I don’t post much of a substantive nature on FR anymore. The site is wrought with factions. And I have neither the time, the wherewithal, nor the inclination, to deal with the inevitable sniping, ad hominem attacks, and accusations that invariably result from any opinion, well thought out or not.
But your post rates a response. Unlike you however, I don’t crank these things out. Lately such reflections come at great effort for reasons of which I’m sure you are all too aware.
I had breakfast with a friend of mine yesterday. I hadn’t seen him since Memorial Day. We ran into each other that morning at Bellevue Cemetery in Ontario, CA – where I normally go on that weekend to honor the fallen and pay my respects to Tom Eckl (196th Lt. Inf. Bde., KIA 20 February 1968, Kontum Province, Republic of Vietnam) who is buried there.
Normally, he brings the whole family with him. And this year was no exception but for one notable absentee member. His oldest son, Christopher, was missing. This was unusual, because the young man had always shown up for such things. Not that day. When I asked about this, his father told me Chris was at Fort Benning, GA, having enlisted in the Army after he graduated high school. As his father told it, his intent was to take Airborne AIT, and upon successful completion of that course, volunteer for Ranger training.
I was astonished. The kid was something of an underachiever. He was very quiet. I always chalked this up to the typical teenage phenomenon of having nothing to say around adults. He didn’t have much ambition or direction. But he had a quiet fascination with all things military. He never got enough of Saving Private Ryan or Band of Brothers. And when I came back from Europe last year, he bombarded me with questions about Normandy, Holland, Belgium, Germany, indeed, all the places I had seen during the 60th anniversary of D-Day tour.
My first thought, in talking with his father that day was, “My God, what have I done?” What level of influence did I bring to this young man that resulted in such a significant decision? I had always been the token Vietnam veteran in an otherwise upscale Southern California area dominated by doctors, lawyers, corporate executives, liberals all, and nary a veteran among them. I had been the only one who wore a plethora of lapel pins at semi-formal functions in the area – 101st Airborne pin, jump wings, Vietnam campaign pin, CIB, everything I had. And until this May, I discounted that such displays had any impact on him at all. Yesterday I got clarification on the role I played in his decision.
His father assured me that Chris was taking stock in his situation since January. He concluded (correctly, I believe) that his prospects were limited. He was not college material, at least not at this time. His job prospects, with no education or skills, were equally bleak. At the same time, he had this passion to be part of something special. Additionally, he wanted to do something significant.
So, I had but a small role to play in the recent turn of events. All the same, if anything happens to him when he gets deployed, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that I’ll have more blood on my hands. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. And for this, there can be no absolution.
His father went on to point out that the family is in what can be only described as a general state of denial about the whole thing. Particularly his mother. It’s like they haven’t digested the gravity of his decision or its consequences. And that’s the one area that I strongly encouraged them to come to terms with. They need to sit down as a family and have the serious talk. They need to come to terms with the inherent risks and dangers their son and brother has taken on. If the worst happens, and he does not come home, the consequences for ignoring this harsh reality can be catastrophic.
Now, how does this relate to the greatest generation?, you may ask. I’ll tell you. During my month in Europe last June, I talked to every WWII veteran I could. And beyond that, I talked to their wives. And each and every one of them reflected on how they knew they were putting their lives on the line. They knew they might never come back. They knew the pain of that loss for surviving family members would be devastating. And each and every one of them knew that it had to be done. There was no question, and there was no compromise. And that the consequences for failure at that time, and in those places, would be a dark age not seen in the world since the days of the Black Death.
That sentiment, that commitment, resonated from one end of this country to the other. And that’s the great difference between then and now.
When I drive through their seven-figure neighborhood, I now notice that theirs is the only home with an American flag flying from the house. Theirs is the only home that flies the Army banner. And theirs is the only family that gets snide remarks from the neighbors, the local high school, and local merchants who do business with the father, even the mail carrier.
They have joined a minority group. They are among the select few who will soon have a loved one deployed. And they are quickly discovering that the rest of the community not only does not care, but is not touched by the conflict that the country is facing. And that’s another great difference between then and now.
This family is getting dragged out of its comfortable, secure, seven-figure lifestyle. They now have to live with a nagging sense of worry. And it will grow when their son and brother gets deployed. In this, they will be quite alone. They will not only have to endure this amidst the contempt of their neighbors, but with their indifference as well. And that is perhaps the unkindest cut of all.
Among the families of fighting men, the current commitment to the task at hand rivals that of the greatest generation in WWII. But the days when we can expect that level of solidarity on a national level are gone. The culture we’ve created will not support it. And the politicians do not have the spine to demand it, because it would upset their nice, comfortable constituency that provides them with the almost limitless power they so enjoy. And that applies to both parties, across the board.
With the level of commitment of the WWII generation, the U.S. could not fail. American fighting men crossed beaches from Guadalcanal to Normandy and beyond. They engaged a determined, ferocious, often suicidal enemy and beat them back again and again. Part of that, indeed most of it, was due to what the men were made of. But a lot of it had to do with the fact that the nation – the entire nation – was united behind them.
Without that level of commitment, the war on terror is little more than a soundbite on the evening news, conveniently sandwiched in between sports and weather, to be taken in, considered, and discarded. Fade to black. And now some scenes from next week’s show. And the flag-draped coffin will come home to somebody else’s house, not ours.
I will do what I can in the coming months. But as you know, I have problems of my own, and they are severe. Just how much support I can give them remains to be seen.
And if this post was not long enough, I’ve enclosed some images from the D-Day Memorial Ceremony at Pointe du Hoc on June 6 of last year. Take a good look at them. We’ll never see their like again.
Forgive me, Joanie. I’m having a very bad day today.
Bud Lomell. D Co., 2nd Rangers, 6 June 2004.
Ranger veterans of Pointe du Hoc. D+60 years.
Memorial Ceremony, Pointe du Hoc, June 6, 2004.