New Bill Maudlin stamp 2010- another Jack Plymale and 'the Bookers' pearl

Thanks again, Jack!












http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/03/07/greene.mauldin.stamp/index.html






My younger son, Jeff, a Grandview Heights teacher and a Dublin Jerome football assistant coach, coaches those dumb old linemen which you once were, has taken an interest in WWII and the people who served us. Gib always touted the linemen as the ones to make the team go even though the backs got all the press. I have Bill Maudlin's "Up Front" which I am giving him to read along with a couple of Ernie Pyle books.





Don't we know who America's heroes truly are! I was not up front with them, but for the will of God and Army orders, I might have been. I was in the battles of Tokyo during and after the Korean "police action' from 1953 trhrough 1954.



Sam



----- Original Message -----









From: "Jack H Plymale" jackh.plymale@gmail.com



















To: ">" <@smtp109.sbc.mail.mud.yahoo.com>


























Bill Mauldin stamp honors grunts' hero.









The post office gets a lot of criticism. Always has, always will.









And with the renewed push to get rid of Saturday mail delivery,









expect complaints to intensify.









But the United States Postal Service deserves a standing ovation









for something that happened last month: Bill Mauldin got his own









postage stamp.









Mauldin died at age 81 in the early days of 2003. The end of his









life had been rugged. He had been scalded in a bathtub, which led to









terrible injuries and infections; Alzheimer's disease was inflicting









its cruelties. Unable to care for himself after the scalding, he









became a resident of aCalifornia nursing home, his health and spirits









in rapid decline.



















He was not forgotten, though. Mauldin, and his work, meant so









much to the millions of Americans who fought in World War II, and to









those who had waited for them to come home. He was a kid cartoonist









for Stars and Stripes, the military newspaper; Mauldin's drawings of









his muddy, exhausted, whisker-stubbled infantrymen Willie and Joe









were the voice of truth about what it was like on the front lines.



















Mauldin was an enlisted man just like the soldiers he drew for;









his gripes were their gripes, his laughs were their laughs, his









heartaches were their heartaches. He was one of them. They loved him.



















He never held back. Sometimes, when his cartoons cut too close









for comfort, his superior officers tried to tone him down. In one









memorable incident, he enraged Gen. George S. Patton, and Patton









informed Mauldin he wanted the pointed cartoons -- celebrating the









fighting men, lampooning the high-ranking officers -- to stop. Now.



















"I'm beginning to feel like a fugative from th' law of averages."









The news passed from soldier to soldier. How was Sgt. Bill









Mauldin going to stand up to Gen. Patton? It seemed impossible.



















Not quite. Mauldin, it turned out, had an ardent fan: Five-star









Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, supreme commander of the Allied forces in









Europe . Ike put out the word: Mauldin draws what Mauldin wants.









Mauldin won. Patton lost.



















If, in your line of work, you've ever considered yourself a young









hotshot, or if you've ever known anyone who has felt that way about









himself or herself, the story of Mauldin's young manhood will humble









you. Here is what, by the time he was 23 years old, Mauldin had









accomplished:



















"By the way, wot wuz them changes you wuz gonna make









when you took over last month, sir?"









He won the Pulitzer Prize. He was featured on the cover of Time









magazine. His book "Up Front" was the No. 1 best-seller in the United









States .



















All of that at 23. Yet when he returned to civilian life and he









grew older, he never lost that boyish Mauldin grin, he never outgrew









his excitement about doing his job, he never big-shotted or









high-hatted the people with whom he worked every day.



















I was lucky enough to be one of them; Mauldin roamed the hallways









of theChicago Sun-Times in the late 1960s and early 1970s with no









more officiousness or air of haughtiness than if he was a copyboy.









That impish look on his face remained.



















He had achieved so much. He had won a second Pulitzer Prize, and









he should have won a third, for what may be the single greatest









editorial cartoon in the history of the craft: his deadline rendering,









on the day President John F. Ken nedy was assassinated, of the statue









at the Lincoln Memorial slumped in grief, its head cradled in its









hands. But he never acted as if he was better than the people he met.









He was still Mauldin the enlisted man.



















During the late summer of 2002, as Mauldin lay in that California









nursing home, some of the old World War II infantry guys caught wind









of it. They didn't want Mauldin to go out that way. They thought he









should know that he was still their hero.



















"This is th' town my pappy told me about."









Gordon Dillow, a columnist for the Orange County Register, put









out the call in Southern California for people in the area to send









their best wishes to Mauldin; I joined Dillow in the effort, helping









to spread the appeal nationally so that Bill would not feel so alone.









Soon more than 10,000 letters and cards had arrived at Mauldin's









bedside.









Even better than that, the old soldiers began to show up just to









sit with Mauldin, to let him know that they were there for him, as









he, long ago, had been there for them. So many volunteered to visit









Bill that there was a waiting list. Here is how Todd DePastino, in









the first paragraph of his wonderful biography of Mauldin, described









it:









"Almost every day in the summer and fall of 2002 they came to









Park Superior nursing home in Newport Beach , California , to honor









Army Sergeant, Technician Third Grade, Bill Mauldin. They came bearing









relics of their youth: medals, insignia, photographs, and carefully









folded newspaper clippings. Some wore old garrison caps. Others









arrived resplendent in uniforms over a half century old. Almost all









of them wept as they filed down the corridor like pilgrims fulfilling









some long-neglected obligation."



















One of the veterans explained to me why it was so important:









"You would have to be part of a combat infantry unit to









appreciate what moments of relief Bill gave us. You had to be reading









a soaking wet Stars and Stripes in a water-filled foxhole and then









see one of his cartoons."



















"Th' hell this ain't th' most important hole in the world. I'm in it."









Mauldin is buried in Arlington National Cemetery . Last month,









the kid cartoonist made it onto a first-class postage stamp. It's an









honor that most generals and admirals never receive.



















What Mauldin would have loved most, I believe, is the sight of









the two guys who are keeping him company on that stamp.









Take a look at it.









There's Willie. There's Joe.



















And there, to the side, drawing them and smiling that shy,









quietly observant smile, is Mauldin himself. With his buddies, right









where he belongs. Forever.





























--









Jack P.



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P-Town story addition from Clay Vice

I remember much of this story from you, Clay. I didn't know of the grocery store. Dick Anderson was an excellent athlete of Portsmouth's and Ohio State's and a good friend of Flip Spriggs.




Good health, good friend, to you and Carol! Mr. Plymale will enjoy this story!



Sam

----- Original Message -----

From: Clay Vice

To: Sam "Kat " Kegley

Sent: Monday, June 14, 2010 07:51

Subject: Fw:





HEY SAM, IN 1953 & 54 DON MONK GOT ME ON A BASKETBALL TEAM. IT WAS KAY JEWELERS AND DON HORTON AND RICH RECTOR WERE THE COACHES. ON THIS TEAM WAS BERT BARNY, BOB KIMBLE, GEORGE HILL, DON MONK, D.E. NEWMAN, FRED SCHUMATE, JACK HORTON, BOB BRONSON " FOOTBALL COACH AT PORTSMOUTH", FRED BRANDENBURG, WHO WAS A PHS SR. FRED GOT KICKED OF OF THE TROJANS THAT YEAR, DICK ANDERSON AND LITTLE OLE ME. FRED AND I WERE THE STARTING GUARDS. WE WON EVERY THING THAT YEAR EXCEPT THE STATE. THIS WAS IN THE Y.M.C.A. LEAGUE. WE WENT TO ZANESVILLE TO PLAY IN THE STATE AND FRED AND I WERE THE ONLY SET OF GUARDS THAT MADE THE TRIP AND WE HAD TO PLAY 3 GAMES THAT DAY AND GOT BEAT IN THE FINALS BY ZANESVILLE. ZANESVILLE DREW A BYE AND THEN WON THE SECOND GAME BY FORFEIT. WHAT A COINCIDENCE! AFTER WE GOT BEAT DICK ANDERSON TORE UP THE LOCKER ROOM AND THE Y.M.C.A. CALLED THIE POLICE AND THEY ESCORTED US OUT OF TOWN, WE WERE LUCKY THEY DIDN'T LOCK US UP. DON HORTON WAS THE OLDEST, NEXT WAS JACK AND THEN BOBBIE. THEIR MOTHER RAN A GROCERY STORE DOWN ON 12TH STREET AND I WORKED IN IT FOR A MONTH THAT WINTER WHEN I WAS LAID OFF FROM WORK, BUT I DIDN'T LIKE IT VERY MUCH AND QUIT.

CLAY VICE

Portsmouth Ohio ( P-Town) memories from Jack Plymale

I have a new book, SamKat Blog 2008, which I sent discriminately and freely to a few intimate friends of Jeanie's and mine.  I wanted Jack Plymale, mutual friend Gib Lakeman's Trojan cohort, to receive it early on particularly for Doc Yeagle's copy.   There was also a copy for Jim Fout- p53 of my Excellenc in Athletics book.  Doc is criticlly ill now with cancer. Jack's and Doc's interview stories are in the new book.  Also Dave Leightenheimer's interview story is in the new book. Jack responded with a few "Plymales Nuggets" of our fair city.  Jack's stories are to be savored and enjoyed.  Thanks Mr. Plymale!


Great P-Town memories again, Mr. Plymale!




----- Original Message -----










From: Jack H Plymale









To: Sam Kegley









Sent: Friday, June 11, 2010 19:12










Sam, Received your books today and first blush is delightful. Docs condition grows more grave daily. Thankfully not a lot of pain yet, but all his medicine  probably causes him to lose a little more of his mental edge. Not serious yet, but it is beginning to be noticeable. I'll get Jim's off to him as soon as I am able. Let me know what kind of costs you have incurred. I've leafed though and am glad we are of the same political bend. There is one difference. I have little hope for our survival given our national willingness to be destroyed and the collective indifference of the electorate.





On the sports side. One sports sequence( Portsmouth) we have never discussed was the national champion American Legion basketball team. Right after the war. Don Monk, Joe Luchi. Rocky Nelson. Del Rice and Jack Horton. These guys won it. I forgot the subs. Jack only played basketball at PHS, but was generally conceded to be the best fisticuffer(Sp,) in town. Very taciturn but really a nice guy. Married one of my favorite people in Portsmouth. Ramona Newman, homecoming queen 1943.





By the way. I handled the baseball training program for the chamber of commerce in Ft. Pierce,Fla. when the Toronto Maple leafs trained there and Rocky was on his way down then and played 1st for them. He still knocked the cover off the ball. Just less often with worse pitching. I doubt any first baseman ever played better defense than he did.




All this for bagging purposes. By the way, you might have been in school with Jack's brother Bobby. Nobody wanted any of him either. I think he was killed in a car wreck. Jack p.






Jack P.








Mr. Plymale,



You aid my weak memories so well, friend.



I didn't know the Legion basketball team won a national championship. I knew they beat the best semi-pro teams who visited Portsmouth, Ohio in those days. Carrol Hawhee from Waverly was a tall, lanky fellow, who sank the long two handed set shots better for the Legion team, than anybody I recall.



Taciturn- unusually quiet and non-communicative- is a great word for Jack Horton, but I didn't remember him playing basketball. I think Bobby Horton, a brother, was on the legion team with those guys with Wayne Widdig, a memorable athlete for any area of the country. Wayne, as you well know, was P-Town's greatest fast pitch softball pitcher, who later pitched for the Bell Helicopter teams of the Bufalo, New York area (here again, my memory slipped but I picked up a copy of my Softball book and went to Bill Newman's interview story -P197) to get the name of Bell. As a Mound Park Urchin, I walked down to many Grant Gym games of that team and watched them put the beatings on the best traveling teams of the day. Mick Kornhoff, whose dad Ray coached them, gave me great nuggets on Wayne's experiences in Mick's interview in the same book (p 168). Wayne had an amazingly successful turn around underhand layup, not dissimilar to the underhand foul shots of ex-NBA pro, Rick Berry.





Jack, you are much older and wiser, but Bobby Horton was even one or two years older than me. I always heard that the Horton's grew up in the vicinity of the 14th Street Community boys and had to handle their fists at an early age to be 'racially accepted'. In my interview story with Earl "Smokey" Gibson" (Excellence in Athletics in the Portsmouth Area- p82) my good friend, Ronnie Walters , told a story of Jack Horton crediting Smokey Gibson with being one of the best Portsmouth 'street-fighters' of his day. That is high praise from a good-looking, quiet man such as Jack Horton. I also remember Ramona as a world class beauty. P-Town had a lot of those type beauties. Ray Benner, just a year older than me, was a street fighter of Portsmouth and Mound Park reknown, and Don Thomas, Dave's younger brother my age, had the long muscles of Abraham Lincoln and was no person to rile up into a fight. I had a few fights but not in the class of the brawlers mentioned here.  The street fighting sport is world universal and on America's streets as well. You, no doubt, participated in a famed service-men saloon brawl of the WWII guys all over. Our day's movies staged a few of those. There may have been a few rivalry incidents but Americans were always proud of our 'fighting men' who allegedly weren't often sober at those times, and we were so glad they were on our side.



Jack, you still pack a powerful punch with your quick stories and I and my friend, Clay Vice, probably enjoy them more than anybody.



Sam