Touch the Names of Those Who Never Came Home By Jerry Cianciolo
http://www.wsj.com/articles/touch-the-names-of-those-who-never-came-home-1432332593
Seventy years after World War II’s end, this Memorial Day would be a fitting time to visit a local monument.
World War II memorials—who notices them anymore? They blend into the background like telephone poles.
Chances are your community has a tribute to local men and women who served, but it’s likely you’ve never stopped to visit. Those who fought the Axis powers are out of mind now. “In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life,” said Robert Frost. “It goes on.”
Still, it’s unbefitting that as we pass their chiseled names we fail to acknowledge these patriots for even an instant—especially on Memorial Day 2015, the 70th year after the end of World War II. From high-school history, we’re all familiar with the vast numbers. More than 400,000 Americans were killed during the war. Another 670,000 were maimed or wounded. They came from nearly every city and town. And they fell by the tens of thousands at Luzon, Normandy, Anzio, Guadalcanal and Okinawa.
“Deeply regret to inform you that your son Sgt. John S— lost his life on March 5th 1943, as the result of an aircraft accident. Letter follows. Please accept my profound sympathy.” Mothers and fathers receiving a telegram like that felt they couldn’t go on—but they did. The remains of many loved ones were never returned home. Instead they were laid to rest at cemeteries in Manila, Normandy, Luxembourg and elsewhere.
It wasn’t long after V-E and V-J days in 1945 that thousands of tributes sprang up—in bronze plaques, streaming fountains and granite obelisks. But seven decades have passed since the commemoration of these memorials and to most of us now they’re simply the flag-festooned backdrop for parades and political speeches in late May and early July. When the occasion calls for it, we solemnly remove our hats and pay homage to the “ultimate sacrifice” these countrymen made. But that’s a hollow abstraction until put in everyday terms.
Many young combatants who, as the English poet Laurence Binyon wrote, “fell with their faces to the foe” never set foot on campus. They never straightened a tie and headed to a first real job. They never slipped a ring on a sweetheart’s finger. They never swelled with hope turning the key to a starter home. They never nestled an infant against a bare chest. They never roughhoused in the living room with an exasperated wife looking on. They never tiptoed to lay out Santa’s toys. They never dabbed a tear while walking their princess down the aisle. They never toasted their son’s promotion. They never rekindled their love as empty nesters. They never heard a new generation cry out, “I love you, grandpa!”
A lifetime of big and little moments never happened because of a bullet to the body one day in a far-off land. For those who crumpled to the ground, the tapestry of life was left unknit. Early on after the war we bowed our heads at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Their loss was raw then. But as years have passed all that’s left are memorials no one notices—rolling credits we ignore as we go about our lives.
But on Memorial Day, we can make a different choice. A moment’s reflection is all it takes to realize that every name on your town’s monument was a real person. One who bicycled the same streets as you, who sleepily delivered the morning Gazette, who was kept after school for cutting up, who sneaked a smoke out back, who cannon-balled into the local pond in the dog days of summer.
With just a little imagination, it’s easy to picture yourself as one of those fresh-faced youngsters—only you’ve been blessed with an additional 15,000 or 20,000 mornings, afternoons and evenings of life, and a warehouse of experiences they were denied.
It’s some consolation that a majestic memorial to those who fought the good fight now stands in Washington. But most of us don’t visit the capital often. There’s a simpler, more personal way we can show our gratitude to those whose lives were cut short. On Memorial Day—with your smartphone turned off—pay a visit to your local monument. Quietly stand before the honor roll of the dead, whisper a word of thanks, and gently rub your finger across their names. The touch will be comforting.
Mr. Cianciolo is chief editor at Emerson & Church, Publishers in Medfield, Mass.
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