Friday night, I watched “Saving Private Ryan” for the first time. This morning in the Sunday paper, there was a large article where a number of World War II veterans shared their stories. One of these men was a mere 14 years old when he enlisted in the army, and he spent 4 years as a Japanese POW after the Bataan Death March.
These are folks who spent their childhood in the Great Depression, grew up to the sounds of Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman, spent their young adult years fighting imperial expansionists, and risked everything for our nation’s friends in Europe and Asia. These are the people who put Americans on the moon and watched greats like Joltin’ Joe and Stan the Man when baseball was pure and honest.
This generation of Americans boasts some of the most caring and warm individuals I have ever met. They know suffering, and they know misery. They also know the elation that is victory and the glow that is accomplishment. Never since have Americans faced such a daunting foe, where the threat of defeat came not from brass ineptitude and congressional stupidity, but from the very real threat of being overpowered militarily. It’s hard for people under the age of 50 to imagine that.
There was a point in the war where both the Pacific and European theater looked bleak. Hitler’s forces pushed the allies off the continent to huddle in Britain. The Japanese navy, after crippling the fleet in Pearl Harbor, had the upper hand until a few engagements went horribly wrong for them.
Looking at the ages after those names in the paper this morning, I saw numbers like 88 and 92. Let’s thank them one more time, while we still have the chance. Every year, we lose more and more of them. In another decade, most of them will be gone forever. So thank them, and give them a hug. Let them know the future is in good hands, and that all their sacrifices still mean something.
