The day after Memorial Day, every year for the past several years, I have gone to Fort Logan National Cemetery to help pull up the flags that adorn each grave, so they can be used again next year.
Every year, there are about six thousand more flags to pull. Why? Because time is rapidly running out for the men who won World War II. Fewer of them survive every year, and before many years have passed, they will all be gone.
The World War II vets, the 400,000 who died and the millions who survived, literally saved the world from the twin evils of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. Tom Brokaw quite appropriately called them the “Greatest Generation.” Their sacrifice, their bravery and their undaunted courage are unparalleled in world history.
I was far too young for World War II or Korea, and by the time Vietnam really got rolling, I already had an honorable discharge in my pocket. Still, I grew up among men who won World War II. Everything I know about life, honor, morality, duty, sacrifice, truth and justice, I learned from them.
Our losses in Iraq have been sad and regrettable, yet the casualty rate there is the lowest of any armed conflict in our nation’s history, and is minuscule by comparison to the horrendous tolls of World War II. In that conflict, we averaged nearly 1,000 dead Americans a week. Those who protest this war scarcely seem to realize they owe the right to do so directly to the dauntless courage of the cities soldiers, sailors and marines of World War II.
Two of my good friends and mentors were bombardiers in the war, one on a B-24 the other on B-17. It was common for the Eighth Air Force to lose 100 men a day on the daylight bombing missions to Germany.
I’ve asked my friends how they could deal with such losses. Their answers were the same. “We were young, we thought we were immortal. You’d see the plane next to you blow up, and you’d think: Oh those poor guys! But that won’t happen to me.”
The greatest American I’ve ever known was my friend Tosh Suyematsu. Tosh was an assistant U.S. Attorney in Wyoming, and I had the privilege of working by his side for many years. I knew Tosh for years before I even knew that he had been in the war. In 1943, Tosh’s entire family was interned in the Heart Mountain internment camp in Northern Wyoming.
Tosh and his brother King wanted to prove that they were loyal Americans, so they joined the U.S. Army, and were assigned to the famed Nisei 442nd Combat Regiment. The 442nd was involved in some of the toughest fighting in Europe and was one of the most highly decorated outfits in World War II. Tosh had two Purple Hearts and he won two — yes, two — Silver Stars, the second highest medal for individual valor that can be awarded.
I once asked Tosh about the “fear factor” and he said, “I don’t know, I was just too dumb to realize that the next guy to get shot might be me.”
Tosh flew the American flag in his front yard every day until he died.
In describing what made these remarkable men tick, William Manchester, famed historian and the biographer of Churchill and MacArthur, who himself returned from the Pacific war with bone fragments from two of his dead Marine buddies deeply and permanently embedded in his own chest, put it this way:
“We were all . . . inmates of the greatest madhouse in history, but staying on the line [in combat] was a matter of pride. Pride was important to young men then. Today it is derided as machismo. But without that macho spirit, California and Australia would have been invaded long before this final battle,” referring to Okinawa.
In other words, without macho spirit, the America we cherish today would not exist.
This Memorial Day, all of us who can should do two things. First, take a drive through Fort Logan National Cemetery and pay our respects to those who served.
Second, if you know a World War II vet or if you can find one, seek him out, thank him for his service, and let him know you appreciate what he did for you and your family. Do it now — while you still can.
Richard Stacy (richstacy@comcast.net) is a retired former federal prosecutor and a self-described “general curmudgeon.”
