Today is a date that will live in infamy. Well, okay December the 7th 1941 is that date, but you get the idea. I turned on the news this morning and that wasn't the lead story. Later, buried down the list it was mentioned that there are only 5 survivors of the attack on the Arizona alive today. All in their nineties their health does not allow them to travel. It's been 77 years since that attack and for the first time no survivors will be present for the ceremonies. Yesterday we buried a President that had served during that war. It was that attack that inspired George H W Bush to join the Navy and become a pilot. The fact is George H W Bush was the last president to have combat experience. He did deserve the title commander in chief. A member of the greatest generation, as was my own father and so many of his friends. Every year at this time I find myself reflecting upon that, that generation is slowly fading away. It is a reminder of what was given so that I might live free, a reminder of duty fulfilled.
It is estimated that in June of 2017 there were 558,000 veterans of WW2 still alive. It was also estimated that they were dying at a rate of 372 every day. Over 16 million souls served in that war. No estimate exist for 2018 that I could find but surely that number is less than half a million, half a million out of sixteen million! I can't help but think about that. Today it is quite the popular thing, the displaying, in some fashion, that you are a veteran. Whether it is as simple as wearing a ball cap with your branch of service on it, or vanity plates on our vehicles, the fact of our service is being displayed. That wasn't true of the greatest generation. At least in my personal observation it wasn't. The only time you may see that was when it was parade day, then the members of the Legion or the VFW would squeeze into those old uniforms and march proudly. Following those occasions those memories were packed away until the next time. Overall I would call them the silent heroes. Those men and women walked among us and we barely knew it. I am reminded of a man named Ben Barnes. When I was a small boy I saw him and he was missing a leg. Walking with his crutches he was a jovial man and always friendly. Being a child I asked him what happened to his leg? He told me he lost it in the war. Then he followed that up by saying, it was in France and he planned on going back there one day to find it. That was the extent of his discussion of the war. And when I was a kid it was always called the war. You knew exactly what war was being discussed. I never heard a single person, of that generation, say we shouldn't have gone and fought. I heard many lament the loss of their loved ones in that " damned war " but never that we shouldn't have gone. A far cry from what I hear today.
It won't be many years now before the voice of the greatest generation will be silent. They will have all gone to their final reward. All that will be left is stories. Memories are always in the first person. We have erected memorials but as evidenced in recent times memorials don't ensure the memory. They can be torn down. As for me I will always tell the stories as I heard them and I have to admit there aren't many. War wasn't a popular topic of discussion among those veterans. I always figured they were trying their best to forget about all of that. I, of course asked my father about his experiences. He told no great tales of glory, only sadness shown in his eyes. He always said, I did what was needed to be done and tried my best to stay alive doing it. He scoffed at any notion of being a hero. That was typical of his generation. December the 7th will always be a sad day for me. Sad not for what occurred that day, sad for the thought of a generation. Sad for the warriors of the past that now lie in silence. A date that will indeed live in infamy. That attack was, by any measure, Evil and Wicked, perpetrated on America. I will never forget those that fought and died. I will be their voice. I will tell the stories for them.
It is estimated that in June of 2017 there were 558,000 veterans of WW2 still alive. It was also estimated that they were dying at a rate of 372 every day. Over 16 million souls served in that war. No estimate exist for 2018 that I could find but surely that number is less than half a million, half a million out of sixteen million! I can't help but think about that. Today it is quite the popular thing, the displaying, in some fashion, that you are a veteran. Whether it is as simple as wearing a ball cap with your branch of service on it, or vanity plates on our vehicles, the fact of our service is being displayed. That wasn't true of the greatest generation. At least in my personal observation it wasn't. The only time you may see that was when it was parade day, then the members of the Legion or the VFW would squeeze into those old uniforms and march proudly. Following those occasions those memories were packed away until the next time. Overall I would call them the silent heroes. Those men and women walked among us and we barely knew it. I am reminded of a man named Ben Barnes. When I was a small boy I saw him and he was missing a leg. Walking with his crutches he was a jovial man and always friendly. Being a child I asked him what happened to his leg? He told me he lost it in the war. Then he followed that up by saying, it was in France and he planned on going back there one day to find it. That was the extent of his discussion of the war. And when I was a kid it was always called the war. You knew exactly what war was being discussed. I never heard a single person, of that generation, say we shouldn't have gone and fought. I heard many lament the loss of their loved ones in that " damned war " but never that we shouldn't have gone. A far cry from what I hear today.
It won't be many years now before the voice of the greatest generation will be silent. They will have all gone to their final reward. All that will be left is stories. Memories are always in the first person. We have erected memorials but as evidenced in recent times memorials don't ensure the memory. They can be torn down. As for me I will always tell the stories as I heard them and I have to admit there aren't many. War wasn't a popular topic of discussion among those veterans. I always figured they were trying their best to forget about all of that. I, of course asked my father about his experiences. He told no great tales of glory, only sadness shown in his eyes. He always said, I did what was needed to be done and tried my best to stay alive doing it. He scoffed at any notion of being a hero. That was typical of his generation. December the 7th will always be a sad day for me. Sad not for what occurred that day, sad for the thought of a generation. Sad for the warriors of the past that now lie in silence. A date that will indeed live in infamy. That attack was, by any measure, Evil and Wicked, perpetrated on America. I will never forget those that fought and died. I will be their voice. I will tell the stories for them.
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