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[h=1]Neighbors: Poem salutes those who served their country[/h]By Bob Lind Today at 12:01 a.m.
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Carl Fjelstad, a native of Kindred, N.D., who now lives in Mesa, Ariz., received several honors while fighting with the Army in Vietnam. Submitted photo.
Carl Fjelstad doesn't talk about the awards he received while fighting with the Army in Vietnam. According to his sister, all he says about his service there is, "It was my duty."
But Neighbors told about him a few years ago, and tells you again, that this unassuming war hero won the Army Commendation Medal, the Bronze Star and the Silver Star, which was awarded to Carl for "exceptional valorous action" for carrying wounded men to safety while under intense Viet Cong gunfire.
Oh. He also has three Purple Hearts, having been wounded three times.
Carl, 82, is a native of Kindred, N.D. Today, he lives in Mesa, Ariz., with his wife, Zita.
While he won't talk about his own heroics, he's always ready to salute others who served their country.
So, when he came upon a poem about such people, he sent it to his sister, Olive Andvik, Moorhead, and asked her to send it to Neighbors.
This being the Fourth of July, it seems like an appropriate day to run the poem Carl sent in. It's a reminder that America's independence and continued freedom don't come without a price.
The poem, author unknown, is simply titled "A Poem Worth Reading."
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past,
Of a war that he once fought in and the deeds that he had done
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors his talks became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer, for ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many, just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary, very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family, going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing, and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
Some jerk who breaks his promise and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who in times of war and strife
Goes off to serve his country and offers up his life?
The politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are often disproportionate to the service that he gives,
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them, for it is so many times
That our Bills, Dennys and Johnnys went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out, with his ever-waffling stand?
Or would you want a soldier—his home, his country, his kin --
Just a common soldier, who would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier, and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING; A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
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Carl Fjelstad doesn't talk about the awards he received while fighting with the Army in Vietnam. According to his sister, all he says about his service there is, "It was my duty."
But Neighbors told about him a few years ago, and tells you again, that this unassuming war hero won the Army Commendation Medal, the Bronze Star and the Silver Star, which was awarded to Carl for "exceptional valorous action" for carrying wounded men to safety while under intense Viet Cong gunfire.
Oh. He also has three Purple Hearts, having been wounded three times.
Carl, 82, is a native of Kindred, N.D. Today, he lives in Mesa, Ariz., with his wife, Zita.
While he won't talk about his own heroics, he's always ready to salute others who served their country.
So, when he came upon a poem about such people, he sent it to his sister, Olive Andvik, Moorhead, and asked her to send it to Neighbors.
This being the Fourth of July, it seems like an appropriate day to run the poem Carl sent in. It's a reminder that America's independence and continued freedom don't come without a price.
The poem, author unknown, is simply titled "A Poem Worth Reading."
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past,
Of a war that he once fought in and the deeds that he had done
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors his talks became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer, for ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many, just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary, very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family, going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing, and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
Some jerk who breaks his promise and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who in times of war and strife
Goes off to serve his country and offers up his life?
The politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are often disproportionate to the service that he gives,
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them, for it is so many times
That our Bills, Dennys and Johnnys went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out, with his ever-waffling stand?
Or would you want a soldier—his home, his country, his kin --
Just a common soldier, who would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier, and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING; A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
