Posted on 05/24/2002 9:10:02 AM PDT by rwfok
Last October I took the shuttle to the National Archives annex in College Park, Maryland, to do research on an article on bioterror. I was specifically interested in finding information on the 1916 German anthrax attack on the United States. It was a brilliant, crisp, fall day in the nation's capital, but Pennsylvania Avenue lacked some of its usual bustle. It was two days after the bombing offensive began in Afghanistan, and the feeling of anticipation was palpable.
A gentleman sat in the seat across from me, an older fellow wearing a jacket with the emblem of the 8th Air Force. Two days earlier 8th AF B-52s had begun pounding Taliban targets in Afghanistan. My late uncle had been in that unit in the Second World War, and I asked the man on the shuttle had known him. He had not, but we struck up a conversation. His name was Lyman, an electrical engineer from Arizona. Five and a half decades earlier he had been an Army Air Force turret gunner. I mentioned that my father had flown Mustangs, and Lyman told me about the time he was returning from a mission when a P-51 flew in nearby — the pilot pulled over close, and both men lit up cigarettes. They shared a silent smoke together, and then with a wave the Mustang driver darted away. It was a suitably civilized moment in otherwise difficult circumstances.
I asked Lyman what he was researching. He told me about an event from April 5, 1945. It was late in the European war; Hitler had two weeks to live. Nevertheless, Americans were still flying missions, still risking, and still losing, their lives. It had been a rough day. His bomber had made it back unharmed, but others were not so lucky. Coming across the channel, watching from his crystalline perch, he saw a stricken aircraft from another bomb group ditch. "It stuck in my mind," he said. "I was recently at a memorial for that unit and I saw the name of the pilot. I wanted to know who got out." The gunners would have had an easier time of it, he explained, but the bombardier, the pilot, copilot, and navigator, who were further from the exits, would have faced more difficulty escaping. "They had 15 seconds until the plane sank," he said. "I don't think the rest would have made it."
He told me other stories about the war, falling comfortably into the argot of the airman, which, blessed by birth, I understood. The half-hour's ride passed pleasantly. When we arrived at the archives building, I helped Lyman with the entry paperwork and we set about our respective research. My project was destined to take a few days. He had only one — but he found an able archivist and was soon hot on the trail. I don't know if he found what he was looking for, but I'll wager he did. For those who have not experienced the archives system firsthand, it is phenomenal. One leaves convinced that no government-generated piece of paper has ever been discarded.
I later did some research of my own and learned a few details about that day. The weather over northern Europe was poor for flying, inclement, with a low ceiling. Visibility was so restricted that units had a hard time assembling. Some pilots never found their assembly points and turned back. Many of those who flew on could not find their primaries and had to move to secondary or tertiary targets. It was raining at lower altitudes, and higher up wings began to ice. The flight crews suffered seven hours shivering, mostly breathing through oxygen masks. German fighter planes were mercifully absent over most targets, but many American aircraft faced ground attack. One B-17 was almost home when it ran into trouble, as the after-action report recounted:
Mission #158 April 5, 1945 B-17G 44-8283 B/G "Dinah-Mite" ... Crossing the coast 5-7 miles East of Dunkirk, flak and machine gun fire hit the plane, seriously wounding Harris (B). A fire broke out behind #2 engine and the left aileron was shot out. Share (R) was also wounded. Ditched in the English Channel. At ditching Harris (B) was either dead or near dead. Huntley (CP) apparently never managed to get out. Deines (WG) got out but was holding on the tail section and would not release, saying he could not swim, even though he was wearing a MaeWest [life preserver]. He went down with the tail, still holding on.
Was this the aircraft Lyman was seeking? Perhaps — but many failed to return that day.
So an aircraft ditches, one of thousands lost in the war. A man witnesses the plane go down — and 56 years later, seeks the names of the crewmen, tries to find out who survived and who perished. He has no other purpose than wanting to know. He has voluntarily become the caretaker of their memory, and in so doing, honors them.
Two hundred ninety-two thousand Americans were killed in World War Two. By contrast, fewer than 50 lives have been lost in Operation Enduring Freedom; 22 have been killed in action, 26 lost to accidents and other causes. This is their first Memorial Day, in which they join the countless others who have gone before from all our conflicts, great and small. We remember Army Special Forces Sergeant Vance, killed by an AK-47 round that freakishly found a seam in his body armor. And waist-gunner Deines, who met his end in the chill of the English Channel grasping the tail of his sinking bomber, along with his crewmates Harris and Huntley. There are more such stories than can possibly be recounted, some more or less poignant or pitiable, but all ending in the death of the individuals at the center of the story.
So the tales are told; and we are left with a debt. Not just to preserve the memories of the honored dead, but to live fully the lives they have made possible. Memorial Day is a time to exercise our custodianship of the memories of our fallen, and to reaffirm that of the country for which they fought and died. It is a time to reflect on what it means to be an American, and to ask ourselves if we honor their memory not only this day, but every day.
Somewhere in the Pacific on a lonely island is the tombstone of an American Soldier that says
"Tell them I gave all of my tomorrows, just so they could have today."
This weekend, this Monday, and May 30 are great days to remember the sacrifices of the fighting men and women who have gone before us...but every day is the proper day to remember them.
BUMP!
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