By Chris Gibbons (Originally published in the July 20, 2019 Orlando Sentinel)
“…(Werner) von Braun…would stand for eight hours a day soliciting money beside a display on interplanetary exploration. As part of his 1930 pitch, von Braun would bark, ‘I bet you that the first man to walk on the moon is alive today somewhere on this Earth.’ That very year, future moonwalker Neil Armstrong was born on a farm near the small town of Wapakoneta, Ohio.” (From American Moonshot: John F. Kennedy and the Great Space Race by Douglas Brinkley)
On July 20, 1969, thirteen hundred feet above the moon’s surface, Apollo 11’s lunar landing vehicle, Eagle, entered the final stage of its powered descent. Aboard the spacecraft, Commander Neil Armstrong and Lunar Module Pilot Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin, both steel-nerved Korean War fighter-pilot veterans, monitored the rapidly changing telemetry data streaming through Eagle’s landing radar.
As chronicled in Jay Barbree’s biography, “Neil Armstrong: A Life of Flight”, Armstrong then looked out the window to survey the emerging rugged landscape below him, and gradually realized that something was terribly wrong. He knew from the countless hours he’d spent studying the lunar reconnaissance photos that Eagle was off-course, and the spacecraft’s auto-pilot was steering them towards a crater strewn with boulders. Armstrong would have to take manual control of Eagle. The success of the mission, and the lives of the astronauts, were now dependent upon the piloting skills of the kid from Wapakoneta.
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The millions back on Earth who were tuned in to the television and radio broadcasts of Apollo 11’s historic descent to the lunar surface were unaware of the perilous drama playing out above the moon’s Sea of Tranquility. But if there was any American who was born for this moment, it was Armstrong. During the Korean War, he survived a dangerous, high-speed ejection from his heavily damaged Panther jet, and later piloted the powerful X-15 rocket-plane. But it was a near fatal mishap during the Gemini 8 space mission in 1966, when Armstrong heroically succeeded in stabilizing the wildly spinning spacecraft, that he likely solidified his selection by NASA for the crew of the first mission to attempt a landing on the moon.
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As Armstrong flew the spindly Eagle spacecraft over the rugged lunar surface, he spotted a smooth, flat area, safely distanced from the boulder-strewn crater. Armstrong then fired Eagle’s thrusters to maneuver towards it.
Despite their now precarious situation, Buzz Aldrin remained calm as he continued to call out the telemetry data, “Okay, 75 feet. There’s looking good.”
Mission Control in Houston was now racked with tension. “60 seconds”, CapCom Charlie Duke radioed to the crew, meaning that there was only 60 seconds of fuel left in Eagle’s tanks. The unanticipated change in the flight path resulted in precious fuel being used up in the maneuvering thrusters. If they ran out before landing, Eagle would then have to attempt a very risky abort procedure. “CapCom, you better remind Neil there ain’t no damn gas stations on that moon”, said Flight Director Gene Kranz.
The tension in Mission Control intensified when Buzz Aldrin told Armstrong “Lights On,” as the low-fuel signal began to blink, indicating that they were down to 30 seconds left of fuel.
Seconds seemed like hours. Mission Control could now only monitor the data, and listen to Armstrong and Aldrin as they descended. Finally, at 4:17:42 PM EDT, the historic words from Armstrong confirmed the data the engineers were seeing: “Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.”
In the applause that then erupted in Mission Control, many eyes turned to the 57 year-old rocket scientist with the German accent, and controversial Nazi past, that they regarded as the man most responsible for this stupendous achievement. Werner von Braun beamed with pride.
In the months leading up to this 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, I’ve heard the familiar proclamations from NASA, as well as from private space organizations, that a return to the moon and a human mission to Mars are in the planning stages. Although I am skeptical of their optimistic timelines, I do believe that the first man or woman who will walk on the surface of the Red Planet is alive today somewhere on this Earth. But my advice to those who will determine who the Commander of that mission will be is this: choose wisely. For, it is distinctly possible that the crew of that mission will face a perilous moment very much like that encountered by Apollo 11, and it would be prudent to remember that pilots like Neil Armstrong only come along once in a lifetime.
AFTERWORD: In the days prior to the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, I read a number of interesting articles about the mission in various newspapers and magazines. One of the most fascinating was an article in ‘The Atlantic’ by Marina Koren (“The Moment That Made Neil Armstrong’s Heart Rate Spike” – July 15, 2019) which focused on the heart rates of the 3 astronauts during their historic mission. Just before Armstrong and Aldrin began their descent to the lunar surface, Neil’s heart rate was a remarkable 75 beats per minute! Koren wrote that “an adult’s normal resting heart rate is between 60 to 100 beats per minute.” What is even more incredible was the crew’s heart rates at launch, one of the most dangerous phases of the mission: Armstrong – 110, Buzz Aldrin – 88, and Michael Collins – 99. Equally telling was Armstrong’s heart rate as he took manual control of the landing – 150. I was somewhat relieved to read that. It seems that one of the heroes from my youth was human after all!
(Excerpt from his book, Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life. This story was originally published in the June 4, 2004, Philadelphia Daily News)
“They were chosen by fate and circumstance to represent us on the beaches that day.” (Filmmaker and historian Charles Guggenheim)
On June 5, 1944, Dwight Eisenhower casually walked among the young paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division who were preparing themselves for the D-Day invasion. He had just given the order for the invasion to commence early the next morning and the soldiers, with their blackened faces, rifles, and assorted equipment, momentarily stopped their preparations to talk to the General. The men were understandably apprehensive, and Ike tried to calm their fears. He told them not to worry, and that he had confidence in them. “We ain’t worried, General,” a young sergeant said. “It’s the Germans that ought to be worrying now.”
Eisenhower watched all of the big C-47 transport planes carrying the paratroopers take off that night. He often affectionately referred to the soldiers as “my boys”, and it was feared that the 101st would suffer 70 percent casualties. As the last plane left the runway, the General had tears in his eyes.
Although the Allies had meticulously planned every detail of the operation, the success of the invasion was by no means a given. Eisenhower and the other Allied generals knew that all of the planning in the world couldn’t compensate for the courage and improvisation necessary for the invasion to succeed. Ultimately, it would all come down to the performance of the various combat units and their soldiers that would decide the outcome.
The individual acts of bravery on that day were astonishing. Despite witnessing several soldiers die in failed attempts to cut through barbed wire that had his platoon trapped on the beach, Sergeant Philip Streczyk of the 16th RCT ran through a barrage of German machine-gun fire to cut the wire, and then waved the rest of his troops through. Paratrooper Sgt. John Ray landed in the middle of a Ste.-Mere-Eglise town-square full of alarmed German soldiers. Shot in the stomach and dying, Ray still managed to shoot a German soldier who was about to kill two other American paratroopers. Technician John Pinder, shot twice and terribly weakened by loss of blood, continually waded back into the surf to retrieve vital communication equipment. While struggling back out of the water, Pinder was shot for a third time and killed, but not before he had retrieved a workable radio.
Various allied combat units also performed brilliantly that day. The textbook capture of the critical Orne River Bridge by British paratroopers is still marveled at to this day by military strategists. The destruction of the German gun batteries at Brecourt Manor by the outnumbered 101st Division’s Easy Company was immortalized in the HBO miniseries, “Band of Brothers.” And the sacrifice of that day was epitomized by the 29th Division at Omaha Beach. Of the 35 soldiers in the 29th from little Bedford, VA, 19 died in the first 15 minutes and two more died later that day. Fittingly, Bedford is the site of the National D-Day Memorial.
These are just a few of the heroic individuals and military units that distinguished themselves that day. To list them all would surely require every page of this newspaper.
The grave of Charles “Dunnie” Keenan, Roman Catholic High School – Class of 1943, at the Normandy-American Cemetery
It’s so easy to forget and take for granted what happened on the Normandy coast 80 years ago. Had the invasion failed, the resulting consequences to civilization would have been appalling. Accordingly, most historians regard D-Day as the most important day of the 20th century. However, its true meaning to each subsequent generation of Americans has been gradually diminished by the passage of time. Sadly, this 80th anniversary reveals the steadily thinning ranks of “Eisenhower’s boys.” So, if you happen to know a veteran of the D-Day invasion, take a moment while you have the opportunity to thank them for what they did. They represented us on the beaches that day, and all of us should feel privileged to have known them and lived among them. We are obligated to preserve and honor their legacy for all future generations to come.
AFTERWORD
The inspiration for this D-Day essay was Steven Spielberg’s epic war film, “Saving Private Ryan”, and I wrote it shortly after seeing the movie for a second time on HBO. It is still the most intense experience I’ve ever had while watching a movie in a theater. I was so moved by the film that shortly after seeing it for the first time, I wrote a letter to the Philadelphia Daily News that was published in the August 8, 1998 edition. Parts of the letter follow, and it still sums up my feelings quite well: “I was unprepared for the intense and realistic depiction of the Normandy invasion in “Saving Private Ryan.” Throughout the first 25 minutes of the movie, my fists were clenched so tightly that my palms still have fingernail impressions. How, I thought, could those American soldiers face such a murderous barrage of machine-gun and mortar fire and continue to assault that beach? What was it that kept them moving forward? Fighting in a war thousands of miles from home, a generation of Americans was tasked with helping to liberate Nazi-occupied Europe. A madman, whose crimes against humanity were not yet fully known, had to be stopped. How well these men fought would determine our country’s fate. I wondered if they realized that that they were not only fighting for those alive then, but also for those yet to be born? I shudder to think of what might have been if Hitler had pushed the Allies back into the sea that day and the war had been delayed long enough for the Nazis to develop atomic weapons before the United States did. Most of us would not be here today.”
(Originally published in the Philadelphia Daily News, March 28, 2008)
“And perhaps across his mind there’ll flit a little errant wish, that a man might not have to become old, never outgrow the parks and the merry-go-rounds of his youth. And he’ll smile then too because he’ll know it is just an errant wish”. Rod Serling narration from the Twilight Zone episode “Walking Distance”
As I walked through a Sporting Goods store recently, I noticed a small sign stating that “Opening Day” for trout season in Philadelphia is Saturday, March 29. I smiled as I read it, because it conjured up pleasant memories from my youth of trout fishing, and opening days spent “back the crick” with my buddies.
The Wissahickon Creek (pronounced “crick” in Philly-speak) snakes through the northwest neighborhoods of Philadelphia, and it was an annual rite of spring for the young boys of Roxborough, Manayunk, and East Falls to prepare for opening day of trout season. I’m told that it was very much the same thing in the NE Philly neighborhoods surrounding Pennypack Creek.
My fellow fishermen in those days were the boys that I had grown up with, most of whom I’d known since I was 6 years old. We hung out under a Henry Avenue bridge, and called ourselves “The Bridge.” Other guys in the neighborhood mockingly called us “The Trolls.” It seemed as if our major goal in life back then was to make each other laugh, and we were pretty good at it, too. We made up amusing nicknames for each other, most of which were references to some unique anatomical feature we possessed. There was Curly, Freckle, Hair, Fly, Gut, and Chalk (because of his pale complexion). A lot of these nicknames centered on head sizes or shapes, so we also had Brick Head, Pineapple Head, Bucket Head, Globin, and Boulder.
We used to make up bawdy songs, with indecent lyrics that we would sing as we walked along the trails of the Wissahickon. We thought of ourselves as being great outdoorsmen simply because we knew how to light a fire with a magnifying glass and cook minute steaks in old pans we confiscated from our kitchens. Our plan was to cook the fish that we caught and pretend that we could “live off the land” if we had to, but most of us weren’t very good at fishing. Bucket Head and I once grabbed a dead trout that was floating downstream and fried it. Of course, we had no idea what we were doing, and didn’t gut and bone the fish. I can still remember my poor mother struggling to scrape the mysterious foul-smelling gristle from that old black pan. But, that was nothing compared to what I had to scrape the day after I ate it.
One of my buddies was really quite good at fishing, and we used to call him “Fisherman.” He could easily catch 25 trout in a single day. He was also smart enough to get as far away from the rest of us as possible. While we were busy un-snagging our lines, pushing each other into the creek, or throwing rocks in the water, Fisherman was 50 yards downstream catching trout and laughing at all of us. We didn’t care though, and in the naïveté and exuberance of our youth we thought those days would last forever. But, our fishing days together, and our adolescence, slowly began to fade with the passage of time.
I still enjoy hiking along the old trails of the Wissahickon Creek. Whenever I’m there, I am always amazed by its beauty, and thankfully, it has changed very little over the years. Walking along the banks of the Wissahickon is like stepping back in time. I’ll often stop and listen to the wind as it whispers through the towering trees. If I listen carefully, sometimes it carries with it the sounds of my past, and I can hear the laughter and singing of familiar young voices as an errant wish momentarily crosses my mind. Perhaps the past can sometimes be within walking distance.
I’ve decided I’m going to get my fishing gear together, and call Bucket Head, Fly, Hair, TK, Fisherman and some of the others from the old crew. So, if you happen to see some middle aged guys with fishing rods walking across Henry Avenue in the early morning hours of some Saturday this spring, and they happen to be laughing while singing a crazy song in unison, don’t be alarmed. It’s just the boys from The Bridge, and we’ll be heading “back the crick”.
AFTERWORD: Whenever I tell people who are from outside of the Philadelphia area my old neighborhood trout-fishing tales, I’m invariably met with a puzzled look, followed by, “I thought you grew up in Philly?” What they don’t realize is that the Wissahickon Valley, which I regard as one of our country’s best kept secrets, is a unique pastoral oasis in our large Northeastern metropolis. As a result of Roxborough’s close proximity to the Wissahickon Creek, it resulted in “Opening Day” of trout fishing season being one of the big annual events in our neighborhood. I received quite a few e-mails from Daily News readers in which they fondly recalled their trout fishing days along the Wissahickon. I also have many other fond memories of the Wissahickon, which include hiking with my father and siblings, and feeding the ducks with my young children, but one memory in particular is not so pleasant. When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I was fishing “back the crick” with my older brothers and my cousins. While we were leaving and climbing a steep hill, I slipped and badly sprained my ankle. I couldn’t walk or put any weight on it, and was in so much pain that I thought it was broken. My cousin Micky, several years older than me, put me on his back and carried me all the way home – a 2 mile journey that was frequently uphill over rugged terrain. I remember thinking at the time that he was the strongest guy in the world. At his father’s funeral in 2019, we tearfully recalled that day, and he told me that he has this article framed and displayed in his home.
(Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer)
The little bridge sits in a quiet, bucolic area of western France, about 2 miles west of the town of Ste. Mere-Eglise. It spans the scenic Merderet River, and thousands of tourists flock to the area every year because of its rich history and beautiful scenery. Right next to the bridge is the charming “a la Bataille de La Fiere Bed and Breakfast”, which was built in 1180 and originally used as a grain mill by Viking settlers. For those looking for a quiet vacation in a beautiful, historic setting, this area is the perfect destination. But when the tourists are told the story of what happened on this little bridge over 70 years ago, and how significant that event was in WW II history, many are stunned. Those from the U.S. will often beam with pride or are moved to tears.
Although it is described by renowned military historian S.L.A. Marshall as “the bloodiest small unit struggle in the history of American arms”, the heroic saga of the battle for the bridge at La Fiere from June 6 to June 9 in 1944 has now become lost among the numerous legendary stories of D-Day. But it was at this bridge that a small group of lightly armed U.S. 82nd Airborne paratroopers waged one of fiercest fights in the annals of U.S. military history, and in doing so, likely saved the lives of thousands of U.S. soldiers who landed at Utah beach on D-Day. The bridge was one of only two in the Utah beach landing area that would enable German armor to cross the river. If the Germans could get their tanks and infantry to the beach, they could wipe out the U.S. forces on Utah beach. The 82nd was given the difficult task of seizing and holding the bridge.
Led by Lieutenant John Dolan, the paratroopers assaulted and eventually took control of the bridge in the late morning hours of D-Day. They set mines and pulled a disabled truck onto the bridge to help block the inevitable German counterattacks. The fields surrounding the causeway (raised road) that led to the bridge had been flooded by the Germans prior to the invasion, and the men could see the parachutes and backpacks of dozens of drowned paratroopers floating in the water. The sight likely served as a reminder to them of what was at stake, stiffening their resolve.
The Germans still controlled the high ground of the western causeway leading to the bridge, and late in the afternoon of June 6, they sent three tanks, followed by infantry, rumbling across in their first attempt to seize it. Private Lenold Peterson stood with his bazooka, bravely exposing himself to the enemy machine gun fire. He took out the two lead tanks, and forced the third to retreat back with the German infantry.
The following morning, the Germans launched an even heavier assault against the paratroopers. The brutal, close-quarters combat that followed reduced Dolan’s force to only 14 men, but the paratroopers held. The fighting was so bloody, that the Germans asked for a truce so that they could retrieve their wounded. When Dolan’s men asked if they should fall back, he told them that they were staying. “I don’t know a better place to die”, he said, and his words lifted the morale of the decimated platoon.
On June 8, Dolan’s men were finally reinforced by the 507th Paratroop Infantry Regiment. U.S. tanks from the 4th Infantry Division had also arrived but couldn’t cross the bridge until the Germans had been cleared from the western end. The paratroopers attacked across the bridge and down the causeway in a suicidal frontal assault. The first wave of men was cut down, and those following behind dropped to the ground, paralyzed with fear. Lieutenant Bruce Hooker, shot in both legs, turned to his men as he lay on the ground and tried to urge them on. “Come on…get up!”, he shouted. As the dead and wounded piled up, the chaos on the bridge mounted.
Just when the battle seemed lost, a group of some 90 men led by Captain R.D. Rae charged across the bridge. Again, many were cut down, but this time, many more kept moving forward. They ran down the causeway and started taking out the enemy positions. The tank commanders then seized the opportunity and streamed across the bridge, destroying the remaining German opposition. The Americans had finally secured the bridge, but at a terrible cost: 60 paratroopers were dead and 529 wounded.
Tom Hanks is Executive Producer for a film project titled “No Better Place to Die”. It is being written and directed by actor and former Marine, Dale Dye. Although the film project has faced a number of hurdles, Dye still hopes that it will soon resume full production and finally reveal to the general public the gallant story of the U.S. paratroopers at the La Fiere Bridge.
Take a moment today to remember the American paratroopers who courageously decided during a pivotal battle that began on D-Day that there was no better place to die than the bridge at La Fiere.
Originally published in the June 13, 2012 Philadelphia Inquirer
“It fell to the floor, an exquisite thing, a small thing that could upset balances and knock down a line of small dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes, all down the years across Time. Eckels’ mind whirled. It couldn’t change things. Killing one butterfly couldn’t be that important! Could it?
Eckels moaned. He dropped to his knees. He scrabbled at the golden butterfly with shaking fingers. “Can’t we,” he pleaded to the world, to himself, to the officials, to the Machine, “can’t we take it back, can’t we make it alive again? Can’t we start over? Can’t we-“
He did not move. Eyes shut, he waited, shivering. He heard Travis breathe loud in the room; he heard Travis shift his rifle, click the safety catch, and raise the weapon.
There was a sound of thunder.”
(From “A Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury)
As I read the final words of the story, my mouth was agape in astonishment as a chill ran up my spine. The written word had never had so profound an impact upon me. Although I was just 11 years old at the time, I knew that what I’d just read would somehow stay with me forever. The story was “A Sound of Thunder”, and I still regard it as one of the greatest science fiction short-stories ever written. It tells the tale of time travelers hunting a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but an arrogant hunter carelessly steps on, and kills, a butterfly with dire consequences for humanity. I read the story’s chilling ending over and over – at least a hundred times. I stared at the cool sci-fi cover art on the little paperback book for hours, and its title and author were permanently carved into my mind: R is for Rocket by Ray Bradbury.
To most, it was just another one of my big brother Jerry’s numerous $1.50 sci-fi paperbacks from the rotating book-display rack at Woolworth’s department store. But, to me, it was pure gold. I eagerly tore into the book’s other short stories and they captivated my imagination: astronauts fight for their lives after crash landing in the swampy jungles of Venus, an ancient sea creature rises from the depths of the ocean, drawn to the sound of a lighthouse fog horn, and astronauts come to the realization that the paradise planet they discovered has hidden dangers they never anticipated. These were just a few of the brilliant stories written in Bradbury’s unique poetic prose – a wondrous mix of science fiction, fantasy, suspense, and horror.
After that day, I was hooked, and if Jerry couldn’t find his other Bradbury books in his bedroom bookcase, he knew where they’d be. I read Bradbury’s other short story collections found in “S is for Space”, “The Illustrated Man”, “The October Country”, and “The Golden Apples of the Sun” so many times that I cracked the spine of the books. Over the years, Jerry and I would often talk about our favorite Bradbury stories, and whenever he had a new book released we would make sure we let each other know about it.
Although I had always liked to write, and would often tell my family and friends that “one of these days I’m going to write about that”, I never took it seriously until I read Bradbury’s book on writing, “Zen in the Art of Writing.” In it he wrote, “What are the best things and the worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them? You fail only if you stop writing.” I remember feeling that he was speaking directly to me. I started to write on a regular basis shortly after I read that.
When I heard the news that Ray Bradbury had died, I felt like I had lost an old friend. I knew who I had to contact first, and I thanked Jerry for introducing me to Ray.
In his seminal novel “Fahrenheit 451”, Ray Bradbury wrote, “It doesn’t matter what you do…so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.”
A Ray Bradbury paperback book is such a small, exquisite thing, and it can change things all down the years and across time. And the stories within that book can touch and change lives forever – including the life of a kid for whom those stories resonated like a sound of thunder.
The Twilight Zone is regarded by many as one of the greatest television series ever produced, certainly the best anthology series, and made a star of its creator, Rod Serling. The show became deeply entrenched in American culture, and the SyFy Channel’s annual New Year’s Twilight Zone Marathon is watched by millions. As an unabashed Twilight Zone fanatic, for what it’s worth, the following are my top 15 TZ episodes.
#15 – Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up? Great episode written by Rod Serling featuring a ‘double-twist’ ending as just after the actual three-armed Martian was finally revealed, another alien from Venus, and with three eyes to boot, shocks the viewers at the very end. Interestingly, in the original story, Serling had a stray dog adopted by the owner of the diner as the hidden alien. And, if you think that wouldn’t have worked, remember that the original form that the alien took in the 1982 movie remake of The Thing (starring Kurt Russell) was a dog.
#14 – Living Doll. Based on an idea by the great Charles Beaumont (who would write many classic TZ episodes) and written by Jerry Sohl, the creepy Talky Tina doll says things like, “I don’t think I like you”, and “I’m going to kill you!” to nasty stepfather, Erich (played by Telly Savalas, later to star in The Dirty Dozen as wacky A.J. Maggott, and after that as famed TV detective, Kojak). The ending is great as after the doll intentionally trips the stepfather on the stairs, causing him to fall and die, the girl’s mother picks up the doll and it eerily says, “My name is Talky Tina, and you’d better be nice to me.” A Fun Fact from The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree – The voice of the doll was done by June Foray, also the voice for Rocky the Flying Squirrel on the epic Bullwinkle cartoon show.
#13 – To Serve Man.The teleplay was written by Rod Serling, but it is based on the short story by the great Damon Knight (if you’ve never read Damon Knight’s short stories, you should go on Amazon and order one of his short story anthologies immediately!) Many TZ fanatics regard the twist-ending of this episode to be the most shocking as the supposedly altruistic aliens are revealed to really only have one purpose for humans – to put them on the menu! A book with the title “To Serve Man” was ultimately decrypted and discovered to be a cookbook on the different ways that humans could be served as a meal!! The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree reveals that Damon Knight would later say that “I thought the adaptation was kind of neat – it made me famous in Milford, Pennsylvania, suddenly everyone knew who I was.”
#12 – Five Characters in Search of an Exit.The teleplay was written by Rod Serling, but it was based on the short story The Depository by Marvin Petal. Great episode that leaves the viewer focusing on, and subsequently trying to guess, exactly where these five characters are, and by doing so, the viewer never focuses on actually what they may be. And what’s with that freaking bell they keep hearing!!?? The classic ending reveals that the five characters are actually toy dolls in a Christmas toy donation barrel. The unimaginative among us, upon watching this episode in 1961, might have said, “Well…that was a dumb premise.” But, who would have guessed that 34 years later a Disney film about toy dolls that come to life, Toy Story, would take the world by storm and become a multimedia franchise with 3 record-setting sequels?!
#11 – Eye of the Beholder.Written by Rod Serling. One of the most iconic of all TZ episodes, this particular one absolutely scared the living sh** out of me when I was a kid! My older brothers set me up and said I could take my hands down from covering my eyes as the supposedly horrific-looking woman under the bandages was finally revealed to be the beautiful Donna Douglas (Ellie May from The Beverly Hillbillies). Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived as the camera quickly cut to the horrible, terrifying, and truly scary faces of the surrounding doctors and nurses. I couldn’t sleep for days. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one for whom this episode left an impact. As recounted in The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree, Producer Buck Houghton wanted to see what the viewers might think of the episode, and he screened it for a guy named Lud Gluskin, head of music at CBS, before it was televised. Houghton said that Lud was “a very imperturbable old German…sixty-five, and pretty hard to move. And at the end of that he said, ‘Jesus Christ!’…”
#10 – Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.Written by the great Richard Matheson. “Who’s that?”, you may ask – While Matheson wrote many TZ episodes, he is also one of the great sci-fi/fantasy/horror writers of the 20th century in his own right. He wrote I Am Legend, Duel, The Night Stalker, Stir of Echoes, What Dreams May Come, and Prey (that crazy 1970’s TV episode in which that terrifying Zuni Warrior doll attacks actress Karen Black), just to name a few. Again – grab a book of his short stories if you see one. This was another episode that frightened me as a kid, even though, as I look back on it now, the gremlin-monster on the wing of the plane that terrified William Shatner was pretty lame-looking by today’s standards. It’s still a very scary episode, and it was one of the episodes that was remade for The Twilight Zone Movie in 1983, with a much scarier gremlin thanks to a bigger budget and modern special effects. A funny story regarding the episode from The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree – a few weeks after it aired, Rod Serling had worked with Western Airlines to set-up having a life-size poster of the gremlin secretly placed on the outside window of the plane seat that Matheson was going to sit in. The idea was that Matheson would take his seat, open the window curtains, and shockingly see the gremlin looking in at him. So, they had it all set up, Matheson was in his seat, the plane’s engines start up, but the propellers of the plane blew the poster off the window before Matheson opened the curtain! Oh well…it would have been funny.
#9 – The Howling Man.Written by Charles Beaumont. Again, like Damon Knight and Richard Matheson, Beaumont was a superb writer, although not as prolific. In this episode, a lost European traveler comes upon a seemingly kooky order of monks who have what appears to be a normal, sane man imprisoned because they claim he is actually the devil himself. The only thing weird about the imprisoned man is that he howls like a wounded wolf. The traveler eventually frees the man, only to realize the mistake he has made – for the monks were right!! With the limited resources of an early 1960’s TV show, they did a great job with the special effects in showing the freed man gradually transforming into the hideous devil. A shout-out to Beaumont for recognizing the often-forgotten Korean War in his script. When the traveler realizes the enormity of what he had done just prior to World War 2 and the evil he had released onto the world he says: “The evil that soon took the shape of the Second World War, the Korean War, the hideous new weapons of war. I swore I’d find him again, as Brother Jerome had done.” My Dad was a Korean War veteran, and too often it’s not mentioned in historical context, almost as if it never happened – a disgrace to the men who fought and died there. So, kudos to Beaumont for remembering that war in his script.
#8 – Mirror Image.Another classic episode written by Rod Serling in which a woman causes a stir at a bus depot claiming that she is being stalked by another woman, and that other woman is….herself! Actually…her double from a co-existing reality that wants to take over for her. A sympathetic man at the bus depot, played by Martin Milner – later of Adam-12 fame, pretends to believe her but instead ends up calling the police to have the “crazed woman” taken away to get psychiatric help. The ending is classic Serling as the man chases someone who has stolen his briefcase. As he is running after him down the street, the thief turns his head, and the man horrifyingly sees that he is chasing….himself! As revealed in The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree, Serling got the idea for this story when he was at an airport in London and noticed a man who had his back to him, but was eerily dressed exactly the same as Serling, with the same height, and holding the exact same leather briefcase. When the man turned around, Serling said, “…he was ten years younger….but this did leave its imprint sufficiently to write a story about it.”
#7 – The Monsters are Due on Maple Street. Written by Rod Serling. After a meteor is spotted overhead by the residents of Maple Street, inexplicable things start to happen: lights flicker on and off, cars start by themselves, and phones ring for no reason. A young boy says it’s the start of an alien invasion and one of the residents may be an alien. This starts paranoid-driven and senseless suspicions among the neighbors that ultimately leads them to violently turn on each other. The classic ending reveals that the cause of the flickering lights and other malfunctions was, in fact, aliens who then conclude that the conquest of Earth should be easy: “Throw them into darkness for a few hours and then just sit back and watch the pattern…They pick the most dangerous enemy they can find…and its themselves. And all we need to do is sit back…and watch.” The episode was Serling’s commentary on prejudice in our society and he summed it up eloquently in his closing narration: “For the record, prejudices can kill, and suspicions can destroy, and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own – for the children, and the children yet unborn. And the pity of it is that these things cannot be confined to the Twilight Zone.”
#6 – Time Enough at Last.The teleplay was written by Rod Serling but it is based on a short story by Lynn Venable. Bookworm Henry Bemis, with extremely thick eyeglasses for his poor eyesight and played by the great Burgess Meredith, sneaks off into the vault of his bank employer during lunchbreak to engage in his favorite activity – reading. While in the vault, there was an all-out nuclear war. When Bemis emerges from the vault and searches the ruins, he realizes that he may be the last man on Earth. As he is about to take his own life he notices the ruins of the public library, and believes that instead of hell, he may have just stepped into paradise as now he has all the time in the world – “time enough at last” – to read for the remainder of his days! In one of the greatest endings of all Twilight Zone episodes, the nearly blind Bemis has his thick glasses fall from his face and break on the rubble. “It isn’t fair”, a weeping Bemis says into the camera as he stands among the ruins of the library. As written in The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree, the episode had such an impact on the American public that Meredith would say many years later that “I don’t suppose a month goes by, even to this day, that people don’t come up and remind me of that episode.”
#5 – Deaths Head Revisited. Written by Rod Serling. A sadistic former Nazi death-camp guard returns to Dachau prison to fondly remember his days there, just 15 years prior, where he tortured and killed thousands of the inmates. However, the former guard has a terrifying surprise awaiting him at the camp – the ghosts of the inmates he killed, who then put him on trial for his crimes. He is found guilty, and his sentence is that he will now experience all of the physical pain he inflicted on the inmates. This renders the former guard permanently insane. The doctor who finds the now incoherent, babbling guard angrily asks the question: “Dachau…why do we keep it standing?” Serling answers the Doctor’s question in what I believe is his greatest ending narration. It should be noted that Dachau was liberated by American soldiers, and Serling, a World War II veteran himself, knew that many of those liberating soldiers, only in their 30’s and 40’s when the episode first aired, would be watching. Quite a few suffered debilitating PTSD from what they found at Dachau, and I interviewed one of them for one of my essays, Don Greenbaum, as well as a survivor of Dachau, Ernie Gross. The ending narration stands the test of time and is now a great way to address the increasing and nonsensical claims that the Holocaust never happened. “There is an answer to the doctor’s question. All the Dachaus must remain standing. The Dachaus, the Belsens, the Buchenwalds, the Auschwitzes, all of them. They must remain standing because they are a monument to a moment in time when some men decided to turn the earth into a graveyard. Into it, they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worst of all, their conscience. And the moment we forget this, the moment we cease to be haunted by its remembrance, then we become the gravediggers. Something to dwell on and to remember, not only in the Twilight Zone, but wherever men walk God’s earth.”
#4 – I Shot An Arrow Into the Air.Written by Rod Serling but based on an idea by Madelon Champion. The Arrow One, the first manned spacecraft, suddenly disappears off the radar screens after launch, and all contact is lost. It turns out that Arrow One crashed on an uncharted asteroid. Three of the eight astronauts have survived the wreck, but their precious remaining water is in short supply. One of the astronauts, Corey, played by Dewey Martin, intends to kill his fellow astronauts for the remaining water. One of the astronauts he attacked and left for dead cannot speak, but still indicates that he saw something over the hill before he died, and he scrawls a symbol of it in the sand before he dies. Corey, now the last astronaut remaining after he kills Commander Donlin, heads to the hill with the strange symbol. In an absolutely killer ending, Corey, to his horror, discovers the meaning of the strange symbol – it was a telephone pole. The Arrow One had not crashed on an asteroid…it simply fell back to the Earth and crashed into the Nevada desert. One of the highlights of the episode is Serling’s sudden mid-episode narration in which he mockingly urges “Corey, yeah, you better keep moving. That’s the order of the moment: keep moving.” I can still remember my older brothers hysterically laughing at Serling’s mocking of Corey, as they clearly wanted to see him get what was coming to him. Per The Twilight Zone Companion, Serling and Champion were in a social setting when Champion pitched the idea to Serling, who then paid Champion “$500 on the spot. But it never happened again.”
#3 – The Purple Testament. Written by Rod Serling. The setting is during World War II on the Philippine Islands in 1945. Lieutenant Fitzgerald, leader of an infantry platoon, realizes that whenever he sees an eerie glow in the face of one of his soldiers, that soldier ends up being killed. Fitzgerald is relieved to hear that he is being sent back to division headquarters so that he will no longer have to look at the faces of the men in his platoon. However, while he is looking into the mirror when shaving before his trip back to headquarters, he sees the eerie glow in his own face. He then sees the same glow in the face of his driver. After the two of them leave in their Jeep, the men of the platoon hear a distant explosion in the direction that the Jeep traveled. Nothing more needed to be said of their fate. Serling clearly drew upon his own experiences when depicting the men of the platoon as he was a World War II paratrooper who fought and was wounded in the Philippines. A crazy story associated with this episode from The Twilight Zone Companion is that on the day that it was first set to air, the actor who played Lieutenant Fitzgerald, William Reynolds, and the director of the episode, William Bare, were on a small plane flying from Jamaica to Miami. The plane’s engines died, and it went down in the ocean, killing one of the five people on board. Bare had two broken legs, but he and Reynolds decided to try and swim, on their backs, the 4 miles back to the Jamaican shore. While they were swimming, Bare said to Reynolds “You know what’s playing tonight?” Reynolds replied, “Yeah, The Purple Testament.” Bare said, “Bill, please don’t look at me.”
#2 – One For The Angels. Written by Rod Serling. An old man, Lewis J. Bookman (played by Ed Wynn), is confronted by Mr. Death, brilliantly played by veteran actor, Murray Hamilton (he later played the sleazy mayor in Jaws). Death informs sidewalk-salesman Bookman that his time on this Earth is up, but Bookman does not want to go until he makes his final “Big Pitch – a Pitch for the angels.” He convinces Death to let him live until he does this ‘Pitch’, but he actually has no intention of ever giving it. Unfortunately, Death has to take someone else in Bookman’s place, and after a little girl from the neighborhood is hit by a truck and left fighting for her life, Bookman terrifyingly realizes that she is the one chosen by Death in place of Bookman. He also learns that the time that Death will be taking her is midnight. Bookman realizes that if he can prevent Death from making his “appointment at midnight”, then the little girl will live. He then proceeds to try and distract Death from his appointment by selling him his various street merchandise. Bookman gives the pitch of a lifetime, and the distracted Death then misses his midnight appointment. The little girl lives, but it also means that Bookman must now accompany Death. In what many regard as The Twilight Zone’s most beloved episode, the emotional ending as Bookman and Death walk down the deserted street together always leaves a lump in the throat. Interestingly, per The Twilight Zone Companion, Serling actually wrote One For The Angels many years prior, just after college. In the original story, “an unsuccessful sidewalk pitchman tries to save his two-bit punk brother from a couple of hitmen by giving a pitch so beguiling that they will always be surrounded by a crowd.” Serling specifically wanted a story for the much-admired Wynn and re-wrote his old Angels story just for him. The re-written story proved superior to the original.
#1 – Walking Distance. Written by Rod Serling. An advertising executive, Martin Sloan, weary of his fast paced, busy, and unfulfilling life stops at a gas station outside of his boyhood home and decides to take a nostalgic walk to his old hometown, commenting that it is within “walking distance.” While walking through the town, he gradually realizes that he has somehow miraculously been transported back in time to when he was just a child. He confronts his parents, but they think he is some crazy kook and angrily shut their door in his face. He then tries to talk to himself as a young boy, to simply tell the boy to enjoy this wonderful period of his life. But, the frightened child runs from him, trips off of the merry-go-round and injures his leg, a pain that the elder Sloan immediately feels. In what many regard as one of the greatest scenes in Twilight Zone history, Sloan’s father confronts Sloan after reading through the contents of his dropped wallet. The father knows that this man is actually his son, Martin, who has somehow traveled back in time. Despite the fact that Martin is now the same age as his father, he still seeks his counsel – the same way, and with the same respectful deference that he always had in their father-son dynamic. After Martin reluctantly agrees with his father that he must go back, his father says, “Martin, is it so bad where you’re from?” Martin responds, “I thought so, Pop. I’ve been living on a dead run, and I was tired. And one day I knew I had to come back here. I had to come back and get on the merry-go-round, and eat cotton candy, and listen to a band concert. To stop and breathe and close my eyes and smell and listen. His father wisely advises, “I guess we all want that. Maybe when you go back, Martin, you’ll find that there are merry-go-rounds and band concerts where you are. Maybe you haven’t been looking in the right place. You’ve been looking behind you. Try looking ahead.” The episode is deeply personal for Serling, and most regard the character of Martin Sloan as Serling himself who was clearly suffering from the enormous responsibilities associated with maintaining the production and quality of The Twilight Zone. As revealed in The Twilight Zone Companion, Serling got the idea for this episode “while walking on a set at MGM when I was suddenly hit by the similarity of it to my hometown. Feeling an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, it struck me that all of us have a deep longing to go back – not to our home as it is today, but as we remember it. It was from this simple incident that I wove the story Walking Distance…”
Edward A. Duff hailed from St. Francis Xavier parish and graduated from Roman in 1903.
After graduating from Roman, he was ordained a priest and later served in Europe as a Naval Chaplain during World War I aboard the USS Nevada. He was also aboard the U.S.S. Olympia during its famous voyage from France to the United States in 1921 to deliver the body of the Unknown Soldier. Duff was also decorated in 1920 by the king of Italy with the Chevalier of the Crown of Italy for his service aboard the Italian battleship Puglia in the Adriatic, and was promoted to captain in 1925. In 1937 he was named Chief of the Navy Chaplain Corps, the first Catholic to hold that position. His lectures on the Unknown Soldier were estimated to have been heard by over 300,000 people. Unfortunately, a heart ailment forced his early retirement and he died in Philadelphia at the age of 58 in 1943.
John R. Corkery – Class of 1936
John R. Corkery hailed from St. Anne’s parish and following graduation from Roman in 1936, he served in the U.S. Army during World War 2.
During the Battle of Rapido River in 1944, Corkery courageously battled under furious artillery, mortar, and machine gun fire for more than 10 hours, to establish position so he could maintain constant communications with his battalion. Over 1,300 U.S. soldiers would lose their lives in the battle with more than 600 captured. Corkery was later wounded in Italy. For his actions in battle he was awarded 2 Bronze Stars, an Oak Leaf Cluster, and a Purple Heart.
Following the war, Corkery would go on to raise a family of 11 children with a highly successful career with the VA. He also established himself as a great CYO basketball coach with St. Anne Parish in Port Richmond, and was founder of what became the Port Richmond Boys Club by starting their football program. He died at the young age of 52, and is beloved by a generation of boys in the neighborhood who to this day speak with love and reverence for him.
Bernard Donahue – Class of 1941
Bernard Donahue grew up on Park Avenue in North Philadelphia, hailing from St. Malachy parish. He graduated from Roman in 1941.
After high school, Bernard worked at John Wanamaker’s before enlisting in the Army as an Aviation Cadet. Ultimately, he earned his wings as a B-17 pilot and flew 26 combat missions over Germany and Austria. Among other honors, then 1st Lieutenant Donahue was awarded the Distinguish Flying Cross for returning his crippled bomber from a raid over Berlin.
In 1944, he married Rosemary Kirwan, a Hallahan graduate. He returned to Rosemary, Philadelphia and Wanamaker’s after the war. Bernard and Rosemary had 7 children, including an Air Force Colonel and a Navy Chief Petty Officer. Bernard later became vice president of a men’s’ clothing retailer here in Philadelphia. He died at age 54 from complications from diabetes. He was buried with full military honors in Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon.
Francis J. E. Ampthor – Class of 1942
Francis Ampthor hailed from St. Mary of the Assumption parish in Manayunk and while at Roman he was a member of 1942 city championship crew team, as well as the school band and Cahillite staff. He attended St. Joseph’s College for one year, then enlisted in the U.S. Navy during World War 2.
He served on the battleship U.S.S. Missouri in the Gunnery Department, witnessing the surrender of Japan in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945. He received the Victory Medal, the American Theater Ribbon and the Asiatic-Pacific Theater Ribbon with 2 Stars. After the war, he was part of the U.S.S. Missouri’s goodwill tour of the Mediterranean Sea region.
Following the war Ampthor was a chemical engineer at Rohm & Haas for nearly 44 years, helping farmers to formulate herbicides and pesticides, and later helping to develop fiberglass panels for Ford and Chevrolet cars. For many years, he taught Organic Chemistry Lab at night at St. Joseph’s University, was active in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and in retirement drove the Roxborough Hospital patient shuttle and volunteered at St. Bridget’s Church in East Falls. He died in 1993.
Charles Fuller – Class of 1956
Charles Fuller hailed from North Philadelphia and graduated from Roman in 1956. Following Roman, he then studied for two years at Villanova University.
Fuller joined the U.S. Army in 1959 and served for 3 years overseas in Japan and South Korea.
He later graduated from LaSalle University and was a co-founder of the Afro-American Arts Theater in Philadelphia. Fuller became a noted playwright and in 1982 he won the Pulitzer Prize for drama for “A Soldier’s Play” that centered on the murder of a Black Army sergeant and the search for the culprit. The play would later make it to Broadway and win two Tony Awards. The movie version received three Oscar nominations. He was a member of the Writers Guild of America and wrote numerous short fiction and screenplays, as well as worked as a movie producer.
In 2015, Fuller was named one of Roman Catholic High School’s 125 Men of Distinction. He died on October 3, 2022.
Al Zimmerman – Class of 1965
Al Zimmerman graduated from Roman in 1965, hailing from St. Bridget’s parish. Following graduation, he joined the U.S. Army in 1966 and was selected to attend Officer Candidate School.
During the Vietnam War, Zimmerman served as a Helicopter Pilot, Platoon Leader, and Operations Officer with the 1st Air Cavalry Division. In 1969, during an operation to rescue wounded U.S. soldiers, Zimmerman’s Cobra helicopter was hit by enemy fire and forced down. He was later picked up by another helicopter crew, where Zimmerman manned a gun and placed suppressive fire on the enemy and called in air strikes against the enemy positions. The action resulted in the decimation of a large enemy unit, and Zimmerman was awarded the Silver Star for his actions. His other awards include: four awards of the Distinguished Flying Cross for heroism, the Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, and 27 Air Medals. Zimmerman is believed to be one of the most decorated alumni in Roman’s history and he was recently inducted into the U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame.
Edward Seeburger – Class of 1940
Edward Seeburger was born in Philadelphia and was a member of Our Lady of Mercy parish. He graduated from Roman in 1940. Following graduation, he immediately enlisted in the Marines and fought in the Pacific during World War II.
Seeburger also served as a First Lieutenant in the 1st Marine Division during the Korean War. During the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, in temperatures that plummeted to minus 20 degrees, Seeburger was leading the remains of his Unit as they desperately fought their way south. Of the 220 Marines originally in his Company, only about 20 were still fit to fight. Out of seven officers, only Seeburger remained. His unit was ambushed by the enemy and, although bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his leg, Seeburger was able to direct his tank gunners as to where to fire at the enemy positions which wiped out the enemy and enabled his convoy to escape. For his selfless act of courage during the battle, Seeburger was awarded the prestigious Navy Cross, just one grade below the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Following the war, Seeburger retired from the Marines and returned to Philadelphia, where he and his wife, Helen, raised a daughter, Dolores. Seeburger worked as a park police officer and then as an engraver for 32 years at Becks Engraving Co. He died in 2007 at the age of 85.
Originally published in the January 15, 2012 Philadelphia Inquirer
“The size and age of the Cosmos are beyond ordinary human understanding. Lost somewhere between immensity and eternity is our tiny planetary home. In a cosmic perspective, most human concerns seem insignificant, even petty. And yet our species is young and curious and brave and shows much promise. I believe our future depends powerfully on how well we understand this Cosmos in which we float like a mote of dust in the morning sky.” (Carl Sagan)
The recent news of NASA’s incredible discovery streamed across the internet on December 20th, 2011: “The First Earth Sized Planets Found Beyond Our Solar System.” I have to admit that I wasn’t surprised because my former teacher predicted that discoveries like this would be commonplace someday, but I thought it was ironic that this announcement was made on the 15th anniversary of his death. That night I thought about him as I gazed up into the sky. The clouds had finally broken, and the stars shimmered like jewels in the clear, crisp winter air. They reminded me of a tapestry of Christmas lights adorning the velvety- black background of space. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and as I gazed up, I could still hear the familiar and distinct voice of my former teacher: “The Cosmos is all that is or ever was or ever will be.”
The simplicity and power of his words still rivet me, and it’s during moments of great scientific discovery that I especially miss him. Although he’s been gone now for 15 years, his impact on my life, as well as the lives of millions around the world, continues to resonate to this day.
Considering that I never met Carl Sagan or sat in one of his Cornell University classrooms, some people might find it odd that I refer to him as my former teacher. But when the groundbreaking PBS series Cosmos premiered in September of 1980, I became a student in a Sagan classroom that had dramatically expanded to encompass millions of American living rooms. Although he was a relatively well-known public figure prior to the series, primarily due to his books and frequent appearances on The Tonight Show, Sagan’s popularity soared through Cosmos.
The critically acclaimed 13-part series featured Sagan as both narrator and presenter of a diverse range of topics, such as philosophy, religion, history, astronomy, and physics. Sagan’s skills as a teacher were clearly evident as he helped the general public understand such complex scientific concepts as time dilation, quantum mechanics, and the theory of relativity. But the heart of the series was Sagan’s unique ability to effectively communicate why these various subjects were important to humanity’s understanding of, and future within, the Cosmos.
Inspired by Sagan and Cosmos, I finally enrolled at Drexel University, something I’d been putting off for over 2 years. I pored over the Cosmos companion book, acquired a telescope, and joined Sagan’s newly formed Planetary Society. Although my career path gravitated to financial services, I felt that I could still make a difference by becoming an outspoken advocate for space exploration. I wrote several Op-Ed articles which rigorously defended NASA and espoused the need to continue our exploration of space. After Sagan died, the Planetary Society posted a wall on their website where members could comment on the impact that Sagan had on their lives. I was amazed to find that there were hundreds of stories like mine, and as I read them, I couldn’t help but think of the Henry Adams quote: “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.”
Unfortunately, Sagan’s influence, while extensive, was limited, and lately it seems that other voices are growing louder. I’m hearing the familiar cries to curtail space exploration or prohibit the teaching of evolution in our schools. There are the loud rants of the religious fanatics who declare that God personally told them the date of the world’s end, and the shouts of the pseudo-scientists who claim that the Apollo moon landings were faked. When the voices of ignorance become too loud, I know what I have to do – I’ll gaze up at the Cosmos and listen for the voice of my former teacher rising above the din. The numerous stars will remind me that millions of my classmates continue to hear his voice as well, and we’re prepared to defend the ideals that Carl Sagan taught us.
AFTERWORD – I received numerous e-mails from teachers in response to this essay. Perhaps the most poignant was from an 8th grade Physical Science teacher who wrote the following: “What a fine tribute you penned for your educational muse. I am a middle school physical science teacher who tries desperately to channel the engaging narrative of Carl Sagan when I see my student’s eyes glaze over as I introduce the periodic chart. I do my best to explain the life cycle of stars and how essential supernovas were to arriving at our conscious state. Usually this engages a core group and they want to extrapolate on black holes, parallel universes, string theory, and the possibility of other life forms. I too worry about the influence of creationists and do my best to quietly inform the students that science and religion are not at odds but different intellectual disciplines.” I wrote back to all of them and let them know that I was heartened to find that many of my “fellow classmates” had become teachers who now pass along to future generations what all of us had been taught. Our teacher, Carl Sagan, would be proud.
More stories on the wonders of space exploration and its positive impact on society can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:
When I arrived at Fernwood Cemetery in Lansdowne, Pennsylvania in the early afternoon of January 6th, 2021, it was colder than I had anticipated, with a biting wind, and, although I had a cemetery map with the specific Section and Grave number that I sought, I knew from previous searches of old gravesites that having this information didn’t always guarantee success.
Despite the cold, I was content to be there that day. Historic research has become a rewarding activity for me over the last several years, and I knew that the protests planned for that day in Washington D.C. would be another gloomy reminder of our sharp national divide, so I purposely chose that day to revive my dormant research interests in the hopes that it would not only serve as a welcome diversion, but also lift my spirits a bit. For the grave that I sought to find was my great-great grandfather’s, a former Philadelphia police officer. I’d just recently discovered that the New Jersey State Archives had mistaken him for a Marlboro, N.J. man with the same name buried in a New Jersey cemetery, and I was eager to photograph his gravestone.
Although a cemetery employee had confirmed the grave’s location over the phone prior to my visit, I didn’t have any success finding it. Unfortunately, the cemetery office was closed that day, so I decided to head back home, but vowed to return and resume my search with the help of the cemetery personnel.
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As dawn broke on April 9th, 1865 at Appomattox Courthouse in Virginia, Major General George A. Custer maneuvered his 3rd Division troops on a ridge overlooking the Confederate positions and prepared to attack Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s once vaunted, but now badly battered, Army of Northern Virginia. Among the Cavalry units in Custer’s 1st Brigade was the 3rd New Jersey Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Alexander C. M. Pennington. Just the night before, the 3rd New Jersey, along with other cavalry units of the 1st Brigade, attacked the Confederate cavalry positioned in the woods a half-mile from Appomattox Station. In the fierce hand-to-hand fighting that followed, Custer’s victorious troops seized 24 cannon, 5 battle flags, 200 wagons, and taken 1,000 prisoners.
A murmur soon arose among the Union soldiers as a Confederate staff officer, Major Robert Sims, under escort by a Union officer, approached Custer while carrying a white towel on a pole. Sims told Custer that General Lee requested a suspension of hostilities. As chronicled in Custer by Jeffry D. Wert, Custer “replied that he was not commander on the field and could not halt the attack unless Lee announced an unconditional surrender. Turning to Chief of Staff Edward Whitaker, Custer directed the lieutenant colonel to return with Sims to the enemy lines and to wait for a response.”
A few hours later, at the home of Wilmer McLean, Lee surrendered his army to Union General Ulysses S. Grant. A poignant moment occurred as the terms of the surrender were being finalized. General Grant took the opportunity to introduce Lee to the Union officers in attendance. One of them was Lieutenant Colonel Ely S. Parker, a Seneca Indian who served as adjutant and secretary to Grant. As recollected by Lt. Col. Parker in The Life of General Ely S. Parker: Last Grand Sachem of the Iroquois and General Grant’s Military Secretary, by Arthur C. Parker, “Lee stared at me for a moment…he extended his hand and said, ‘I am glad to see one real American here.’ I shook his hand and said, ‘We are all Americans.’”
As word of the surrender spread among the Union troops, jubilant cries erupted along their lines. In the days following the surrender, New York Times war correspondent, E.A. Paul, reported that even the Virginia citizens in the very heart of the Confederacy were joyous: “As Custer’s cavalry column passed through the country…the people flocked to the roadside, waved handkerchiefs, and at several places actually clapped their hands to express their happiness. At the house where Gen. Custer made his headquarters last night, the people made a particular request that the band play the Star Spangled Banner – an unheard of event during the last four years.”
For the men of Custer’s 3rd New Jersey Cavalry, many of them from Philadelphia, this moment must have been bitter-sweet. Although 157 of their fellow soldiers had given their lives for the Union cause, they were likely heartened to see that their sacrifice was not in vain and America would now finally unite again.
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When I arrived home after my unsuccessful search at Fernwood Cemetery, the attack on the Capitol Building was well underway, and I was stunned by the violent images on my TV screen.
But there was one photo among the hundreds shown on the news programs that day that truly shook me. It was a photo of one of the rioters, and he was carrying something that now permanently marks that day as one that I’ll always remember for its sad and striking irony. For on the day that I tried to find the grave of my great-great grandfather, James H. Baird, a Union sergeant in Company B of the 3rd New Jersey Cavalry, and who was there at Appomattox when Lee surrendered to Grant, a rioter walked through the halls of our Capitol carrying a Confederate flag. If the man had been armed with a gun instead of that flag, he wouldn’t have been as deadly, for his brazen act symbolically slayed the remaining, feeble hopes for American unity.
And if those from the left side of the political spectrum proudly tout this photo as evidence of their greater allegiance to traditional American values, they need to be reminded that there are also photos from the 2020 summer riots of numerous monuments dedicated to Union soldiers and abolitionists that were defaced by leftist extremists.
Although the Civil War ended over 155 years ago, America is now once again adrift in a sea of dissention. I can’t help but think that if my great-great grandfather, in the early days of the post-Civil War era, had somehow been miraculously transported forward in time, and then viewed these same photos, that he would have wept.
As we mark the one-year anniversary of the attack on the U.S. Capitol, a time of unprecedented division in which we could be witnessing the initial stages of the dissolution of our union, remember the brave Union soldiers who fought, and died, to preserve it.
AFTERWORD – A few months after my initial visit to Fernwood Cemetery, with the help of the cemetery staff, I did find my great-great grandfather’s grave. Interestingly, nearby was the grave of another Civil War veteran, Thomas H.L. Payne, a Medal of Honor recipient.
More stories of the veterans of America’s wars can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:
Excerpt from the book “Soldiers, Space and Stories of Life” by Chris Gibbons. Originally published in the December 7, 2011 Philadelphia Inquirer.
It was Sunday, December 7, 1941, just a few minutes before 8am, and a large formation of planes was traveling west in the clear, blue Hawaiian sky, towards the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor. Initially, Army Tech Sergeant Dave Coonahan of Philadelphia didn’t think there was anything unusual about the planes. He was riding in a truck with some fellow soldiers headed for Sunday Mass, and planes were always taking off or landing at Kaneohe Naval Air Station, so Dave assumed it was just normal flight traffic. But as the drone of the planes grew louder, Dave thought the situation was somewhat odd. He looked up and was puzzled not only by the large numbers of planes, but their strange shapes as well. Suddenly, a voice came over the truck radio: “This is not a drill…this is not a drill!” Then one of the men shouted, “They’re Japanese Zeros!”
The droning engines of the Zeros changed to a terrifying whine as they quickly dove down into attack formation. The truck stopped and the men scrambled out, but they were totally unprepared for what was happening. “We had our guns and rifles”, Dave said, “But no ammunition.” Although the men were a relatively safe distance away from Kaneohe when the attack started, they could see and hear the devastation that the Zeros were inflicting on the air station.
“An older sergeant finally retrieved some ammunition, but by the time he brought it back, the Japanese had already destroyed over 32 planes at Kaneohe,” Dave recalled. “Some of our planes got off the ground and got a few of the Zero’s, but they gave it to us pretty good that day.”
After neutralizing Kaneohe, the Japanese then focused their assault on their main objective – destroying the U.S. naval fleet at Pearl Harbor. When the infamous sneak attack was over, the U.S. fleet was in ruins with over 2,400 Americans killed and nearly 1,300 wounded. 20 Americans were killed at Kaneohe – 2 civilians and 18 sailors.
That night, Dave’s battalion was ordered back to the beach at Kaneohe to defend against a Japanese amphibious assault. Although the attack never came, the battalion remained on the island for months. “If they decided to attack after our preparations, we were ready,” Dave said.
Dave grew up in North Philadelphia and graduated from Northeast Catholic High School before he was drafted into the Army. Prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor, Dave’s 34th Combat Engineer Battalion helped with the construction of the Army fortifications on Oahu, and built the soldier’s barracks near Kaneohe. The men were initially quite pleased with their assignment in Hawaiian “paradise”, as they called it, and Dave thought the “luck of the Irish must be with me.” But his luck wouldn’t last as the dark clouds of war soon dimmed the army life he once knew.
Incredibly, Pearl Harbor wasn’t the worst of what Dave would experience. He fought throughout the Pacific for 47 months without receiving one furlough. His unit participated in the invasion of Saipan in June 1944, and he was part of the initial invasion of Okinawa in 1945. During my interview with him, Dave choked-up a few times as the bitter memories of Okinawa came flooding back. “It was awful there,” Dave said. “My worst memories of the war were at Okinawa.” When the Japanese finally surrendered in 1945, Dave’s unit was preparing to invade the Japanese islands of Kyushu and Honshu. “Thank God that never happened. It would have been a nightmare,” he told me.
When Dave finally returned to Philadelphia, the city buses were running hopelessly late, and he had to pick up his heavy barracks bag and walk home. I asked Dave if he thought the “luck of the Irish” had deserted him again that day, but he laughed and said, “Oh no, it was with me. I was home.”
Dave and his late wife, Mary, raised 4 children, and he worked for the Prudential Insurance Company for 33 years. He’s now 92 years old, and still resides in the same Oreland, Pa house where he raised his children.
On that fateful morning in December 1941, Dave never did make it to church. But when I asked him if he had anything special planned to mark the 70th anniversary of the attack, I wasn’t surprised by his response: “I’ll just go to church and pray for those who died that day.”
AFTERWORD
Dave Coonhan’s daughter, Kate, set up my interview with him at her home, and, like so many of the war veterans that I’ve interviewed over the years, Dave was humble, unassuming, and proud of his wartime service. I was unaware until the interview that Dave also fought in the Battle of Okinawa following the attack on Pearl Harbor. He kept his emotions in check when he spoke of Pearl Harbor, but the memories of Okinawa must have been his most haunting as Dave became visibly emotional when discussing them. The fact that he spent 47 straight days on the battle-lines is almost unimaginable. Dave was also a member of Sandy Run Country Club in Flourtown, Pa. for 69 years, and I was informed by a fellow member that shortly after my essay was published, it was framed and hung on a wall for all the members to see, as most knew nothing of Dave’s service during WW II. He died in January, 2016, and I sincerely hope that Dave’s story still hangs on that wall at Sandy Run.
More stories of World War II veterans, as well as veterans of World War I and the Korean War, can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:
