As a child in the Fifties, I was fascinated with all things World War II—the great battles, the inspiring leaders, the movies and documentaries, the books and memorabilia—and I have maintained that interest to this day. I was mesmerized by the stories told by the victorious vets who had come home to start families, to hold civilian jobs, to teach Sunday School and coach Little League baseball teams. They were giants to me then, as much for their heroism as for their evident pride of service and their selfless humility.
They are still giants to me.
Like so many other Americans, my family had a history of service and sacrifice during the war. My uncle, an Army NCO, was wounded at Schofield Barracks on the Dec. 7, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor and its Honolulu environs, giving the nation a Gillis casualty in virtually the opening minutes of World War II. Another uncle was a member of an Air Corps bomber crew who flew dozens of risky missions out of England. My cousin was wounded at the Battle of the Bulge as a member of the Army’s famed 101st Airborne Division. Another cousin died as a Navy pilot in a carrier accident during the Battle of Tarawa. My own father’s forward Air Corps base was bombed during the Aleutian Islands campaign.
My mother worked for the Atlanta office of Western Union during the war years. There were thousands upon thousands of cables sent, many of which bore the dreaded news that a loved one was wounded or missing or killed in action. In fact, my aunt was notified of her pilot husband’s death via a Western Union telegram in what began an unspeakably hard day for her.
My parents’ generation survived the Great Depression and then went on to win World War II. They saved the world from totalitarianism. They faced the veteran armies and navies of the Axis, fought it out in hedgerows and across beaches, in bone-chilling cold and mind-numbing heat. They fought and they won, and in the process freed millions of innocents caught in the slipstream of unprecedented global catastrophe, left tens of thousands of American dead in cemeteries across the Atlantic and Pacific, and then finally packed up their gear and came home.
Sixty years later, they are dying at a rate of 1,000 per day. There will soon come a time when none will be left. Their legacy will survive, a legacy as the Greatest Generation, but their physical presence will disappear. The difference they have made is not just profound, but astonishing. Is there an equal in American history? In world history?
As we approach this Memorial Day, I salute the victors—the members of the armed forces who won it on the ground, in the air, and on the seas; the women and men who supported the war effort back home; the military and political leaders whose wisdom and strength and skill saw the nation through.
You are indeed the Greatest Generation. Thank you and God bless you, and may you never be forgotten.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
A Mother's Day Visit
My 87-year-old mother lives in an assisted-living facility and is in the unyielding grip of Alzheimer’s, moving steadily toward the late stages. She retains some recognition of the names and faces of her immediate family members, but she has difficulty with the specific relationships. She still has a grasp of the concept of family, however, and the deep meaning it still holds for her, even if she can’t quickly resurrect someone’s spot in the family tree.
We visited her on Mother’s Day, bringing milk chocolate which she still indulges with a childlike enthusiasm, and chocolate-chip cookies which also raises her eyebrows and produces a mischievous grin. My son and daughter-in-law brought along their 4-year-old daughter and 8-month-old son, the sight of which instantly relegated the chocolate to insignificance. Those kids brightened her day like nothing else, like they always do. And while she greatly enjoys the adult visitors, nothing transforms her face quite like the visit of one of her great-grandchildren.
Nothing. Not the latest chit-chat nor the cookies nor the resident cat who saunters in for a visit.
We stayed for a little while, and the children warmed to her. She has a heart for kids, and they can sense it. It’s in her eyes. And her smile. And her gentle touch. Even under the circumstances.
When we made ready to leave, she commented on just how special the visit had been for her, how much she had enjoyed it.”We were all together,” she said with evident satisfaction. And it showed on her face, exactly like it would have had the visit been twenty years ago, or forty years ago. I know that expression as clearly as I know anything, as timeless and unchanged as if I myself had been the child.
I was glad for the visit. Glad for her. Glad for us. And especially grateful that her love of family still somehow resides in her mind, and especially in her heart, despite the harshness of her disease.
She’s truly still a gift. Even the kids can somehow see that.
We visited her on Mother’s Day, bringing milk chocolate which she still indulges with a childlike enthusiasm, and chocolate-chip cookies which also raises her eyebrows and produces a mischievous grin. My son and daughter-in-law brought along their 4-year-old daughter and 8-month-old son, the sight of which instantly relegated the chocolate to insignificance. Those kids brightened her day like nothing else, like they always do. And while she greatly enjoys the adult visitors, nothing transforms her face quite like the visit of one of her great-grandchildren.
Nothing. Not the latest chit-chat nor the cookies nor the resident cat who saunters in for a visit.
We stayed for a little while, and the children warmed to her. She has a heart for kids, and they can sense it. It’s in her eyes. And her smile. And her gentle touch. Even under the circumstances.
When we made ready to leave, she commented on just how special the visit had been for her, how much she had enjoyed it.”We were all together,” she said with evident satisfaction. And it showed on her face, exactly like it would have had the visit been twenty years ago, or forty years ago. I know that expression as clearly as I know anything, as timeless and unchanged as if I myself had been the child.
I was glad for the visit. Glad for her. Glad for us. And especially grateful that her love of family still somehow resides in her mind, and especially in her heart, despite the harshness of her disease.
She’s truly still a gift. Even the kids can somehow see that.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Back When America Played To Win
How long has it been since the USA declared to the world that “If We’re In, We Win”?
World War II in the Forties? Has it really been that long?
We gave up thousands of war dead in Korea and settled for a partition. We gave up thousands more dead in Vietnam and then snatched defeat out of the jaws of victory when we lost our political will. We learned that victory on the battlefield was irrelevant. It's all about the politics, and what the elected leaders state as the end objective. And what an expensive lesson that was. And still is.
Colin Powell famously said of Iraq’s infamously inept Republican Guard that “we’re going to cut them off, then we’re going to kill them.” But we didn’t finish. We left the job for what turned out to be another day, where Harry Reid later declared before the surge offensive that the war was lost. And, it seems, he was perfectly okay with it. You win some; you lose some (yawn). Let’s be frank: It’s the real world out there, people. What’s for dinner?
Now we’ve got Libya. It is, we’re told, a humanitarian mission. And we haven’t officially taken sides (of course not; that would be judgmental). The adversaries are seen by the civilized world as the good guys (the rebels) and the bad guys (Gaddafi’s thugs). Gaddafi has a history of killing Americans. But somehow he’s still alive and making mischief. So now we’ve sent American warplanes and launched dozens of missile and drone strikes to kill and maim lots of people and destroy tons of equipment in a non-partisan act of humanitarian ecstasy. Can’t you feel the love? So, if there are no further questions, let’s get back to feeling good about ourselves. But wait—I thought what our sailors and Marines are doing to help our Japanese friends was humanitarian. Or what we did to help out Haiti.
Hey, we have to be careful with American power and how it’s perceived. It’s complicated and nuanced out there. We could offend someone who otherwise wants to blow us into misty pink particles.
What about getting in to win or not getting in at all? I’m not for committing American troops to Libya or anywhere else where the explicitly stated and expected outcome is something other than victory. We win; they lose. It’s ain’t complicated. No ad-hoc “humanitarian” missions that reveal an astonishing amateurism in the very people who send our kids to war.
Thank God George Washington cared about winning. And Lincoln. And Roosevelt. And Petraeus has shown he can win if we’ll let him. But are we so ambivalent about winning or losing that we no longer look at the scoreboard? Is winning so macho, so yesterday? Is it now all about self esteem and image?
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want any of our young Americans in uniform put in harm’s way for any reason other than victory. No stalemates, no setting of arbitrary exit dates and then scampering home, no partitions, no humanitarian missions involving the use of deadly force as its primary tactic.
If we go, we go to win. And our men and women take their orders from American commanders. If not, then stay out.
And leave Libya to the French.
World War II in the Forties? Has it really been that long?
We gave up thousands of war dead in Korea and settled for a partition. We gave up thousands more dead in Vietnam and then snatched defeat out of the jaws of victory when we lost our political will. We learned that victory on the battlefield was irrelevant. It's all about the politics, and what the elected leaders state as the end objective. And what an expensive lesson that was. And still is.
Colin Powell famously said of Iraq’s infamously inept Republican Guard that “we’re going to cut them off, then we’re going to kill them.” But we didn’t finish. We left the job for what turned out to be another day, where Harry Reid later declared before the surge offensive that the war was lost. And, it seems, he was perfectly okay with it. You win some; you lose some (yawn). Let’s be frank: It’s the real world out there, people. What’s for dinner?
Now we’ve got Libya. It is, we’re told, a humanitarian mission. And we haven’t officially taken sides (of course not; that would be judgmental). The adversaries are seen by the civilized world as the good guys (the rebels) and the bad guys (Gaddafi’s thugs). Gaddafi has a history of killing Americans. But somehow he’s still alive and making mischief. So now we’ve sent American warplanes and launched dozens of missile and drone strikes to kill and maim lots of people and destroy tons of equipment in a non-partisan act of humanitarian ecstasy. Can’t you feel the love? So, if there are no further questions, let’s get back to feeling good about ourselves. But wait—I thought what our sailors and Marines are doing to help our Japanese friends was humanitarian. Or what we did to help out Haiti.
Hey, we have to be careful with American power and how it’s perceived. It’s complicated and nuanced out there. We could offend someone who otherwise wants to blow us into misty pink particles.
What about getting in to win or not getting in at all? I’m not for committing American troops to Libya or anywhere else where the explicitly stated and expected outcome is something other than victory. We win; they lose. It’s ain’t complicated. No ad-hoc “humanitarian” missions that reveal an astonishing amateurism in the very people who send our kids to war.
Thank God George Washington cared about winning. And Lincoln. And Roosevelt. And Petraeus has shown he can win if we’ll let him. But are we so ambivalent about winning or losing that we no longer look at the scoreboard? Is winning so macho, so yesterday? Is it now all about self esteem and image?
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want any of our young Americans in uniform put in harm’s way for any reason other than victory. No stalemates, no setting of arbitrary exit dates and then scampering home, no partitions, no humanitarian missions involving the use of deadly force as its primary tactic.
If we go, we go to win. And our men and women take their orders from American commanders. If not, then stay out.
And leave Libya to the French.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
An Athens State of Mind
Fall Saturdays in Athens, Georgia are simply incomparable. To my mind, there is no better place on earth than a football Saturday in the Classic City. I’ve been to lots of foreign countries and most of the USA states, and Athens is easily my place of choice when it’s time to tee it up between those famous green hedges.
Spring Saturdays aren’t half bad, either. Not quite the same, mind you, but there’s enough of the beauty and nostalgia of my alma mater to keep pulling me back. It was G-Day last Saturday, and the Dawgs were out there in full gear for their annual spring game. The play was spirited, and there were 43,000 of us who had nothing better to do than to tailgate and cheer on the boys. As usual, I’m confident we’re on the verge of a national championship. Why not the Bulldogs? Somebody’s gotta win it. May as well be us.
My legs and the tops of my ears are still sunburned, but who cares about a little discomfort? And who cares that it’s not actually football season?
My parking-lot friends and I are coming up on our 31st season together. Our “CEO” arrives very early and leaves late, making sure his charges have a place to park. Many of our kids have grown up and are now raising kids of their own. We often remark how cool it would be if one of the kids or grandkids someday donned the Red & Black and fought it out in Sanford Stadium for UGA. Some of our parents have passed, and not all of us are as healthy as we were back in '81. We’ve had our share of surgeries and scares, successes and failures, good luck and bad, but we still keep coming back to embellish the old stories and to share the new ones with great anticipation. We get giddy when we win and cranky when we lose, and there’s always the next game to point to.
But most of all, we care about each other, like a family—a Georgia Bulldog family!—and I wouldn’t trade the friendships for all the under-the-table money at—hey, wait, I have to remember nothing’s been proven yet.
Great friends, great memories, strong bonds. The 30 years have passed all too quickly. Seems like only yesterday our kids were young and our backs didn’t hurt as much after a long day. My wife and I sometimes wonder how many more seasons we can continue to do this.
Ah, c’mon. It’s the Dawgs. It’s a new season. Suck it up. Heck, we can win it all.
Can’t wait ‘till Fall.
Spring Saturdays aren’t half bad, either. Not quite the same, mind you, but there’s enough of the beauty and nostalgia of my alma mater to keep pulling me back. It was G-Day last Saturday, and the Dawgs were out there in full gear for their annual spring game. The play was spirited, and there were 43,000 of us who had nothing better to do than to tailgate and cheer on the boys. As usual, I’m confident we’re on the verge of a national championship. Why not the Bulldogs? Somebody’s gotta win it. May as well be us.
My legs and the tops of my ears are still sunburned, but who cares about a little discomfort? And who cares that it’s not actually football season?
My parking-lot friends and I are coming up on our 31st season together. Our “CEO” arrives very early and leaves late, making sure his charges have a place to park. Many of our kids have grown up and are now raising kids of their own. We often remark how cool it would be if one of the kids or grandkids someday donned the Red & Black and fought it out in Sanford Stadium for UGA. Some of our parents have passed, and not all of us are as healthy as we were back in '81. We’ve had our share of surgeries and scares, successes and failures, good luck and bad, but we still keep coming back to embellish the old stories and to share the new ones with great anticipation. We get giddy when we win and cranky when we lose, and there’s always the next game to point to.
But most of all, we care about each other, like a family—a Georgia Bulldog family!—and I wouldn’t trade the friendships for all the under-the-table money at—hey, wait, I have to remember nothing’s been proven yet.
Great friends, great memories, strong bonds. The 30 years have passed all too quickly. Seems like only yesterday our kids were young and our backs didn’t hurt as much after a long day. My wife and I sometimes wonder how many more seasons we can continue to do this.
Ah, c’mon. It’s the Dawgs. It’s a new season. Suck it up. Heck, we can win it all.
Can’t wait ‘till Fall.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Out With The Old, In With The New
I ‘m having a new deck built at my home. My son and I built the old deck 16 years ago, so it was time for a new one. I asked the contractors to prepare their bids under the assumption that I would take down the old deck, and thus they could anticipate a clean construction site when they showed up to start the project.
I was involved in building the old version, so I should be able to take it down, right? The technical term is “demo,” in case you’re wondering. I can do demo. Done if before on other projects. At this point in my life, I can do demo better than I can build anew.
Well, I just spent the past several days up to my backside in the fine art of demo. Crow bar, sledge hammer, claw hammer . . . those are the technical terms for the tools we use in demo. There were lots of boards, lots and lots of exposed nails, and once everything was on the ground, those same boards (with those same nails) had to be transported to the dumpster. The thought crossed my mind more than once that a visit to the ER would easily negate the project savings I was otherwise hoping to realize. Besides, I really didn’t want to demo a body part, vital or not.
Two spider bites, three bruises, four skin tears, and several thousand Advil tablets later, I’m happy to report that I upheld my end of the bargain. I did it. I took it down. With no ER trips, no loss of body parts.
The contractor showed up this morning, and by the end of the day the new deck was framed and boarded. They loaded their nail guns with magazines of nails, much like a rifleman. Bang, bang, bang, and soon the deck’s up. My son and I had no nail guns. We did it the old analog way.
And I took it down the old analog way. Nothing new-age about it. Leverage, pressure here and there, throw it on a pile, and walk it to the dumpster.
And a hot bath afterwards.
Kinda thinking now that any future request for bids might not include me doing the demo.
I was involved in building the old version, so I should be able to take it down, right? The technical term is “demo,” in case you’re wondering. I can do demo. Done if before on other projects. At this point in my life, I can do demo better than I can build anew.
Well, I just spent the past several days up to my backside in the fine art of demo. Crow bar, sledge hammer, claw hammer . . . those are the technical terms for the tools we use in demo. There were lots of boards, lots and lots of exposed nails, and once everything was on the ground, those same boards (with those same nails) had to be transported to the dumpster. The thought crossed my mind more than once that a visit to the ER would easily negate the project savings I was otherwise hoping to realize. Besides, I really didn’t want to demo a body part, vital or not.
Two spider bites, three bruises, four skin tears, and several thousand Advil tablets later, I’m happy to report that I upheld my end of the bargain. I did it. I took it down. With no ER trips, no loss of body parts.
The contractor showed up this morning, and by the end of the day the new deck was framed and boarded. They loaded their nail guns with magazines of nails, much like a rifleman. Bang, bang, bang, and soon the deck’s up. My son and I had no nail guns. We did it the old analog way.
And I took it down the old analog way. Nothing new-age about it. Leverage, pressure here and there, throw it on a pile, and walk it to the dumpster.
And a hot bath afterwards.
Kinda thinking now that any future request for bids might not include me doing the demo.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Ten Welcomed Phrases
1. He (she) is out of surgery and is doing well.
2. Thank you so much, it's exactly what I wanted.
3. Welcome to Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.
4. I loved your book, and it keeps staying with me.
5. My fellow Americans, I am happy to report that all objectives have been met and hostilities have now ceased.
6. Hi Dad, we made it home okay.
7. The injury to (Georgia player, any player) doesn't appear to be serious.
8. Your offer has been accepted.
9. Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the national anthem.
10. Yes, of course! (Left to your own imagination)
2. Thank you so much, it's exactly what I wanted.
3. Welcome to Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.
4. I loved your book, and it keeps staying with me.
5. My fellow Americans, I am happy to report that all objectives have been met and hostilities have now ceased.
6. Hi Dad, we made it home okay.
7. The injury to (Georgia player, any player) doesn't appear to be serious.
8. Your offer has been accepted.
9. Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the national anthem.
10. Yes, of course! (Left to your own imagination)
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Ten Undesirable Phrases
10. “Sorry, sir. No credit cards. Cash only.” (Restaurant cashier)
9. “Tonight we’re conducting a survey on . . . ” (Telemarketer)
8. “Due to the current high call volumes, we estimate your wait to be . . .” (Technical support)
7. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” (Highway patrolman)
6. “You’re not going to like this, but when we got in there, we found . . .” (Auto mechanic)
5. “It will pay for itself.” (Politician)
4. “And all lanes are blocked.” (Radio traffic report)
3. “This is the Captain speaking. We have a little problem, but we hope to get it corrected and be underway shortly.” (Airline pilot)
2. “The Dow Jones is in freefall.” (TV newscaster)
1. "Good grief! I haven't seen one like that before." (Physician)
9. “Tonight we’re conducting a survey on . . . ” (Telemarketer)
8. “Due to the current high call volumes, we estimate your wait to be . . .” (Technical support)
7. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” (Highway patrolman)
6. “You’re not going to like this, but when we got in there, we found . . .” (Auto mechanic)
5. “It will pay for itself.” (Politician)
4. “And all lanes are blocked.” (Radio traffic report)
3. “This is the Captain speaking. We have a little problem, but we hope to get it corrected and be underway shortly.” (Airline pilot)
2. “The Dow Jones is in freefall.” (TV newscaster)
1. "Good grief! I haven't seen one like that before." (Physician)
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