We’ve reached another November and most reading this have a story to share of themselves or knowing someone who has worn one of our nation’s uniforms as we recognize our veterans.
With your indulgence, here’s mine.
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Dad was a typical young patriot who, just days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, reported to the nearest induction center to do his part in defending our country.
He and my mother, two ordinary people finding themselves in very extraordinary times, had been married for five weeks.
While in training at the country’s second-largest military base and awaiting the completion of the ship to which he was assigned, she was allowed to join him until orders came for his departure.
They didn’t know if he would return but concluded they wanted a child together anyway. The result of that decision is me – born in the naval hospital on that base.
After he and his ship were made ready, they became part of the world’s largest naval armada that courageously reclaimed the islands of the South Pacific and, in the process, brought freedom to the people throughout those lands.
The success of the armed forces there, throughout Europe, and elsewhere across the globe, assured my safety and provided me with a future full of promise, hope, and opportunity.
These men and women, all of them heroes, did that for all of us as well as countless more yet to be born.
I don’t really remember exactly when it was that I realized how privileged I was to be growing up in a home with one of those war heroes, but its full meaning became part of my life’s essential identity.
Never tiring of hearing Dad’s stories told over and over, I learned of his admiration for his ship’s captain, the bond he developed with his shipmates, and the wonder he held for the Marines his vessel unloaded into withering enemy fire on the shores of islands most people had never heard of but whose names are now famous in American history.
His duty when the ship’s crew were at general quarters or battle stations was to serve as “battle talker” manning the bridge standing next to and relaying the captain’s commands via the intercom throughout the vessel.
At the end, his ship was docked at Tokyo Bay just two away from the USS Missouri where he was able to witness the dramatic signing ceremony of the Japanese surrender that finally brought the war to its end.
Dad’s life, at the age of 86, came to an end 20 years ago and it has been that long since I was able to share his memories on a Veterans Day.
So vivid did those experiences remain throughout his life, that in the bewildered state of his mental capacity during his final weeks when he could remember almost nothing else, he spoke of his time aboard his beloved USS Ozark.
Lying in his bed at the nursing home he tossed his covers off and tried to get up. My brother was with him that day and, surprised by that behavior, asked him what he was doing.
His reply was, “I’ve been in sickbay too long and the captain needs me. I’ve got to get up to the bridge.”
Veterans Day should be a time when we commit ourselves to honor and preserve the memory of those who have served across our nation’s whole history so that this amazing experiment of government by, for, and of We The People will go on.
If we need a reminder of how dangerous our world is today, just take a look at news reports across the globe and realize it is our country that the rest are looking to for protection.
Since there are many today who have served and are still serving, we have a good chance to say to any one of them how profoundly thankful we are for what they did and are still doing.
Richard Greene is a former mayor of Arlington.
