December 17, 2008 Virginian-Pilot When Bill Hudson turned 80 a few years ago, he celebrated by walking for 80 minutes, swimming 80 laps and lifting an 80-pound weight over his head. In his garden, the former Marine tends raspberry bushes and grows pumpkins. His mind stays busy, too: Hudson has exhausted all the philosophy courses at the local community college. What motivates him isn't attention or the dozens of Senior Olympics medals he's accumulated in swimming and weight lifting. It's his conviction that he must keep his mind and his muscles working. He feels a responsibility -- a duty, even -- to be healthy. "My philosophy is I am the most important person in my life, and I've got to take care of myself so I can assume other responsibilities. If I'm a physical wreck and I can't take care of my family, that's pretty bad." Hudson's self-reliance, and his dedication to keeping mind and body humming, stems partly from his experience as a Marine rifleman on Iwo Jima. He shares his story with groups around the country and last week spoke in Virginia Beach, where his sister lives. He was a 19-year-old private first class when his company landed on the black volcanic sands of the Pacific island on Feb. 19, 1945. The unit had 255 Marines. Within six hours, all the officers had been killed or wounded. That night, after having gained only a few hundred yards of territory, the company consisted of fewer than 80 men. "It was absolute chaos," Hudson said, "nothing but dead and mangled Marines." The fighting raged for almost a month. Hudson was injured by shrapnel from a grenade on the final day of battle, hours before U.S. forces secured the island. Finally out of danger, he compiled a list of the 47 men in his platoon, starting on D-day, the day of the invasion. "Killed D-day, 3 machine gun bullets in chest." "Left arm blown off by mortar shell about D+8." "Killed D+20, sniper through head." "Combat fatigue, D+4, went nutty as a fruitcake." Only two men made it through unscathed. Three weeks later, Hudson tried to convey what he'd lived through in a letter to his parents: "I doubt if I could ever describe my feelings all the while I was on the island. I've seen some pretty gruesome things, sights that I'll never be able to get out of my mind as long as I live. I saw some of my best buddies killed and blown to bits. It isn't easy to take but there isn't very much you can do about it but keeping fighting on." He was later awarded a Purple Heart and Bronze Star. Hudson's faith died on Iwo Jima. A good God wouldn't allow such carnage, he reasoned. He returned to New York City, graduated from New York University and became a high school phys ed teacher and coach before moving to Los Alamos, N.M., in the late 1940s. He was an avid golfer and, after finishing 18 holes, an avid drinker. Hudson came to see himself as a borderline alcoholic. In the late 1960s, after getting divorced and remarrying, he quit drinking. He hung up his golf clubs at the same time and rededicated himself to fitness. In 1974, he and his wife, Maureen, founded the Los Alamos Triathlon, one of the longest running triathlons in the country. The following year, Hudson celebrated his 50th birthday by running 50 miles. He's run up Pikes Peak in Colorado -- three times -- and bicycled 500 miles across Oregon in seven days. At 65, he was part of a relay team that swam across the English Channel. There are some experiences he's not interested in. He's never ridden a bucking bronco, gone skydiving or attempted ski-jumping. His adventures and activities over many decades are proof of something he used to drill into his students: Being able to exercise is a privilege. He intends to hang on to it as long as he can. He has missed only three of the 34 Los Alamos Triathlons. Hudson attributes his lack of injuries to cross-training -- a combination of swimming, walking, stretching and weight lifting. He enjoys the camaraderie of Senior Olympics swim meets and occasional bench-press competitions. "I like to compete," he said, adding wryly, "I do very well because most of the good guys in my age group are dead." With time, he has regained his belief in the innate goodness of people. He returned to Iwo Jima in 2001. He spent time alone, rehearing the explosions, smelling the smoke, seeing the men whose lives were cut short. He also met with relatives of Japanese soldiers who perished on the island and exchanged monogrammed baseball caps with a Japanese survivor. "They were there doing their job, I was there doing my job. History happened. It can't be changed, but you can't live it forever. You have to get on with your life." Hudson went back again the following year. This time he took his running shoes and, with a group of friends, ran to the top of Mount Suribachi. On that trip, he befriended a Japanese woman whose father had been commandant of Iwo Jima. They have been corresponding ever since, and her letters have taught him a lot about the Japanese people, Hudson said. Her friendship, he said, has helped him come to terms with his experiences. He sent her paper money, letters and photographs that belonged to a Japanese soldier he killed. He hopes they will make it back to where they belong, with the man's relatives. Not long ago, a Japanese swim team came to train in Los Alamos. Hudson entertained the team at his home. He acknowledges the irony. "Sixty years ago, I'm shooting their grandfathers, and now I'm inviting them over for pizzas. I'm very grateful to be alive."
