Honor Flight
Dear Louie,
On November 3, I was privileged to travel with my son Tim, a Naval Veteran, on the Honor Flight to Washington, D.C., as a guest of the program for WWII veterans, where we visited the WWII Memorial, among other sites.
The trip was remarkable in content, organization, and, most impressively, in the participation of, yes, thousands of interested men, women, and children, who stood in greeting to us at Milwaukee’s Mitchell Field and Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C.
The flight originated at Mitchell Field at 5 a.m. with registration, pictures, and ID cards for the day. Think of 200 hundred old men in all states of health, each with an associate, a “Guardian” for the day. The veterans in blue jackets and gray hair; guardians in red jackets—some were young men or women, some middle-aged, but all were most attentive to the very elderly veterans.
Jim with son Tim and Tim’s daughter-in-law, Rita (who was living in D.C. at the time)
Simple arithmetic places those veterans in the mid-eighties to mid-nineties in age; not so simple an observation places the veterans in a mode of attention and appreciation for a time to again recall and think of the years gone by, of the friends of yesteryear, and the events associated with the years between 1941 and 1945 when “all were young.”
And of course, to recall those who were never privileged to grow old and be able to recall.
After checking in, registration was painless; entertainment by singing groups in the concourse helped pass the time until the flight took off. It was impressive to see alert men in their eighties and nineties, all aware of the opportunity this late-life event offered. There was no sleeping, confusion, or inattention; for that moment, all were young again, and somewhat anxious and troubled to find the “hurry up and wait” still the order of the day, seventy-some years after the fact.
Finally, the flight took off for D.C. Two planes, each with 100 veterans and 100 guardians, flew to Washington in one hour and 30 minutes, where many recalled railroad trips across the country in the forties, measured in days, sometimes weeks.
Introductions were made, and conversations began, revealing years of events, lives so varied, and memories again stirred by mutual recall. All became aware that heroes were among us, but most were of a common type: just guys caught up in the events of the forties, living out their lives fashioned by the “luck of the draw.”
Again noted was the fact that “heroes were not made” but just happened, again by the “luck of the draw.” Mature judgment among the “old veterans” concluded that competition for stories could not compete with awareness of our present longevity, a God-given benefit. For all of us, this flight was a benefit organized by remarkable people. The day was designed as a Rewards Program for a group, all of whom were humbled by the experience.
We arrived at Dallas International, disembarked onto a people mover, and were transported to the receiving area. There, amazingly, we were met by at least 1,000 men, women, and children. They lined the halls, greeted us with smiles and handshakes, and thanked each veteran “for your service.” The greeting repetition was initially embarrassing until one realized it was truly sincere.
Small boys and bright little four and five-year-old girls smiled and greeted us individually, repetitiously, and with genuine sincerity. Boy Scouts, youth groups, fathers and mothers, widows and widowers all thanked us and wished us well. A politician’s rush was experienced through handshaking and recognition.
The reception was unexpected but gratifying.
From there, we boarded the buses, and our trip began. The weather was chilly, the day overcast. All initial activities were in the Mall of Washington. All were confined to the Mall between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial; the initial memorial was the Memorial of the 2nd World War, our connection to the past. It is the newest and is recognized as the Jewel of the Mall. This memorial was long in the making but was finally completed and is a fitting memorial to the 15 million servicemen and women of the era.
We spent some time walking about, looking, and appreciating our private thoughts. Group pictures were taken, and quiet private conversations with the Guardians revealed many unspoken thoughts of the past. The Memorial will serve future generations and be instrumental in future war-prevention activities.
Following the World War II Memorial, we spent minutes to hours at the Korean Memorial, the hallowed memorial to the “police action” of the early fifties. This memorial was spiritually spooky-- the setting is on a downslope, about two acres, of low hedges, green in nature; and interspersed are gray, slate gray figures of soldiers walking through the bushes, with rifle, bazooka arms, each soldier is clothed in a slate gray pancho from head to ankles, each is attentive and sad, is observant, cautious and fearful.
Alongside the field is an eight-foot granite wall with etchings of the faces and countenances of soldiers who served in Korea; the images are now etched in perpetuity on the wall. Rumor has it that soldiers who had served in Korea had located their pictures in the etchings.
The atmosphere of this Memorial was haunting, and on that cold November day, shivers up and down the back were noted. Haunting, chilling, somber, and sadly felt were the moments at the Korean site.
The sadness was prolonged this day when the Vietnam Memorial was revisited. That hallowed walkway of 57,000 names etched in walls of shiny granite, serving as a walkway for women, children, and now what might have been grandchildren of all those victims of such foolish actions of our leaders, such a time of slaughter and degradation of fine young men; a time of death, a time of mashing and smashing of our youths with no reason for such violence and no hope of retrieval of lost bodies and souls in the deltas of Southeast Asia.
I was reminded of one of my patients who had been a lost soul until one Saturday afternoon, he rid himself of his Vietnam horrors by reliving the bodybag details he had made into the jungles of torture. I have written previously of his ablution of detail when he poured out his memories of soul-losing detail. And on this Saturday afternoon, I looked at the 57,000 names on the Vietnam Memorial walls.
We next visited the National Cemetery, where hundreds of thousands of servicemen now lie alongside Jack Kennedy’s Perpetual Flame. There, we viewed the Changing of the Guard.
Then, a bus tour of the area, boarding of the return plane, somber thoughts and quiet talk, and finally takeoff, a flight of an hour and a half, interrupted by “Mail Call,” an unexpected treat during which we received letters from our wives, children, friends, and neighbors.
What a wonderful send-off from the memories of Washington.
The plane home was quiet; the backs of the veterans' hands were moist with tears, with thoughts of what had been, and with the recall of times when family might have been allowed a closer insight into past lives and experiences.
What a day, what a privilege to again be young of heart but old of limb.
The older one gets, the more appreciative they are of a “pat on the back.”
And to think that the best was yet to come on arrival at Mitchell Field, there to be met by four or five thousand folks, by family, friends, and just plain people who took time from a Saturday night to come down and see a cadre of old men who had by the “Luck of the Draw” served, survived, and fortunate to live in this country, the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
What an honor to have loved, to have served, and now to experience honor.
What a day, Louie. What a day.
Jim.
Are you interested in finding out more about the Stars and Stripes Honor Flight Program?
Stars and Stripes Wisconsin has additional information if you’d like to donate to the program
or apply to fly (as a veteran or guardian).
