Remembering Memorial Days Past

Article first published as Remembering Memorial Days Past on Blogcritics.


Memorial Day has always been rather personal for me, and looking back at the day over the years reminds me of what it has meant to my family. Having had family members in the military since the Spanish-American War (1898), I was always around people who served our country in times of war. Their outlook was (and still is for those who survive) decidedly different than those who never wore a uniform or endured life under fire.

My father is a World War Two veteran, and when I was growing up it was not unusual for us to attend a variety of functions at the local Veterans of Foreign War Post (ours was located in Ridgewood, New York). At that time the Post was buzzing with life. There were members from World War I (like my grandfather), World War II, Korea (like my uncle), and even some "young" guys from Vietnam (like my cousin).

The women (my mother and aunts among them) populated the Ladies Auxiliary which not only advanced the mission of the Post, but sold Buddy Poppies to raise funds and also did good works in the community. They also handled the Voice of Democracy Contest that allowed young people to write about freedom in their country every year and receive awards for it.

Every Memorial Day was a big event in my family. My father somehow or other always got elected to walk the route as Uncle Sam. Someone once asked why he would want to hike in hot weather in that get-up, and Dad said that it was better than trudging across a war zone loaded down with equipment. That had to be an answer the "real" Uncle Sam would understand and appreciate.

The parade route was always a sea of American flags being waved up against the blue sky. When I was little I recall standing on the sidelines with my Mom, waiting to see my father marching in his costume. When I got older I stood on the sidelines with my grandfather, and my mother joined my Dad and marched as Lady Liberty. Every year their picture would appear in the local newspaper marching together side-by-side.

After the parade and laying of the ceremonial wreaths at the war monuments, the marchers and their families returned to the Post for a big bash. Pitchers of beer and soda lined the tables, hamburgers and hot dogs smothered in everything were consumed, and music blared all afternoon long. There were so many kids running around, my cousins and I always got a chance to have fun. The pool tables in the basement were a nice attraction too (when we got a little older).

In later years Mom could no longer participate in the parade (due to an increasingly bad case of rheumatoid arthritis), but we continued watching from the sidelines as Dad and my uncle marched. The numbers did thin out each May, with the World War I vets slowly disappearing, and my grandfather passed on when I was 18. That was the start of Memorial Day never being the same.

I remember him talking about life on a submarine during the war. They were forever searching for German U-boats. Of course, this was not a glamorous life by any means. Cramped, dark, and hot all the time, my grandfather still felt he was serving his country and did it and never complained later on. He always said the food was good, and he survived, and many guys were not able to say that.

Years later when I went to the parade with my own children, I was shocked by the depleted ranks. Some of World War II vets sat in cars, but the veteran marchers numbered less than one hundered (when there used to be over one thousand in my youth). Luckily, school bands and other organizations filled in the gaps and it was pleasant to watch, especially the many fire trucks covered with flowing flags and tributes to their own, soldiers of a different type who marched into buildings on 9/11 and never returned.

In the last five years Memorial Day has taken on an added meaning for me because my mother passed away the day after it. So each year I try to remember the good times we had on Memorial Day, and I recall my mother in her healthy days wearing that flowing gown dressed as Miss Liberty. As I picture her torch in hand a smile on her face, I know that is how I wish to remember her on this day.

Yes, Memorial Day has changed over the years, but its spirit remains the same: to honor those fallen in the service of their country. So I'll raise a flag and wave it high in the air this weekend, and in doing so I will be honoring not only all those lost in wars but the families who have lost loved ones.

And somewhere my Mom still carries the torch as she did in life, brightly burning a light through my darkness to illuminate what matters most of all. Thanks, Mom.

Photo Credit: VFW.org

Remembering With a Buddy Poppy on Memorial Day

"Fat Albert" Navy Plane at Jones Beach, NY.
Photo by Ed Dertinger

Article first published as Remembering With a Buddy Poppy on Memorial Day on Blogcritics.











In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
-Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)




For every year of my life that I can remember (and some of my memories go back to when I was three), I have worn a Buddy Poppy on Memorial Day. When I was little, my mother tied it to a button hole in my shirt. As I got older I put it on the zipper of my jacket, the lapel of my blazer, or tied it onto my cap. Now I put a fresh one on the rear view mirror in my car every year because it is a powerful reminder that we owe all we have to those who served our country in times of war.

Four generations of my family were in the Armed Forces: my great grandfather in the Army (Spanish-American War), my grandfather in the Navy (World War I), my father in the Army (World War II), and my cousins (in Vietnam). Because of their sacrifices, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a time of peace and did not get drafted to fight in a war. I hope we all will be able to say that for our sons and daughters, and all the sons and daughters of Americans born or not yet born in the years to come.

The other day my daughter and I were walking along the main avenue in our neighborhood, and there were two old fellows standing in front of the church selling Buddy Poppies. They were proud gentlemen, wearing their pointed hats from the local VFW. I handed a dollar to one of them and took a poppy and gave it to my daughter. Of course, she liked it but had no idea what it was about, so I gave her a brief history lesson of the Buddy Poppy.

The Buddy Poppy is a powerful symbol for those who have served in the military and their families. According to the Veterans of Foreign War's web site, "The VFW conducted its first poppy distribution before Memorial Day in 1922, becoming the first veterans' organization to organize a nationwide distribution. The poppy soon was adopted as the official memorial flower of the Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States." During all these years, "The VFW's Buddy Poppy program has raised millions of dollars in support of veterans' welfare and the well being of their dependents."

The poppy connects us to the early days in World War I when things didn't look too promising for the Allies. Dr. McRae wrote the poem while sitting and looking at the fields bright with the red poppies. It is an uncompromising and vivid account of what should be a peaceful scene marred by the realities of battle. The makeshift crosses over the graves and the hostilities happening at that moment remind all of us that some paid the ultimate price in that war.

Even now with wars still happening in Afghanistan and Iraq, my daughter and many others are almost unaware of it most of the time. With a news report here and a conversation there, she may hear something about it, but mostly it does not affect her world. When she reads about rationing during World War II and how people lives' were affected significantly, she understands a little something about the cost of war on civilians, but these days most of us go about our lives as if nothing is happening a world away.

When I was a kid, Memorial Day was a huge celebration. I can remember flags flying from every store and house. The parades were filled with robust numbers of veterans from many conflicts, and the very old fellows sat in cars and waved to the significant crowds lining the street. The pounding of the drums shook me to my heart, and I stood with a little flag in my hand and saluted those people going by whom I thought had to be the bravest people on earth.

Many things have changed since then. For one, the men and women from my father's generation are gone for the most part or are not well enough or too disabled (like my Dad) to actively participate in the parade. There are still World War II, Korean War, Vietnam War, and Persian Gulf War veterans involved, but it is nothing close to the large number of marchers from those years ago. Sadly, the number of spectators has diminished for these parades as well.

I know people see Memorial Day as the unofficial start of summer. People flock to beaches, open up their summer houses, swim in pools, and have barbecues. While all of this is fun and exciting, let us not forget what we are supposed to be celebrating. If we cannot get to one of the parades where we live, we can fly the flag to honor those lost and try to tell our young ones about why this day is not just any day off from school.



If we do nothing else, perhaps this weekend we can purchase a Buddy Poppy when we see one of those veterans selling them in front of churches, stores, and banks. We can remember that the cost of that small little red flower is nothing compared to the price paid by many of the men and women who never came home.

Pearl Harbor Is Still a Teachable Moment

As December 7th comes around again, as it inevitably does every year, I take note of how many ceremonies or remembrances are held in the area where I live (New York City) to mark the occasion. Sadly, each year the number of events keeps dwindling, now mostly confined to Veterans of Foreign War or American Legion posts. What is even more alarming is that the day is not recognized in any tangible way by schools, thus taking away a very important teachable moment for our children.

Since the attacks on September 11, 2001, we have marked that day with significant ceremonies in New York, Washington D.C., Pennsylvania, and across the nation. The day was officially declared “Patriot Day” on September 4, 2002; while not an official national holiday, it is one that is observed in various ways across the country and in schools. Still, as the years go by I do hear some people complaining about too much TV coverage and wondering when we will get over it. The point is that we should never get over it because 9/11, like Pearl Harbor, should be commemorated as a day we honor those who died in an unprovoked attack on our nation.

When I was a boy, my father was very active in his local VFW in Queens, NY, eventually becoming commander of his post. I recall large Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day parades every year, my father marching along with all his buddies dressed in their uniforms. My dad was a veteran of World War II, as were many of the other men there. At the time there were also men marching in the parade who served in World War I and Korea.

I think I was five years old when I went to my first parade. Since I was small, my father put me in one of the big cars to ride with old vets who were unable to walk the parade route. As the band played patriotic songs, I looked up at the old fellows sitting there proudly with medals shining brightly on their uniforms. One man was wearing what looked like an old cavalry uniform that I saw in westerns on TV. It had bright buttons running down the front and captain's bars on the shoulders. He was so thin, the uniform sagged on his body like he was a kid playing dress-up with his father’s clothing.

The old man just stared ahead, but he held his head high and was obviously very proud to be there. I asked one of the other men about him and he said, “That’s Martin. He is a veteran of the Civil War.” I couldn’t believe it but the man continued, “He was a bugle boy and I think about as old as you are right now when he served.”

Of course, I said, “Wow.” The man continued, “He went on to fight in the Indian wars and even knew General George Armstrong Custer. As you can see, he retired a captain and that was before I was born in 1899.”

I wondered how old he was and the man said, “He’s one hundred and seven years old. Martin doesn’t talk much anymore, but I make sure he goes to everything. You see, I am his son.” The man went on to tell me how he fought in France during WWI and how his son also fought in France during WWII. It was a day I will never forget, and I think that’s the whole point: we have to experience something in order to understand and respect it. Reading about history is wonderful, but learning about it from a person who was there has a much more powerful impact.

These days war has become so political and the notion of patriotism is seen as passé or perhaps negative by many people, especially some of those people who stand in front of our children’s classrooms. I do understand their reticence to discuss war and their worry about political ramifications, but if we take current politics out of the equation, as well we should when teaching about history, we are left with the story itself. What else is history but the story of what has happened?

Right now it is difficult to tell we are a nation at war. Everything is in abundance, despite the troubled economy. We can get gasoline, milk, bread, and all the other things we take for granted without any problems. My father has noted this and also recognizes that the young people of today don’t care about the war. He says that it doesn’t concern them as long as they have their iPods, their cell phones, and cable television. Dad has said that even adults act like there is no war going on. He thinks we are like a nation of ostriches, shoving our heads in the sand so we can avoid the world around us and the reality of what is happening.

Imagine today’s kids living through what kids endured during WWII? Would they be able to cope with scrap metal drives and gasoline rationing? Would they understand blackouts and air raid drills? Would they appreciate the threat to our way of life from overseas from an enemy that desired to conquer us and make German our national language?

If you ask kids about Pearl Harbor today, very few know what you are talking about. As an educator for twenty-six years, I have heard quite a few amazing things in my classrooms, but the most bizarre was when I was talking about Pearl Harbor during a lesson, and a student raised his hand and asked, “Who was she?” I didn’t connect and asked, “Who?” And he replied, “You know, who was Pearl Harbor?” I know that seems like an Abbott and Costello routine, but it is not because he, and many other students, did not know about this pivotal historical event.

Today, many students are only taught about Pearl Harbor as a date on a timeline, the event that launched the country into WWII. The attack itself is not examined, the causes for the attack are not explored, and the events that followed are not taught substantially.

I understand we are very concerned these days with reading scores and math scores on state examinations, but why are we not worried about our children’s understanding of history’s crucial moments, especially one like Pearl Harbor that launched our country into the war that defined much of the last century and still reverberates in this one.

When I was in school, veterans were always a part of the landscape. They visited our classrooms regularly when invited by teachers to impart their wisdom about past events. I remember being riveted by descriptions of battles in the European and Asian theaters of WWII. I also enjoyed hearing about what life was like in boot camps, on the battlefield, and on ships during the war. None of this was warmongering and did nothing to encourage students to go sign up for the armed forces; however, it provided a crucial human factor in understanding the nature of war and the toll it takes on soldiers and their families.

When there were major holidays like Memorial Day or Veteran’s Day, we had an assembly and the men from the local VFW would come in full uniform. They would march into the auditorium with rifles on their shoulders led by a full color guard, and then select members would go to the microphone and speak. Yes, this does make for a patriotic moment, but it also encourages students in a very public and rather powerful way to learn something that is not available in the pages of the NYS curriculum guides.

Sadly, many of the veterans from World War II are gone now or, like my father, are too disabled to make the trip into classrooms. We should extend the same courtesy though to veterans of Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. I think it is crucial for the students to see these men and women, hear their stories first-hand, and acquire an appreciation for their efforts and sacrifice in serving their country.

Pearl Harbor stands out as a defining moment in American history. Its anniversary should be marked with significant public ceremonies and corresponding activities in schools that make children aware of its importance. December 7, 1941, was not just another day, but one that President Franklin D. Roosevelt rightly noted as “a date that will live in infamy.” How sad that the day is slowly being relegated to the backburner, noted only as one line in a textbook, and not as the day that changed America and the world forever.

2, 402 service people were killed that day and almost 2,000 were wounded. Many ships were lost, and our country took a devastating blow from a powerful opponent. Students must understand what events led up to the attack, how afterwards our nation came together to set in motion all its resources to literally defeat evil, and that all those soldiers in all those graves died for a cause that quite frankly saved the world.

It is up to us to truly make the difference. We can speak to our children’s teachers and the principals in our schools. We can encourage veterans to volunteer their services to schools as well, and we can write to our elected representatives and ask that more emphasis be placed on observing this day. We owe it to all those men entombed in the USS Arizona, to every soldier who died in the war that followed the attack, and mostly we owe it to our children. They need to appreciate and understand what happened in the past to fully comprehend why we are where we are now. We must do everything we can to make certain that December 7, 1941, is indeed a day that will be forever remembered.