Thanks to My
Heroes
Well, the elections are over, but I don’t want to talk
about them today. Instead, let’s talk about those heroes who have given us the
freedom to have elections.
Now, I always enjoy the holidays. The richness of our
national celebrations add to the fabric of our lives.
The blessings of Thanksgiving, the gaiety and joy of
Christmas, the holiness of Easter, the exuberance of July 4 are all important to
me, but the one holiday very precious is Veterans’ Day because so many in my
family, as in hundreds of thousands of others, have shouldered the arms of war
and went out to do battle to preserve the freedom we all now enjoy.
November 11 is the anniversary of the Armistice, which
was signed in 1918 in the forest of Compiegne by the Allies and the Germans
“bringing a halt” to World War I. At five a.m. that morning, an order to cease
all firing was issued. Arms were lowered, whistles blew, impromptu parades
erupted, and business closed in celebration.
You’ll notice in the preceding paragraph the quotation
marks around bringing to a halt. And that’s exactly what the Armistice did, but
contrary to what the majority believe, it was not a proclamation of Germany’s
surrendering, but rather a truce—one that lasted almost twenty-one years until
Hitler made his move.
In 1938, Congress passed a bill that each November 11
would be celebrated as Armistice Day. Fifteen years later on November 11, 1953,
instead of only an Armistice Day
program for WWI veterans, they honored all veterans of all
wars.
Ed Rees, of
Emporia, was so impressed that he introduced a bill into the House to change the
name to Veterans' Day. After this passed, Mr. Rees wrote to all state governors
and asked for their approval and cooperation in observing the changed holiday.
The name was changed to Veterans' Day by Act of Congress on May 24, 1954.
In October of
that year, President Eisenhower called on all citizens to observe the day by
remembering the sacrifices of all those who fought so gallantly. The President
referred to the change of name to Veterans' Day in honor of the servicemen of
all America's wars.
I served, but
during peacetime, which to me doesn’t count. Many of my family served during
world conflicts. My father spent a year on the west coast, a couple years in
South America; a cousin served in the Army Air Corps; an uncle served in the
Army, and one in the Navy. Another uncle served earlier in the Philippines, but
was discharged with a blood disease that, according to oral family history,
eventually took his life. Another cousin served in Korea and is still listed as
a MIA after sixty years.
During the war, family gatherings were filled with empty
chairs. Word always turned to those not present. I can remember seeing every eye
in the family filling with tears as their innermost prayers went out to their
loved ones.
We were one of the lucky families. Dad returned. My uncle
in the Army returned having received a shrapnel wound on Okinawa. My uncle in
the Navy made it back. My Air Force cousin returned safely. The only casualty we
faced was my uncle who had served prior to the war in the Philippines.
Then five years later, another cousin, Henry Shoop, whom
we always called Dooley, shipped out to Korea.
We never saw him again. We never heard a word of his fate.
All we know is he went out on patrol one night. The patrol was attacked. None
returned, and no bodies were found.
You might remember Dooley from some of my other stories
about growing up in the country. My main tormentor, he was about six years older
than me. Dooley was the one who hauled a box of damp cow patties up on the roof
of the Papa Holley’s milk shed and bombarded my cousin Ed and me.
We got him back later though when we cornered him under
the windmill and let loose with Roman candles.
I just checked the MIA database a couple days back, and
Henry G.’Dooley’ Shoop, Sgt. U.S. Army, MIA since 1952, is still one of the
thousands of our men and women who have yet be accounted for.
I look around now at our brave men and women going into
harm’s s way for America, and I want to cry out of compassion and pride. I know
the families of those serving realize just how dear the sacrifice our military
is making, but I wonder about the rest of America. Do they understand?
If they don’t, they should drop to their knees and pray for the understanding be
given them.
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