That is the title of an article I wrote back in May 2004 when the World War II Memorial was dedicated on the Mall in Washington, DC. (http://www.wwiimemorial.com/default.asp?page=home.asp) My then 18 year old son Jerod and I went to the dedication. To say the least, the experience was one we will never forget. The article was published by a couple of small town newspapers, but I doubt that many of you ever saw it. Rather than go on about the trip, I thought I would reproduce the piece in this space for your consideration, and in honor of those who have served and died to preserve the Republic:
A Long Overdue Rememberance
Guadalcanal, Normandy, Iwo Jima, Midway, Dunkirk, Anzio, Bastogne, and of course, Pearl Harbor. Place names that far too many of the present generation have forgotten or never recognized at all. But, the “greatest generation” – those who experienced World War II both at home and abroad, remember those places and many more all too well. For on those far away battlefields many young lives were given in order to vanquish tyranny and preserve freedom for generations yet unborn. More than 400,000 American soldiers gave the “last full measure of devotion”, and never came home to friends and loved ones. Many more survived with memories of comrades lost and horrors witnessed.
In many ways they have not been forgotten. Countless movies have been filmed, and thousands of books have been written so that no future generation could possibly be ignorant of the reasons for or the cost of that great conflict.
But one thing has been missing these last 60 years. Inconceivable though it may be, in a city where memorials exist for every other war in our history, none has ever been erected to immortalize those who fought in World War II. Thankfully, that is no longer true. Though long overdue by any measure, the World War II Memorial was dedicated on May 29, and now lies appropriately between the Washington and Lincoln memorials on the National Mall in our nation’s capitol. I took my 18 year old son to see it and the many other majestic and solemn sights. It was an all too brief trip that neither one of us will ever forget.
I had several reasons for going, but none more important than the simple desire to pay my respects to a generation of special Americans. Sadly, we are losing our World War II veterans at the rate of more than 1000 per day. They take with them knowledge, courage and character that many say we may not see again for a long time. Personally, I don’t agree with that sentiment. America has always had an ample supply of sacrificial servants ready to step forward when needed. Still, it would be a terrible mistake to forget what that generation has done for this proud nation. The World War II Memorial is a beautiful, expansive reminder of a unique time in world history and the special patriots that worked, fought and died then.
The site on which the spacious monument sits was dedicated in 1995, with construction beginning in September 2001. Of the more than $195 million in cash and pledges received for the project, all but $16 million came from the private sector. The structure itself is oval shaped with a length of 384 feet and width of 279 feet. On either long end there is a 43 foot tall arch, one representing the Atlantic and the other the Pacific war theatre. In the middle of the plaza is a picturesque Rainbow pool with fountains. Rimming the beautiful granite and bronze icon are 56 pillars – representing the states and territories in existence at the time of the war. Each pillar has two bronze wreaths, and the pillars are joined by bronze ropes. Arguably the most poignant feature is the Freedom wall, which is situated on the side nearest the Lincoln Memorial. On it are affixed 4000 gold stars, each one representing 100 American lives lost in the struggle against tyranny. In front of the wall is the inscription:
“Here we mark the price of freedom”
Numerous inscriptions are etched into the walls of the memorial. The words of men like Eisenhower, Truman, MacArthur, Roosevelt, Nimitz, and Marshall serve to remind us of the terrible cost of the war, and the valor of all who fought it. As I surveyed the inspirational monument, it occurred to me that one gets the feeling of seeing the entire world in one sweeping gaze – the world that was set on fire more than 60 years ago.
As my son, who is in the Army Reserve, and I strolled through the memorial, I made it a point to speak with as many veterans as possible. I wanted to know what they thought of the memorial itself, what memories were brought to mind, even what opinions they had on the state of the country. We saw caps and berets indicating service rendered on numerous ships, in battles, and theatres. Ex POWs were there. I met a Pearl Harbor survivor named Frank Coppola. Though in a wheelchair, he looked quite spry as he talked to someone on a cell phone. He was accompanied by two proud men I took to be a son and grandson. I later researched Mr. Coppola on the official memorial website, where a registry has been set up to allow veterans from that era to be registered in a database. One can also query the registry to look for men and women who were in the military then – whether in a combat or non-combat role. I discovered that this hero was at Hickham Field, on December 7, 1941. After war was declared, he went to England where he served with the Eighth Air Corp and flew 30 missions over Germany as a ball turret gunner in a B17.
I spoke for nearly 30 minutes with an Army officer from Iowa named Melvin McDonald. He was in the 11th Armored Division and served in France and Germany. Mr. McDonald saw action in the Battle of the Bulge, and was involved in the liberation of the Nazi concentration camp at Mauthausen in May 1945. (Simon Wiesenthal was freed from that camp). I tried my best to get him to answer questions about his experiences that I thought were so important. Instead, this passionate man talked my ear off about the issues of today he thought were important. I smiled to myself as I listened. Old soldiers never die; I suppose they just find a new enemy to fight!
A reunion tent had been provided where veterans and their families could meet and visit. Additionally, there were message boards set up for all service branches, and the many theatres of the war. The boards were over flowing with notes from people hoping to meet long lost war buddies or their relatives. Others were looking for anyone who had known a now deceased relative. As I read some of the posts, I thought of my father-in-law, Bennie Hesselrode of Sikeston, MO. He was a navigator on a B-29 at the tail end of WWII, and in Korea. When I think of him I always remember the story he tells of being called home because his wife was ill in the hospital. While he was stateside, his crew was shot down and all but two men were lost. I’m grateful that God had other plans for him. I took many pictures of the messages posted on those boards. There was a man from Scottsdale, AZ who had served on the USS Cape Esperance under Admiral Bull Halsey. Another courageous man had been on the Bataan Death March. A man from Okmulgee, OK was just hoping to find buddies still alive that had served with him in his old regiment. Truthfully, I was having trouble reading many of the handwritten notes – but it certainly wasn’t because they were illegible. It was also in that tent that I met a man whose cap told an incredible story in these few words, “veteran of WWII, Korea, Vietnam”. I hesitantly and respectfully asked if he would speak with me for a moment. He politely declined saying that he had just come from another location where he had been relating war stories. He was quite tired and just wanted to sit down for a rest. I would not have dared to press him. I just shook his hand and thanked him for what must have been at least 30 years of service. Of course I saw many other men and women that I would have been honored to meet, but frankly felt embarrassed to approach. A part of me has always felt unworthy of their sacrifice, incapable of understanding their sense of loss or accomplishment. Perhaps I’ll always wonder whether I’ve been a good steward of the liberty that they preserved.
It is so very easy to allow cynicism to take hold of our minds and hearts. In fact, I’m not sure it isn’t a national pastime – at least in political matters. So, we often hear how Americans today are ignorant of our history, and have no respect for the traditions and sacrifices of those who have gone before. No doubt that is true to some extent, but if the events surrounding the dedication of this memorial are any indication, then perhaps the future is brighter than we have been lead to believe. One of the most gratifying scenes I witnessed was the mingling of the old and the new. I was heartened to see several expressions of gratitude on the part of young people toward these wonderful treasures that we are losing so quickly. I snapped a photo of a young man, perhaps 16, and his grandfather. They were wearing matching t-shirts. The back of Grandpa’s shirt read, “World War II Veteran, 81st Field Artillery”, and on the back of his beaming grandson, I read, “My Grandpa is a Hero”.
There was one other aspect to our trip that neither my son nor I are likely to forget. I made a point of telling each veteran I spoke to that my son is now in the Army Reserve, and will likely go into active duty in the near future. Without exception, each one of them turned to my son and told him how proud they were that he had made the choice to serve his country. Not one had a disparaging word to say to him. As I said, I doubt that he will ever forget having a veteran of the Battle of the Bulge take his hand and wish him well.
As our pilgrimage to Washington drew to a close I recalled a memorable scene from the recent film, Saving Private Ryan. As the character played by Tom Hanks lay dying on a bridge, he whispers to Pvt. Ryan that he must “earn this”, meaning the gift of surviving the conflict and being able to go home to his family. The scene then dissolves to the present where the elder Ryan is standing reverently in front of the cross under which the Hanks character is interred. Ryan is remembering the words that were whispered in his ear. He then quietly asks his wife, “am I a good man, have I led a good life?” That is a heart wrenching question that we should all ask ourselves. Have we been worthy of the gift that we have been bequeathed? More importantly, will we too preserve this “last, best hope” for future generations. You know what? I believe that we will.
Permit me one last personal note. I arrived back home in Tulsa to find that a great uncle, himself a veteran of the war in Germany, had passed away on the day of the dedication. How very appropriate.
I can be patient and take the Rush Limbaugh approach to this and wait until ALL of America agrees with me here.
