Stories I would have loved to hear

I went to four cemeteries this Memorial Day with Mom to decorate the graves of loved ones. While I was there, I photographed the graves of several veterans.

I didn't know any of these men...more than one served in World War I, in fact.

It would have been fascinating to sit down with them in some way to hear their stories. My experience as a reporter is that it is easier for combat veterans to share their stories with strangers than it is to talk to loved ones. Why? They told me they didn't want those close to them to know how much they suffered, because they knew it would be hard on those who love them.

There's really no way to convey in words the horror of war, the helplessness of being pinned down on a beach, the absolute terror in charging an enemy fortification such as the Seigfried Line with machine guns mowing down your buddies or flamethrowers incinerating men so close to you the odor of their burning flesh singes your nostrils.

For those who served in the trenches of World War I, how do you convey the sense of impending doom when you've been ordered to charge well-established, well-armed trenches through No-Man's Land? How do you explain the feeling that sweeps over you when someone yells "Gas!" and your gas mask has been shot to pieces?

My father served in World War II, from January 26, 1945, until late April, when he was hospitalized with pneumonia that he contracted after inhaling poison gas. He was still in the hospital when Germany surrendered, and he rejoined his unit at Hitler's Eagle's Nest in Berchtesgaden about a month later.

He told me decades later he wasn't concerned when the buddies in his unit admitted they were scared. It was the ones who never felt fear that worried him. They wouldn't know when to take cover, when to hold back, when to push forward in a coordinated attack that gave the mission its best chance to succeed. Those, he said, were the dangerous ones.

These soldiers are silent now. They stand in the pantheon of Americans who stepped forward when freedom was under fire, when our nation was under attack. The price they paid is a too-often-ignored reminder that freedom isn't free.

Memorial Day is a wonderful opportunity to tell them "thank you," but our gratitude shouldn't need calendars as reminders.

I salute you, gentlemen.

The guns of August

While I was in Kansas City earlier this week, I made a point of visiting the National World War I museum downtown. I toured it more than 20 years ago, but I knew it had undergone significant changes since then.

I was extremely impressed by what I saw. The museum does a wonderful job of explaining the war's place in our history - not just what happened militarily, but what it was like for the soldiers on both sides. The longer I was there, the more deeply the sense of profound loss...of irrevocable change...sank in.

The memorial hall is poignant, as is the collection of photographs of people who were in the war. For me, seeing a Browning Automatic Rifle on display was particularly powerful, since Dad used a BAR ----- in World War II. I also recognized many town names on maps as places where Dad would be in combat in 1945, a generation after World War I.

A lot of folks may dismiss World War I as ancient history no longer relevant to modern life. But they'd be making a mistake. "The Guns of August" 1914 changed the world forever, and we're still living with the ripple effects.