As he drove into the parking lot the small American Flag fluttered from the CB antenna on the roof. He parked, got out of the car, took his cane and started into the mall. The back of his jacket said it all, "World War II Veteran". I felt tears fill my eyes, as I watched him and I wondered. Was he a tail gunner on a B-17, a loader in a Sherman, a Bofors gunner on a carrier, a P-47 mechanic or a planesman on a submarine? I was born while he was fighting for our country. He must be at least seventy.
Later I passed him in the mall. Something drew me to him. I walked up and asked almost embarrassed, "Do you mind telling me, where did you serve?" He smiled, he understood my question and replied, "South Pacific, Hawaii, Guam, Philippines." It seemed like the right thing to do so I extended my hand and said, "Thanks." He smiled and took my hand, shook it and we parted. He was not one of the above, he was just the average foot soldier who often fought in places with names he hadn’t learned in school, took hills for reasons he didn’t understand, left one foxhole, moved forward, and dug another foxhole on the next hill. These citizen soldiers, boys from the fields of Pennsylvania, the flatlands of Kansas and the hills of Tennessee outfought the best professional soldiers in the world and won. And the ones who were lucky came home, worked hard, and raised families.
As I walked away I wondered, "Why didn’t I ask his name? How could I have been so stupid?" And I realized, to me, for that moment, he represents all of those who fought the triple tyranny of Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy and Imperial Japan. When I was in diapers he was dodging Jap bullets on some mosquito infested island. I will remember him because for one moment in time he represented what is good about this country, when people will give of themselves for others.
If you know him, or someone who could be him, will you do something for me? Pass this on to him, tell him there are those who care, those who will keep the flame alive. He did not fight for it just to see us fritter it away. There are still those who know the value of the sacrifice and the penalty for allowing it to be lost.
Copyright 1997 - Ralph Brandt
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