold abruptly agreed to establish a "Women's Flying Training Detachment" (WFTD) and appointed Cochran, the director of women pilot training. 
60 million miles in flight distances and freeing thousands of male U.S. pilots for active combat duty. More than 1,000 WASP served, and 38 of them lost their lives during the war. In December 1944, General Arnold deactivated the 
WASP, having flown about 60 million miles in operations. He said publicly at the time, "It is on the record that women can fly as well as men."
On March 10, 2010, at a ceremony in the Capitol, the WASP received the Congressional Gold Medal, one of the highest civilian honors. Nearly 200 of former pilots attended the event, many wearing their World War II-era uniforms. 
Five years ago, the author returned to Vietnam on a battlefield tour with his wife, Nancy. In a conversation with the guide, Bill Stilwagen, he mentioned how his unit had accomplished a lot in its first 13 months in-country, yet when he looked on the internet, he couldn't find anything. Stilwagen challenged him by saying, "Why don't you write a book about it?" Hoffman took the challenge seriously.
The book covers his 15 months with Charlie Battery starting with the training at Camp Horno and how a bunch of untrained Marines were taken through the paces for eight weeks and the progress they made and the confidence they gained. This was followed by trips to the Philippines for more hands-on training. On one trip, their ship ran into Typhoon Ida - the worst typhoon in the area for 20 years. Riding out the 100-foot swells and maneuvering the 200-miles-per-hours winds made
for a lot of seasick and scared Marines. Then it was off to Okinawa, where they boarded ships carrying them to Vietnam. On December 11, 1966, they reach the shores of Vietnam to begin an adventure none will ever forget.
He reminds the reader often on how these men stayed focused on trying to bring freedom to the Vietnamese people in spite of the hardships and the ever-present homesickness in a land of strange odors, bugs, snakes, leeches, c-rations, and constant danger.
In a recent interview, Hoffman recalls his feelings as he stood looking out at the Khe Sanh battlefield on his return five years before. He said, 'There's a lot of different silences in the world, and one of them is looking at an old battlefield. For my wife, she was looking at a field; for me, I could see the guns, the things going on there, we were like still there." 
About the Author
Ronald W. Hoffman worked for his father's construction company before joining the Marine and returned to the job until he started his own remodeling company building garages and additions to people's houses. In 1976 he went to work for the Weyerhaeuser Company in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, starting as an Assistant Designer working his way up through Designer, Senior Designer, Lab Manager, and finally Product Development Manager. In 1995 he began his own consulting business and retired at age 55. He and his wife Nancy are currently living in Green Bay, WI.