We would ask that prayer be lifted up for the leaders of our country
and especially for the men and women with ties to our community
who have volunteered to serve in our military. |
A B
C D E
F G H
I
J K L
M N O P Q
R S T
U V
W X Y Z
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A |
HM3 Jean
(Johnny) Atencio
U.S. NAVY San Diego, CA.
2004 South Panola grad. |
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PFC Sherry
Atkinson
Fort Gordon, Georgia
mother of Madison Atkinson |
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B |
Sergeant
Jimmy Baker
801st Airborne |
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Airman First
Class Nicholas Boyd
USAF Tinker AFB - Oklahoma City, OK
Son of Kim Wilson
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C |
SPC Ricky
Chrestman
Army National Guard
Son of Betty & Larry Chrestman |
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Corporal
Everett B. Collins
USMC, Camp LeJeune, NC
Son of Arlene M. Carella
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2d Lt. Joanna
Cooley
USAF/ Keesler AFB
Daughter of Edna and Jimmy Cooley
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F |
Eric Foster
II
E3 Army
South Panola Graduate
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G |
LTJG
Christopher Stephen Gahn
USS Theodore Roosevelt
Son-in-Law of Gwen & Mickey
Aldridge |
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Staff
Seargeant Bobby George
USAF
Son of Bobby and Brenda George |
LTJG John
Grimes
USS Yorktown
Grandson of Beverly & Roy Lee |
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Demetrius
Guest
US Navy
daughter of Shirley Morgan
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H |
SrA Larry
William "Will" Harrison II
Hill AFB, Ogden, UT
Son of Larry & Virginia Harrison
Brother of Brandi Williams Roberson |
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SSgt
David Lee Hawkins
USAF/RAF Lakenheath, UK
Son of Mike & Brenda Hawkins |
SrA Emily Hawkins
USAF/RAF Lakenheath, UK
Wife of David Lee Hawkins |
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PFC Joseph Hawkins
US Army
Son of Mike & Brenda Hawkins |
Master
Sergeant Harry Hentz
US Army
Son of J.T. Hentz and Husband of Barbara Hentz |
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Apryel
Hollins
US Army
Granddaughter of Laura Reed
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Staff
Sergeant James Hope
US Marine Corps/Recruiting Sta. Montgomery, AL
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Sgt. Nicholas
Hughes
Army National Guard
Husband of Jennifer Swindle Hughes |
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I |
SFC Kevin L.
Ingram
MS Army National Guard HHC 155TH BCT
Tupelo, Ms
Father of Matthew, Keith & Jonathon
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J |
Shamous Jones
National Guard
Daddy of Naomi Porter, Husband of Barbara Jones
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L |
Pvt. John
Lauderdale
National Guard
Son of Curtis & Evelyn Lauderdale |
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Brad
Ledbetter
USAF
Grandson of Otis & Mary Ellen
Johnson |
SPC Jason W.
Long
US Army 150th Combat Engn.
Son of Catherine Coker
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M |
HM3 Jimmie L.
Martin, Jr.
US Navy
son of Edna Richardson |
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Staff Sergeant Kris Matthews
US Air Force
Son of Al & Betty Young, grandson of David & Veral Miles |
SR William
'Chris' McCoy
US Navy, Great Lakes, IL
Son of Alex & Kitty McCoy, Brother of Leann McCoy |
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PFC Benjamin
Lee Moore
USMC
Son of Bobby & Caroline Moore |
Chris Moore
USS Theodore Roosevelt
Grandson of Aubrey Moore |
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Specialist
Funda Moore
US Army
Daughter of Alma Moore |
SGT Jair
Moreno-Montes
USMC, MALS 39
Husband of Vanessa Moreno-Montes |
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SPC Troy L.
Moses Jr.
MSARNG 1-155TH SAB BCT Police Officer
Husband of Tanya Moses, Father of Kennedy Moses
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P |
Army Ranger
Riley Palmertree
US Army
Son of Bramlett and Therese Palmertree |
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SPC
Florentino Pegues
Georgia Army National Guard / Tilil, Iraq
Son of Elmer and Grandson of Lela Mae Pegues |
Corporal
Dustin Peque
US Air Force / Mexico
Stepson of Rita Woodall; nephew of Linda Rikard |
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Sgt. Brian
Pettit
US Army, Kuwait
Nephew of Cathy Pettit, South Panola Graduate |
Corporal
Joshua John Phelps
USMC/Camp Pendleton, CA
Son of Maria Barrows and Marc Phelps |
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PO1 Kenneth
Phelps
US Navy / Hawaii
son of Bobby Phelps and Jimmie Stewart |
GM3 Clarence
R. Powell, Jr.
US Navy, USS Vicksburg - Jacksonville, FL
son of Doris Teen Powell & Clarence R. Powell, Sr.
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R |
Steven Ragon
U.S. Marine Corps/ North Carolina
Son of Joy and Mark Ragon; Grandson of Harold Vaughan |
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Darrell
Reeder
National Guard
Father of Jessica Reeder
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CTM 1 Kenneth
B. Reid
U. S. Navy, Fifth Fleet - Bahrain
Son Of Mary & Charlie Anderson and
Burl & Jackie Reid of Batesville
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S |
Tomeka
Sanford
US Air Force
Daughter of Hubert Houston |
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Sgt Tyrone
Sanford
MS National Guard 106th FSB
Son of Urna Sanford |
Sgt Edward
Rodger Schwinn, Jr.
MS Army National Guard
Father of Logan, Matthew, Nathan, Hannah Schwinn &
Husband To Christy |
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PO3 Keith
Scruggs
US Navy / NMCRC Houston
Son of Jewel Newsom |
Staff
Sergeant Malcom Self
National Guard
Father of Angie, Boj, Brittany and Anna Belle Self |
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Sgt. Jamie
Smith
MS National Guard / Iraq
Husband of Chasidy, father of Samantha and Mallory Smith |
A1C Jeremy S. Smith
USAF Little Rock, AR
Son of Delmar & Melody Smith |
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A1C
Montgomery P. Smith
USAF/Salt Lake City,UT
Son of Jan Hudson and Ronnie Smith |
A1C Robert W. Smith
USAF National Guard
Son of Delmar & Melody Smith |
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EM3 Jul
Sutherland
USS John F. Kennedy, Jacksonville, FL
husband of Valerie Powell |
Pvt Nicholas
Swindle
Army National Guard
son of Mike & Sissy Swindle
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T |
A1C Andrew P.
Tutor
Air National Guard/ Memphis, TN
Son of Delmar & Melody Smith
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U |
SPC Daniel W.
Umberger
Army "ATC"/ Tikrit Iraq
Son of Phillip Umberger
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W |
1st Sgt
Robert E. Wilkerson
130th Engr. Brigade Army
Uncle of Jessica and Matt Chambers
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Michael
Woelfle
USAF
Nephew of Debbie Williams |
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Y |
Staff
Sergeant Ron Yancey
US Army
Son of Joy Lynn Williams |
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Sgt. Larry
Darnell Young, Sr
National Guard
Husband of Shirley Young; Father of Sherwin, Antuian,
Chris, Jarvis, Larry Jr, Kevin & Brittany |
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Below was forwarded in an email
recently and seems to be appropriate to include here.
Post-Dispatch Sports Columnist
01/22/2003 10:25 PM
Sports Columnist Bryan Burwell
SAN DIEGO - It was just around midnight Tuesday night, and the
outdoor courtyard at Dick's Last Resort was throbbing with the
rowdy energy of a spring break bacchanal. There was loud rock
music blaring out of the stereo speakers, and the air was
filled with the distinct and somewhat revolting aroma of
deep-fried bar food, cigarette smoke and spilled beer.
Dick's is the sort of bar-restaurant ideally suited for Super
Bowl week mischief, because it has a down-and-dirty roadhouse
feel to it. The waiters, waitresses and bartenders are
charmingly rude, and the wood floors are covered with sand and
all sorts of indistinguishable debris. The clientele on this
evening is a fascinating mix of twenty-something college kids,
thirty-something conventioneers and 40-something Super Bowl
high-rollers.
Yet there was one table in Dick's courtyard Tuesday night that
was noticeably different from the others. There were six young
men at the table and one young woman, and while they were
drinking like everyone else in the room, there was something
all too serious going on at this table that let you know that
their thoughts were a long way from the mindless frivolity of
Super Bowl week. Maybe it was the close-cropped "barracks
haircuts" that gave them away. All the men's heads were cut in
that familiar look of a professional soldier, skin-close on
the sides, and on top a tight shock of hair that resembled new
shoe-brush bristles.
"We're Marines," one man told me. "And tomorrow we're boarding
a ship for . . well . . . I really can't tell you where, but
you know."
Of course we knew. In less than an hour, they would report
back to a ship docked along the Southern California coast,
then on Wednesday head across the Pacific Ocean, bound for a
potential war in Iraq. So this was no Super Bowl party for
them. This was their last night out on the town. One Marine
was saying goodbye to his wife. The others were not so lucky.
They all just sat around the table, throwing back beers and
wrestling with the sobering uncertainty of the rest of their
lives.
"We're going to war and none of us knows if we're ever coming
back," said another Marine, a 28-year-old from Southern
Illinois. They all requested that I not use their names. "Just
tell 'em we're the men of (Marine Aviation Land Support Squad
39)," they said. n Super Bowl Sunday, the men of ALS 29 will
be watching the game from the mess hall of their ship. "That
is, if we're lucky and the weather is good and it doesn't
interfere with the satellite signal," said the Marine with the
bald head and burnt-orange shirt. "But I gotta tell you, I'm
not that big a sports fan anymore. It's going to be the first
pro football game. I've watched in . . . I can't even
remember."
Why is that?
"Well, here's my problem with pro sports today," he said. "I
don't care whether it's football, basketball or baseball. Guys
are complaining about making $6 million instead of $7 million,
and what is their job? Playing a damned game. You know what I
made last year? I made $14,000. They pay me $14,000, and you
know what my job description is? I'm paid to take a bullet."
When he said those words, it positively staggered me. Fourteen
thousand dollars to take a bullet. Not a day goes by that I am
not reminded of what a wonderful life I lead. I am paid to
write about sports and tell stories on radio and television
about the games people play. But sometimes, even in the midst
of a grand sporting event, something happens to put the
frivolity of sports into its proper perspective, and this was
it. Fourteen thousand dollars to take a bullet.
As I sit here writing from my hotel room, I can look out my
balcony window and I see a Navy battleship cutting through the
San Diego Bay, heading out to sea. I can see the sailors
standing on the deck as the ship sails past Coronado Island,
the San Diego Marina and the downtown Seaport Village, and I
wonder if any of the men from MALS 39 are aboard.
It was only 12 hours ago that I was sitting at the table with
my guys, buying them beers, and listening to their soldier
stories. The Marine from Southern Illinois who sat to my right
pointed to the bald Marine in the orange shirt who was seated
to my left. "You know, I don't even know this guy, can you
believe that? We just met a few hours ago when we came into
Dick's. Oh, I've seen him on the base, but I've never met him
before tonight. But here's what's so special about that man,
and why I love that man. He's my brother. Semper Fi. I know a
guy back home, and he is my best friend. I'm 28 years old and
we've known each other all our lives. But today, that friend
is more of a stranger to me than that Marine sitting over
there, who I've never met before tonight. That's why they call
it a Band of Brothers."
The little Marine in the orange shirt lifted his glass toward
the Marine from Southern Illinois and nodded his head. "That's
right," he said. That's my brother over there, and I'm gonna
take a bullet for him if I have to."
He said it with a calm and jolting certainty. There was a
moving, but chilling, pride in his words. All around them,
people were drinking, shouting and laughing. The college kids
and the conventioneers and NFL high-rollers were living the
good, carefree life. Across the street, a storefront that was
vacant two weeks ago was now filled with $30 caps, $400
leather jackets, $40 mugs and $27 T-shirts with the fancy blue
and yellow Super Bowl XXXVII logo embroidered on it.
From every end of the streets of downtown San Diego's fabled
Gaslamp Quarter, Super Bowl revelers toasted the Raiders and
the Bucanneers with grog-sized mugs filled with beers and
rums. But just around midnight in the middle of the courtyard
of Dick's Last Resort, a far more deserving toast was going up
to the men of MALS 39. We clicked our glasses together, and a
few minutes later, they quietly slipped out the courtyard
gates.
Suddenly, the Super Bowl didn't seem so important anymore
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