Thank Goodness It's Monday #382

VENERABLE MEN (AND WOMEN)

A VETERAN REFLECTS

ON VETERANS DAY

I did not give uniformed service to our country in the youthful days when I might have been most valued for it. 

So I believe Veterans Day doesn’t evoke the response in me that it does for those who gave over a portion of their life – or in the families of those who died – in the Armed Forces. 

Actually, I struggle with very ambivalent feelings on Veterans Day. 

·        My father did his duty as part of “the greatest generation.” And I recall, even as a child, I was proud to see his name on the hometown monument honoring veterans of World War II and moved by the idea that his name was among the lucky service men without a star next to it denoting their having made the ultimate sacrifice in service.

·        On what may be the other side of the emotional equation, I am a draft card carrier from the Vietnam era who, by some quirks of fate, was never called upon to choose a course of action other than military service. Had I been, I can’t honestly say what I might have done. I know I lost a number of friends in that conflict, both to death and trauma. The Memorial Wall in Washington DC never ceases to move me in indescribable and complex ways.

These are things I normally hold close. But today I share them with you in TGIM because a recent little editorial “opinion” in our local weekly giveaway newspaper, penned by Ed Flynn, a regular contributor whose writing and insight I often enjoy, encapsulated much of the ambivalence I suspect many feel.

I’d like to believe his view fairly says what I (and perhaps others) am challenged to articulate. 

And Ed has earned the right to say it.

Here it is, in its entirety.

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Ed Flynn

 I always feel a bit guilty on Veterans Day.

Like many other veterans, particularly those who have seen combat, when I remember the dead and wounded – as we’re supposed to do on Veterans Day – I can’t help but wonder; why them and not me?

In my case, I spent two years in the Pacific during World War II.

Most of that time was with the Seventh Fleet as a radioman aboard an amphibious flagship overseeing landings in the Philippines and other Pacific islands.

While we faced constant Japanese attacks from the air -- and while several ships near us were hit and sunk, and we were strafed several times ourselves -- our peril was nothing compared to that of the Marines and soldiers we put ashore on those beaches.

More than 400,000 Americans, mostly young boys like me in their late teens or early 20s, never came home from that war, giving their life for our freedom on some Pacific island or European battlefield.

I came home.

I had married before I went overseas to the wonderful girl who would be my wife for the next 66 years until I lost her two years ago.

We bought our first home in River Edge NJ with a G.I. mortgage; and we had two beautiful daughters who grew up to give us three grandchildren who, in turn, gave us six great-grandchildren.

Like most families, we had our trials and tribulations in the course of those years.

It wasn’t always easy but, for the most part, it was a good life, without the tragedies some other families have had to face.

We had a life that those who died during our nation’s wars never had a chance to live.

Now I’m 90 years old and living alone, forced by arthritis to use a walker to get around, dependent on my children and grandchildren to perform tasks for me that once seemed so simple.

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel sorry for myself.

But, then I reflect on all the good years I’ve had, thanks to those who never came home, those whose life ended when they were young -- not just in World War II, but in World War I and Korea, and Vietnam, and now in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I thank those who are buried in some cemetery in Normandy where poppies grow, or whose bodies were returned home in a flag-draped coffin to be interned here; to those to whom politicians and other orators pay tribute on Veterans Day.

In World War II, more than 16 million Americans were in uniform.

Tiny flags were displayed in the windows of almost every home. A blue star indicated that the boy who lived there was now in service; a gold star indicated that he would never return home.

The whole country was mobilized during World War II; women worked in factories helping to produce tanks and planes; children collected scrap that could be turned into bullets; gasoline and food were rationed; everyone sacrificed.

Today, there are more than 60,000 members of our volunteer armed forces in Afghanistan and elsewhere.

But, here at home, you would never know we are at war.

Most families are untouched by the struggle against terrorism. For most, life goes on as usual.

There is no draft, no rationing; in fact, no call for sacrifice.

And, so on this Veterans Day, while you’re enjoying a barbecue, eating a hot dog or downing a cold beer, you might pause and ask yourself, "Why them?"

Why not your own son, or daughter, or grandchild?

And, the next time you hear someone loudly proclaiming how we should put "boots on the ground" in order to overthrow some foreign dictator, you might want to ask them, "Whose boots?"

While you’re at it, you might try to find the time to attend a parade or a memorial service – if there is one in your community anymore – and say thanks to a veteran.

Not that the average veteran is looking for thanks, but he or she will still appreciate the fact that someone cares.

Click this to link to the original article.

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I care, Ed Flynn. 

I’m confident my circle of TGIM friends cares as well. 

Thank you, one and all.

Geoff Steck   
Chief Catalyst
Alexander Publishing & Marketing

8 Depot Square

Englewood, NJ 07631
201-569-5373
tgimguy@gmail.com

P. S. In 1825 at the laying of the corner stone for the Bunker Hill Monument, Daniel Webster, perhaps the most famous orator of the day, was to make the day’s most significant speech. The crowd estimated at 50,000 included perhaps two hundred gray-haired men, remnants of the days of the Revolution.

Daniel Webster
with the Bunker Hill Monument
in the background

Among them stood some forty scarred and time-worn veterans who had actually shared in the bloody conflict they now gathered to commemorate. 

As Webster passed these forty in the crowd, it’s reported his voice trembled as he uttered the words –

“Venerable men.”

 

Addressing the veterans directly he also said: “Our poor work may perish, but thine shall endure:  this monument may moulder away, the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to the level of the sea; but thy memory shall not fail. Wherever among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall claim kindred with thy spirit!”