In the olden days of the blawgosphere, we typically recognized holidays. Not that there’s much of a blawgosphere anymore, but to the extent there is, holidays seem to pass without remark. But today is Veterans Day, and I would be remiss if I let it pass unnoticed. There are people out there who have chosen to willingly put their lives at risk so the rest of us can argue over nonsense and sleep at night.
My father was one of them, fighting in World War II and, later, serving as public affairs officer for the Lake Worth Inlet Coast Guard station as an auxiliarist until he was 89 years of age. He was one of the few people wearing a CG aux uniform with a combat infantryman’s badge above his Purple Heart.
My father hated war. I mean, hated it with a passion. He knew what it was and he knew the horrors of war up close. But he also knew that the best way to avoid war was strength, to have a military that was strong enough that no one could beat it, and so no one would try. And he also knew that when war was thrust upon you, the swiftest and most effective way to end it was to respond with overwhelming strength and bring it to a close. To do otherwise was to reward the warmonger and invite more war. And he hated war.
He still mourned for the comrades he lost.
I have never been in the military, though my father had always hoped I would go to a service academy. At the time, it wasn’t for me. It was a different time, and I was not prepared to cut my hair. But over time, I’ve come to appreciate my father’s views, as well as his first-hand understanding of war that I only understood from afar during my protests against Vietnam.
American politicians have made some dubious decisions with regard to putting American soldiers in harm’s way since then. And as a result, Americans have died for these poor choices. But they did so willingly, not because they necessarily believed that the battle they were in was necessary, or even proper, but because they placed honor and duty above their personal safety or beliefs. They took an oath to support and defend the Constitution, and they meant it.
Thank you, veterans, for putting yourselves at risk for me, for my family, for our nation. On this Veterans Day, I think of you and I salute you. You have protected America and our Constitution from attack before, and your successors will be called upon to stand up for our Constitution again. Thank you.
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SHG, I learn something new and impressive about your father every time you pen an item about his service. Thanks to him, as well as the now-gone men of my own family (themselves veterans of WW1, WW2 and the Korean War I mean “Conflict”) we get to enjoy liberty and its fleeting existence for yet another day. So thank you for sharing. Please keep up this tradition, blawgosphere be damned.
Scott,
Bit of a digression, but ties into Veterans Day and your Dad’s CIB.
In the mid 80’s (1986?) I was demonstrating some computer equipment at a trade show on Ft. Bragg. A guy stopped by the booth, and we spoke for a few minutes about the portable computer we were showing. I noticed that he wore parachute wings and a CIB, but no other awards/ decorations. After he moved on, a guy from the next booth came over and asked if I knew w/ whom I’d been speaking. I’d already forgotten the name on the uniform and replied, “No”.
He said “That was Bob Howard”. The name meant nothing to me, but I could tell this guy was in awe of Howard and later did some research. Howard had been w/ 5SFG and MACV-SOG, in the 4.5 years he was in VN, he was wounded more than a dozen times. He’d earned eight purple hearts and the CIB, and been awarded four Bronze Stars, a Silver Star, a DSC, a bunch of other medals, and the Congressional Medal of Honor.
He could have worn a chestful of medals, yet the only award that adorned his uniform was the CIB. I’ve spent enough time around the military to know that among many service members the CIB is considered the only award that really means anything. Obviously, that doesn’t hold true for all, and reflects a certain disdain for Napoleon’s “bits of ribbon” and more than a whiff of self deprecation, but the CIB is afforded a degree of respect that approaches reverence.
Years later, I heard a guy from 7SFG say that Howard was “As hard as woodpecker lips”. The embodiment of Orwell’s “rough men”. I give thanks for men like Bob Howard, your father, and all those who fought for this country.
My grandmother had 4 of her sons serve during WWII. They all came back, my father on a hospital ship. VE day happened when the ship was halfway home.
I have his Purple Heart, CIB, 26th Yankee Division and 3rd Army (Patton) patches, and other patches and ribbons. I will be passing them along to my son, along with the Flag from his funeral. He passed away 69 years to the day after he was wounded.
My grandfathers were already established in their fields and had children by the time war broke out. They were first in line for deferments. One did accounting for wartime production at a manufacturer. The other farmed and taught at a two-room schoolhouse. And they both died before I got to kindergarten. I had great uncles who fought in WWII, but I never got to know them all that well.
I did, however, get to know my wife’s grandfather when he was a young 84 years old. He never talked about the war (even to his own children). His quietness on the topic ended at a young 90 years of age when I asked him about what unit he was with in the Pacific.
He began to talk. He started from the beginning. He told me about how he wanted to avoid the infantry, so he went to engineering school. He told me about how FDR cancelled the program in 1943. And then he told me about the long train to California.
What unit was he with? It was complicated. They kept moving them around. It was the 81st Infantry and then it was the something something anti-tank battalion. It was infantry, but it landing vehicles one day and something else the next day. And they went everywhere. To Peleliu and the Philippines… somewhere in between or before that. He hated every minute of it. My father-in-law, standing at the island, listened. He had never heard any of this before. All he knew was that they went to reunions every five years. And then every ten years. And then it stopped because there were too few who could make the trip.
He told me that the island hopping was nearly as bad as the fighting. They never knew what awaited them at the next island. And then he told me about how they got orders to Okinawa. And he told me about Okinawa. Good God, Okinawa. As a 110 pound radioman, he was always at the front but never fighting… until Okinawa. He was fighting the weight of the radio as bombs and bullets flew both directions. Everyone was fighting because the alternative was dying.
He told me about being on Okinawa the day FDR died and how his lieutenant gathered a few sergeants to tell them the news. The first response? “Who gives a fuck?” They had other things to worry about.
And he told me about how after it was all over he went back to school, got a degree, and went on with his life.
He died earlier today at 101.95 years of age. I’ll miss him.
May your father rest in peace. And, at long last, may T/4 John McCann rest in peace.
Amen.
My father and 3 of his brothers served in WWII. One was on the Reuben James and was lost before Pearl Harbor. One was a for- real mukeskinner in Burma. Another fought in the Med, while my father was in the Pacific.
One more son went to Korea, and fought at the Chosin Reservoir. He had nightmares about it till he died, a few years ago.
I was the only grandchild to enter the service. US Navy nuclear engineer at the end of the Vietnam War in 1972, for 6 years It was very educational, in many, many ways, and I think that it is important to have as many, and as wide a variety as possible, of veterans in society. We need this in order to survive.
Si vis pacem, para bellum.