That farmer was my great-great-Grandfather. The bible he carried off to war now resides at my parent’s house, and I have had occasion to carefully turn its pages, looking for clues to what drove him. Other than his name and a few notes on the inside cover, he left the answer to posterity. I imagine, though, the answer wouldn’t be much different than some of the other Iowa farmers I’ve known who’ve answered the call. Farmers like my great-great-uncle Billy Stebner, who as an old man used to thrill my brother and me with his tales of pursuing Pancho Villa into Mexico with General Black Jack Pershing.

Farmers like my maternal Grandpa John Cullen, who followed Pershing on his next assignment in Europe, and saw the horrors of trench warfare at the Marne. Or his son John, a Marine who fought amid the carnage of Okinawa. Every week he wrote a letter to his five kid sisters, including my 6 year old mom, telling them everything would be okay.

Farmers like Donnie Burge, a cornfield hot rodder who enlisted with the 5th Army in ‘55 and spent the next two years getting his arms covered in tattoos and staring across the 38th parallel at a scowling line of North Koreans. Luckily the ceasefire held, and he returned to take over the family farm. And sire yours truly.

Farmers like my brother-in-law Ron, who spent 3 tours in Vietnam as a Huey pilot. Just like my Uncle John he wrote reassuring letters home to his 6 year old kid sister, who grew up and married me. After the war he spent another 10 years as a helicopter school instructor at Ft. Rucker, and returned home to the dairy country of Northeast Iowa. Three of his own farm kids have answered the call; most recently my niece Devin, who spent 2004-5 in Baghdad driving a 3-ton truck with the 389th Iowa Combat Engineering Battalion. Farmers like her husband Rick, currently serving with the 389th in Iraq on his 2nd tour, away from their baby daughter.

Every single one of them fill me with awe and amazement, and a humbled sense of gratitude for having the great cosmic fortune to be born in a country capable of producing farmers (or non-farmers) like that. Where do they come from, this long line of common men and women of uncommon valor, who risk everything only to shrug it off with a simple “I just did my duty”?

I’m afraid I’ll never quite comprehend it, but an awestruck thanks to every last one of you.

I turned on the TV and clicked through the channels trying to find coverage of our event. I had heard earlier in the day that Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett both had died. As I clicked through the channels, I found every single channel had coverage of Michael Jackson’s death, even Fox News.

As I am not an “Idol” worshipper, it always amazes me how engulfed people can get in the lives of celebrities. I had an “ah hah” moment and realized that could be part of the reason our event was not as successful as we had hoped. We had lost viewers to the “Breaking News.”

I am not prone to want to listen for hours on end to all the hoopla surrounding his death, so I opted to turn off the TV and lay my weary body to rest.

After arising today, I turned on the TV, and you guessed it, almost every channel is still talking about Michael Jackson. The announcer is talking about all the crowds at the “Reagan” Memorial Hospital mourning his loss.

What a contrast–yesterday we were at the “Reagan” Library raising funds to support our troops and send care packages to the combat zones to let them know how much we appreciate and love them, and the rest of the world was focused on the news from Reagan Memorial Hospital that Michael Jackson was dead.

Our men and women are fighting selflessly to combat terrorism and defend our freedoms. These troops are willing to lay down their lives just like my son Marc Alan Lee did on Aug 2, 2006. These heroes aren’t begging for the world’s attention, they don’t seek to be recognized, honored, or worshipped, but we do need to remember them.

I thought about the world’s attention yesterday at the Reagan Memorial Hospital, how engrossed they were in the death of Michael Jackson.  My heart ached as I realized the priorities that most people have in life. How the media will dwell non-stop on Michael Jackson and his idiosyncrasies. My condolences go out to his family. I do understand the grief in losing someone you love dearly.

This man may have entertained millions, but did he do anything for their freedoms? He wasn’t willing to sacrifice his life for his buddies, for you or I, as my son did, or as our troops, our true heroes do. Each one of our warriors who signed up to defend the United States have written blank checks to this nation and they are willing to pay whatever price is required for our freedoms, including sacrificing their lives.

Why is the media not telling the stories of America’s Mighty Warriors? Why were people afraid to part with their money yesterday to send care packages to our warriors dodging bullets, IED’s and RPG’s, yet they had no problem buying flowers and gifts, piling them at Michael Jackson’s home, at his Hollywood Star, the Reagan Hospital or other memorial sites around the world? Our priorities as a nation are distorted.

For those of you who did participate and gave yesterday, THANK YOU! You understand the sacrifice our troops make and you have your priorities right.

Obviously, since losing my son, Marc, not a day goes by that I don’t think of him and how he lived his life to the fullest. I think of the words on his headstone, “Loved deeply, deeply loved,” which so describe Marc. His last letter home has changed peoples’ lives all over the world. If you’re moved by his letter, please make a generous contribution by clicking on the donate button at www.americasmightywarriors.org. He gave up his tomorrows so that you and I could have a today. Please be generous and do whatever you can for our troops, their families and the families of the fallen.

Marc wasn’t the only one with that attitude; I have seen the same character in our other brave warriors fighting for you and I. I always remember and pray for our troops who sacrifice so much for me and for this nation. They are the true heroes, they deserve our loyalty, our praise, our attention, our media focus. They need to know that we have not forgotten them. If you would still like to sponsor a care package and be part of the Troopathon 2009, it’s not too late, you can do that at www.troopathon.org.

Please America, check your priorities! We are a nation that was founded on God’s principles and we need to stay focused on what those are. May God continue to strengthen us and bless us as we follow Him.

Click over to our Contributor List, and marvel at how many people from all walks of life have stepped up and made themselves heard in the half-year since Andrew Breitbart unleashed his newest brainchild on a somnolent Hollywood elite. Actors, directors, producers, screenwriters, artists, cartoonists, critics, talk show hosts, documentarians, newspaper columnists, comedians, bloggers, congressmen, authors, military personnel — together they have written thousands of posts thunderously proclaiming the return of a popular culture that unabashedly respects our history and our heritage, our traditions and our troops. Whether it’s the Road to Recovery, the Wounded Warrior Project, the G. I. Film Festival, or today’s magnificent Troopathon, no web site has done more to create a powerful nexus between conservatives of all stripes and the Tinseltown mandarins that for too long have mocked everything good and noble about the country we call home.

And today, we need such a nexus more than ever. If you click over to the Troopathon website, you’ll see some things that should make your blood boil. Our boys need basic necessities like coffee, cookies, chapstick, deodorant, beef jerky, trail mix, Gatorade, bug repellent, fans, wet wipes, foot powder, and sunblock. While Megan “can you just take out all of the white trash, hillbilly, anti-gay, super bible-beating people in Middle America?” Fox is walking red carpets and dining at Morton’s, and Barbara “Could you say ’senator’ instead of ‘ma’am?” Boxer is munching on delectable lemon-blueberry muffins, our boys are out dodging bullets and IED’s in unbearable heat and thanking their lucky stars when they get even the smallest care package from the States.

At the Troopathon Campaign Store, you can send one of those packages into the belly of the beast for as little as $24.95 (just use the money you had slated for Transformers II, that way it’s win-win). Just Do It — and as that good karma washes over your soul, you’ll begin to understand what it felt like for our grandparents to buy war bonds or contribute to salvage drives. As conservatives we often remember fondly the more heroic episodes of the past, but deep down inside each of us knows that we can often do far more than we have been to create the same heroics in our own time. Know that golden ages and patriotic populaces aren’t monolithic entities, they are comprised of millions of individuals all making the decision to do the right thing, the rest of the cynical and lazy world be damned.

So as you are watching the Troopathon broadcast and reading the many moving, inspiring, heroic blog posts at Big Hollywood today, take a few moments to click over to the Troopathon Campaign Store and send off one of those care packages. Last one there has to dress up as Perez Hilton at the inaugural Big Hollywood Halloween party. . . .

I can’t fight because I have a different job to do as an American citizen. But my rights, my personal property, my family and my life are all fought for by proxy… our guys.

When I see any military person of any age I tell them, “Thank you for your service.” Recently, I’ve had a few ex-military friends try to dismiss my gratitude by expressing their own regret for having joined, “Don’t thank me. I’m not for these wars. I just joined to get a free ride to college.” I still thank them, because they did their time. That’s their neck on the line, riding in a helicopter in Afghanistan in my place.

The military is particularly valuable to me because I’m an artist. All artists owe their freedom of expression to soldiers willing to live and die for that freedom. Look at the history of totalitarian regimes and they never allow the artists to freely express themselves after their country is defeated. In fact, artists are considered part of the spoils of victory. The military doesn’t owe us the reciprocal because while artists are liberated by the military, the military are not liberated by the people they represent.

It is implied by having a standing army, that ultimately man is fallen. You can educate everyone and have the world’s greatest negotiators in the world but at some point you have to have a military to protect freedom. They are the bottom line of the protection of our existence as a country and because I love America, I love the military.

Aug 2, 2006, would be a day that would completely change my life forever. On that dreadful day I heard the disparaging words, “We’re sorry to inform you that your son Marc Alan Lee was killed in action in Iraq.”  Just typing those words now brings me to tears. I would learn in the hours that followed of the heroic actions of my son and that he chose to sacrifice his life so that others could live.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Marc A. Lee

Marc was the first Navy SEAL killed in Iraq. As a mother you would love for your child to aspire to many firsts. The first man on the moon, the first doctor to transplant a heart, the first man to fly, but not the first SEAL to give his life defending his buddies in Iraq. Yet I am just as proud of him as I would be for any other first he may have accomplished. I miss him very deeply, but it gives me great comfort knowing he gave his life because he valued others lives as more important than his own. 

Marc was deployed to Ramadi, Iraq in April of 2006. The guys called it, “The worst piece of real estate in Iraq” or “The hellhole of Iraq.”

They had been in the biggest battle in Iraq up to that point. Marc was up on a rooftop with three other SEALs when his buddy, Ryan, sustained severe shrapnel injuries to the head. They could tell by looking at Ryan that it was serious. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a medic on the rooftop with them. Two of the SEAL’s dropped to their knees to help Ryan. Marc could have made that same choice. He could have stayed below the protective barrier of the cement walls on the rooftop and then he probably would be here with me today, but this was a young man who valued other people’s lives as more important than his own. I know that Marc didn’t weigh the pros and cons of his decision. He just knew it was the right thing to do, so Marc stood up into the direct line of fire to draw fire to himself and provide cover so that the medic could get up to the rooftop.

The medic successfully got up to the rooftop, evaluated the situation, and determined that they needed to get Ryan out of there immediately or there was no chance for survival. So not once, but a second time Marc stood up into the direct line of fire so that everyone could get down off of the roof. They all successfully got down from the roof and returned to the base. I’m proud to tell you that that base has been named “Camp Marc Lee” in his honor.

The chief came in and said they had found thirty of the insurgents who had just attacked them. Were they up to going back out? Remember this is August 2, the temperatures are 115-120 degrees. They had just been in an intense two-hour battle. They are hot and sweaty. Marc carried the big gun and with the weapon, ammo and back pack he carried this added anywhere from 150-180 pounds in addition to his weight of 200 pounds. I can’t imagine carrying just my own weight in that intense heat while running and fighting for two hours, let alone 350-380 lbs. They’ve just seen their buddy severely wounded and are not sure if he will survive. They have to be exhausted, emotionally and physically. Yet these are warriors. “The elite of the elite,” as the President told me.

Marc looked at his chief and said, “Roger that. Let’s go get ‘em.” They went back into Ramadi and were doing house to house clearing. They had cleared several houses and went into the last house that Marc would ever be in. They cleared the bottom of the house and started to go upstairs. Marc was not an officer but he was a leader and he chose to lead the guys up the stairs. As they went up the stairs they took fire through a window, and for the last and final time Marc turned into the fire and willingly gave his life. He didn’t just do that to defend his buddies, he did that for you, for me, and for this nation that he so loved.

Marc’s name means “Mighty Warrior” and he definitely lived up to his name. He is a hero! His head stone says “Loved deeply, deeply loved.”

John 15:13: “Greater love has no man than this that he lay down his life for his friends.”

The truth is that these people should be emailing me with slurs like, “Until you’ve been shot at, you should shut your mouth and let the real soldiers do the fighting,” or “Come out to Iraq smart-ass, and bring a change of pants with you”… Yet you never run into that kind of vitriol spewing from these commendable folks. Contrary to what most of Hollywood will tell you, the men and women of our armed forces are the best among us. Not only because of how they serve, but because they are able to find the best in each other… And they are able to encapsulate the best in all of us.

See, when you have to work as a unit, building one another up serves a purpose. What’s the point in tearing down the person who has your life in their hands?

The truth is that today, we all want to honor these people with our thanks. I say however, that there is no greater act of gratitude than emulation… And we could all stand to learn by acting more like America’s best.

God bless America, God bless the troops.

When we hear about “the culture war” this is the war that we’re in at home, it’s between those who believe in things bigger than themselves and those who fear things bigger than themselves.  Why do they fear patriotic children?  Because patriotism is, to the Modern Liberal, an act of bigotry.  As you watch America’s new Commander-in-Chief running around the world belittle America, apologizing for “wrongs” that weren’t even committed by us (such as “colonialism” which was the Europeans) and literally bowing down before the “Keeper of the Holy places,” the Saudi King, you must recognize that he does so because he believes that love for America is bigotry and if there’s one thing a Leftist is not (in his own mind) it’s a bigot. 

The Modern Liberal believes – as he does with guns being the cause of crime – that soldiers are the cause of war and that his Utopia would exist if it wasn’t for the patriot. This is exactly as John Lennon chronicled it in the Modern Liberal anthem “Imagine.”  They imagine “no countries” and that starts first and foremost with the destruction of the greatest country in the history of the world.  Add in the Leftist’s dream of a world where no God exists to compete with their own self-importance (think Barack Obama yet again) and the most telling line is for everyone to imagine a time where anything and everything is devalued to the point where “There’s nothing (left) to kill or die for.”  

So, you men and women in the U.S. Military, are not only good, decent, smart and patriotic Americans, you are the heirs to the real and great America of The Greatest Generation and those who came before them. Somehow, against the onslaught of our enemies at home – the leftist news media that constantly slants its stories against America, the leftist entertainment industry which doesn’t even have to wait to find out the truth before making movies about the evil America solider in Iraq, and the leftist education system that literally slams the doors in young patriots’ faces — you have found and held, and most importantly protect, the real and great America – the one that no president (save leftist Jimmy Carter and now his heir, Barack Obama) has ever felt the need to apologize for.

So, first, I say with all my heart, thank you and God bless you and then I vow that while you fight and win our wars abroad, I will fight for the real and good America in our culture war at home.  Again, God bless you and thank you and may God continue to bless America!

Just because our fighting men and women disappeared from the nightly news and off the front pages does not mean that the war is over.  Far from it – there are hundreds of thousands of Americans out there right now, and that’s easy to forget when all the media is talking about are cheating governors and Perez Hilton beatdowns. 

That’s why supporting Troopathon 2009 is key.  Every package is a loud and clear message to our people that we remember them, we honor them, and that we will not forget them. 

And the stuff is awesome.  Let me tell you, speaking as a guy who has been out there, this is a Grade-A care package. We’re talking Boca Java Gourmet Coffee – a great alternative to the denatured jet fuel we usually end up drinking in the field.  It has Oreo Cookies, Apple Cider mix, Beef Jerky, Planters Trail Mix … this is quality stuff. 

I’m partial to the Jelly Belly jelly beans – those were President Reagan’s favorite, of course, which only makes them better.  A pack slips right into one of the pouches on your body armor, so you can quickly pop one into your mouth as you do your business.  And there’s another benefit – passing candy out to the local kids wins you friends.  That pays off when on the next pass through town that little kid you gave a handful of candy warns you about the five strangers with AK-47s waiting to ambush you down the road.

And, of course, the deodorant, wet wipes and foot powder are key – you get pretty funky out there in that sun, and I don’t mean James Brown funky.

You can send a note too, and let me help you with that because some folks wonder what they should say.  You just tell that Soldier, Sailor, Airman, Marine or Coast Guardsman in your own words just how you feel about him or her and what he or she is doing.  Don’t worry about fancy language or trying to make it perfect.  Say what you feel and you’ll make their day.  Military people have the world’s most highly-tuned BS detectors – they’ll understand and appreciate whatever you say as long as it’s from the heart. 

So, let me switch to light colonel mode – move that mouse to Troopathon 2009 and make it happen, Trooper!  That’s an order.

Only through these letters do I ever learn of my generosity. This is my wife’s doing.

Since the arrival of the first letter we’ve had some lean years and some flush, but still they come. Only the amount we’re being thanked for ever changes. Frequently, during those leanest of times, my wife would get angry because what she could afford to donate barely covered the costs involved in the sending of the thank you.  So she’d scrape up another donation and send it along with an attached note politely advising: “To Whom It May Concern: No reply is necessary. Please use the money for the troops.”

Sometimes these organizations send their thanks in the form of special certificates, return-address labels, pens, calendars, lapel pins… She keeps them all. They’re somewhere.

She never mentions her donations, not to me or to anyone else. Were it not for the letters I wouldn’t even know of them. Of course I wouldn’t object, but to her this isn’t something you discuss. American men and women are at war. You send what you can when you can.

My wife lost a brother in Vietnam. She was a teenager at the time and they were close. Like her donations, this is something else she doesn’t speak of.  

My better half.

I’ve never robbed a house.  Nor trashed one.  And I don’t plan to take up breaking and entering as a second career.  But as a screenwriter, with an active imagination, I always have an excuse to do a “what if…” 

So, what if there are two houses next to each other.  Fairly similar in size.  In the first driveway is a Prius with a bumper sticker “War is not the answer.”  In the second is a Ford Explorer SUV with a gun rack and a bumper sticker “Proud Member NRA.”  

Which house would I rob, pillage and trash? 

Duh. 

To me, all you great people in our military are the equivalent of having that SUV with the gun rack in the driveway of the U.S. of A.  With the manpower and the guns and the skill and the smarts to do whatever’s necessary when the time comes.  And that includes going after the bad guys where they live so they don’t ever come breaking and entering into our house again. 

I thank you for being there, and for doing the most important job there is: protecting freedom.  Thanks to you guys and gals, all the people in that house – including me — get to sleep comfortably at night.  

Thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  I am truly grateful. 

Oh, and that first house?  I think it’s called France or something.  

Bob Gale