HOPE REAWAKENED
Northern New Mexico Honor Flight 0614
Not one for social reunions, I'd never attended a high school or college class reunion, never gone to the annual gatherings of World War II comrades from my outfit while there were still enough of us alive to justify them. But during the past year, I'd heard about plans for the Northern New Mexico Honor Flight to take regional veterans to the WWII Memorial on the mall in Washington, D.C. I completed an application, cognizant of the fact that I'd cancel if subsequent itinerary details suggested inability to meet physical needs. At 91, aches and pains are no strangers, mobility is limited, and one must meet the daily innumerable challenges of advanced age.
Too, I'd had in recent years serious concerns about the country I've fought for: bitter disappointment over the partisan deadlocks in its administration, disturbed by its societal ills, disgusted by rampant profanity and pornography, anguished by media rants of Washington betrayals, drugged youth serial killers, the nation in decline. Too often feeling alien in my own land, considering living abroad, seeking a culture, if possibly existent, yet not fractured by the ills of a new millennium begun with the terrorism of 9/11. Flag-wavers and anthem-singers on national holidays struck me as being delusional rather than patriotic, in denial of how very far our country had fallen from grace.
Not free of such conclusions and/or convictions, I attended the orientation meeting for the Honor Flight. And immediately was in the midst of Americans of whom I've seen too little -- or read/seen of via the media -- in late life. Not only military and reservist volunteers, but civilian members of Honor Flight totally committed, giving time and energies to recognizing war veterans and honoring the country for which they fought. On all sides, I was surrounded by individuals and families dedicated to fostering the very best of American ideals, accomplishments and its future. From this group, I was assigned my guardian, a young ex-Navy man who was to accompany me throughout the trip and whom I securely felt could meet any personal need or emergency which might arise.
Like most World War II veterans, I came home to no victory parade. Instead, a post-war United States meant adjusting to a civilian population which had not experienced invasion, bombing of its towns and cities, the obscenities of a ravaged country. Time to move beyond the war in which the absence of computers, emails or cellphones had spared the Homefront knowledgeable contact with what was happening to sons, brothers, husbands and fathers on foreign fields. The veterans fell silent, fully aware that words could never breach the chasm with loved ones and friends who'd not looked on atrocities they'd seen. Convinced that what we'd done was right, Nazism and Fascism defeated, our country yet free, we nevertheless accepted the fact that few comrades were honored. Life moves on with new challenges. In the decades which followed, opportunity to speak of service and combat was limited to the infrequent encounters with one of our Band of Brothers. And with their inevitable aging and passing came the acceptance of being alone with indelible memories and images which never leave the warrior.
The Honor Flight shattered that loneness. From the first moments of departure in a mile-long motorcade to the airport -- the city's principal interstate highway closed to all other traffic, a fleet of motorcycles and police cars leading the way, military personnel from nearby bases lining the road, saluting our vehicles as we passed -- I knew I was with a community nourished by service to others. On the bus I rode were other veterans and their guardians, members of the medical team accompanying us, a television crew which would be with us for the entire trip. In the seat ahead of me was a young marine in full-dress uniform, a folded American flag held close to his chest, beside him the large framed photograph of the veteran who had registered for this Honor Flight but died two months before it launched. That marine with triangular folded flag and framed photograph was beside us for the next three days, participating in every event, his presence a constant tribute to and reminder of the fallen comrade who was in our midst.
Few, indeed, must be Americans who can look on the memorials in Washington DC and not be moved. Our day among them -- Arlington, the Lincoln, Iwo Jima, Korea and Vietnam -- was unforgettable. At the World War II Memorial, my guardian wheeled me to the Atlantic Pavilion where the names of towns and campaigns I'd known in the European Theater are inscribed in stone. I noted other veterans from our group gathered at the Pacific Pavilion. Many stood with bowed heads at the Wall of Stars, each of the 4,048 stars representing 100 American casualties. The Memorial was crowded on this bright June day, swarmed with groups of students on school tours from across the country. I was surprised by the boy who left his fellows, approached, took my hand and thanked me for serving the nation. Though the first, he was but one of scores -- most in their early teens -- who came to my side, embraced this elder in wheelchair, and expressed thanks. A few of them asked to have their pictures taken with me, and promised to share photos (which they did!). Truly a blessing to look on youthful faces, eyes aglow, some misty, voicing gratitude for the freedom you'd bestowed on them. Adults as well came to our sides, extending hands, hugs and kisses of respect and honor. But it was that never-ending stream of teenagers, throughout the day and at all the memorials, whose every word to me with obvious love of country restored my hope for sustenance of American ideals.
At our hotel banquet that evening, veterans and guardians were invited to publicly speak of what the Honor Flight meant to them. It came as no surprise that, as impressive as the memorials and all events had been, the most significant moments had come from the youths who so warmly paid tribute. One of the guardians spoke of the national media and political negative reports and of how little we read or hear of Americans encountered this day. He concluded with the assumption we all shared: that if the future of our country is dependent on members of the new generation comparable to those we'd met, it is in good hands. A lady beside me leaned close and whispered A Child Shall Lead Them.
(Northern New Mexico Honor Flights will be sponsoring more trips to the WWII memorial for veterans, The superb organization merits support. Website: http://www.uvcnm.org/documents/HonorFlightBrochure2-13-14.pdf)
