As
a young child I was intrigued by the military service of my step father,
Charles Garratt. When World War Two broke out he was married, living in New
York City where he drove a Wheaties truck. As so many men did at that time, he
attempted to join the military to fight against Imperialist Japan and/or the
hated German Third Reich. He wanted to be a Navy fighter pilot. Only one
problem: On his test flight to see if he qualified to be a pilot he
demonstrated a frightening lack of depth perception, a condition that immediately
disqualified him from flying. They thanked him and sent him on his way.
Later,
he decided to see if the Marines would have him. He met their standards, which
I believe may have been nothing more than to demonstrate that he had a pulse. Growing
up he had been a first rate athlete, excelling in football. He had been the
captain of his high school football team in Concord, Massachusetts in the late
1920s. He received a scholarship to play for the University of Alabama (“Roll
Tide!”) where he played on the same team with the future legendary “Bear”
Bryant. My step father kept in good physical condition his whole life, so even
though he was 31 years old when he enlisted in the Marine Corps, he had no
problem with the rigors and demands of boot camp. He married my mother ten
years after the end of the war.
I
gained a valued respect and appreciation for the United States from him, because
of his willingness to volunteer to serve in a war he could have legally and
legitimately have avoided. His age and his marital status could easily have
exempted him. In fact, while in boot camp with 17 and 18 year olds, he was
affectionately referred to as “Gramps.”
That
my step father chose to serve as a Marine, the toughest branch of service, also
impressed me. I decided early on that I wanted follow in his footsteps. My older
brother, John, also must have thought the same thing because both of us
enlisted in the Marines, each serving a tour in Vietnam. Oddly enough, we never
discussed joining the Marines with each other.
During
the years growing up in New England, I recall those special days like Memorial
Day, the 4th of July, and Veterans Day when parades and special
recognitions were given to our veterans. There were, of course, many WWII vets,
and still quite a few WWI vets. There may well have been some Spanish American
War soldiers in those parades down Main Street with American flags all aflutter
in the breeze, marching to lively martial music. And I know that the last
surviving veteran of the Civil War died in 1956 when I was eight.
I
can still see in my mind’s eye the veterans from the American Legion and
Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW), wearing their fore-and-aft caps. These were the
men who left their jobs, their homes and families, to take up arms to face a
fierce enemy who was determined to destroy our freedoms and our beloved
country. But these world enemies that our men faced, Japan and Germany, mistakenly
misjudged the will and the determination of the American fighting man.
So
why has the American military person been so ready to take up arms against an aggressor?
Simple: Freedom. Our men and women in uniform are, and have always been, ready
to fight for the freedoms the rest of us have enjoyed with hardly a ripple
while going about our daily routines.
As
a Navy chaplain it has been my sad duty and privileged honor to lay to rest
numerous men and women whose mortal remains are resting in small town graveyards
to massive national cemeteries. Their lives were cut short by war so your and
my life could continue unabated.
So
take time this Memorial Day, Monday, May 25, and visit the grave of a veteran
from your family or friend. If you don’t know a military person who now lies
entombed in the ground, then attend a Memorial Day Service at your local
cemetery, and join others in giving thanks to God for those who were willing to
stand in the gap and keep the wolf from the door.
You
and I can sleep peacefully at night because rough men do the hard work of guarding
our freedoms and keeping us safe.
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