IWO JIMA VETS TEACHING THEIR HISTORY
Larry Kirby doesn’t look anywhere near 92-years-old. Perhaps that’s why a well-meaning student at a local middle school once introduced him as “a veteran of World War… Eleven.”
“The boy meant well,” Larry chuckled, “I guess he actually thought the two Roman numerals stood for eleven world wars.” Larry understood.
Yesterday, in the Great Hall of the State House, Larry Kirby joined a half dozen of his aged, brother Marines who proudly but slowly took their places of honor, some with the aid of a cane and oxygen.
Each man had managed to endure the same hell on earth 72 years ago known as the Battle of Iwo Jima.
Over the course of 26 days, 6,821 Marines died fighting to secure a vital spit of volcanic ash in the Pacific, a casualty toll eerily identical to all the U.S. lives lost in both the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts.
Larry Kirby, who signed up to defend this country straight out of St. Mary’s High School in Brookline, wound up in Iwo Jima as a 20-yearold platoon sergeant.
He told an audience of fellow Marines, Gold Star families and assorted pols that the day is fast approaching when the heroism and sacrifices made on Iwo Jima will fade into the mist of time.
“The book will eventually be closed on that terrible battle,” Larry said, “as it has already been on so many other of the pivotal struggles of the past.”
“I wake up with it each and every day, but I also feel blessed to be able to carry on,” said Bob Lavoie, who at 90, journeyed into town from Hopkinton.
For almost two hours yesterday morning, they were young again. The stories of their courage, their fear, their loss and pride were made vital and validated by a governor who fought to choke back his own tears of admiration and gratitude.
Charlie Baker told his audience that he had just spoken to the parents of PFC Brian Patrick Odiorne, the latest Bay State resident to die in Iraq. Baker’s composure broke as he said he was humbled to be in the presence of venerable heroes who epitomized what it truly meant to be a servant of the public.
“They say the strongest human bond is between parent and child,” Kirby told me. “I would say that the bond between brothers in combat is just as strong, maybe even stronger.
“What you fight for in the heat of the battle is not for some larger idea of glory or freedom,” Larry said. “You are fighting to save the life of the brother next to you. The brother who has been with you through an ordeal that you could never imagine, that is what we’re holding on to today.”
We pause to honor those ageless heroes who put their lives on the line 72 years ago, when the course of freedom revolved around a spit of volcanic ash in the Pacific.