Happy thanksgiving Ira Hayes

I worked, for a while, at a convenience store at a busy highway intersection.

There was an old homeless man that frequented for the coffee and beer that he could buy with the dollars he begged from travelers.
Sometimes, working the graveyard shift, my wife would come and sit with me and talk and visit with Jim.
Jim was a free spirit of sorts. He was homeless by choice.
Apparently he had scads of cash but his son would ration it out to him, I guess to try to keep him from a Poe existence.
Thanksgiving came around and it was getting unusually cold that year for central Florida so we invited Jim to our house for Thanksgiving dinner.
I have spent a few years hitching around the country so we had plenty to talk about. We let him shower while my wife washed all the clothes in his bags before bedding down for the night.
When I left that store to take another job I would still see Jim from time to time around town. I could always count on a wave and a smile if I didn't have time to stop and chat.

As often happens, I got wrapped up in my day-day life and hadn't seen Jim for a little while.
One day in November I opened our local paper and saw his picture.
He was being interviewed as part of observing Veterans Day.

With all the talks and chats I had enjoyed with Jim through the years I never learned that he was there at Iwo Jima. He was there for the famous photograph.
What really touched my heart, besides knowing that I was "friends" with a war hero, was, when asked about heroism, he told the reporter that the biggest heroes he ever knew were a kind couple that brought him into their home for Thanksgiving and opened there hearts to a virtual stranger.



Today I'm thankful for so many things.
I thank you for this thread that brought up these memories of Jim.
 
Lyrics to The Ballad Of Ira Hayes :

Ira Hayes,
Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Gather round me people there's a story I would tell
About a brave young Indian you should remember well
From the land of the Pima Indian
A proud and noble band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land

Down the ditches for a thousand years
The water grew Ira's peoples' crops
'Till the white man stole the water rights
And the sparklin' water stopped

Now Ira's folks were hungry
And their land grew crops of weeds
When war came, Ira volunteered
And forgot the white man's greed

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

There they battled up Iwo Jima's hill,
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again

And when the fight was over
And when Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Ira returned a hero
Celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored; Everybody shook his hand

But he was just a Pima Indian
No water, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
And when did the Indians dance

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Then Ira started drinkin' hard;
Jail was often his home
They'd let him raise the flag and lower it
like you'd throw a dog a bone!

He died drunk one mornin'
Alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch
Was a grave for Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is just as dry
And his ghost is lyin' thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died
 
He could beat the Japs but not the bottle.

The latter is an enemy that just keeps coming.
 

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