There’s a pair of photographs that sometimes run through my mind when I think on these things. Taken by a New York Times photographer embedded with a Marine company in Afghanistan I believe. Two moments frozen in amber. In the first, we see the back of a young infantryman, his face in partial profile. He’s facing front, alert towards potential threat, rifle at a low ready. He’s young, lean and tall and he’s very far from home but in the company of those he trusts. They – quite literally – have his back.
A few moments later he’s lying in a ditch with his legs blown off by an RPG, and some of his friends swarm around him in a fruitless attempt to save his life while others surge past to try and find the shooter. He never thought it would end like this, none of them did.
But he knew it could. And he went anyway.
So today’s our day to remember him, or one just like him. Pick one, the faces run together in aggregate. Humans get lost in the sea of humanity, their innate complexity – the kind of thing we grant ourselves for free – gets drowned in the baseline in any population over two or three, far less four or five thousand. We cannot process it, and so we tend to draw cartoon hero action figures where once stood individual beings with unique genetic make-ups blended with irreplicable experiences whose dreams and potential will remain forever unrealized and unfulfilled.
Cook your burgers, throw your ball, head to the beach. But raise your flag too, and send a prayer of gratitude and humility if you’ve got one for those who loved you and this our idea sufficiently to interpose themselves between you and that which they had good reason to believe would threaten you.
Spare a moment of time to think too of those they left behind whose worst fears were realized and who wake up every day to the howling emptiness in their lives. Those who need no holiday marked on the calendar to be made sensible of that loss.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
–Laurence Binyon
True That Cap – Got to spend the day here in Helmand at Camp Leatherneck, my new home-away-from-home. As a retired Seabee, this is the place to be if you have to be here.
Got to spend some time with my Marine brothers & sisters….They are the best & the brighest – honed in the fires of war, hard as blue steel, and always as polite as any Mother’s son should be….
It is my disctinct privilege to be here with them as I was when I served in uniform in Fallujah…I love each and every one of them and only wish that ALL of them will get to go home, enjoy the freedom they paid for and bring their knowledge of what FREEDOM really costs to another generation.
IN M*A*S*H, Hawkeye had a really bad day and lost a young soldier on the operating table. Col Blake tries to console him aftewards by telling him there’s two rules that you ahve to understand in a war:
Rule # 1. Young Men Die
Rule # 2. Doctors (and others) are not allowed to change Rule # 1.
From MARINE-ISTAN, I salute all those who went before us in the long unbroken line of Patriots – SEMPER FI
“The death of a single individual is a tragedy–the deaths of millions is merely a statistic.”
_____V. I. Lenin
Always though that was unadulterated BS. What does it have to do with Lex’s post?
I posted it because it is a psychological truism and a psychic tendency that policy-makers should always fight against. During WWII George Marshall wrote all the casualty figures on his flip-chart daily briefings to FDR in purple ink so they would stand out and not be missed in the clutter of the briefing, i.e., to drive home the very point that those who were doing thee fighting and dying were more than mere statistics.
But pablissimo, thruth be told I really did it to stir discussion about the question of whether photos such as those Lex mentioned are good or bad for the war effort. My motto is that everything in life is a double-edged sword, and PR about the war effort is one of them, and is a running sore in the discussion in the body politic. We were two years into WWII before pictures of dead GIs were allowed to be published for fear doing so would sap the war effort. The movie “The Fighting Sullivans” was not shown during the war once made as it was feared to be too much of an emotional downer. It is generally agreed that Vietnam–the 1st “TV war”–was lost in the scenes viewed in American living rooms. Part of the reason for the general public backing for Gulf I was the lack of access by photogs/reporters to the battlefield. And many have charged that when the evening TV news broadcasts began showing nightly pictures of the KIA at the onset of Gulf II under the guise of “honoring fallen heroes” it was actually done by the left-wing MSM to dispirit the war effort.
So I pose the question: Just what *should* be/is the proper mix of exposing the home-front to the realities of war in a free society. Does it sap the war effort, or are we as a society made of sterner stuff? Anybody?
VX, the poem Lex quotes was written less than two months into the Great War, when the long lists of dead and wounded were already being printed in the English papers. Although not as graphic as photographs, certainly lists that ran into the hundreds or even thousands would seem to qualify as “dispiriting.” The difference, and it’s the crucial one that matters, is that they went into the war with a supreme confidence in the rightness of their cause. They came out of it mortally wounded, and are still bleeding from it to this day. I heartily recommend Paul Fussell’s The Great War and Modern Memory on this account.
What of Matthew Brady’s photographs in the Civil War? I can’t say they did much to persuade either side to lay down arms and go home, although they thoroughly documented the sheer butchery that war fought between two armies of believers could attain. Pearl Harbor in Life and Look? Nothing more than calls to arms.
For “great wars,” where we have been attacked first and feel our cause is just, I don’t know that those pictures will do much other than steel our resolve. But for those “dirty little wars of peace,” where the means and ends are not so clear, the less publicity the better. Thus the nightly pictures of the KIA or their boot camp photos in Stars and Stripes can cut either way, depending on the will of the populace.
If the people are of one heart, then they probably won’t weaken anyone. But if they are divided (and we are divided), they may not weaken the hardy, but they might well strengthen the weak in their own convictions.
I think “Stormin’ Norman” insisted the press briefings be televised so the press would have a harder time making things up as they went along, or making things up period. So many of the so called journalists sat in some hotel bar in Saigon writing stories as if they’d been there. Others would simply lie. Setting aside the treasonous acts of people like Kerry and Fonda, that, more than anything lost Vietnam.
VX,
There is a street, famous in London for its bookshops. Old, used books. Not quite used up. I remember standing in one there in a very small room next to a stack of bound books that was more than waste high. The books contained nothing more than the names and ranks of the men of the British Empire that were killed during the Great War. One could reach out and select a volume from the stack and look again at the names, ages, date of death, unit, rank of every single Empire subject killed.
As usual, spent the morning today at Rosecranz and then the late afternoon with the family at a BBQ in Del Mar.
I think now that perhaps the photos belong to history. It’s not like we can stop them or anything but the most horrible photos of the Great War didn’t really make it into graphic form until sometime in the late 80s or early 90s. For some reason the ones that had the photos of what trench warfare really really truly meant, didn’t push them until long after the ones that loved those men had moved on.
I could be wrong.
Best regards all for a Memorial Day of Remembrance.
Tottenham Court Road.
I always thought that was a great phrase, and one that is very true.
Possibility of one boy in a “runaway” balloon and the Nation is captivated (well, at least the cattle were), people wringing their hands. One thousand people will die this week in car accidents -just a statistic, no biggie, happens every week, life goes on.
Relevance should be obvious, though apparently it is not.
I spent some time early this morning at a local Veterans Memorial Park. Was alone for most of the time.
One person who stopped by saw an unopened can of beer (amongst other items) placed at the base of the monument and was going to put it in the trash. I mentioned to him that while I did not know who put the beer there or why, that I did know some friends who are no longer here that would have very much appreciated the beer. He left the beer where it was.
Before I left I rummaged thru the stuff I had on the bike, came up with a Slim Jim, and put it with the beer. Some friends of mine would also have very much appreciated the Slim Jim.
It was a good morning.
Old Glory gets caressed by the pleasant Nagoya six days a week off my classroom veranda, most folks probably see it as advertising but for me I’m trying to fulfill part of my patriotic duty by getting a colorful message out.
Found a better way to express my thanks yesterday, gave a presentation which was based on American values, up front and out loud. It was comforting and a little tense to read from the Torah and King James Bible, quote Jefferson and proclaim flat out that this flag was a symbol not just of a country, but of human freedom and liberty. In front of forty or so English teachers who would never utter such a thing from their own mouths. To G-d give the glory.
May G-d bless and protect all who served.
Gratefully, Peter Warner.
To those who’ve served and sacrificed their lives for mine – I owe you a debt I could only repay in millions of lifetimes . . . Thank you.
Linked: Memorial Day 2010
I was looking up the words for a Kipling piece that I think is appropriate for this day, and found this take off on it at this site:
http://www.military.com/opinion/0,15202,102322,00.html
But now, the original:
TOMMY Rudyard Kipling
I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint of beer.
The publican ‘e ups an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s Tommy this, and Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”;
But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me.
They sent me to the gallery or ’round the music-’alls.
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! They’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy wait outside”;
But it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide,
The troopships’ on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
O it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide.
Yes, making mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy ‘ow’s your soul?”
But it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O, it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll.
We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints:
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy fall be’ind,”
But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.
You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!”
But it’s “Saviour of his country,” when the guns begins to shoot;
Yes, it’s Tommy this an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
But Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool – you bet that Tommy sees!
Peter, good work, thank you.
Lex, while there is some entwined history, those words properly belong to Remembrance Day, also known as Armistice Day, and follow the two-minute silence observed everywhere in the British Commonwealth. In nearly every village in England, no matter how small, there stands a memorial to those fallen in the Great War. No matter how small the village, at least a dozen names are inscribed on each one, often many, many more, often with the same patronym.
Not that the British would mind you borrowing their words, for over this past century, nearly wherever American soldiers have fallen, British soldiers have fallen beside them, as have Canadian, Australian and New Zealand soldiers. Just as Memorial Day originally united Blue and Gray, perhaps we can also take a moment to recall our comrades in arms who have fallen and are still falling with us in the same struggle for Liberty.
Zane,
For some of us, we do this formally twice a year. Once on Memorial Day and again on Armistice Day. I’ve never regretted that.
I used to do a lot of things at the tip of Point Loma and sometimes would take the time, as I drove through the cemetery to pull over, get out and walk around and give thanks. I’m ashamed to say that the last Veteran’s Parade I attended included men wearing Doughboy outfits.
Today is a solemn day of remembrance, indebtedness, and gratitude. Don’t forget: 1500 hrs, local.
Buck, what a sad web page. It misquotes Abraham Lincoln’s “mystic chords of memory” into “mystic cords.” It took over seven minutes to load. The poster shows the world instead of the United States of America, and the flag fallen on boots that are not properly presented. They mean well, I believe, judging by the content, but this page is a .gov project all the way.
Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote a wonderful poem called Dirge Without Music. The last verse says it all:
“Down, down, down, into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender and the kind.
Gently they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.”
Marianne
Thanks to you and all the fine men and women who offer their service to our great country, Lex.
Lex-
That second verse is used down here, if you ever make it down in April I must take you to the Dawn Service.
In fact IIRC I posted one version years ago from a football game on ANZAC Day.
So I did: http://www.neptunuslex.com/Wiki/2008/05/19/anzac-day-at-the-football/
For me, Lex, the photos that stand out are of each and every one of people serving, whether the photo be the first one in uniform posed at the end of boot camp, the group shots with smiling faces, sometimes serious, the pilot smiling down from his cockpit prior to launching, or the small group of faces in the assault boats, in the helicopters, or around the Gooney Birds with the black and white stripes. At that point the subjects in the photos had hope in their future mixed with uncertainty as to that future, yet they went forward to face whatever had to be faced. I’ve always wondered what came next for the faces in the photos. I’ve always admired them all and been thankful for their willingness to do the necessary. I won’t forget them despite not having known enough of them.
Thanks Lex. At 1045 this morning, over 50 from my congregation, and extended family members of those who paid the price or who had been vets, gathered as we now do annually. The local VFW Honor Guard stood to the side as we recited verse and poetry and said the Mourner’s Kaddish. At it’s completion, we turned to the honor guard and after the command “Honor Guard, render honors,” those of us who were vets stood tall, and saluted as three volleys were fired and “Taps” was played. We stood together, veterans old and young, male and female, and yes, even heterosexual and homosexual, and honored all those who had gone before us. We even had the latest “Blue Star Wife” stand with us in the bright late morning sun. We were together. It mattered not the branch of service, or where we served or how long. It mattered not that a local paper, in paying homage to this day, printed the long list of veterans interred at all the local Christian cemeteries and printed not a single member of my own faith (of which we have dozens upon dozens)as if we simply didn’t exist. It didn’t matter that that some of those there are wrapped up deeply in politics of such a nature that opposition to any war is considered the only point of view a rational person could have.
It mattered that we were there together.
VR,
Comjam
Deepest gratitude, today and every day, to those who serve and have served.
I thnk of my Dad’s cousin, Francis, today, and think of how much I would have liked to know him.
http://www.oneternalpatrol.com/riley-f-a.htm
Same with my Uncle on my mother’s side. Died at Chosen reservoir, Cpl Alvin Reid, 1st Marine Division.
Lex – Thanks for posting this.
Was up in Northern Virginia this weekend to see daughter number one and stopped by while there to visit Arlington and pay my respects to my best friend in the Navy, Captain Gerry DeConto, killed in the Navy Command Center on 9/11. I was his escort officer for his funeral on November 2, 2001.
Still recall the lines form General Order Number 11 of the Grand Army of the Republic:
“We should guard their graves with sacred vigilance. All that the consecrated wealth and taste of the nation can add to their adornment and security is but a fitting tribute to the memory of her slain defenders. Let no wanton foot tread rudely on such hallowed grounds. Let pleasant paths invite the coming and going of reverent visitors and fond mourners. Let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time testify to the present or to the coming generations that we have forgotten as a people the cost of a free and undivided republic.”
So today I remember, Gerry — he delivered up honor and I’ll never forget his sacrifice on that day.
L/Cpl Bruce W Staehli
USMC MIA at Hue City
RIP Brother
I left not a few fellow pilots in SEA–KIA or MIA–that I kmew well, but the one guy that I never thought would catch the Golden BB was RAVEN 47–Sam Diechleman–MIA Aug 68. I first met him when he was a 1st Lt at Lockbourne AFB in 130s and I there in ROTC summer camp in ’65, and later when he became a Raven FAC in Laos as an O-3. He made it to DaNang several times to see friends after visiting his brother, an F-4 driver down in Bien Hoa A brutally handsome blond, blue-eyed guy with low voice and magnetic personality, Sam was a man’s man and a lady-killer all in one. He was so memorable–such a special guy and such a dedicated pilot–the Ravens have a special tribute page to him at their web-site. Sam had completed his tour and was flying over to DaNang for going away party Maj. Paul Martel, (a mutual friend) and a Prairie Fire FAC was throwing for him when he went MIA…. Life’s a bitch.. RIP SAM…I think about you often…almost daily.
Al “Buss” Seidel EM2…survived the sinking of the USS Houston..only to be killed in a japanese prison camp working as a slave laborer in a mine on the mainland..
Major Kevin G. Nave, USMC, Iraq. Forever 36 years old.
CDR Dean E Kaiser, Jun14, 1970. CO VF-53
Kent Kaiser
Seaman First Class (Electrician’s Mate Striker) Ralph Sauerbrey and the crew of USS Grayling SS-209. Disappeared on her eight war patrol September 1943. Still out there somewhere.
This morning, I took My mother out to Calverton National to visit my fathers grave. As we usually do lately, we stopped by the grave of Lt. Michael Murphy, MOH who is buried there among several of Long Island’s Iraq and Afghan dead in one or two rows at the front of one section. Each of those graves is always covered with flowers and flags and coins and other mementos left by visitors. I added a Navy flag to LT. Murphy’s.
Today, there was a young, 30 something is woman with some small children visiting one of those graves a few spots over from LT. Murphy. There were several young men of military bearing greeting her. I could over hear her say to the kids “this is a friend of Daddy’s.” It broke my heart.
When we left I saw something that was stirring. The line of cars entering the the cemetery stretched from the assembly area for a mile to the entrance and then for over a mile, bumper to bumper alone the road leading to the cemetery.
I have had a very difficult day today, remembering…
I thank others here for sharing their thoughts upon this day. It somehow soothes the soul to know that I am not alone in my grief, and in acknowledging all their supreme sacrifices.
I find it altogether fitting that we remember our dead during the time of spring planting. I believe it was Jefferson who pointed out that the law, and Earth, was for the living, and to not let previous generations hold back the now while this generation struggles as all have to make their way through life.
There’s a lot to be said for honoring the past by paying attention to the future. It’s what those in the past fought to defend — those of us left behind and for the future generations they had yet to see but wanted better for.
I spent part of the day in the car with the kids, placing flowers and wreaths and such at graves of those I knew, trying to explain to the 2 year-old that I was thanking my father, my grandfather, my uncles for giving me this wonderful life I have with her. She won’t understand for a few more years, mortality is as lost on her as the passage of time is to a Cicada waiting it’s 13 to 17 years before emerging and flying about.
My Good Wife spent the day in the garden, the first day she could devote fully to planting and transplanting and otherwise providing the family with food grown in a manner we know of while I tended the kids.
I like to think my father, my grandfather, my uncles and various others might look at us from beyond the grave, and smile. We don’t put our lives on hold for them, nor do we ignore what they’ve done. Rather, to protect what they defended, we’re teaching one generation of their ancestors and we’re preparing the larder to sustain the next generation.
There’s a certain cycle-of-life, four-seasons sort of Zen thing about that.
Building a circle of stones in the back yard and roasting smores over an open fire completed the picture. I did it with my daughter, it’s what I did with my parents, my parents did it with their parents…
And I lit off a few bottle rockets and firecrackers too, explaining sometimes loud noises and fires are scary, sometimes they’re dangerous, and today I’m making noise and fire because we’re thinking of those who ran towards those scary, dangerous noises and fires to protect us.
I think, maybe, she understood that. She’s 2, there’s a limit on how much she can appreciate the concept, but tonight’s requests for stories read and milk made available wasn’t all about her.
And that’s not nothing.
– Max
Sounds like a day well spent, Max.
Shamelessly reposted from Blackfive’s page:
He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of Earth
E’en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth,
In simpleness and gentleness and honor and clean mirth.
So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high
And made place at the banquet board – the Strong Men ranged thereby,
Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to die.
-Rudyard Kipling
I was spending a relaxing Memorial Day weekend when, on the spur of the moment I decided to make a slight detour in my travels.
That is wasn’t planned diminishes the impact of the decision not at all.
More here:
http://tomet.net/Blog/2010/06/01/in-the-shadow-of-the-peaks-of-otter/
and doubly so would I make room for the men of strong faith that would not take a life but who would give theirs in order to save a life. I like those men.
In quiet remembrance sat I, pondering the sacrifice of generations past, admiring the service of this generation, and grateful for honor that was mine to serve. May we, the living, take up the greater service to preserve and honor the cause for such great sacrifice.
Let Freedom Ring!