The Heroics of Being Alive, Part 3
The Heroics
Author’s Note: Friends, for the past several years, I’ve made a point of adding or updating an essay about my father’s military service and posting it around Memorial Day. What began as a short remembrance of my dad, who was a reluctant soldier, has grown substantially. I add to it each year, including this year. Despite its expanding, I fear we still haven’t come to any conclusions. But we’ll keep trying, if for no other reason than because my father deeply disliked being a soldier and perhaps he’d appreciate my attempts to come to terms with this part of my family history.
So, this year, we’ll present you this new updated essay in five parts – Today, Part Three, is titled The Heroics. Link here for Part One: The Ceremony. Link here for Part Two: The Romance. I leave judgement to you all and post without further comment.
Part 3: The Heroics
A couple years ago, I happened to find myself at the New Hampshire Veterans Home in Tilton, giving a presentation on Mount Washington. Facing a solid wall of about 100 vets, men and women of various ages, most wearing patches or hats signifying their station, many in wheelchairs, I talked about that mountain and I included its role in World War II. For the most part, everyone honored me by staying awake.
But after, a few members of the audience stayed behind to chat, and we gathered around at table – about a half dozen of us - and I asked each of them this: “Tell me about the thing that happened to you during your service that you best remember.”
Here’s some of the stories they told me;
-A story about being in Korea, being cold and gray, and coming upon the dead bodies of three Korean men, each wrapped in filthy clothes and blankets. The American soldiers tried to take the blankets off the men for their own warmth, but the smell was too awful. “I told the men, just take these guys and toss them in the fire. We couldn’t just leave them here.”
-A woman told me the story about how when she signed up, the Marines didn’t allow women to be combat soldiers so she was stuck doing office work. One of the women in the office got pregnant, which was not allowed, and when it was found out they put the baby in an orphanage and gave her a dishonorable discharge. “They came in, cleaned out her desk and walked her to the gate. They shut it behind her, turned around and walked away.”
-A younger vet told me about the time he was stationed at Fort Devens in Massachusetts, and he never saw combat. What he did do though was drive supply trucks from base to base throughout New England and he recalled the first time he saw Mount Washington. “I just kept staring at it out my window and going slower and slower, until I realized I was barely moving. I looked out my rear view and there’s 50 cars lined up behind me! Me and the guys had a good laugh over that.”
Another man told me about his time in Rome, petting the stray cats. One said he had an easier time in the service then being a taxi driver in Boston. And one older woman, with a dreadful cough and teary eyes, wouldn’t talk at all about her service, just saying over and over again how she wished she could hike a mountain.
No tales of glory.
Give vets some space and an honest ear, and the stories you will hear are deeply personal and human; tiny core moments that they have carried in their hearts for decades. Many will bring up comrades in arms. Some will talk about the places they were stationed. A few will mention food. Almost none, like my uncle, will talk about the hurt.
And heroics? Not so much. Still, I think to myself, maybe THAT is heroic, maybe doing the best you can for an imperfect country that often asks too much from you and just coming home with your dignity and sanity intact… Maybe that’s heroic.
Tomorrow, Part 4: The Pride
War. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. (1969-Motown-Temptations)
There is a song called "The Hero or Antelope's Run" from a flik singer of long ago. It tells the story of one "hero" who just did what he had to do, what he could do and was in the place to do it. You can listen to here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNygmubVW3s
The fact is the song gets it right. Most "heroes" are just doing what they need to do when circumstance hits. They don't consider themselves heroes, they just did what they needed to do. Those that SEEK to be heroes, well they are often not around to tell their story.
My grandfather was like your father. He served but didn't talk about it. My grandmother told me all kinds of stories and I'm sure SHE made them all up, because HE would not say a word about it. Because in his mind he was not a hero. He did what he had to do to keep himself and his brothers in arms alive during the hell that was the island hopping campaign of the Pacific in WWII.