Memorial Day Plus One
By James T. Moore (05/30/07)
It isn’t often, I suspect, that most people, including myself, think much about Memorial Day the day after. The tribute to our fallen heroes in all branches of the military service were duly and gratefully remembered, saluted, prayed for, and had the American flag raised, then lowered to half-staff in their honor. We did our duty by remembering them.
But today is the day after, and I assure you, I am still thinking about yesterday, when we had paid our respects to the deceased from all wars at the Veteran’s cemetery in Tallahassee, hosted by the American Legion, where speeches were given, tears were shed, prayers were said, and taps was played.
All of which hit me the hardest when, as a World War II veteran, I was asked to step up and tell the audience what I remembered about those WWII war years.
Since several ex-servicemen had already said “a few words,” my mind prompted me to take a different tack, which I did. The first thing I said was the best that happened to me at that time (forget the bad things) was that my wife—but at that time my fiancé—was still waiting for me when I got back---which was three years later,
I then spoke about how important it was for the women, especially the wives, to be patient and stay faithful to their men because it will all be worth it. I should know. My wife and I just celebrated our 60th wedding anniversary. But I still recall the men in my outfit who were wounded, in the heart, when they got a “Dear John” letter from home. In case the impact of those words escapes you, a Dear John letter is from a wife or sweetheart who could no longer stand the separation, or had found a more suitable mate, or just got tired of waiting. When General Sherman said “War is Hell” I suspect he had broken hearts in mind as well broken bodies.
Then, I was prompted to make one more statement which I knew would take a slightly different direction but which I felt was germane to the occasion. I asked the audience to once again look at the line of 12 crosses stuck in the ground in front of us. Each cross had a word written on it. The 12 words were: World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Panama, Grenada, Somalia, Kosovo, Bosnia, Desert Storm, Afghanistan, and Iraq.
I asked the audience to look closely at those words and think about them. Each word represented something a bit different than the rest, but all had a single objective: killing. I know, killing does not come easily off the tongue, but, let’s face it, we don’t get into foreign wars to play horseshoes or handball.
Some words on the crosses represent an American military presence of some lethal kind. Some words represent a foreign conflict that we had no reason being in, no matter what the cause. Some words represent a gross, illegal, and often resented encroachment on another nation’s sovereignty. Some words represent the involvement of America’s military men and women in sometimes unwanted, usually unprecedented, often unnecessary war in a country that most Americans can’t even pronounce, much less find on a map.
I sensed my time was up. Good thing, If it went any further I would probably have crossed the Memorial Day line and said something inappropriate for the occasion, such as: “Think about the hundreds of thousands of dead military men and women that these crosses remind us will never be with us again. And if it takes more than the thought of these young dead bodies to move you, think what these disastrous wars in Iraq and Afghanistan alone are costing us. On May 26th, the Senate approved a budget of $100 billion more to fight the war on terrorism, taking the total spending to $300 billion. This has eclipsed the cost of the nine-year Vietnam war; making it the second most expensive conflict in U.S. history. That’s money-wise. Casualty-wise the cost can never be measured.
Of course I didn’t say this. Not on Memorial Day. But I did make my point about “Dear John.” That seemed to touch the audience, which I had stood up to do. Then I sat down.
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