Memorial Day is Heavy for MIA Families

Remember: Memorial Day is to Remember Honorable Men and Women

I have had a good life. As my life comes to a close, I would like to leave this world believing that today’s younger folks and future generations will take some time every now and then to visit a World War II memorial or museum or read a book written by or about World War II veterans. I ask you, the reader, not to let them forget the sacrifices that men like me made to preserve our freedom, especially men such as Lieutenant Charles Mellen, Corporal John Hale, George Radecka, Corporal Joe Oleskiewicz, and my childhood friend Harry Hendricks, who sacrificed their lives at such an early age. Remember them.

Jack Womer, author of Fighting with the Filthy Thirteen: The World War II Story of Jack Womer-Ranger and Paratrooper

We must remember them, lest they be forgotten.

Memorial Days Past

When a child in West Oak Lane in Philadelphia, PA, on Memorial Day my brothers and I would attend the service to honor the dead of World War I, World War II, and Korea at the Northwood Cemetery next to our house.

We were young and did not understand the significance or gravity of the event. We were just thrilled to pick up the brass casings from the M1 Garands the Honor Guard fired in memorial to the men who died to keep us free.

But in the intervening years I have learned to appreciate the solemn beauty of our American Memorial Day. It is why for 25 years when I once lived near the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC, I attended and read poetry at the Memorial Day’s Writers’ Project.

I spent 40 years tracking down the story of my World War II MIA Uncle Frank J. Curley. I plan to honor him this Memorial Day 2024 along with all the men and women who have been sacrificed for this American Way of Life, including the one survivor of Frank’s last mission, Richard Chandler.

To save other MIA families the dead end research and black holes I fell down in that search, I wrote a post on my civil defense blog to help them find out about their loved ones without the frustration and wasted time I encountered.

Here is my link to my blog about Frank’s brief life. Please send it to any MIA family you know to help them with their search.

After providing DNA and blood samples to the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (www.dpaa.mil) and attending their Family Update POW/MIA Accounting meeting in Norfolk, Virginia on November 19, 2022, I experienced the disappointment MIA families experience when there is no “closure.”

My hopes were raised when I received a letter from the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency asking me for the DNA sample as they thought they might have located Frank’s remains.

I was surprised when I first received that letter of possible remains as Frank’s B-24 Hit Parade went down off HaHa Jima on February 10, 1945 and the intelligence reports afterwards saw only burning U.S. Army Air Force men falling thousands of feet into the Pacific off Japan, but I am a Christian who believes in miracles and the greatness of God, so I sent in a DNA sample, along with my uncle Joseph Francis Curley, Frank’s youngest and only surviving brother.

Unfortunately, in my case, as with so many other MIA families, I was informed in a carefully crafted letter by them that they did not believe Frank’s remains were recoverable given the 68 years they had been at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. OK. Reasonable. But still painful to hear.

The death of a family member in war is brutal on the survivors. I know because I grew up observing the horrid impact Frank’s heroic death had on my my grandmother, Margaret D’Arcy Curley, and my father, Harry Leo Curley, who was Frank’s younger brother by two years. As my moth

er would say, “Your father was never the same after Frank died in World War Two.”

My father, extremely high IQ, Hollywood handsome, father to eight children, hard worker of two jobs to keep his family going, never reached his full potential, in many ways due to his grief at Frank’s young death in WWII.

Still, when one brother dies in combat as my Uncle Frank did his siblings follow him into the service, as did my Uncle Ray (Cold War intel flights over Red China and French Indochina, Vietnam War), Uncle Billy (Korea and Vietnam), Uncle Jim (Korea), and Uncle Joe. In fact, Joe was named Joseph Frank Curley in a naming variation on Frank Joseph Curley. He was the baby my grandparents created to try to fill the hole the death of Frank in WWII created.

What she meant is that my father’s grief and life time impact of Frank’s death prevented him from achieving happiness and success in a fundamental, blood sharing, family way.

The pain of Frank’s death was so painful to my mother we were not allowed to talk about it with my father. I only got whispers and vague references about it when young, but enough was said that I wrote this poem about it in high school called “Screaming Like a Banshee” trying to capture the impact of Frank’s death on my grandmother.

Screaming Like a Banshee

My wife screams like a banshee

to cover wailing with neutral sound

when my toddler Eamon fights her

and refuses to take a nap.

I hear Grandmom Curley screamed

like a banshee when the telegram arrived

from the War Department in 1945

to tell her the oldest, Frank, the one

who was supposed to be the Jesuit,

instead had been killed in action

when the Japanese ack-ack

turned his B-24 into a fireball

on his 39th mission over Haha Jima

in an ocean grave in the South Pacific.

Grandmom Curley screamed

like a banshee for weeks

until they hooked her up

and shot electricity through her brain

to cover wailing with neutral sound.

She never screamed like a banshee again.

Instead, she wailed so deep down for 20 years

because the hole in her heart was so vast,

laughter was no longer a planet in her galaxy

and the only way people would describe her was,

“She was never the same after Frank died in the Pacific.”

The pain of any American service members death transmits through a family for generations. It is why I study history and try to prevent warfare by educating American families about civil defense so they survive and triumph over natural and manmade disasters. I know how horrid service members deaths can be on a family.

It is why when all the propaganda by my government was directed against the Russians after they invaded Ukraine, I knew from studying the history of WWII the sacrifices tens of millions of Russians made for their families and homeland and knew better that they would protect their homeland as strongly as I will protect mine from enemies foreign and domestic. Notice it is only those who have not lost family members to war who are gung-ho on going to war as if war solves anything in the end.

The Impact of the War Never Ends

We have had a number of ill informed, narcissistic, inexperienced, effeminate, Ivy League, media, government, Hollywood, Wall Street, and academic egg heads pushing for war with Russia for over two years. But they do not know war. They do not know the widows who must raise their children without their husbands due to war.

This disconnect, in addition to the illegal “Covid-19” experimental death jabs causing the tip of the spear (USAF pilots and Para Rescue, SEALs, Green Berets, Rangers, MARCOC, etc.) or the real warriors who fight the wars rather than the 99% who support them, have fled the tyranny of the Department of Defense. So, the truth is we no longer have the capability to fight Russia or Red China. These bureaucrats are blind to the fact that war must be fought by warriors, not social activists. And warriors understand the wars result in young widows.

For example, in November, 2017, I received a call from a friend who did two tours near the DMZ during the Vietnam War with the Montagnard’s.

He was wounded badly but returned to build two businesses, one in McQueeney, TX (water skiing) and one in Vail, CO (skying). He has helped over 10,000 Vets to regain their confidence, despite missing limbs, by skying Vail, which was founded by the WWII Vets of the 10th Mountain Brigade.

His nephew, a Navy SEAL, just returned from Afghanistan and after 20 years in constant combat, put a bullet in his head after 10 months stateside. My friend asked me to write a poem for the service at Arlington National Cemetery.

Writing a poem to request is hard. Most of my poem arrive, I think, via the Holy Spirit. I say this because I write them in a few minutes, rarely revise them, and even more rarely remember writing them when I later find them or read them. This one was particularly hard to write because of the event that led to it being written.

I provide it below in case it offers solace to a widow of any American service member who has also taken his life at his own hands. Sadly, many Vets shoot themselves in VA parking lots as that is the last place they went for help that was not provided.

Here is my take. There is no Post Trauma Delayed Stress Disorder (PTSD). However, there is Post Trauma Delayed Stress Injury (PTSI). Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) is an injury, not a disorder. Sadly, when most people hear “disorder” they think of a mental or sexual disorder. This disinformation is conveyed to Vets via the VA Health Care System employees. And it leads to suicides.

As a poet, I know words have unreal power. I learned at a young age I could harm or help someone, and especially girls, with words. And I know that the VA is doing great harm to Vets by using the term PTSD (Post Trauma Stress Disorder) rather than PTSI (Post Trauma Stress Injury).

I know because, for decades as a volunteer, I have anonymously rewritten many American Special Forces Operatives resumes. They need a mission. When we reduce their 20-page military resume to a 1-page civilian resume, their unreal qualifications become obvious to civilian employers who are always looking for talent and they get hired.

More importantly, they get to have real lives, marry, and bring beautiful children into this world as they then get a great job, get past the anxiety/depression/suicide ideation/suicide cycle, and lead incredibly productive lives.

Anyway, Pete asked me to write a poem to honor the life of his nephew, and I did. It is below. His widow found it of comfort to her and the surviving 3 children. Pete told me she framed it. I include it in hopes it helps to provide solace to other widows of the Global War on Terror (GWOT).

Soft Feet Walk the Wet Green Grass at Arlington

Soft feet walk the wet green grass at Arlington,

Where a young mother cradles her baby and two sons,

Weeping softly in death-caused grief and pain

As her warrior husband is interred and remembered.

Many sing praises of his courage, bravery, and strength

Under enemy fire in fierce battles in foreign lands.

She feels the baby move at her neck and cry out,

Hungry for food but unaware of the greater hunger.

The mother hears more words of praise from the chaplain,

She tries to maintain, but the knot of grief grabs her throat.

She sees the two boys fidgeting and looking about

And wonders how she will explain their father to them one day.

Her pain is now to a degree she knows as few do

The sword that has pierced her heart can never be removed

In this lifetime, and will stay with her until her own death:

Until then there are three children who must be raised.

As Christ hung on a Cross and Mary saw her son taken

So the Holy Spirit could be revealed to the human race,

This mother must protect, nourish, love, and kindle

The spirit of these children co-created with her husband.

The wind blows and she looks up to see a man with a flag

Telling her how grateful the nation is for her husband’s sacrifice.

She knows now what every warrior’s widow must know,

The truth of his life work that became his mission:

His love for her was the reason he was willing to die,

That sacrificial love is the reason these children live.

She cradles the baby and flag, takes the boys hands,

Stands and walks, despite the grief, to her destiny and duty.

November 14, 2017

Post WWII Portable War Memorials

After WWII, portable war memorials to the deceased were created and toured where they were born and raised. Here, my Dad, Henry Leo Curley, is with his mother, Margaret D’Arcy O’Brien Curley, and the youngest of her 11 children, Joe and Nancy Curley, in Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, PA. Frank’s name is still memorialized in a WWII monument to all the boys from Germantown and Chestnut Hill who died in WWII.

This photo was given to me by my cousin Billy after we buried his father at Arlington. Here are photos of my Uncle Billy getting his silver star and his son who gave me the photos.

His father kept a shoe box with photos when he travelled with the USAF in Korea, Vietnam, Germany, etc. I had no photos of my MIA uncle Frank J. Curley until I was able to reach out to Harry Gibbons who flew behind him on his last mission and saw him blown out of the sky.

A crew member who flew with my uncle Frank provided the class photo at the top of this Substack. I encourage you to contact whomever you can to find out about your MIA. It took me six years to get the courage to call Richard Chandler, the sole survivor of Frank’s last mission. He was more than willing to help me find out about my Uncle Frank’s life in the U.S. Army Air Corps before his death. So, don’t wait as I did at points in my research. Contact everyone you can as soon as you can to find out as much as you can about your loved one.

Prepare your Children and Grandchildren for Future Dust

It is always about the future of the children and grandchildren. Here is a photo of my Dad Henry (Harry) Leo Curley with his brothers Frank Joseph, Billy, and Ray. All went to war, except my Dad who was to too young and my parents would not sign for him to go in at a young age in WWII. His brother Frank sent letters to my grandparents with the line, “War is hell! Don’t let Harry join up!”

But war, spiritual, mental, and physical, history teaches us, is real and will continue to be real. If our children and grandchildren are not to be enslaved by communism via brainwashing, we must prepare them to be resilient. And the greatest deterrent to the plans of our greatest enemy, the Communist Chinese Party and the People’s Liberation Army, is the mind of Elon Musk.

The DOD/NAVY/MARINES/NSA/USAF/USSF and other military and intelligence satellites Elon is throwing into low and high earth orbit daily via SpaceX and the Gateway to Mars, Edwards AFB, and the Space Coast, is one of the primary reasons the CCP/PLA has not struck, despite having captured the American mind via many of our academics, politicians, business leaders, Hollywood businesses, and 10 divisions crossing the U.S. Southern border during the Biden Administration.

Anyway, get ready for future dust this Memorial Day, be it from thermonuclear war or SpaceX interplanetary travel. You can pretend the dust is not real, but you better be ready to live past its impacts on you and your family.

And prepare your families. We have many resources at The American Civil Defense Association to help you. Of course, this American Tactical Civil Defense Substack also has many resources to help you prepare for natural and manmade disasters that have always happened and will continue to happen.

Jesus rules, and all this is temporary.

Future Dust

"I'll never look like that!"

I said to myself when we were offloaded

from the Lakeland Air Force Base Officer

 Training School bus

and heard the upperclassmen

bark orders at us, the arriving class,

and saw the triple rings under their eyes.

Six weeks later, I looked like that

as I stood at the attention outside my room

on Saturday Morning Inspection

(as one upperclassman stood

outside my room looking at every detail

of my appearance for deviations

"Details will save your life!"

repeated by my teachers so often

it is forever burned into my mind,

and another ran over every detail in my room

from the folds in the mattress

to the spacing between my socks).

I broke after they left

to scan my demerits book

aware that so much depended

on my finally bringing those demerits down:

my graduation, the cohesion of my flight, honor,

the future of the United States of America.

And there it sat, like a turd

the inspector left behind

from his white-gloved hand:

"Future dust."

When the inspector returned

for questioning, I fired it right at him,

"What's 'future dust', Sir!?"

"I'd have had a perfect inspection

but for that demerit."

"Come over here, son."

he said in a thick Southern drawl.

He opened the blinds to let in the sun

and pointed at the air.

"What's that?" he said,

a thin grin opening on his face,

all the muscles in his future fighter pilot's body

preparing to press the red button on the joystick.

"Dust, Sir." I stated.

"Wrong, Officer Candidate Curley!

That's future dust!

In a few minutes it will land

on your desk and you failed to prevent it!

Therefore, you Sir, are guilty!

Guilty of letting down your flight

Guilty of failing to prevent future dust!"
Three demerits. Good-bye!

As our teachers told us so many times,

they were preparing us for war.

Waging war has rules and surprises,

and surprises repeated often enough

become the rules of warfare.

Like future dust,

Or the future dust of a company

that fails to plan for the next bear market,

or the future dust of a family death,

or the future dust of the lack of preparation

for the next war and the deaths that will result,

or the dust of skyscrapers brought down

by fanatical Mohammedian jihadis,

or the future dust we will find

clogging the oxygen filters

of our interplanetary space ships.

So many years later,

I now know they were right.

We all must be eternally vigilant

to prevent future dust from landing,

if we are to have any chance at all

of a life in the space dust of the future.