First off, Happy Birthday to all you Marines.  You're looking pretty good for being 227!

Second,  I've been  lucky enough  to be  part of  a  wonderful  Veteran's  Day tribute  here  in  Portland.    One  of  our   best-known  columnists  for  "The Oregonian" heard  about my trip  to Pensacola and wrote an  article about it in our  Sunday paper as a tribute to veterans for Monday.   I'm  copying  the article  at the end of  this email  for you to see.  She did manage  to get a  few facts and quotes  wrong, and  I've put  in some corrections.  For those of you who were at the reunion, you will know where some of  the mix-ups  came in. Also  you all know me  well enough to know where she  quoted me just a tiny bit  wrong.   But overall  I  think she  did a pretty good  job - especially  for a civilian! :)

It's an honor for me to be able to publicly say thank you to all of you that are always there for me.  And she certainly quoted me correctly in that you are all my heroes.  I hope you enjoy the article and I will be thinking of you on Monday... as I do every day.

Semper Fi,
Stephanie

When Gary Norman Young was killed in combat in Vietnam on Feb. 7, 1969, he had no idea his sweetheart back in Oregon was pregnant.  A little girl was born a few months later and placed for adoption.

Stephanie Hanson  grew up happy, oblivious to  war and death and  the mili- tary traditions that had meant so much to her biological father.

Gary  was  a  Navy  corpsman – a medic – attached  to  a  Marine  helicopter squadron  called  the  Purple Foxes.   The  Purple Foxes was one of the  most decorated  units  in  Vietnam, and “the medics were their heroes,”  Stephanie says.  Corpsmen  volunteered  for  the  medical  evacuation missions, putting themselves in harm’s way to help injured Marines.

Gary’s letters home were full of ambition.  Gary didn't want to work in a dis- pensary;  he  wanted to do  medevac.  Most of  all, Gary  wanted  to earn  his wings.

In 1996,  for medical reasons, Stephanie Hanson tracked down her biological mother and learned about Gary’s death  in a helicopter crash in Vietnam  on his first day in  medevac.  Suddenly Stephanie  had a mission  to learn every- thing she could about her father, his service and his death.

In the past five years Stephanie  has come to know  Gary Young in ways  few daughters know their fathers.  Gary’s family gave Stephanie his letters;  from them  she  learned he dreamed of  earning  his wings.   Soon after,  Stephanie visited  the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.  “I wrote him a letter I left at  the wall.   I said, ‘You didn't  know about  me, but I  promise, no matter what, I will get your wings awarded.’”

Working  every  day  for  years,  Stephanie  made  contact with  the men who served with Gary. Her story touched them.  Two years ago, at a Purple Foxes reunion  in San Diego,  Stephanie was  the keynote speaker.   She met  a man who had survived her fathers fatal crash. She met the man who pulled Gary’s body from the helicopter.

And she shared with  the men her quest:  Gary never  had received  his wings, she said.  After her speech, Gene Brady, Gary’s commander in Vietnam, told Stephanie, “Welcome to the Purple Fox Family.” “Basically, they all adopted me,” Stephanie says.  The men insisted she call them “Uncle” or “Dad.”

Now the girl whose  father died before she was born had hundreds of fathers. And they all wanted to help in her quest.

After  Stephanie returned to Portland, packages started arriving.  “Guys sent me their dog tags, they took patches off their leather jackets.  And some sent me their  true wings.”  Gene Brady “undid his shadow box and  took out  his wings  and sent them  to me.  They  were  tarnished – he called them ‘salty’ – but he  said it was an  honor to give  them to  me.”  (It was actually Bill Dial, Gary’s chief corpsman, who did this.)

Stephanie was touched. “But I  wanted my dads wings to be  officially award- ed and in the books.”

Stephanie  already  had  written   Oregon's  senators  and  the  heads  of   the Marines and Navy, with no response.  Then one of her  new “dads” suggested she start at the bottom.  "The Purple Foxes still existed", he told her, "based at Camp Pendleton."

Stephanie assembled proof Gary had flown the required five missions on  his first  day of  medevac  work.  “The chopper pilot's  sister had his log  book,” Stephanie says, “and she photocopied it  for me.  It  showed Gary had  flown seven  missions  in 2.7 hours  that  day.”  She  also sent  letters  from  Gary’s commanding officer and others present the day he died.

Stephanie  was  persistent.   The Purple Foxes,  who'd  nicknamed  her  “The Kid,” began to call her “The Bulldog.”

Finally,  in January,  she got a letter from Camp Pendleton saying  the  com- manding officer had made her mission his priority.   In July she  got another message, saying the wings would likely be approved.  But she never imagined how she would receive them.

Last month,  Stephanie flew to a reunion of  helicopter pilots  who served  in Vietnam.  At a private dinner for the Purple Foxes,  Stephanie was  surprised when she  was ushered  to a head table.   “A couple guys were acting like  the cat that swallowed the canary, so I started getting a little nervous.”

Just  before dinner,  the Marines’  three-star  general  in  charge  of  aviation arrived  from Washington, D.C.  “I almost fell out of my chair,” she says.  “I started crying.  I thought, what an honor for my dad.”

What  the general said was even more surprising.  "The Commandant of  the Marines  had  heard  Stephanie's story",  he said,  "and  had  planned to  fly down himself  but had been called to meet with  the president."  In his stead, the  general  said,  “I'm just giving  something to  someone  who earned it so many years ago.”  And then he gave Stephanie her fathers Combat Air Crew wings.

“They  were in a shadow box,”  she says.  “The active duty Purple Foxes,” in 
California, “had  framed them for me.  Beneath  the wings  is a  plaque  with 
Gary’s name and the date he was killed in action.  It says,  ‘In recognition of his  selfless  sacrifice  to  his  country.’  And  there's  purple  matting  for  the Purple Foxes, and brown leather matting, for the flight jackets.”

The  Purple  Foxes – all  of  Stephanie's  “dads” – rose  to applaud  and  take “hundreds”  of pictures.   The  general  turned  to me  and  said, "Holy Cow, Stephanie." He was amazed.

That  night Stephanie met two more  men who'd been there  the day  her dad died.  “One was… a flight surgeon.  They  weren't  supposed to fly; they were too  valuable.  But  he did  anyway.  They  were  still under fire  when he  got there.”  He  told  Stephanie  that Gary had  died on  impact and  hadn't suff- ered.  (Courtney Payne actually told me this.)  “I got to say thank you.”

She spent the rest of  the weekend visiting with all her “fathers” and “putting together  pieces of  the puzzle.”  Because of her  years of research,  Stephanie was able to help connect men who hadn't seen each other since Vietnam.

“If anything,  this reunion cemented what I am meant to do.   I want to work with  veterans.  I have a story  that seems to  touch them,  and I want to  give something back to them; I’ll never be able to repay what they've given me.”

Stephanie has been  writing a book about her quest, “and I haven't been able to finish.  Now I have my final chapter.” She hopes her book will be publish- ed, so she can bring attention to the Purple Foxes.  (I think you all know that while I love helping the Foxes, I also care about all vets.)  “It's why I'm here,” she says.  “Not just for Gary, but for all  these guys.  Gary wrote many times that all he wanted to do was help his Marines.  They lived for 30 years think- ing no one cared. They're my heroes. I want to make the world care.”

Stephanie holds the shadow box carefully, studying the wings. Tomorrow will be a  very special Veterans Day.   After 33 years,  Gary Young finally has rec- eived the wings he longed for.  The daughter he never knew kept her promise to her dad.