This Veterans' Day produced, as it always should, a tsunami of tributes on social media to those who served our country -- mostly poignant posts by proud and grateful family members honoring, or remembering, their loved one.

It was NSU's first Veterans' Day without the most remarkable Marine I'll ever know, my favorite veteran, Harry Briggs.

He died June 25, at the age of 95, in his adopted hometown of Leesville, far away from his Massachusetts roots. But distances never bothered Harry. He thrived on them.

It was nothing for him to climb into his late-model, bare-bones, beat-up Volkswagen van and make the drive up bouncy La. 117 through the Fort Polk training grounds and Kisatchie Forest to watch the Lady Demon tennis team play. It was not uncommon for him to travel to matches around the Southland Conference. When the Lady Demons won their most recent Southland Tournament title in 2015 in Beaumont, there was Harry, peering through the chain link fence at his favorites locked in a joyous group hug on the courts in the moment after Natalya Krutova scored the championship point.

That same van made hundreds of thousands of miles criss-crossing much of America while Harry sold knick-knacks at fairs world, state and county. For nearly 50 years of being a self-described "carney," he was something of a cult hero on that circuit. During his 18 years in Leesville, in late May, off he'd go, heading north to New England, over to the heartland, maybe out to the Rockies or even the west coast, hawking his wares, from gear, boots or moccasins, to his last line of products, jewelry, gold chains and ankle bracelets.

That gig led him to Leesville, and a role as an adjunct political science professor at the NSU Leesville campus. He'd been headed to a fair in east Texas, waiting at Fort Polk to hook up with a fellow "carney," then found a way to stay in Leesville when he stumbled into an empty classroom on post and asked if classes were offered there. Long ago, he'd earned a doctoral degree. He liked the idea of teaching a few political science classes at a campus largely populated by military personnel and their families.

Distances. As a young man, he practically leapt at the chance to go halfway around the world and fight for freedom in World War II. He found his role as an advance scout for American forces mounting assaults in the Pacific Theatre in World War II battles at Saipan, Tinian and Okinawa. That meant he was 50, maybe 100 yards out in front of the troops, trying to locate the enemy and direct his Marine brothers.

"At night," he told me once, "I'd listen for the rustling of the reeds. The Japanese would send villagers walking forward through the reeds, trying to draw our fire. I had to be sure we were shooting at the enemy, not the prisoners."

Distances brought him a measure of fame, and provided the path for him to impact so many lives.

While traveling Europe, he reached the summit of the 14,962-foot Matterhorn in 1954, two weeks before making his first distance swim, a 16-mile adventure through the shark-infested Strait of Bonifacio. Nearly four dozen more followed, elevating him into celebrity status, and ultimately, into the International Marathon Swimming Hall of Fame.
 
His most notable aquatic feat was becoming the first person to swim across Lake Erie, going for 35 hours, 55 minutes while covering 32 miles from Ohio to Ontario. A failed attempt at Lake Michigan, halted by 11-foot tall waves, was the top front page story in the Chicago Sun Times, with baseball superstar Ted Williams phoning him in the post-swim press conference to offer his salute for the effort (and hoping, Harry said, that the swimming star could get the Splendid Splinter, an avid fisherman, an Evinrude Outboard endorsement).

Dr. Briggs was profiled in the New York Times by noted author Gay Talese, who created "The Paddlin' Professor" nickname. He appeared on "The Ed Sullivan Show" in his prime. The 5-foot-5 sparkplug was a big deal.

He was a rolling stone, with an array of pursuits. For a while, he was a Harvard law student. Harry was a pro hockey player and coached hockey in college and at the professional level. He lived in New England, Puerto Rico, Alaska, and in his later years, maintained homes in New Hampshire, on the Florida gulf coast, in Leesville and a camp in the Atchafalaya swamp. His real estate dealings gradually built him a nice nest egg that he ultimately shared with people he didn't know. He had no children.

Harry was a sportscaster in Anchorage, where he interviewed Muhammed Ali, years after he was a correspondent for Boston newspapers, once writing a profile of young Jackie Robinson, just a season into his trailblazing Major League Baseball career.

Alaska gave him the love of his life, his exotic wife Lydia. Her adventurous nature was a perfect match and they were married for 32 years. It ended suddenly when she suffered a fatal stroke in 1991.

Lydia had halted his distance swims, fearing for his life. Four years after her passing, he couldn't resist temptation and dove in again, at age 74, in New Hampshire on Squam Lake, the setting for the beautiful film "On Golden Pond." A five-mile swim led to an eight-miler, then 10 and 11 miles, and the "Paddlin' Professor" was back at it for nearly the rest of his life.

Eight days after his induction in the Swimming Hall of Fame in Fort Lauderdale, Harry celebrated his 77^th birthday on May 20^th, 1998, with a 14-mile trek across Tampa Bay. That was the spring he'd arrived in Leesville. A few years later, he launched a relationship with the Lady Demon tennis program.

Lydia had introduced him to the sport. That memory inspired him to reach out to then-coach Willie Paz with what seemed a very odd proposal: a senior citizen making long-distance swims to raise money to support the tennis program.  

It was nothing unusual for Dr. Briggs. A native New Englander and graduate of Tufts University, he created scholarship endowments at his alma mater, and at least three other universities, and did swims to support them.

His first at NSU was the Lydia Briggs Tennis Scholarship. Others followed to benefit current and future students at Northwestern, the last established when he made a two-mile swim in Alexandria's Kincaid Lake on his 89^th birthday to support nursing and radiologic sciences programs at the NSU Cenla Center.

For a dozen years, he dove into Sibley Lake, Cane River Lake (on an eight-miler, he was temporarily blinded during the last three miles), Red River, Cross Lake and Kincaid Lake, where he finished just off the deck at Tunk's Cypress Inn, to the delight of the dozens of nursing students gathered to celebrate his efforts. He was resolute and incredibly disciplined. He aimed for 16 evenly-timed strokes per minute, no matter if he was with or against the wind or current. Once an hour, he'd take a minute break, grab a bottle of Powerade, readjust his goggles, treading water all the while, never touching his support boat lest he violate the rules of marathon swimming. He didn't know how to quit. He stepped out of the water, always, breathing normally, as if he had gills.

Years of Lady Demon tennis competitors came to adore him. His loyal support was unmatched. He was a perceptive observer who became an immense fan of Patric DuBois, who elevated the program to perennial championship contention beginning in 2008. The annual series of swims ended in 2013, to his bitter disappointment, when he nearly turned blue during his May 20 birthday swim of Kincaid Lake for the nursing scholarship. He thrived on the challenge each time.

"There are two reasons to do it, and the first is selfish," he explained. "I want to see if I can still do it. People get older, and too often, lose the desire to challenge themselves.

"Secondly, but more important, it's a chance to help Northwestern State and the Lady Demon tennis program. It's a great university, and I say that as a fellow who's been all around this country and all around the world. Getting involved with the tennis team has been an outstanding experience."

Even after breaking his hip in 2014 when a Wal-Mart stock cart ran into him in Leesville – Harry limped out to his van, reluctantly paid a visit to a doctor, and spent one night in the hospital before checking out – the indomitable Dr. Briggs made his way to the Jack Fisher Tennis Complex several times in the next two springs, somehow climbing in and out of his van, and patiently first inching, eventually waddling, to a seat on court-level underneath the grandstand.

Watching all this, and helping with most of it, was Thomas Tilley, a computer specialist at the NSU Leesville campus who became the closest to a son that Harry ever had. Tilley, like so many others, was struck by Briggs' passion for the students he taught, and for anyone he could help. Briggs wasn't a religious man, although he had faith in the afterlife, and the Almighty. But he was most certainly a servant of man with a constant twinkle in his eyes.

That trait, often manifested when he would aid desperate souls, too many who took advantage of his kindness, was the core of Harry Briggs. A close second was his pride in serving his country.

Semper Fi never fit any Marine better. When the first Gulf War broke out in August 1990, First Lieutenant Harry Briggs pulled on his tattered Marine jacket from his service in the Pacific, marched over to the local recruiting office, and tried to re-enlist. "Always faithful" – that was Harry.

At the end, to his deep frustration, Harry was (fortunately only briefly) a feeble, elderly yet fearless man, trapped in a hospital bed in Leesville when he took his last breath. I am absolutely certain the next moment, Harry shouted "Ooh-rah!" and charged the Pearly Gates.

Lydia, and his beloved parents, were doubtlessly there with welcoming arms. A military honor guard stood at attention. Harry was admittedly hardly an angel many times in his life, but his innate goodness was undeniable, and will always be treasured by those in the NSU family, and in many other places where he made an indelible impact.