Like the Graceful Dolphin, I shall Dive into the Chaotic Oceans!

A little story to bring a tear to your eyes…

The following article appeared in the Philadelphia Daily News on
December 22, 2005.

Here's a Yule Story That Ought to be a Movie

By Ronnie Polaneczky

AND NOW, in time for the holidays, I bring you the best
Christmas story you never heard.

It started last Christmas, when Bennett and Vivian Levin were
overwhelmed by sadness while listening to radio reports of
injured American troops.

"We have to let them know we care," Vivian told Bennett.

So they organized a trip to bring soldiers from Walter Reed
Army Medical Center and Bethesda Naval Hospital to the annual
Army-Navy football game in Philly, on Dec. 3.

The cool part is, they created their own train line to do it.

Yes, there are people in this country who actually own real
trains. Bennett Levin - native Philly guy, self-made millionaire
and irascible former L&I commish - is one of them.

He has three luxury rail cars. Think mahogany paneling, plush
seating and white-linen dining areas. He also has two
locomotives, which he stores at his Juniata Park train yard.

One car, the elegant Pennsylvania, carried John F. Kennedy to
the Army-Navy game in 1961 and '62. Later, it carried his
brother Bobby's body to D.C. for burial.

"That's a lot of history for one car," says Bennett.

He and Vivian wanted to revive a tradition that endured from
1936 to 1975, during which trains carried Army-Navy spectators
from around the country directly to the stadium where the annual
game is played.

The Levins could think of no better passengers to reinstate the
ceremonial ride than the wounded men and women recovering at
Walter Reed in D.C. and Bethesda, in Maryland.

"We wanted to give them a first-class experience," says
Bennett. "Gourmet meals on board, private transportation from
the train to the stadium, perfect seats - real hero treatment."

Through the Army War College Foundation, of which he is a
trustee, Bennett met with Walter Reed's commanding general, who
loved the idea.

But Bennett had some ground rules first, all designed to keep
the focus on the troops alone:

No press on the trip, lest the soldiers' day of pampering
devolve into a media circus.

No politicians either, because, says Bennett, "I didn't want
some idiot making this trip into a campaign photo op."

And no Pentagon suits on-board, otherwise the soldiers would be
too busy saluting superiors to relax.

The general agreed to the conditions, and Bennett realized he
had a problem on his hands.

"I had to actually make this thing happen," he laughs.

Over the next months, he recruited owners of 15 other sumptuous
rail cars from around the country - these people tend to know
each other - into lending their vehicles for the day. The name
of their temporary train?

The Liberty Limited.

Amtrak volunteered to transport the cars to D.C. - where they'd
be coupled together for the round-trip ride to Philly - then
back to their owners later.

Conrail offered to service the Liberty while it was in Philly.
And SEPTA drivers would bus the disabled soldiers 200 yards from
the train to Lincoln Financial Field, for the game.

A benefactor from the War College ponied up 100 seats to the
game - on the 50-yard line - and lunch in a hospitality suite.

And corporate donors filled, for free and without asking for
publicity, goodie bags for attendees:

From Woolrich, stadium blankets. From Wal-Mart, digital
cameras. From Nikon, field glasses. From GEAR, down jackets.

There was booty not just for the soldiers, but for their
guests, too, since each was allowed to bring a friend or family
member.

The Marines, though, declined the offer. "They voted not to
take guests with them, so they could take more Marines," says
Levin, choking up at the memory.

Bennett's an emotional guy, so he was worried about how he'd
react to meeting the 88 troops and guests at D.C.'s Union
Station, where the trip originated. Some GIs were missing limbs.
Others were wheelchair-bound or accompanied by medical personnel
for the day.

"They made it easy to be with them," he says. "They were all
smiles on the ride to Philly. Not an ounce of self-pity from any
of them. They're so full of life and determination."

At the stadium, the troops reveled in the game, recalls
Bennett. Not even Army's lopsided loss to Navy could deflate the
group's rollicking mood.

Afterward, it was back to the train and yet another gourmet
meal - heroes get hungry, says Levin - before returning to
Walter Reed and Bethesda.

"The day was spectacular," says Levin. "It was all about these
kids. It was awesome to be part of it."

The most poignant moment for the Levins was when 11 Marines
hugged them goodbye, then sang them the Marine Hymn on the
platform at Union Station.

"One of the guys was blind, but he said, 'I can't see you, but
man, you must be f---ing beautiful!' " says Bennett. "I got a
lump so big in my throat, I couldn't even answer him."

It's been three weeks, but the Levins and their guests are
still feeling the day's love.

"My Christmas came early," says Levin, who is Jewish and who
loves the Christmas season. "I can't describe the feeling in the
air."

Maybe it was hope.

As one guest wrote in a thank-you note to Bennett and Vivian,
"The fond memories generated last Saturday will sustain us all -
whatever the future may bring."



Gods bless the Levins.

And bless the troops, every one.