WAR STORIES 5 VETS SHARE MEMORIES OF SERVICE TO COUNTRY.

Byline: Holly Andres, Jesse Hiestand, Jason Kandel, Rob Monroe and Rick Orlov Staff Writers

Memories fade. The soldiers who desperately fought to save a country, and to save their lives, die of old age. Generations grow up without ever facing the consequences of war.

There are a lot of reasons why a nation can forget about the service - and the sacrifices - of its soldiers. But not today, not on Memorial Day.

Today, our nation remembers the soldiers. We remember the heroic battles they fought, the ideals they upheld. And we remember the ultimate sacrifices more than 1 million American soldiers have made.

Here are the stories of five local veterans who served the country during World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War and the Persian Gulf War. These are tales they no doubt will share with other veterans and their loved ones when they stop to honor veterans of years past.

Because on Memorial Day, at least, we remember.

He doesn't think about his last combat mission every day, and he was almost scared to death when he went out on his first combat mission. But Charles J. Farina would serve the country again if he was asked.

``I'm 78. I'd pick up a rifle again. My wife might kill me first, but I'd do it again if I was asked to. I've never regretted the experience,'' said Farina, who was an infantryman in Europe during World War II.

Farina was working at an aircraft company in Baltimore when he was drafted on June 16, 1944. Until then, he had received deferments because his work was considered vital to national defense. He doesn't remember his emotions when he received his draft notice, but he wasn't totally surprised.

``This was after the Battle of the Bulge. A lot of our men were killed and deferments were canceled after that.

``I had 17 weeks of basic training at Camp Blanding in Florida. Infantry training. I was 21 at the time. After basic training, I was shipped over to France,'' said Farina, who now does volunteer work during the week at the Don Tuttle Senior Center near his Burbank home.

``I wound up in the 84th Infantry Division under Gen. George Clark. I saw action in Belgium. I was wounded near Liege, Belgium. I was wounded twice within about 10 to 15 minutes.''

Farina said his division had cleared out a wooded area before advancing on the German-occupied city in eastern Belgium, near the Dutch border.

``The first wound I received was shrapnel to my right knee. Really busted it up. Then, on the way down the mountainside, I was hit again at the back of the neck. Shrapnel went through my clothing. It was cold at the time, it might have snowed. We were all wearing two shirts and two jackets. After I was hit the second time, I woke up in a foxhole. The date was Jan. 4, 1945.

``After I had been taken to an evacuation hospital, I remember a doctor telling me that my dog tags saved my life. The shrapnel had broken the chain. But I was paralyzed from the waist up for roughly five or six months. I eventually ended up in five different hospitals in England. All of a sudden, one morning, I woke up and the paralysis was gone.''

The whole experience ``stayed in my mind for a while,'' he said. ``It scared me.''

Farina received the Combat Infantry medal and the Purple Heart.

``I was one of the lucky ones; I came home. My friends died,'' said Farina. As he talked, he wondered aloud that he was getting choked up recalling his experiences ``after all this time.''

Speaking about Memorial Day, Farina said, ``To older people, especially those who had been in the service, it's a big thing. But the younger generation don't put much thought in it.''

The year was 1946 and Mitsu Usui, a Japanese-American who served with the U.S. Army in World II, was on his way home and about to realize he still had a battle to fight.

The 30-year-old had just been honorably discharged after his stint as an interpreter in an Army intelligence unit. He hopped on a San Pedro bus to head home.

It was then that a woman who saw him snarled, ``Another goddamn Jap,'' the 84-year-old Usui recalled at the San Fernando Valley Japanese-American Community Service Center, where the Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 4140 meets.

Usui had been a young businessman when he and his family were placed in an internment camp in Colorado in 1942. Anti-Japanese sentiment was so high that in Los Angeles, Chinese-Americans wore placards reading ``I'm Chinese'' to avoid being mistaken for Japanese, he remembers. Usui volunteered for the Army while in the camp anyway. An all-Japanese unit was forming, and young men like him wanted to prove their patriotism.

``That's the best showcase to show we're American,'' he said.

Usui served for three years, seeing action in Okinawa just before the end of the war. He believes Japanese-American soldiers fought with just as much, if not more, heart than other soldiers.

After Usui heard that woman's slur, the furious driver stopped the bus. He demanded that she either apologize to Usui or get off. She got off.

Usui still thinks about confronting her.

``It was interesting that even after the fighting, she sees me as a 'Jap,' '' he said.

After the woman left, Usui turned around to thank the driver, a white man. The driver wore a lapel pin. It signified that he, too, was an Army veteran.

He was a 22-year-old lieutenant, fresh out of Officer Training School sent to oversee an artillery battery on the front lines of Korea, and he went with all the false bravado of the young masking a streak of insecurity.

``Everything I became was because of my experience there,'' said Richard Riordan, who would go on from his one-year tour to Michigan University law school, where he graduated at the top of his class. He eventually became a very successful businessman and, in 1993, was elected mayor of Los Angeles.

``Before that, I was an also-ran. Sort of a medium student. I learned a lot in Korea. I gained a lot of confidence and found out I could handle myself pretty well.''

Riordan was sent to Korea immediately after the truce was reached, but he said he and his crews were on a constant state of readiness and sent up to the lines at a moment's notice to respond to reports of activity along the border.

``You had to be constantly ready,'' Riordan said. ``Even though there was supposedly a truce, one-third of my classmates from basic officer training were taken prisoner when the Chinese would break through the lines.''

During his tour, Riordan said he was involved in a variety of projects and learned to trust his own abilities.

``Everywhere I went, afterwards things would run better,'' Riordan said. And he learned the art of negotiating.

``I was in charge of a headquarters project, and it was the best-looking headquarters, even with a movie theater,'' Riordan said. ``I got that built by getting a case of whiskey to the engineers.''

Ten weeks of boot camp at Fort Gordon, Ga., and Ron Freemyer was a bona fide soldier, with an M-16, 500 rounds of ammo and a license to kill.

Yes, he was that, and this too: A frightened, lanky 19-year-old, who was drafted into the Army and sent to Vietnam.

``I had no idea what I was doing,'' said the 53-year-old Glendale resident. ``I was told how to shoot and what to prepare for, but nobody prepared me for the heat of battle.''

Dropped into a war zone by helicopter near Tay Ninh, a small city about 50 miles northwest of what was then Saigon, Freemyer shot several enemy soldiers and captured many, only hours after arriving in Vietnam on a hot July night in 1968.

As the sun set on July 8, streams of enemy soldiers, some strapped with explosives, began to break through the base camp perimeter. The place lit up with flares. Screams from men and bullets erupted. Oil and smoke wafted through the fields.

Hundreds of American soldiers shot artillery and weapons fire, and met and pushed the enemy back out of the perimeter during the seven-hour battle. The enemy eventually disappeared.

As the smoke cleared the next morning, the Americans recorded three deaths on their side, and more than 400 deaths for the enemy. The Americans began collecting enemy weapons, maps, intelligence information and other personal mementos that the soldiers had carried.

And then, using bulldozers, the Americans dug mass graves for the fallen enemy soldiers, and dumped them in, while they regrouped for what was to become one of America's costliest wars. At the end of it all, 58,000 soldiers died.

``I remember thinking at the time, this is gonna be a tough year; this is going to be a tough tour of duty,'' Freemyer said.

That would be the first of 25 battles that Freemyer would engage in with the 25th Infantry Division during his one-year tour. He got a few scrapes and a Bronze Star.

``I just tried to survive,'' he said. ``I thought I was in the depths of hell.''

He survived by learning tricks of the trade from older soldiers, who suggested simple things, such as staying alert, and keeping your helmet and gun near you at all times.

These details run through Freemyer's mind like a river, but he can still see the faces of the enemy.

``I shot more than I can remember,'' he said. ``Every time I see a book with faces or hear a loud noise, I just think about it. Some were young. I can see their faces. Some were old. When I was going through counting bodies, you find intelligence, and see family pictures. They're just like us; they wanted to survive.''

From his forward observation post on the front lines of the Persian Gulf War, Marine reservist Louis Medrano called in artillery fire and told fighter pilots where to drop bombs on the enemy just across the border.

After weeks in the trenches, the staff sergeant and his Air Naval Gun Liaison unit charged through the war-ravaged country, becoming some of the first Marines to enter the liberated Kuwait City.

For this Los Angeles Police Department motorcycle cop, Memorial Day is a reminder of those harrowing times.

``It brings back a lot of memories and a few tears sometimes,'' said Medrano, 38, a Palmdale resident who patrols the streets of the San Fernando Valley. ``I've never been so close to friends in my life. There were times we were pinned down by artillery, but all six of us came back alive.''

He earned three medals on that six-month tour of duty, including the Combat Action ribbon.

``To me, Memorial Day means my country - esprit de corps - God, Corps and country.''

CAPTION(S):

8 photos

Photo:

(1 -- 2 -- 1 color only) World War II veteran Charles Farina, 78, shows the Purple Heart he earned in Belgium and some photos of him as a soldier and, above, with the wife he met in France.

Gus Ruelas/Staff Photographer

(3 -- color) Mitsu Usui reflects on his wartime experiences in the VFW Post 4140 Veterans Memorial Garden in Pacoima.

Evan Yee/Staff Photographer

(4 -- 5 -- 5 color only) Mayor Richard Riordan says duty in Korea as a soldier, left, shaped him.

John Lazar/Staff Photographer

(6 -- 7) Ron Freemyer gathers some of the awards he earned in Vietnam, left. Above, Freemyer gets an in-country haircut from Bill Beeson, who was killed two days after this photo was taken.

John McCoy/Staff Photographer

(8) Louis Medrano poses for a photo, serving as a Marine reservist in Kuwait.