300 games by the greatest player of all time: 54 against such masters as Anderssen, Harrwitz, Mongredien, Bird, Paulsen, and others; 52 of the best blindfold games; 52 games at odds; and 142 in consultation, informally.
On October 24-25, 1942, Marine Sergeant John Basilone was in charge of two sections of heavy machine guns defending a narrow pass to Henderson Airfield on Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands. Although vastly outnumbered, Manila John and his fellow Marines checked the assault by the Japanese. For that, Sgt. Basilone was awarded the Medal of Honor and sent back to the states to appear at war-bond rallies. He toured the country and met Hollywood starlets. His picture made the cover of Life magazine. But Sergeant Basilone was unsatisfied back home and volunteered to return to combat, ending up at Iwo Jima. Under heavy artillery fire on February 19, 1945, he singlehandedly took out an enemy blockhouse. Minutes later, he and four others in his platoon died in an artillery blast. Sergeant Basilone was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross and Purple Heart, making him the only enlisted Marine in World War II to receive all three medals.
THERE is an attraction about carpets and curtains, chairs and sofas, and the mantelpiece which is hard to explain, and harder to resist. I feel it in all its insidious power this morning as I am bidding them farewell for a considerable time; I would not have believed that a venerable Axminster and an arm-chair on three casters could absorb and hold so much affection; verily I think, standing in the door, it was these things that made Lot’s wife turn her unlucky head. Dear me, how they enter in, how they grow to be part of us, these objects of ordinary use and comfort that we place within the four walls of the little shelters we build for ourselves on the fickle round o’ the world! I have gone back, I have sat down, I will not be deprived of them; they are necessary to the courage with which every one must face life. I will consider nothing without a cushion, on the hither side of the window, braced by dear familiar bookshelves, and the fender. And Tiglath-Pileser has come, and has quoted certain documents, and has used gentle propulsive force, and behold, because I am a person whose contumacy cannot endure, the door is shut, and I am on the outside disconsolate. I would not have more sympathy than I can afterwards sustain; I am only banished to the garden. But the banishment is so definite, so permanent! Its terms are plain to my unwilling glance, a long cane deck chair anchored under a tree. Overhead the sky, on the four sides the sky, without a pattern, full of wind and nothing. Abroad the landscape, consisting entirely of large mountains; about, the garden. I never regarded a garden with more disfavour. Here I am to remain—but to remain! The word expands, you will find, as you look into it. Man, and especially woman, is a restless being, made to live in houses roaming from room to room, and always staying for the shortest time moreover, if you notice, in the one which is called the garden. The subtle and gratifying law of arrangement that makes the drawing-room the only proper place for afternoon tea operates all through. The convenience of one apartment, the quiet of another, the decoration of another regularly appeal in turn, and there is always one’s beloved bed, for retirement when the world is too much with one. All this I am compelled to resign for a single fixed fact and condition, a cane chair set in the great monotony of out-of-doors. My eye, which is a captious organ, is to find its entertainment all day long in bushes—and grass. All day long. Except for meals it is absolutely laid down that I am not to “come in.” They have not locked the doors, that might have been negotiated, they have gone and put me on my honour. From morning until night I am to sit for several months and breathe, with the grass and the bushes, the beautiful pure fresh air. I don’t know why they have not asked me to take root and be done with it. In vain I have represented that microbes will agree with them no better than with me; it seems the common or house microbe is one of the things that I particularly mustn’t have. Some people are compelled to deny themselves oysters, others strawberries or artichokes; my fate is not harder than another’s. Yet it tastes of bitterness to sit out here in an April wind twenty paces from a door behind which they are enjoying, in customary warmth and comfort, all the microbes there are.
WW II Letters Of Set. W.P. Justice, US Army - Sent Home To His Mother Describing His Training, Fears, Duty, Travel And Love For His Family During WW II.
With the air filled with the missiles of death, the bluecoats sought the shelter of mother earth and lay flat hugging the wet ground. The men were caught in an exposed position, and here occurred an incident, that would haunt William R. Hartpence of the Fifty-first Indiana as long as he lived. He observed First Lieutenant Peter G. Tait of the Eighty-ninth Illinois standing a little in advance of his regiment, which had intermingled with the Fifty-first during the assault. With his eyes fixed on the young officer, Hartpence watched as Tait was stuck by a cannon ball near the center of his body, tearing a great hole in the left side. As he fell, he threw his right arm around to his side, when his heart and left lung dropped out into it. The heart continued to throb for twenty minutes, its pulsations being distinctly seen by his agonized comrades, who stood there and saw the noble life fade out in heroic self-sacrifice. Battle of Nashville, December 16, 1864. In answer to Lincolns call for more men to put down the rebellion, the several trunk railroads centered in Chicago oversaw the organization of a regiment composed principally of railroad employees. Numbered the Eighty-ninth Illinois Volunteer Infantry, it was better known by the sobriquet, the Railroad Regiment. Considered one of the 300 hundred fighting regiments of the Union army, the Railroaders had 133 men killed in action or later died from wounds. Another 66 succumbed in rebel prisons. At the final muster, Colonel Charles T. Hotchkiss said it best: Our history is written on the head-boards of rudely-made graves. . . . Such a record we feel proud of. And indeed, it was. PHILIP J. REYBURN is a retired field representative for the Social Security Administration. With Terry L. Wilson, he edited Jottings from Dixie: The Civil War Dispatches of Sergeant Major Stephen F. Fleharty, U.S.A.
This 736-page book has the inspirational stories of courage under fire for all 464 World War II Medal of Honor Recipients, including Van Barfoot, John Basilone, Richard Bong, Pappy Boyington, Footsie Britt, John Bulkeley, Jimmy Doolittle, Desmond Doss, “Red Mike†Edson, John Finn, Joe Foss, John Hawk, James Howard, Daniel Inouye, Leon Johnson, Isaac Kidd, Jose Lopez, Jack Lummux, George Mabry, Douglas MacArthur, Thomas McGuire Jr., Gino Merli, Audie Murphy, Joseph O’Callahan, Theodore Roosevelt Jr., Edward Silk, Matt Urban, Alexander Vandegrift, George Wahlen, Jonathan Wainwright, Kenneth Walsh, and Hershel Williams. Since the decoration's creation in 1861, the Medal has become a historic symbol of the bravest of the brave. The stories of the recipients are impressive and moving.
The 40th anniversary edition of the classic Vietnam memoir—featured in the PBS documentary series The Vietnam War by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick—with a new foreword by Kevin Powers In March of 1965, Lieutenant Philip J. Caputo landed at Danang with the first ground combat unit deployed to Vietnam. Sixteen months later, having served on the line in one of modern history’s ugliest wars, he returned home—physically whole but emotionally wasted, his youthful idealism forever gone. A Rumor of War is far more than one soldier’s story. Upon its publication in 1977, it shattered America’s indifference to the fate of the men sent to fight in the jungles of Vietnam. In the years since then, it has become not only a basic text on the Vietnam War but also a renowned classic in the literature of wars throughout history and, as the author writes, of "the things men do in war and the things war does to them." "Heartbreaking, terrifying, and enraging. It belongs to the literature of men at war." —Los Angeles Times Book Review
Since its creation in 1716, the Royal Artillery has been a cornerstone of the British Armed Forces, as their motto Ubique, 'Everywhere' implies. In this book Philip Jobson has collated the enormous and complex artillery lexicon which has accumulated since that day, as dynamic as its subject to keep pace with technical and tactical innovation. The development of indirect fire, counter battery, anti-tank and anti-aircraft fire all required a novel vocabulary, as did advances in survey and locating. Changes in communication from shouts, to flags, to line, to radio, to compressed data transmission all left their mark on the language. Epic in scope and detail, even the most expert Gunner would be likely to fail an unseen test based on this work. It will therefore be a pleasure to those who think themselves expert to browse this volume, and will serve as an invaluable reference for historians and researchers to ensure that they use the correct term and understand its true meaning.
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