AllMilitary.com

You need to know Jim Spiri. Jim is a combat photographer but he is not a member of the media elite. The elite offer us sympathy to sell ad space. Jim offers us empathy to soothe the soul. The difference is more than faint. Read on.

The old adage goes “a picture is worth a thousand words.” It’s a great parallelism that illuminates two things: 1) A picture can tell the content of a story faster and more complete sometimes than a thousand words crafted by even a gifted writer, and 2) A picture can evoke an emotion (affect) that a writer may have to write a thousand words to evoke (and may still not fully capture).

I find this angle to picture taking interesting since the parallelism is drawing on two components of communication — content and affect. In my past-life I had to study many models of human behavior and relationships. When you study to be a therapist (or really even study to decide if you will become a therapist) you have to learn many angles of effective communication. My favorite model for therapeutic communication has been the Empathy Scale model by Carkuff and Truax. This model is complimentary to and part of the neo-Freudian movement and transanalytical therapeutic models.

Now, before you go ‘huh?’ and decide to not read any further, let me explain. This is going somewhere — it’s leading us to combat footage, trust me.

The Empathy Scale is based on the fact that little can ever be achieved in analytical therapy without a trusting relationship between client and therapist, and without the therapist knowing how to listen and knowing how to offer feedback that is empathetic. People get enough sympathy in this world. Everyone feels sorry for someone at one point or another. Sympathy is often expressed as a form of pity. It is sometimes necessary to feel, but it is not sufficient to truly comfort a burdened heart.

While sympathy is sometimes necessary, any therapist worth her weight in salt will tell you that people don’t want someone to feel something “for” them. What we all crave and want is empathy. Empathy provides our human souls a richer and more personal connection with others. You can have sympathy for someone and never really understand (or try to for that matter) what they are really feeling or going through. When you have empathy for another person you understand both the content of what they are telling you, and you feel on a personal level the emotion they are communicating. You do not feel for the person, but rather you feel with the person. You don’t walk a mile in their shoes, but rather you walk a mile hand in hand with them. When you have experienced empathy you know immediately the difference between that and when someone feels sympathy for you. The two are very distinguishable.

Even though professionally I went on to do non-profit administration and social research, I had to spend some time in the therapeutic trenches. It is the nature of the social work profession for its members to experience direct client work for at least a season.

One of the most beautiful moments as a therapist is when you have a client who has shared a very painful and lonely experience, and at some point through the course of therapy you (the therapist) finally understand what she is feeling. When you communicate your insight to her you see her face light up like you’ve never seen before. Suddenly she knows she is no longer alone on her journey. This is often when healing begins.

Empathy is hard for the giver. It forces you to let your guard down, and it forces you to embrace a level of vulnerability. As humans we naturally brace against such feelings — not embrace them. It is not easy walking toward a black storm of pain, and voluntarily walking right in and experiencing the storm with another. It does take a form of courage.

I have prefaced the following with all of that so that I could make a point about the work of Jim Spiri. His work is a labor of love and a beautiful act of empathy for parents and loved ones of deployed soldiers. His pictures are worth a thousand words - actually his pictures are worth much more than that.

Being a Blue Star mom and knowing many Blue Star families, I can testify that when your son or daughter enters the battlefield you are taken from the ranks of the “normal” experiences of parenthood. You are thrust into a world that your non-Blue Star friends have a very hard time relating to. Actually you are thrust into a world that they sometimes abhor. You are suddenly the reminder to them of the evil that lurks in the streets of Baghdad. You are the reminder that if your soldier was not there defending this Country voluntarily, then their son or daughter may have been forced to go.

More than once I have been engaged in a conversation with friends who ‘accidentally’ have said something like “Well it’s better that Johnny works at the gym since he doesn’t want to go to college. At least he’s not being sent to Iraq!” The couple of times this sentiment has slipped out they suddenly look at me, red faced, and I get ‘the look.’ You know what I’m talking about. The look that says “You poor dear! You poor woman!”

Sympathy sucks. I don’t want their sympathy. I want them to know that although I am scared when my son deploys, that I am so intensely proud of him at the same time. I am not pitiful. I am painfully proud! They don’t get it, and I guess maybe I should pity them in return for not understanding — more so for their not wanting to understand.

I had to endure months of photographs from our mainstream media showing me the daily goings on at Berkeley. Our brave Marines were harassed constantly by Code Pink. I am sick and tired of the pandering the MSM does for the antiwar crowd, and then once in a great while we, the Blue Star families are thrown an occasional bone. Typically the only time I see something in the MSM about either war zone is when they are gleefully reporting a set back. I have watched the patterns of their reporting for more than 2-solid years now, and they have made their intentions on reporting this war very clear.

Jim Spiri is a combat photographer. His intentions are also very clear. Jim and his wife Candi, have buried one of their sons, a Marine Officer. Their youngest son serves in the Army as a combat helicopter pilot on his 5th deployment. The Spiris know exactly what I mean when I say that I am painfully proud of my own son. Jim and Candi have comforted our wounded soldiers while they helped load those soldiers for transport from Balad in the early days of the war. The Spiris have stood in the dust of history where our sons and daughters stand. They have stood in the gap between our sons and daughters in harms way, and the fires burning on the home front.

Jim is a combat photographer with some very rich experiences that afforded him the privilege and opportunity to walk the streets of places like Fallujah and Mosul. Jim has stood at the front lines with our Marines and Soldiers. He is a combat photographer veteran. He has served in the silent ranks as a proud father, a proud American and a man who held an instrument of empathy.

Jim has sent his pictures back to the US to other painfully proud parents. He told me that he has sent these pictures back home proudly proclaiming to anxious parents “Look at what your son is doing! Look what he did on this day!” Jim’s message is plain and simple — he has a love for America’s sons and daughters, and for their families. He is not a therapist, so he offers another very powerful tool of communicating his empathy. He offers heartfelt photographs of our sons and daughters doing their jobs. The jobs that put them at risk for losing their health, well being, and sometimes their very lives.

Jim wants to go back to the middle east. He wants to photograph our bravest and finest in Afghanistan. I want to help him do that. I would love for the parents of young, brave men and women in that combat zone see pictures of their children defending this Country against the tyranny of Islamic terrorists. The sons and daughters of military parents, have surpassed us in life experiences and we know it. We simply want to see them doing their jobs so we can proudly show those around us that we don’t need their pity.

We are not pitiful.

My husband, a dear Marine friend of ours, and myself are committed to supporting Jim’s trip.

Stay tuned to my entries here to see how you can participate.

My husband will be offering an original piece of art work for auction. The landscape will be an original painting done from one of Jim’s photographs off the Iraq battlefield.

I will also have Jim’s contact information below so that donations can be sent to Jim directly to help fund this trip. Jim acts as an independent agent. If he didn’t then he would have to have an angle outside of simply wanting to share those priceless pictures of our sons and daughters with their families.

Here’s one link to some of Jim’s work: http://blogs.phillynews.com/philly/spiri/

Additionally, Jim can be contacted at jimspiri@yahoo.com

We will keep up a continuing series on how Jim is doing and how he is advancing toward his goal. If you are interested in sponsoring Jim and his trip to Afghanistan, please contact him directly or contact me here at Allmilitary and I will get the message to him.

Thank you!

Bookmark to:

By Jim Spiri

July 10, 2008

It’s all about oil, at least that is what many would have us believe. I tend to usually take a different view on things when I’m not exactly sure what on earth to believe. Such is the case these days when I fill up my little pick-up truck and hand the cashier a $50 bill, and get no change. Let’s take a look and ponder a few choices before I need a $100 bill next week.

Four years ago while home on R & R from Iraq, I made a decision to purchase two vehicles that get over 30-miles per gallon each. It was costly, but turns out it was a wise decision. Glad I did it. My suggestion to everyone is that if you can do without a gas-guzzler, downsize as soon as possible. I do not think that gasoline is going to go down in price. On the contrary, I’m preparing for $7 a gallon gas, or higher. Just the way it looks to me that it is going. Adapting.

On the campaign trail lately, there has been lots of talk about drilling our way out of this so called oil shortage. Obama says no to off shore drilling, McCain says we need to consider more wells in the ocean. No one is talking much about ANWR, (Arctic National Wildlife Refuge) up in Alaska, and quite frankly, I hope it stays that way. Here’s why.

Firstly, without inundating the readers with all kinds of graphs, charts, figures, calculations, etc., I choose to just speak (write) in terms most all of us can understand. I know that currently there are literally hundreds of wells drilled both on land in the US as well as in our territorial water boundaries that are not producing one drop of oil for all kinds of reasons which with a little research one can figure out the answer is money. Secondly, there is a real push in the US these days to cut back and tighten our belts which has for the most part resulted in if not a decrease in consumption, at the very least a stemming of the rate of increase in consumption. Simply put, demand is adjusting to supply, or at least it looks that way at the moment. Thirdly, just this week, T. Boone Pickens, the Texas oil and gas baron has made a real timely media blitz telling all of us that this time we cannot drill our way out of this problem. He has proposed a rather large investment into wind generation which for an oilman is a big step. I think he’s on to something. Improvising.

But let’s come back to Alaska and chat a bit about ANWR. I have noticed the oil companies are also doing a media blitz these days. If one looks deeper into the reasons behind the blitz, it is not hard to figure out that what they are saying is, “give us Alaska, we’ll give you all the alternatives you want and maybe a penny or two drop in gas prices at the pump. I for one don’t think I’m going to buy into that one right now. Maybe later, but not now.

I’ve been to Alaska several times in years past. I find the state by far the most beautiful and most intriguing of all 50-states, including my own home state of New Mexico, which I cherish. The first thing one notices all throughout Alaska is how untouched most all of it is. I have yet to go to the far north extremes of Alaska, but, I’ve been close. I do not think now is the time to disturb it and for good reason. I’m a realist. I know that eventually those J. R. Ewing types will get their hands on it. But if they were smart, they’d think about what I’m saying for a moment.

I’m for more off shore drilling in our territorial waters. I believe the technology has already proven itself and new ideas are forthcoming resulting in safe methods to increase our domestic production levels. We’re already in the ocean in a big way as far as oil wells go and increasing the number of wells would indeed help, as long as the owners decide to bring the oil they’ve hit up to the surface to the market place. The same can be done and should be done with the oil fields in the lower 48 states. Just in Colorado and Wyoming alone, the potential in the oil shale reserves are mind boggling. All that is needed is good old fashioned American ingenuity, like we had when we decided to land a man on the moon in 1969. We can do it. Overcome.

The reason keeping Alaska waiting in the wings with its reserves in ANWR is a good idea is strictly economic from my point of view. We are a nation that over the last few decades has watched its’ savings go down the tubes. Basically, the typical family has no savings for a rainy day. Holding the oil in Alaska in the “bank” so to speak, is the best leverage we can use on the global oil market. We don’t need it right now. What we need is to utilize what we have available to us such as the off shore potential that we can readily access much faster than anything ANWR would produce. It’s the conservative thing to do. It’s a smart move if you look at it through an economists eyes. We know it’s there, we know we can use it, but why spend it up when there are other, less expensive options out there that have already proven themselves?

If we do indeed go for more off shore drilling then at the same time we need to build several more refineries and update the ones currently in use. It is a well known fact that a great deal of the problem is refinery related rather than supply limitations which is what we are bombarded with daily by the PR firms assisting the big oil companies. One of these days Iraq is going to come on line in full throttle oil production allowing us to eventually leave the area for the most part, maybe. I say let the Kurds control Kirkuk and the supply of oil will flow. They are the wisest ones in the mix in the region. Let Iran make one false move and they won’t have the capacity to produce one ounce of oil. In the mean time, let the wells in the lower 48 pump to overflowing amounts. Open up more off shore sites. Let American ingenuity loose and watch what we can come up with. Listen to T.Boone Pickens on this one.

And by golly, let’s just leave Alaska alone for a rainy day. Treat it like a really good savings account. Let technology advance to a point where the environmentalists are happy and the methods for getting all that oil up there are perfected to such an extent that even the oil companies will be happy. It’s the smart economic thing to do. Don’t spend the reserves yet. The day will come fast enough. In the mean time, let the caribou run wild, let the wildlife flourish, leave the tundra alone. That oil ain’t goin anywhere. It’s been there for a long, long time. Who knows, maybe with all this global warming going on it will turn into an offshore site anyway and we’ll be more than prepared by then….!

Sincerely,

Jim Spiri
Jimspiri@yahoo.com

Bookmark to:

By Jim Spiri
June 26, 2008

Baseball is a wonderful sport. Field of Dreams is among the best movies ever made. A correlation between life on the diamond and life in the real world, has many parallels. But among the best plays ever, which happens on very rare occasions, is the triple play. As a teen, I was able to experience it only a couple of times during summer league. In the real world lately, it seems as though we are on the verge of a big time triple play. Only this is not a game.

I thought it fitting this week to call this article “Triple Play”. It’s been a busy three days around here. Just so all of you know what I’m talking about, my son and his wife became the parents of three boys on Monday the 23rd. That’s right, triplets. Jesse, Jacob and James arrived between 1018 hrs and 1022 hrs on Monday morning. They came early, but it was expected that would happen. My son, the US Army Helicopter pilot and his wife are rather beside themselves at what now is a daunting task ahead of them. But with much care, assistance from family, and lots of prayer, all will be fine. It is just a long road ahead that will be traveled one step at a time.

In other news this week….the Bush administration seemed to have upped the tempo a bit about going for its own triple play. As things heat up continually in Afghanistan, most recently due to the blazing jail house attack that freed 1100 or so “bad guys” including around 400-Taliban fighters, lots of attention has been in that direction by the media. And, just as Iraq has been being reported that immense security improvements have been made in the past year, and definitely such is the case, only last night more casualties were reported with the loss of three US Army soldiers in Mosul by IED. And still yet, another report this week told of meetings between US and Israeli officials who were said to have discussed the option of attacking Iran. Israel has recently been doing high profile maneuvers and letting the word out that it has no intention of letting Iran have nuclear capabilities. US officials are said to have been urging restraint on Israel’s part, however most observes have concluded that joint planning for such an attack is already in the works. And there you have it folks, out at first, out at second, and perhaps out at third. We’ll see.

But for the record, my job as a catcher was to cover home plate, no matter what the consequences.

What I enjoyed most about being a catcher on the field was that I had to know every possible scenario for each and every pitch that was thrown to the batter. I had to know it before it was thrown, and be prepared for whatever transpired. As I mentioned earlier, there are many parallels between baseball and real life. And herein lies the point of this writing.

I’ve never forgotten about how it was that we went into Afghanistan back in 2001, which seems like a life-time ago. It was the first time as a father I experienced having my own son sent to war. It was only a couple of months after having just lost our oldest son, a Marine. Things were still very raw. Then, in 2003, the nation saw fit to go back into Iraq and finish something that had twelve years earlier been incomplete. It was the second time as a father I saw my son off to war. And now, it’s mid 2008, and I look towards the horizon and see storm clouds brewing once again, only the target is Iran. I know once again, should the commander in chief tell my son to “saddle up”, my son would be ready in a heartbeat for his fifth deployment in the past seven years, only this time, the next generation on deck, would be awaiting his return.

It is a very difficult play, the triple play, but it can be pulled off, but not without perfect coordination and excellent timing. And remember, it is very rarely pulled off successfully , something akin to triplet boys being born naturally without using any artificial measures.

Covering home plate, the catcher must be willing to hold onto the ball and never drop it, even when some opponent is barreling around third racing to plow into the catcher as he awaits the throw from his teammates to tag the runner out before he scores. Never let the opponent score and the last line of defense is the one covering home plate. Such is the case in this global triple play that is possibly about to take place. There were lots of errors leading up to the events of 9/11. After the disaster of the twin towers, we as a nation, and rightly so, embarked upon an “easy out” on first. Come to find out, the cave dwellers weren’t so stupid as we suspected, errors were made at Tora Bora, and just when we thought the bottom of the ninth was going to end the game, we’ve all been witness to many extra innings.

There were severe errors made leading up to the invasion of Iraq in 2003, at least that is what many believe these days in 2008. Then, once again, when we all thought the bottom of the 9th was in view, like the banner telling us, “Mission Accomplished”, it became clear that it had gone into extra innings.

That brings us to today.

I remember living in Australia for a few years when my kids were little. They learned the sports games down under, which I never could actually figure out completely. The closest thing to baseball was cricket. What I couldn’t stand about cricket was the fact that the game took an unbelievable amount of time to play, sometimes days, just for one game. It made no sense to me. I think I can speak for the rest of the fans covering home plate across the nation when I say, “if we’re going to another game, I hope it does not go into extra innings”.

A good catcher hones his skills by learning from all the errors made in previous games. I figure that’s one reason there’s 162 games in a professional baseball season. There is a real possibility that Iran has pushed the envelope too damn far. In many respects, I feel they’ve crossed the line way more than once. I don’t want to see extra innings anymore. I love having triplet grandsons now. And I always liked being a part of a successful triple play as a young baseball player. But if we go to war directly with Iran, even though we’ve already been fighting them in the streets of Iraq for many years, those in charge, all the way up the chain of command, better execute it perfectly this time, for if they don’t, there just may not be a next season.

I for one will cover home plate with my entire body, soul and spirit, whatever betides.

Sincerely,

Jim Spiri
Jimspiri@yahoo.com

Bookmark to:

A DAY WITH MR. DAY
By Jim Spiri
June 19, 2008
Every now and then something or someone really profound comes across my path. I’m never exactly sure how it is that certain events unfold before my very eyes resulting in a precious memory that I must share with those who enjoy reading what I have to write. This past weekend I was asked to accompany a certain man visiting New Mexico. He would arrive in El Paso, which is 300-miles south of where I live in Albuquerque. His plane would land at 0930 in the morning on Saturday, June 14th. He would be departing the same day at 1612 hrs, (4:12 pm). I would spend six hours with him. It would take me five hours drive down, and five hours drive back. It would take about 25-gallons of fuel @ $4 per gallon. I said, “yes, I’ll be glad to assist”, and on my way I went.
Late in the evening on Thursday, June 12, I received an email notifying me that a Mr. Bud Day would be arriving in El Paso and if I had the time would I be able to escort him to Las Cruces, NM, where he was to give a speech lasting 30-minutes. I recognized the name and immediately knew that what I was about to embark upon was a blessing that had for some reason been handed to me. Retired Col. Bud Day, 83-years old, congressional medal of honor recipient, veteran of WW2, Korea and Viet Nam, former POW for nearly six years in Hanoi, cell mate of John McCain needed someone to escort him. The day I spent with Mr. (Col.) Bud Day, was a day I shall never, ever forget. Never before have I been so humbled and honored to meet such a person as Bud Day.
For the record, I must explain a little history in my life. Some of you know already, that I grew up under the direction of my step-father who was a US Navy F-4 fighter pilot with VF-121, and in later years worked extensively on the LEM (lunar excursion module) as well as the Space Shuttle. So during my years of growing up, especially between the years of 1965-73, ( from ages 10-17) I developed a strong interest in current events encouraged by my step father. The most talked about issue during that time frame in my home was the war in Viet Nam and specifically the fate of POW’s held in captivity in North Viet Nam. I have mentioned before in previous writings, that my step father told me to stay home from school when the POW’s were being released from Hanoi in March of 1973. He insisted that I should see on television the men coming home and that I would never forget that day. He was absolutely correct.
Thirty-five years later, at 53-years old, with a life that has been full of more experiences than I ever imagined one person could contain, I am brought front and center in the presence of a man who was among those I watched walk of one of those planes as I glared at an old black and white television wondering what each man was thinking at that precise moment. On this father’s day weekend in June, 2008, I would have that question and many, many others answered. It was a good day with Mr. Day.
Bud Day arrived right on time. I had met him briefly this past January in South Carolina on the USS Yorktown where I was photographing a campaign event for the John McCain campaign during this years primary. At that time, I did not have the opportunity to converse at length with him. But, on this day, that would all change. I had known the verse for years, “be ready in or out of season”, and today, I was ready. As the passengers came down the escalator, I peered over each and every one. Soon, I recognized the small in stature, elderly man coming down the aisle. He stepped off the escalator, I extended my right hand and greeted him. “Mr. Day..?”, I said in the most professional voice I could muster up. He replied, “yes, how are you today..?” “Fine sir. How was your flight..?” And we began to chat a bit as we walked towards the exit. I immediately noticed he had no luggage, no bag, nothing. I inquired as to if we need to get to baggage claim and he responded by telling me, he has everything he needs. That amounted to himself and his ticket. I smiled and thought to myself, just exactly how I like to travel. Simply. This day was good.
We found our way to the car and in short order we would be heading north for about an hours drive to Las Cruces where Mr. Day was scheduled to give a short speech on behalf of his good friend, John McCain. Mr. Day was acting as, what is called in campaign terms, a surrogate, which means basically when McCain cannot be present for one reason or another at an important event, someone in his place, someone he trusts, is sent and speaks on his behalf. This event was the Republican state convention for New Mexico. This was the day delegates would be selected to attend the national convention later this summer. Although this event on this day would be full of some dramatic situations that seem to transpire in such things, the speaker of the day would be Mr. Day, and he would bring an aura of soberness to the rowdy crowd.
By the time we arrived at the site, I had found myself and Mr. Day speaking openly and candidly about many, many things. It was now about 1100 hrs which gave us about 2 ½ hours to wait around and drink some coffee. The event was held at Onate High School which is on the plains of San Augustine, in southern New Mexico, in a town called Las Cruces, with a back drop of the Organ Mountains, a majestic site for eyes to see. I had grown up in this town, but had not lived there for the past 32-years. I had left long ago but found it so ironic this day to be there in such a manner. Things had come full circle, once again.
As we sat at the table in the cafeteria of the high school, we talked at length about everything under the sun. I learned about him and he learned about me and for the first time in a while, I felt at peace with everything that had transpired in my life over the years. This man, who had been through more experiences than anyone I had ever met, understood my feelings on anything and everything I mentioned to him. We talked about all my comrades of the recent year that I had the privilege of being with. I told him of the Marines of Golf Company, 2/6 in Fallujah, the Soldiers of 2/7 Cav in Mosul, the soldiers of 1/40 Cav outside of Baghdad at FOB Falcon, my son Jimmy, a Warrant Officer and helicopter pilot of 2/227th 1st Cav in Taji, and of my son, 2nd Lt. Jesse James Spiri, USMC, deceased. I told him how I have felt out of place since returning this time, but on this day, I finally felt at home in the place where I had grown up as a child being in his presence. It was a sober day. It was father’s day weekend, one of the hardest days of the year for me. For there is always one call that does not come anymore for me, and I no longer can make the same call.
Bud Day proceeded to tell me of his grandson, a Marine, who was severely injured in 2004 in Anbar province in Iraq. I explained to him that it was quite possible that I was present during his grandson being loaded onto a C-141 at Balad, where I assisted in the loading of thousands upon thousands of wounded warriors for two years. Mr. Day continued to tell me of many of his extraordinary experiences over the course of his 83-years, from his time as a small child growing up in Iowa, to his military service, to his 59-year marriage to his lovely wife Doris, to his four lovely children, and to his relationship with John McCain. I came to realize that we had much in common. It was a remarkable day.
By now it was around 1230 hrs and the event had not broke for lunch yet which was to be served in the cafeteria where we were sitting drinking coffee. Soon the crowd inside the auditorium would have to come and eat and would be flooding our area rapidly. At this time, some media people had found out that Mr. Day was in house and wanted to interview him. He complied with their request, but I, with instructions to care for Mr. Day, took over the responsibility of keeping it brief for we were on a time schedule. So for a brief moment in time, I got to “allow” the press to grill congressional medal of honor winner, Col. Bud Day (ret), and I wondered how it would fare. But as I listened to this spry warrior handle these local press folks, I was grinning ear to ear inside my being, watching and listening to him speak the truth. It was now a fun day.
After about 15-minutes of this “press interrogation” of Mr. Day, I closed the interview down and explained that we have to eat now and get on with our schedule. Of course, I received that, “who the hell are you look” from one of the press members, but on this day, me being in a blue suit with an American flag tie, and my long hair hanging over my collar, and being in charge of the well being of one of America’s finest, no one even dared question my directions. The interview finished, everyone shook hands, and Mr. Day and I proceeded to get our lunch before the crowd came rushing in. By 1340 hrs the crowd was finishing up eating and were told to gather back in the auditorium to hear the guest speaker give his talk. Bud and I made our way to the auditorium and to the podium. At this point I took a chair and sat on the stage behind the curtain and at 1345 hrs exactly, Col. Day was introduced to the crowd. The crowd had been a bit restless from the morning session. These things just happen at these sort of things. But once Mr. Day began to speak, a silence fell upon the crowd as they listened to this simple man explain many profound things and of his relationship with a man named John McCain.
As I listened from my vantage point on the chair behind the curtain, I realized that on this day I was hearing a piece of American history first hand. I heard every word he spoke to the audience and watched while no one else could see me. For the past few hours I had been listening and sharing with Bud Day the realities of life. For some reason, this opportunity had been given to me. Now, I was listening to him speak to the audience for 30-minutes, a condensed version of what I had just heard. Even so, it was extremely profound, so much so, that I cannot in any way explain it adequately in this writing. But suffice it to say, the crowd was enamored with his speaking and on many occasions gave him a resounding round of applause. He had sobered the crowd. For a brief moment in time, everyone was on the same page. Bud Day has a way of making that happen.
Our departure time had to be no later than between 2:15 pm and 2:20 pm, in order to make the one hour journey back to the El Paso airport to catch his flight on time. I had been charged with making sure no hiccups occur along the way. I looked at my watch and it was 2:13 pm. Bud was still speaking. Yet, I knew not to worry. At exactly 2:15pm he completed his talk. He walked over to me and told me he was ready to depart. I knew he was a man that was always right on time. The car had been pulled up front for us, and we exited the back of the stage and made our way to the car. Two people had been waiting back stage to meet him, and he signed copies of a book he had written that they had brought in hopes of meeting him. I was able to take that photo for them.
As we drove away and headed for the airport in El Paso, Bud and I talked more and more about lots and lots of things. So much so, that there is no way I can convey it all here in this writing. But be assured, on this day, I conversed with a man who has known much suffering and had done many, many things that only few of us can even begin to comprehend, and has come out of it on the other side with a reservoirs of life-imparting words to those that want to hear. We arrived at the airport and I escorted him to the waiting area and I got him one more cup of coffee. It was time to leave. I didn’t want to leave, but it was time. Just before I left, Mr. Bud Day came up to me and gave me an embrace and told me thank you. I could hardly speak. All I could say was, “thank you Col. Bud Day”. I then left. I was most blessed on this day.
This was the day I spent with Mr. Bud Day. A simple, but extremely profound American patriot. I shall never forget this day or Mr. Day.
For those of you that would like to know more about the life of Col. Bud Day, I highly suggest reading his autobiography titled, “Duty, Honor, Country”.
Sincerely,
Jim Spiri
Jimspiri@yahoo.com

Bookmark to: