Last year as I sat at my desk on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, an eerie feeling ran up my spine. It may seem hokey to some, but at that very moment, to the minute exactly ninety-one years after the event, a strange feeling washed over me, a sense of deep gratitude for our fighting men and women who have struggled to preserve our country’s freedom.
I’m talking about Veterans’ Day, the day set aside to honor all the women and men who have served in our armed forces.
November 11 is the anniversary of the Armistice, which was signed by the Allies and the Germans in 1918 in the forest at Rethondes near the town of Compienge ending World War I.
At five a.m. that morning, an agreement was struck, signatures were fixed to the document, and an order to cease all firing was issued. Six hours later at eleven a.m., the Armistice went into effect. Arms were lowered, whistles blew, impromptu parades erupted, and businesses closed in celebration.
While I enjoy all holidays, the blessings of Thanksgiving, the gaiety and joy of Christmas, the holiness of Easter, the exuberance of July 4, Veteran’s Day is most precious to me because so many in my family shouldered the arms of war and went out to do battle to preserve the freedom I enjoy, and my children and grandchildren now enjoy.
Twenty years passed after that signing before Congress agreed upon a bill that each November 11 would be celebrated as Armistice Day. Fifteen years later on November 11, 1953, instead of celebrating only WWI veterans, Alvin King of Emporia suggested all veterans to be honored.
Representative Ed Rees, of Emporia, Kansas, 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, and through rededication to the task of promoting an enduring peace. The President said the change of name to Veterans' Day was an honor to the servicemen of all America's wars.
Many of my family served. My father spent a year on the west coast and 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 over half a century.
During the war, despite the efforts of those behind, family gatherings were filled with empty holes. Word always turned to those not present. I can remember seeing my grandmother’s and aunts’ eyes 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 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.
I look around now at those brave men and women giving their lives for America, and I want to cry. 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 that understanding be given them.
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label patriotism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patriotism. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Salute to Old Glory
Everyone knows the nickname for the American flag, don’t we?
Right. Old Glory. And we all know just how she came to acquire that name, right?
No? Well, let me tell you.
With June 14 being proclaimed Flag Day in 1916 by Woodrow Wilson and the same date established as National Flag Day by an act of Congress in August, 1949, I figured many of us might be interested in just how and when that particular sobriquet was attached to the Stars and Stripes.
Now, I’m a sucker for the American flag, for what it symbolizes-a free country that guarantees its citizens the inalienable rights God intended for every human being. I’m one of those throwbacks who actually fold a worn flag and take it to the nearest military office for proper disposal. I revere it, just like the old sea captain who gave her the name.
After learning about the flag as a Boy Scout, I set out to run down the origin of the nickname. Library research revealed the details of the story. Naturally, some details varied from source to source, but the core of the story remains the same, all centering on the same old sea captain, Stephen Driver or William Driver. The latter name is one used by the 1918 New York Times story.
William Driver was born on the morning March 17, 1803, and at fourteen, he was apprenticed as a cabin boy on the ship, China, bound for Italy. His next five voyages took him to Calcutta, Gibraltar, Antwerp and Gothenburg. His next voyage took him to the Fiji Islands, and there his career centered in the South Seas. At the age of twenty-one, he was made master of the brig, Charles Doggett.
As a birthday and farewell gift on an 1831 voyage that would climax with the rescue of the mutineers of the ‘Bounty’, his mother and several young ladies in Salem, Massachusetts, sewed him a large American flag twenty by twenty-four feet.
When the flag was unfurled in the sea breeze, Captain Driver was asked what he thought of it. He replied, “God bless you. I’ll call it Old Glory.”
So far, nothing really remarkable, huh? Well, read on.
Six years later, he retired to Nashville, Tennessee, taking with him his flag from his days at sea. By the time Tennessee seceded from the union years later, everyone in the city knew of the elderly sea captain’s ‘Old Glory.’
The story went that Rebels were determined to destroy the flag and its symbolism, but despite numerous intense searches and threats, no trace was ever found.
No one knew what had become of the flag. Driver’s own family knew nothing of it. They were all in sympathy with the Confederate South, so he could not trust them with the secret of where he had hidden it.
And then on February 25, 1862, Union forces captured Nashville and raised the American flag. It was a small flag, and immediately, citizens asked the old captain about ‘Old Glory’. Did she still exist, or had he destroyed her to keep her from the Rebels?
Accompanied by Union soldiers, Captain Driver went upstairs to his bedroom, which had been searched dozens of times by frustrated Confederates. He began ripping at the seams of his bedcover. As the batting of the quilt top unraveled, the soldiers looked inside and saw the twenty-fours stars of the original ‘Old Glory.’
Although Captain Driver was sixty years old, he gathered the flag he had so jealously guarded and loved for the last thirty-one years and hoisted it to the top of the tower to replace the smaller ensign. The Sixth Ohio Regiment cheered and saluted, and later adopted the nickname, ‘Old Glory’.
The captain is buried in the Nashville City Cemetery, and is one of three places authorized by an act of Congress where the Flag of the United States may be flown twenty-four hours a day.
Think of what he risked to save the flag, and then ask yourself what that irascible old sea captain would say to those at Montebello High School in California when they flew the American flag upside down beneath the Mexican flag?
I imagine it would have been too blistering for delicate ears.
Right. Old Glory. And we all know just how she came to acquire that name, right?
No? Well, let me tell you.
With June 14 being proclaimed Flag Day in 1916 by Woodrow Wilson and the same date established as National Flag Day by an act of Congress in August, 1949, I figured many of us might be interested in just how and when that particular sobriquet was attached to the Stars and Stripes.
Now, I’m a sucker for the American flag, for what it symbolizes-a free country that guarantees its citizens the inalienable rights God intended for every human being. I’m one of those throwbacks who actually fold a worn flag and take it to the nearest military office for proper disposal. I revere it, just like the old sea captain who gave her the name.
After learning about the flag as a Boy Scout, I set out to run down the origin of the nickname. Library research revealed the details of the story. Naturally, some details varied from source to source, but the core of the story remains the same, all centering on the same old sea captain, Stephen Driver or William Driver. The latter name is one used by the 1918 New York Times story.
William Driver was born on the morning March 17, 1803, and at fourteen, he was apprenticed as a cabin boy on the ship, China, bound for Italy. His next five voyages took him to Calcutta, Gibraltar, Antwerp and Gothenburg. His next voyage took him to the Fiji Islands, and there his career centered in the South Seas. At the age of twenty-one, he was made master of the brig, Charles Doggett.
As a birthday and farewell gift on an 1831 voyage that would climax with the rescue of the mutineers of the ‘Bounty’, his mother and several young ladies in Salem, Massachusetts, sewed him a large American flag twenty by twenty-four feet.
When the flag was unfurled in the sea breeze, Captain Driver was asked what he thought of it. He replied, “God bless you. I’ll call it Old Glory.”
So far, nothing really remarkable, huh? Well, read on.
Six years later, he retired to Nashville, Tennessee, taking with him his flag from his days at sea. By the time Tennessee seceded from the union years later, everyone in the city knew of the elderly sea captain’s ‘Old Glory.’
The story went that Rebels were determined to destroy the flag and its symbolism, but despite numerous intense searches and threats, no trace was ever found.
No one knew what had become of the flag. Driver’s own family knew nothing of it. They were all in sympathy with the Confederate South, so he could not trust them with the secret of where he had hidden it.
And then on February 25, 1862, Union forces captured Nashville and raised the American flag. It was a small flag, and immediately, citizens asked the old captain about ‘Old Glory’. Did she still exist, or had he destroyed her to keep her from the Rebels?
Accompanied by Union soldiers, Captain Driver went upstairs to his bedroom, which had been searched dozens of times by frustrated Confederates. He began ripping at the seams of his bedcover. As the batting of the quilt top unraveled, the soldiers looked inside and saw the twenty-fours stars of the original ‘Old Glory.’
Although Captain Driver was sixty years old, he gathered the flag he had so jealously guarded and loved for the last thirty-one years and hoisted it to the top of the tower to replace the smaller ensign. The Sixth Ohio Regiment cheered and saluted, and later adopted the nickname, ‘Old Glory’.
The captain is buried in the Nashville City Cemetery, and is one of three places authorized by an act of Congress where the Flag of the United States may be flown twenty-four hours a day.
Think of what he risked to save the flag, and then ask yourself what that irascible old sea captain would say to those at Montebello High School in California when they flew the American flag upside down beneath the Mexican flag?
I imagine it would have been too blistering for delicate ears.
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