Meri Sullivan retweeted
He survived four tours in Iraq, helicopter crashes, and six IED att@cks. What k*lled him was the day he spent helping a struggling veteran. His name was Chris Kyle.
Born April 8, 1974, in Odessa, Texas. He grew up on a cattle ranch. He learned to hunt with his father and brother.
He joined the Navy. He became a SEAL. He served on four tours in Iraq. He earned a Silver Star. Three Bronze Stars for valor. He was wounded twice. He survived multiple helicopter crashes. Six IED att@cks. A man who survived the most dangerous places on Earth.
He was k*lled on a quiet afternoon at home, trying to help someone else make it back. Rest easy, Chris.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
President Trump and Elon Musk have us looking toward a future with flying cars! 🇺🇸🚀
I swear, we're getting closer to living in an episode of The Jetsons! 😂
I'm excited about the possibilities, but there's one little problem… some people can't even drive on the GROUND without staring at their phones! 🤣
#Trump #ElonMusk #FlyingCars
🤖 Made with AI
Meri Sullivan retweeted
HONOR AND DUTY IS ALL THAT I HAVE
“My name is Charles Gant, and I am a Vietnam Veteran.
I enlisted so I could hopefully become an airborne combat medic. So, I joined May 31, 1967. I turned 19 December 5, 1967 and was in Vietnam one week later. The Army did not have to honor any contracts or my request to become an airborne combat medic, so my jump school class and I were airborne infantry. A hundred of us were sent to the 2/502nd Infantry Battalion. Thirty six of us went to Alpha Company and the rest were spread throughout the battalion. By the way, we were called the Strike Force Widow Makers, thus the Widow Maker patch.
The NVA and Vietcong who were pretty much wiped out in the infamous 1968 Tet Offensive, just took off their uniforms and put on the black pajamas. They referred to us as the "chicken men" since they did not know anything about eagles on our 101st Airborne uniforms.
My first six months in country was spent mostly out in the jungles and mountains doing what we called Search and Destroy operations, making heliborne assault after heliborne assault, many of which involved going into "hot" LZs. Other than the rare stand down, the only time I was out of the boonies was when I was recovering from being wounded, which happened twice. At that time or my first six months with Alpha Company, I carried a M-79 grenade launcher, a sawed off twelve gauge shotgun as well as a 45-caliber Browning automatic pistol. Our rucksacks were over a hundred pounds each, maybe dropping down to seventy-five pounds just before a resupply, which was either five days or seven days apart. We rarely took prisoners alive, but we did only when necessary. The NVA feared the chicken men to the point that there was a bounty on our collective heads, something that we were actually very proud of.
Right at the end of May or early June, I was one of the "old timers" transferred into the newly formed Delta Company. I guess being wounded twice and having been in country six months, even though I was only 19, meant I was an old-timer. I ended up becoming a point man, a position I held until I left country in December of 1968. Even though a point man's life expectancy was only seven seconds in an ambush and or firefight or so I was told, I was never wounded again.
I came down with some kind of nasty bug, which caused my temperature to go up to 107, or so I was told. It was actually fortunate that I was wounded the first time during the battle for Hue City and thus, I was already in a hospital recovering. I was told that I would not have survived long enough to make to a hospital, if I had been out in the jungle. I was unconscious for eight days, only coming to twice, once when I was placed in a bathtub filled with ice and water and the other time when I woke up long enough to realize that I was covered with a lot of blankets. As a result of the fever, I became sterilized, thus unable to have kids of my own. I did not find out for 30 years, that I had contracted a rare kind of TB called Testicular Tuberculosis. I have always loved kids, and now here I am with no children or grandchildren.
I became a paramedic, something I loved to do. But I did not believe in PTSD. I just figured that not sleeping for three or four nights at a time, the daily flashbacks and way ongoing nightmares was just normal for having gone through a terrible year of fighting in the jungles and mountains of Vietnam. It was only in 2000 after going into a thirty minute flashback, while on call, that I was finally diagnosed. I will not bore you with my survivor's guilt issues. Would I serve again? In a heartbeat. I love my country very much.
~Charles Gant, Vietnam Veteran
#TheVietnamWar #military
Meri Sullivan retweeted
Memories…💟
Right before I enlisted in the US Marines in the late 70’s -early 80’s
I remember this Amazing beautiful song 🎵 and makes me reminisce My Innocence of a beautiful time back when then, and my fondness of My Love, which was my first Love in HS and which wound up becoming My Wife eventually ( although she is heaven now after three beautiful children ) 🙏🏻🕊️☦️
We’d sit and listen to this Song 🎶 over the Radio together back then, and before I was being thrown into the Apocalyptic world where Innocence was lost never to be seen again…
And now here is where I landed…
🤍💝💘☦️
‘There is no greater sorrow,
Than to recall happy times within moments of Beautiful Memories’ 😔
“What We Do in Life , Echoes for Eternity”🙏🏻🕊️🤍
youtu.be/21I_XsR400Q?is=8XV0…
Meri Sullivan retweeted
Charles Goodnight invented the chuckwagon, blazed one of the great cattle trails, hauled his dead partner hundreds of miles home in a coffin because he had promised he would, and helped save the American bison from extinction because his wife asked him to.
He died in 1929.
He was born March 5, 1836, in Illinois, and the family moved to Texas in 1846 when he was ten. He grew up on the frontier and spent his early adulthood as a scout and Ranger out on the Texas plains.
In 1866 he teamed up with an older cattleman named Oliver Loving, put together a herd, and drove it out of Fort Belknap, Texas toward Fort Sumner, New Mexico, where the Army needed beef. That route became the Goodnight-Loving Trail, and it opened the whole Southwest to Texas cattle. The drive included about ninety miles of waterless country before they reached the Pecos. Cattle died on it. They went anyway.
On that same drive, Goodnight invented the chuckwagon.
He bought a surplus Army wagon, rebuilt it with iron axles, and bolted a hinged box onto the back fitted with drawers and shelves and a lid that folded down into a work surface, with a water barrel underneath. A cook could run an entire kitchen out of the back of it a hundred miles from anything.
Every trail outfit in the West copied it within a few years, and the rigs people still build for chuckwagon cooking competitions today are essentially the same design.
He solved the biggest logistics problem in the cattle industry with a piece of carpentry.
On the second drive in 1867, Loving rode ahead and was ambushed and wounded by Comanches along the Pecos. He made it to Fort Sumner, but the wound went gangrenous and he died there.
Goodnight had promised him he would not be left in New Mexico.
So after the burial, Goodnight came back, had the body taken out of the ground, and hauled it in a coffin across hundreds of miles of plains to Weatherford, Texas, so Loving could be buried at home.
If that sounds familiar, it is because Larry McMurtry built Lonesome Dove on these two men.
In 1876 Goodnight moved into the Palo Duro Canyon in the Texas Panhandle and founded the JA Ranch with an Irish investor named John Adair. By 1885 it covered 1,325,000 acres and ran 100,000 head of cattle.
Six years earlier he had married Mary Ann Dyer, a schoolteacher from Weatherford that everyone called Molly. She went out to the Panhandle with him, where for long stretches she was effectively the only woman for a hundred miles in any direction.
And in the late 1870s she looked hard at what was happening on the plains around her.
The southern bison herd was being wiped out. Millions of animals killed in a handful of years for their hides, the bodies left where they dropped. Molly kept coming across orphaned calves standing next to their dead mothers.
She asked her husband to save some of them.
So Goodnight went out into the canyon and roped a few bison calves and brought them home, and Molly set aside six hundred acres of the ranch as a buffalo park.
From that handful: thirteen animals by 1888, around forty five by 1903, over a hundred and sixty by 1914.
And then they went out into the world. Bison from the Goodnight herd went to Yellowstone in 1902, to the National Bison Range, to parks in Montana, to Canada, to the New York Zoological Park, to zoos all over the country, and to Buffalo Bill Cody.
Along with four other private herds and the protected animals at Yellowstone, that is the reason the species still exists. Nearly every plains bison alive today descends from that small group of founding herds. Descendants of the Goodnight animals are standing in Caprock Canyons State Park in Texas right now.
Molly died in 1926. Goodnight died on December 12, 1929, at ninety three. He was born before Texas was a state and lived to see automobiles, airplanes and talking pictures.
One more thing happened in 1929.
In January of that year a man named Bose Ikard died. He had been born into slavery in Mississippi in 1843 and brought to Texas as a boy. After the war he went up the trail. He rode for Oliver Loving, and then he rode four years for Goodnight.
Goodnight said he trusted Bose Ikard farther than any living man, and that out in Colorado and New Mexico, Ikard was his detective, his banker, and everything else.
When Ikard died, Goodnight, then ninety two years old, paid for a granite marker over his grave in Weatherford and wrote the words himself.
"Bose Ikard served with me four years on the Goodnight-Loving Trail, never shirked a duty or disobeyed an order, rode with me in many stampedes, participated in three engagements with Comanches, splendid behavior."
He signed it with his own name, and died eleven months later.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
Well... I am going to add to the list because why the fuck not when yall are so shady that you use the anonymous reporting instead of confronting the people you dont like. Bunch of assholes. Probably your whole tribe of assholes in the Lair...
Both @ClaudiaW56025 and @Goodoleboy9913 are Lair members. Got anything to say?
Or what about... @FloridaFlo2004 and @LeighAnnCox. Both of you were recently members, did you target too or sit back and watch the show unfolding?
I know for a fact @BarbaraRueger has a thing for tits and lips... yep I seen it.
Its go time bitches! Keep up your "anonymous" behavior... your ugly shines through. 🖕
There are 75 Lair members in their little chat of crap... who will be next?
I will be blocking anyone who I find is good buddies with @bignosekate77 @elephant_23 who are using their chat & their minions to mass block and mass report people on X.
These are jealous people who can’t stand to see someone else succeed. Just read their pages and you’ll see how much they stalk me and my friends just for clicks.
They are bullies.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
President Gerald Ford signs Joint Resolution 23 at Arlington National Cemetery on August 5, 1975, restoring the citizenship rights of Robert E. Lee
Meri Sullivan retweeted
😡no he didn’t!
BEING HOMELESS DOESN’T MAKE YOU LESS HUMAN!
What kind of person sprays a homeless woman with a garden hose like an animal?
In San Francisco, art gallery owner Collier Gwin was caught on video spraying a woman outside his business. He claimed she’d caused problems for weeks with no city response.
Business owners face real frustrations, but this crossed a line.
Arrested for battery, he received 35 hours of community service for dismissal. Just 35 hours.
No one knows her story. She could be someone’s mother, sister, or daughter. Many are one setback from homelessness.
Treat people humanely. Compassion costs nothing.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
The Slaughter Pen at Gettysburg.
Pennsylvania, July 1863.
There's a reason they called it that.
And this photograph tells you everything you need to know.
Look closely. Those aren't men sleeping beneath the trees. They're dead soldiers, scattered across the rocky ground, their lives cut short during one of the bloodiest battles in American history.
Brothers against brothers. Cousins against cousins. Americans killing Americans.
On July 2, 1863, Confederate forces launched a ferocious assault against the Union's left flank near Little Round Top.
The hill was strategically critical. Whoever controlled that high ground could threaten the surrounding battlefield and the Union defensive line.
Below it, among the boulders, trees, and broken terrain, men fought desperately for ground measured in yards.
Rifle fire tore through the woods. Artillery thundered across the slopes. Soldiers fell where they stood. Some fighting descended into brutal close quarters.
When the shooting stopped, the ground was littered with the dead and wounded.
The soldiers had a name for this place.
The Slaughter Pen.
Not a name invented for dramatic effect. A name born from what men witnessed there.
Across three days at Gettysburg, an estimated 51,000 soldiers were killed, wounded, captured, or reported missing.
Fifty-one thousand American casualties.
Think about that number.
Every one of these men had a life before this war. A mother. Perhaps a wife. Children. A home. Dreams of growing old.
And for those lying in these woods, none of it would ever be the same.
This is what happens when a nation fractures so deeply that Americans are willing to kill one another over its future. And at the heart of that fracture was slavery, an institution whose preservation the Confederacy fought to protect.
We should never romanticize this.
I believe our country is worth loving, our freedoms worth protecting, and our differences worth confronting without forgetting our shared humanity.
Keep God first. Defend what is right. Stand firmly for truth. But never become so consumed by hatred that we forget the human cost of division.
There are lessons buried in these woods that Americans would do well to remember.
Because behind every battlefield photograph are men who never made it home.
And history should never allow us to forget them.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
1938 Chevrolet pick up! Fully Restored to Original with 1938 Teardrop Camper !! Truck Tuesday!! 🚚🖤🔥!!
Meri Sullivan retweeted
Jesse James and Robert Ford.
Sitting side by side before one became a legend, and the other became known for killing him.
If the identification is correct, this is one of those photographs that almost feels impossible.
Jesse James.
Robert Ford.
Two men tied together forever by one of the most famous killings in Western history.
Jesse James had spent years robbing banks, stagecoaches, and trains across Missouri and the surrounding states.
By the early 1880s, the law was closing in.
Rewards were posted.
His gang had been badly reduced.
Robert Ford was part of that shrinking inner circle.
Then came April 3, 1882.
Inside Jesse James’s home in St. Joseph, Missouri, James reportedly removed his guns and climbed onto a chair to straighten a picture on the wall.
Ford shot him in the back of the head.
Jesse James was 34.
Ford hoped the killing would bring him reward money and public approval.
Instead, much of the country turned him into a villain.
He became the man who killed Jesse James from behind.
The “coward Robert Ford.”
And that is what makes this photograph so eerie.
If this really is Jesse and Ford sitting together, we are looking at two men before the ending was written.
Jesse does not know that the man sitting beside him will one day kill him.
Ford does not yet know that killing Jesse James will define the rest of his life.
He would spend years performing reenactments of the murder, running saloons, and living under the weight of the name he had made for himself.
Then in 1892, Robert Ford was shot and killed in Colorado.
Ten years after he killed Jesse James.
That is the strange thing about old photographs.
We know what happens next.
They did not.
One frame can hold friendship, betrayal, ambition, fear, and death before any of it has happened.
And maybe that is why this image is so haunting.
Two men sitting still for a camera.
One would become a legend.
The other would become famous for killing him.

ALT Tintype believed to show Jesse James seated beside Robert Ford, the man who would later kill him in St. Joseph, Missouri, in 1882. The identification has been supported by forensic analysis, though it remains disputed by some Jesse James historians. Photo credit: Private collection / image reproduced by Chron.com. Identification attributed to forensic artist Lois Gibson.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
Think of this video every time you are pissed your coffee was made wrong or the meal you ordered didn’t live up to your expectations.
Meri Sullivan retweeted
U.S. Army Specialist Four William “Billy”Ortega Jr. was killed in action October 11, 1969 in Tay Ninh Province, South Vietnam. Billy was 22 years old from Manhattan, New York. Bravo Co. 2nd BN, 5th Cavalry, 1st CAVDIV. Remember Billy today. He is a #American Hero 🇺🇸































