DEFENDING AMERICA
BY DAVID H. HACKWORTH
23 May 2000
"LEST WE FORGET"
Another Memorial Day is upon us. Not that it's that big a deal
to most Americans, who don't seem to understand what this holiday
is all about. But for combat veterans and their families it's
a day of reflection, a time to honor fallen comrades.
As the years pass, M-Day's taken on an even more special meaning
for me. Old pals who back in their young and foolish days were
brave mud soldiers are checking out faster than I want to count.
Almost every week now I get the word that another brother's gone.
Sometimes it's a phone call in the middle of the night, a letter
or an obituary piece I've been sent about a friend I fought alongside.
Each death notice brings pain. Some bring tears. All bring reflection
that dials up the face of a brother I grew to love a long time
ago. A love born from terrible strife where we had the searing
privilege of getting to know each other as few men ever do.
Back then, we thought we were damned to be the chosen few. But
now, so many years later, we know the truth: It was the defining
and most challenging period of our lives.
Together, we saw the elephant.
On the battlefield there's no faking it. A guy is either a good
man who'd die before letting his brothers down or a dud the outfit
figures out how to unload. You get to join The Brotherhood only
if you're trusted, only because you've earned the respect of the
other elephant hunters.
For me, after the shock wears off from hearing the bad news, reason
sets in: "Eventually everyone's going out feet first. My
old friend just beat me by a few ticks."
Next, the process seems to move quickly to the good times shared
and why my pal was so special and why his memory won't disappear
until I do.
Then I'm ringing a brother, giving him word of the death, and
we start in with the old "Remember when ..." jazz, retelling
all the fun stuff about our fallen mate. We never dwell on the
horror or go to the dark side of the moon. Maybe that's how we
keep it together and move on.
Another thought that always comes front and center in my head
is why did Frank or Billy or Phil die now and not me? This was
the question we all silently asked ourselves back on the battlefield
when a comrade didn't get up after a fight. It didn't seem fair
then, and it doesn't now. But whoever said this crap game called
life was fair?
The loved ones of World War II and the Korean vets are hearing
"Taps" played at funerals at the rate of almost 2,000
a day, and now the Vietnam vets are stepping up for their turn
at the death plate. The combat-vet dying business has become a
boom industry and will continue to roar for the next couple of
decades until the ranks are exhausted.
And by then, M-Day might have morphed further into a meaningless
extended-weekend party no longer even momentarily interrupted
by glimpses of flags or sound bites from politicians jawing some
insincere patriotic gobbledygook. Only the still-serving and families
and friends of the departed will still care about what our warriors
went through, the sacrifices they made.
Seems like we're almost there now. Liberty and the good life are
so taken for granted that few folks can be bothered to spend M-Day
remembering -- honoring those who died so we could be free to
do our thing. No one's had to buy a freedom ticket for a long
time, and the living's easy. Minimum wage, Social Security, a
college degree -- all that good American stuff -- are there pretty
much for the asking. No price of admission paid. No respect for
those who did pay. Just gimme gimme gimme.
I'm afraid one of these days soon some fast operator will come
along and try to change Memorial Day into something else. You
know, a name change due to a new sponsor.
Hope you'll kill that ignoble idea quick smart and that you'll
visit a Veterans Home this week and tell those valiant men and
women you haven't forgotten their sacrifices.