Ira Hayes
Arlington National Cemetery
Arlington, Virginia
Ira Hayes
Arlington National Cemetery
Arlington, Virginia
Feb. 23, 1945. Ira Hayes at far left. |
Ira Hayes, 19 years old, training for parachute jumping. |
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There was great public demand for a postage stamp commemorating the flag-raising photo, but the Post Office at first refused because of the long-standing rule that no living person could appear on a U.S. stamp. But Congress pushed for a stamp too, and the Post Office finally issued one in July, 1945. On the first day of issue, long lines of people waited at post offices around the country to buy the new stamp. For many years, it was the biggest selling stamp in U.S. postal history, with over 137 million sold. |
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The Ballad of Ira Hayes
Gather 'round me people and a story I will tell About a brave young indian you should remember well From the tribe of Pima indians, a proud and peaceful band Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparklin' water rushed 'Til the white man stole their water rights and the runnin' water hushed Now Ira's folks were hungry, and their farm grew crops of weeds But when war came he volunteered, and forgot the white man's greed Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' indian Or the marine who went to war They started up Iwo Jima hill, two hundred fifty men But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again And when the fight was over, and Ol' Glory raised One of 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 Or the marine who went to war Now Ira returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand But he was just a Pima indian; no money, no crops, no chance At home nobody cared what he'd done — and when did the indians dance? Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' indian Or the marine who went to war Then Ira started drinkin' hard; jail was often his home They'd let him raise and lower the flag, like you'd throw a dog a bone He died drunk early one morning, alone in a land he'd fought to save Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' indian Or the marine who went to war Yes, call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is still as dry And his ghost is lyin' thirsty in the ditch where Ira died Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' indian Or the marine who went to war —Peter LaFarge Recorded by Johnny Cash in 1964, and Bob Dylan on his 1973 album, Dylan. |