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COLOR GUARD
OUR COVENANT OF REMEMBRANCE ENDURES
MEMORIAL DAY
For a few it is the final day of a three day weekend of redtag sales and bluelight specials. For many its a day to sleep in late push the droning mower through the grass and fire up the backyard grill.
For Legionnaires, Memorial Day has special significance. It is not a day of celebration. Instead, it is one of solemn observance, a dawn-to-dusk remembrance of family friends and fellow patriots who are no longer with us.
The day begins: A daughter hands her father Old Glory his fathers casket flag and he slowly hoists it to the top of the staff, then lowers it half-way He explains the ritual to her and why they are honoring people who died in all of our wars defending our freedom.
At a quiet country cemetery, Legionnaires and Boy Scouts plant small American flags next to headstones. On a courthouse square, a post commander recalls the deeds of the towns sons and daughters who fell in war; listeners are left to ponder the unrealized dreams of those who never returned and the legacies of those who have since joined them. In a house made emptier by a wartime loss, a Gold Star hangs in a window. WAS IT WORTH IT?
On the sprawling slopes of Arlington National Cemetery, soldiers place flags at the graves of both the known and the unknown. A wreath is laid at the Tomb of the Unknowns. Then, the unison crack of a firing squads volley makes shoulders jerk and eyes blink. Generals and privates share a common ground at those rolling acres.
Across the Potomac at the Vietnam Memorial, at the base of one of its many panels, a handwritten note simply reads: “You always said death before dishonor. You got your wish. Rest in peace Bro. Faded photographs, creased campaign ribbons and a daisy chain of paper poppies are propped against the wall of names.
A short distance away, three bronze women in fatigues are surrounded by visitors. One figure looks to the sky for a chopper, another to the ground in exhaustion. The third cradles the head of a wounded soldier and peers compassionately into his face. Their flesh-and-blood models were the last faces ever seen by many GIs, the last warm hand to grasp before crossing that bridge into eternity.
At the nearby Korean War Memorial, a visitor touches the computer screen at the kiosk and calls up the name of a buddy who didnt make it home from the land of the morning calm.
Names etched on a black wall of granite, names on a computer monitor. Memorials, statues and monuments are raised in their honor. WAS IT WORTH IT?
The day ends: Old Glory is lowered and carefully folded into a triangle. The speeches are now echoes for us to consider. The flowers, wreaths and flags we placed at the graves remain as poignant reminders for a brief time. On a distant hill, a lone bugler sounds the haunting notes we know so well. And, if you listen close, you can hear the whispering chorus of those no longer with us: IT WAS WORTH IT!
Let us never forget the price they paid. Let us never forget to remember Memorial Day. The most lasting memorials of all are the ones we build in our hearts and minds and pass along to our children. It is a covenant that will endure.
(By National Adjutant ROBERT W. SPANOGLE. Reprinted with permission from The American Legion Dispatch newsletter, May 1, 1997 edition.)
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