The following is excerpted from remarks by Adm. James G. Stavridis, the head of US Southern Command, at the Intrepid Foundation’s Memorial Day ceremony on Pier 84 in Manhattan.
MEMORIAL Day for me is always something of a paradox because of the strong and yet contrasting emotions it evokes.
Nothing could be more sobering, more somber and indeed more sorrowful than the task of remembering our nation’s fallen. Yet, at the same time, nothing could be more uplifting, more vibrant, more inspiring than their service and sacrifice. How can this be? What moves us so profoundly on Memorial Day?
A good question indeed. And to answer it – rather than subject you to my own poor words – I’d simply like to read for you several timeless letters – words written from combat zones by our nation’s military heroes … who have carried this great country through times of peril and darkness – who have sacrificed so much .Ñ.Ñ. so that we could have stand in the sunlight on this pier on a beautiful spring day in freedom.
These are beautiful and sad letters – beautiful in their simplicity and power and sad because Memorial Day in the end is grief – the grief of a father, mother, brother, sister, wife, husband, son, daughter, or friend – kneeling at a gravesite or gazing into a photo or rereading a careworn and too-often folded last letter home.
As I read the words of these heroes, try to picture the writers. Sit next to them. Feel what they feel as they write. Be with them as they open their hearts to their families. In doing so, you will yourself touch the heart of what Memorial Day should be for each of us.
The first letter is from the Civil War and was written by Private John C. Davis of the Union Army to his parents sometime during the battle of Gettysburg in 1863.
“Dear Father and Mother,” he writes. “We are somewhere in Pennsylvania, and there’s a big battle going on as all day the cannons have been sounding like thunder in the distance .Ñ.Ñ. Most of the men are writing home, as we are to march all night to get into position in the morning. I’ve got so much to write I don’t know where to begin … I can’t tell you how funny I feel knowing tomorrow I’ll see a big battle. Kind of scared inside but I’m not going to run. There goes the bugle so good-bye. Write me, care of the battery. The sergeant said I’ll get it sometime. Your son, John.”
The next letter John’s father received was not from his son, but from the sergeant mentioned in John’s letter.
“I am sorry to report,” writes the sergeant, “that your son was instantly killed as the battery went into action on July 3rd. He was a brave young soldier and acted like a veteran under fire. He was buried on the hillside near the battery position,” in southern Pennsylvania … at Gettysburg.
Private John C. Davis, honored dead of the Union cause in the Civil War was only 14 years old.
The next letter comes from World War I. A grieving father writes about the loss of his son. “It is hard to open the letters from those you love who are dead; but Quentin’s last letters, written during his three weeks at the front, when of his squadron, on average, a man was killed every day, are written with real joy in the ‘great adventure.’ He was engaged to a very beautiful girl, of very fine and high character; it is heartbreaking for her, as well as for his mother. He had his crowded hour, he died at the crest of life, in the glory of the dawn.”
The dead son’s full name was Quentin Roosevelt, the youngest son of former President Theodore Roosevelt. He was a pilot who was shot down and died behind German lines just months prior to the end of World War I in 1918.
War touches us all. From the 14-year-old private to the son of a president. Memorial Day honors and remembers them all.
World War II saw our nation once again propelled to defend liberty and freedom – to defend it with the lives of our young men and women. Private Arnold Rahe wrote his parents in the fall of 1943 from Europe.
“Dear Mother and Dad,” he writes. “Strange thing about this letter; if I am alive a month from now, you will not receive it, for it’s coming to you will mean that sometime after my 26th birthday, God has decided I’ve been on earth long enough. It’s hard to write a letter like this; there are a million and one things I want to say; there are so many I ought to say if this is the last letter that I can ever write to you. I’m telling you that I love you two so very much; not one better than the other, but absolutely equally …
“For any and all grief I caused you in these 26 years, I’m most heartily sorry .Ñ.Ñ. I have never written like this before, even though I have been through the ‘valley of shadows’ many times, but this night, Mother and Dad, you are very close to me, and I long to talk to you. I think of you and home. America has asked much of our generation, but I am glad to give her all I have, because she has given me so much. Goodnight, dear Mother and Dad, God love you. Your loving son.
Arnie Rahe was killed on a mission in Germany in 1943.
Let me close with a final letter to bring us almost to the present day.
Memorial Day, here in this wonderful setting in New York City, would be incomplete without honoring and remembering those who are serving and sacrificing right now – our nation’s youth, America’s sons and daughters, who are fighting yet another battle – struggling to bring peace and freedom to Iraq and Afghanistan – while keeping us all safe from those that would do us harm.
So, let me close with an excerpt from just one more short letter. It was written from Iraq as a “just in case” letter by Private First Class Jesse A. Givens, a letter to be delivered to his wife and children only in the event of his death.
“My family,” he writes, “I never thought that I would be writing a letter like this. I really don’t know where to start.
“The happiest moments in my life all deal with my little family. I will always have with me the small moments we all shared. The moments when you quit taking life so serious and smiled. The sounds of a beautiful boy’s laughter or the simple nudge of a baby unborn. You will never know how complete you have made me …
“I did not want to have to write this letter. There is so much more I need to say, so much more I need to share … Please keep my babies safe. Please find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving you alone … Teach our babies to live life to the fullest, tell yourself to do the same.
“I will always be there with you … Do me a favor, after you tuck the children in. Give them hugs and kisses from me. Go outside and look at the stars and count them. Don’t forget to smile.
“Love always, your husband, Jess.”
The letter was delivered in May 2003, two weeks before the birth of their son.
Ladies and gentlemen, Memorial Day is our America. It is each of us in all our sorry and all our glory – in all that we believe in and all that we must be as a grateful nation.
I’d like to close by simply repeating Private First Class Jess Given’s final advice: Hug and kiss your children – your loved ones. Go outside and look at the stars tonight. Don’t forget to smile.
That is pretty good advice for a Memorial Day – or any day.
In the end, what else really matters?
So let us remember our heroes – those of our past – and those who walk among us right now.
Let us support those serving in harm’s way on this beautiful Memorial Day.
And let us give thanks … again and again and again and again … give thanks that we live in a world both of blessed memory and beloved freedom.
God bless you all and God bless the USA.