David LaPell
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- Joined
- Mar 9, 2008
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Memorial Day to me doesn't mean BBQ's and banquets. I have always been raised to believe that it means something else. I keep over the mantle of my fireplace the funeral flags of three of my relatives who all served in the military. On the left is my grandfather's on my mother's side, who served as a Radarman on the LST 614, the flagship for the 7th Flotilla in the Pacific and was the first in to nearly every amphibious landing and was on the 1945 Life magazine cover as MacArthur waded ashore at Luzon. Despite being attached by Japanese dive bombers and kamikazes (and with its few AA guns shooting down one) the ship never had so much as a single combat casualty throughout the entire Pacific campaign, a major feat. The flag in the middle belonged to my grandmother's second husband, a man who I knew all my life and was to me was as close as blood. He joined the 82nd Airborne even though he was almost thirty when he signed up. Being a boxer he was in excellent condition. He jumped into Normandy on June 6, 1944. The third flag belongs to my father's stepfather, who was too young to join when the war started and by the time he got to basic the war was over, but was sent to the Phillipines in 1946. While he didn't see any combat, he did get to see the birth of the US Air Force's (he joined the Army Air Corps) jet fighter program as his base was where they started flying the experimental version of the Lockheed P-80 Shooting Star, the Air Forces first combat jet aircraft.
