Remembering the "Greatest Generation"

JANOSKI, STEVE

Wednesday, November 10, 2010 

On Oct. 23, a monument was dedicated in Fort Lee to commemorate the Battle of the Bulge.

According to an article in The Record, dozens of veterans who fought in that epic battle were on hand for the ceremony, as well as a crowd of about 150, mostly senior citizens.

Assemblywoman Joan Voss, D-Fort Lee, was also in attendance, and her observation on the makeup of the crowd was a disheartening statement to read just a few days before Veterans' Day.

"Where are your grandchildren? Where are your children?" she asked.

Where were they indeed. What could have been more important?

This country has always ignored, forgotten, and neglected its history. We have spit on our veterans, we build condos on our battlefields, and the average American knows so little about history that it makes me wonder exactly how much public schools are worth.

But have we really forgotten World War II already, just 65 years after its end?

As I had written previously, my grandfather, who served in the Pacific Theatre, recently passed away.

This was a stinging reminder that the generation who literally saved the world from the great, enveloping darkness that was Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan is dying, and dying quickly.

Military veterans aside, my generation is a spoiled bunch in comparison. We've faced no great "Great Enemy," never had to storm beaches under hails of flying lead.

The average person's "sacrifices" for the War on Terrorism are nonexistent, and life has continued much like it did for the past two decades for most of us.

That generation was not so fortunate. Instead of throwing baseballs, they threw hand grenades; instead of shooting deer, they shot men.

Their triumph in that war was the one of the great accomplishments in all of human history, and an enduring testament to the will and courage that regular men can exhibit when placed in extraordinary circumstances.

We are here, we are free, because of their actions on those bloody beaches in the South Pacific and the frozen forests of Western Europe, and their actions alone.

My grandmother once told me that she remembered her father, a veteran of the U.S. Artillery during World War I himself, pointing out the veterans of the Spanish-American War during a parade, and telling her to remember them, because there weren't many left.

We are that point now with the World War II vets.

As time takes its cruel toll, the old soldiers' memories fade and their bodies fail. Every day, we are losing more of than just our family members— we are losing our past, and a piece of our identity as Americans.

Some things can bring it back to us.

A couple weeks ago, I held an M-1 Garand, the American rifle that won World War II, in my hands. I put the wood stock close to my cheek, felt the kick of that when it fired, heard the distinctive "ping" of the cartridge ejecting that you heard so often in "Saving Private Ryan."

I tried to imagine shooting it at another soldier in the woods instead of a target at the range. Tried to imagine hitting that person, knowing I ended his life, and then having to do it over and over again.

On Oct. 23, a monument was dedicated in Fort Lee to commemorate the Battle of the Bulge.

According to an article in The Record, dozens of veterans who fought in that epic battle were on hand for the ceremony, as well as a crowd of about 150, mostly senior citizens.

Assemblywoman Joan Voss, D-Fort Lee, was also in attendance, and her observation on the makeup of the crowd was a disheartening statement to read just a few days before Veterans' Day.

"Where are your grandchildren? Where are your children?" she asked.

Where were they indeed. What could have been more important?

This country has always ignored, forgotten, and neglected its history. We have spit on our veterans, we build condos on our battlefields, and the average American knows so little about history that it makes me wonder exactly how much public schools are worth.

But have we really forgotten World War II already, just 65 years after its end?

As I had written previously, my grandfather, who served in the Pacific Theatre, recently passed away.

This was a stinging reminder that the generation who literally saved the world from the great, enveloping darkness that was Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan is dying, and dying quickly.

Military veterans aside, my generation is a spoiled bunch in comparison. We've faced no great "Great Enemy," never had to storm beaches under hails of flying lead.

The average person's "sacrifices" for the War on Terrorism are nonexistent, and life has continued much like it did for the past two decades for most of us.

That generation was not so fortunate. Instead of throwing baseballs, they threw hand grenades; instead of shooting deer, they shot men.

Their triumph in that war was the one of the great accomplishments in all of human history, and an enduring testament to the will and courage that regular men can exhibit when placed in extraordinary circumstances.

We are here, we are free, because of their actions on those bloody beaches in the South Pacific and the frozen forests of Western Europe, and their actions alone.

My grandmother once told me that she remembered her father, a veteran of the U.S. Artillery during World War I himself, pointing out the veterans of the Spanish-American War during a parade, and telling her to remember them, because there weren't many left.

We are that point now with the World War II vets.

As time takes its cruel toll, the old soldiers' memories fade and their bodies fail. Every day, we are losing more of than just our family members— we are losing our past, and a piece of our identity as Americans.

Some things can bring it back to us.

A couple weeks ago, I held an M-1 Garand, the American rifle that won World War II, in my hands. I put the wood stock close to my cheek, felt the kick of that when it fired, heard the distinctive "ping" of the cartridge ejecting that you heard so often in "Saving Private Ryan."

I tried to imagine shooting it at another soldier in the woods instead of a target at the range. Tried to imagine hitting that person, knowing I ended his life, and then having to do it over and over again.

One veteran at the Fort Lee ceremony knows that feeling too well.

"I killed so many men," he said, while shaking his head.

The memories haven't left them. The ones who survived, the lucky ones, as we call them, gave everything to save us. They came out alive and nearly traded their humanity doing it.

So if you've got the time, remember them this Veteran's Day. When the clock tolls at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, and commemorates the German signing of the armistice to end World War I, thank whatever god you want that you were lucky enough to know any of these guys.

George Patton once said, "It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived."

We have the opportunity.

Thank God…but them too.

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