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Washington, D.C. - One of the great blessings of
my life is to have spent much of it hanging around with heroes. A good number of
them have been close friends. Last week, one of those hero-friends, World War II
Marine air ace Joe Foss, departed this veil of tears to be with his Maker. Those
of us who knew and loved this remarkable man miss him dearly. But the parade
through the "Pearly Gates" had to be a doozy.
Like all Marines, I'd learned about the heroic feats of Joe Foss during the
battle for Guadalcanal -- the first U.S. offensive of World War II. But when I
met him in 1989 -- we were both speakers at a business seminar -- I was prepared
for the legend, not the man. In place of braggadocio, there was self-deprecating
humor and modesty. Rather than claims of courage, he testified to his faith.
Instead of crediting his own proficiency in knocking down 26 enemy planes in 44
days of aerial combat, he spoke of the skill of his fellow pilots -- and the
hand of God in their victories.
He captivated the audience -- and when we finished, hard-nosed businessmen and
women waited patiently for his autograph. At the time, he was also president of
the National Rifle Association. I think most of the crowd became members that
day. I did.
In the years afterward I learned much more about and from this man who was never
given to half-steps or uncertainty. Like many of his generation, the Great
Depression had not treated him kindly. After his dad died, he dropped out of
college to help his mom make ends meet on their South Dakota farm. When he
finally graduated in 1940, he enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve as an
aviation cadet. After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor he persevered over the
bureaucrats who had told him that he was too old -- at 27 -- to be a fighter
pilot. Ten months later, on October 9, 1942, as executive officer of Marine
Fighting Squadron, VMF-121, he landed his F4F Wildcat on the dirt strip called
Henderson Field on embattled Guadalcanal. By November 19, he had downed 23 enemy
aircraft.
After recuperating from malaria and wounds in New Caledonia and Australia, Joe
returned to the "Cactus Air Force" on Guadalcanal on New Year's Day, 1943. On
January 15, he shot down three more Japanese planes -- bringing his total to 26
-- matching Eddie Rickenbacker's record in World War I. Together, the pilots in
his flight -- calling themselves "Foss's Flying Circus" -- bagged 72 enemy
aircraft in the skies over and around Guadalcanal.
With the Japanese in retreat, Joe was ordered back to the United States, awarded
the Congressional Medal of Honor (he had already received the Distinguished
Flying Cross, the Silver Star and the Purple Heart) and dispatched on a
cross-country war bond tour. His photo on the cover of Life magazine was
captioned: "America's No. 1 Ace." All this adulation might have been an ego trip
for some, but when I asked him about it, he chuckled and called it a "dancing
bear act."
Had he done nothing more in life, Joe Foss would already have been a legend. But
he was just getting started. After the war he helped organize the South Dakota
Air National Guard and returned to active duty during the Korean War. He was
elected to the South Dakota state legislature and two terms as Governor. Never
one to shy away from controversy, Joe was elected the first commissioner of the
American Football League, advocated a "Super Bowl" and went on to become the
president of the National Rifle Association.
I once asked Joe what motivated him in this remarkable career. His answer: "The
good Lord gave me certain gifts and talents -- just like He does for all of us.
He gave me good eyes. That's why I was a good pilot. It would have been wrong
for me not to use those gifts. The challenge is to use them for good. I hope I
have."
Joe Foss also had the ability to discern what wasn't so good. In 1956, he turned
down $750,000 for the screen rights to his story (he was to have been played by
his friend John Wayne) because the movie script added a fictional romantic
subplot. Joe wouldn't have anything to do with it. He was the real thing:
unadorned, unaffected, and unequivocal -- a man who loved his country and
answered her call, simply because it was the right thing to do.
A few weeks before the stroke that claimed him, I interviewed Joe for my Fox
News Channel show, "War Stories." Enroute to New York for the taping, a young
airport security guard tried to seize Joe's Medal of Honor because he thought it
could be used as a weapon. "And that wasn't the worst of it," Joe objected, "the
kid didn't even know what it was!"
Well, if Joe Foss has his way, there won't be many more youngsters in America
who don't know what a Medal of Honor is. Last year, Joe, his lovely wife Donna (Didi)
and a handful of friends established the Joe Foss Institute to help veterans
take the message of America's heroic history, patriotism and defense of freedom
to our nation's school children. The Institute will officially launch on January
22, the day after Joe Foss is laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery.
It's a fitting legacy. He "fought the good fight." He "finished the race." He
"kept the faith." But then, he would. That's the way Joe Foss lived. |
