For me Veterans’ Day 2016 will be my
83rd, although I still prefer to call it Remembrance Day as they
do in Canada and some other British Commonwealth countries. The first “Armistice Day” of my firm memory was in
1937, when I learned that the men with white beards riding in the big open cars
had fought at Gettysburg and Bull Run for Abraham Lincoln.
Many folks even today do not
understand that this particular national holiday serves a distinctly different
purpose than Memorial Day which is primarily to honor those who died in service to their country.
Veterans’ Day is to thank those living
veterans who served our country. One reason I routinely and proudly wear my cap
outfitted with symbols of my military story is to give citizens the opportunity
to say “thank you” - a small service I
can perform – an opportunity which makes both of us feel good.
Days ago a young mother with a
three-year old boy in tow called out to me “Sir! Sir!” as it looked as if I
hadn’t seen him.”My son wants to thank you!” Sure enough, the anxious and eager
young guy proudly extended a hand. So impressed was I that I dropped to his
level to warmly welcome his grip. He really was very sincere and serious and I was
touched. As I rose again I felt another hand on my sleeve. It was a much
younger sister reaching out from where she clung to her mother’s nesting arm.
With pleading eyes she begged for the same greeting. As I pressed her tiny hand
to mine the mother whispered an emotional thank you of her own in my ear. I
rejoiced silently that I lived in a place such as this where families like this
one were raising children who would not be apt to forget to express
thanksgiving at such moments.
Most Veterans’ Days I spend some
time in my dress ‘blues’ at Memorial Square in Cedar City under the flapping
flags where I close my eyes; and remember:
A
week after the signing of the Korean armistice in July of 1953, the exchange of
POWs – known as Operation Big Switch by the Allies – began at a place called
Munsan-ni near a radar control detachment my Air Force unit operated on the
Imjin River where some of the last battles of the three-year war took place; a
war in which more casualties were sustained in so short a time than in any
conflict since the American Civil War. We called the place Freedom Village where a long bridge over a ravine marked the
separation between the two sides. It became known as Freedom Bridge. Over it
the released
prisoners passed, first the communists heading north, well-fed,
healthy and noisy with insolence and bravado. Then came the Americans, thin,
skeleton-like and emaciated, quietly helping each other across to where a
welcoming gathering of U.S. troops waited behind a military band and color
guard.
Last
came a lone G.I., struggling even to walk, finally dropping to his knees. A big
Military Police officer left the waiting ranks to give assistance, but the
prisoner motioned him away clearly wishing to continue on his own, crawling
painfully toward the flag bearer on all four. Seeing what was wanted the
trooper lowered the red, white and blue banner. A hush fell over the small
crowd as the G.I. with tears streaming from his eyes reached up pulling the
flag to his face amid convulsive weeping. The MP Lieutenant finally took over,
lifting the skinny kid to his shoulders and carrying him to waiting staff as
the crowd watched in stunned silence, not a dry unmoved face in the crowd.
Those watching and those who heard the story would never forget the experience.
When veterans meet each other what passes across
their hands and between their eyes conveys a sense of shared
pride that swells the heart but is difficult to describe. Here Al is embraced
by a Viet Nam and a Gulf War veteran while traveling in Georgia
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