In his later years, he encountered his profoundest sadness. Naval Academy Chaplain Peter McGeory, a Ripley friend, referenced it in his eulogy. At a Naval Academy reception, "out of the corner of my eye, way down at the far end of the room, there was the colonel, on his knee, talking gently to (his wife) and feeding her as she sat in her wheelchair. He treated her like royalty. I commented to (someone nearby) that everyone reveres Colonel Ripley as a well-documented hero. But for me, that quiet, loving scene of a totally devoted husband that I accidentally witnessed was what made him a real hero."

The Marine commandant, Gen. James Conway, related two Ripley quotes in his eulogy. A native of Radford, Va., Ripley told Conway that if he had been with the South during the Civil War, "I might not have stopped Grant, but I believe I could have slowed him down." Conway also recalled Ripley saying, "There are sheep and there are wolves, and in the end the wolves always win."

John Ripley's correspondence contains many such quotes. He invariably would end his letters to me with "never retreat," or "fit for duty," or "pass the ammunition," or "press the attack." Following his second liver transplant, he wrote eloquently to a friend, "My entire life has been one of walking on the edge of a razor blade, and this is just another occasion." Still, he wrote to another friend:

"I am supported in life by a beautiful symphony. Everyone knows his or her role and plays it to perfection. . . . I never could have made it this far without everyone in the symphony, nor would I have qualified for my first or my second liver had the doctors not seen this level of support: If a young officer or Marine ever asks what is the meaning of 'Semper Fidelis' ('Always Faithful'), tell them my story."

But it is this, in the most extraordinary letter to come my way, that tells most about the extraordinary John Ripley, his appreciation of valor, and his commitment to the American cause. The letter arrived at Thanksgiving 21 years ago. Imagine the scene. "Dear Ross," it began:

"Certainly you have received no other letter from here. . . . I'm on a desolate, lonely mountaintop. It's the middle of the night -- cold, windy, uncomfortable, and profoundly moving. I'm looking down on a tiny island three miles wide and five miles long. Down there, and here where I'm writing by flashlight, over 7,000 Marines died.

"The mountain is Suribachi, the island Iwo Jima. Of the hundreds of thousands of words written about this place, nothing comes close to describing its starkness, its inestimable cost, and now, sadly, the poverty of its abandonment. . . .

"This island, its name, and most especially this very spot where I sit -- where the flag was raised -- is immortalized in our national consciousness for as long as there is an America."

Indeed.

And so it is with the John Ripley the immortal warrior -- now inside The Gates and pressing the attack.