Remembering the Armistice and the Veterans

I put out the flag earlier today, in honor of Veterans Day. But a storm blew in—with heavy wind, and heavy rains to come. I moved the flag to the window near the front door. It’s a balance of finding a way to honor those who would not be deterred by a storm, but still not allowing the symbol of our nation to be dishonored by neglect. So—indoors for the rest of the day.

Veterans Day, called Armistice Day until the 1950s, originally celebrated the end of WWI, but has since grown to include all those who have served the cause of freedom in the military.

The armistice—or ceasefire—was signed at 11:00 AM on the 11^th day of the 11^th month. So we always celebrate the date, rather than make the nearest Monday the holiday. Today just happens to be a Monday. I wrote in more detail on this last year, when it was the 100^th anniversary.

I love this, the Anthem Veterans Memorial, in Arizona
image from Wikipedia
more information here

I’ve written before about some of the veterans in my family—including my dad,  my son, and my grandfather. This weekend I got a note from FamilySearch.org[i] letting me know I had some WWII veterans in my family tree. So I followed the link. The first was my uncle, my dad’s older brother, whom I recognized. But there were many others also, mostly cousins of either my parents or grandparents. It’s a heritage worth noting on a celebration day.

Others have been honoring veterans in their families as well. One friend shared a story from a grandfather, sharing his memories of the day of the WWI Armistice. Since this is the story of the day’s origin, I thought it was worth sharing. The story is told by Darvil Burns McBride.

Only six years old when the war started, I do not remember much of its early years. I do have memories of the much talk of it, little of which I understood, and of the starving people in Europe where the war had devastated countries. I remember food drives and the women sewing clothes for the needy of those countries, especially for the little Country of Belgium. Dad, being sheriff, knew when the troops would be coming through the county. He would take us to the Safford Depot to see them arrive in the freight trains, which often made a short stop of slowly crept through the town on their way for departure to war. I still see their young—and it seemed to Mother—hungry faces, as they crowded near and peered from the open doors of boxcars. Others, in good weather, would ride on open flatcars, as many as could, sitting along the edge with legs draped over the side. The rest sat and lounged among the stacks of equipment and gear scattered helter-skelter over the cars’ rough beds.

Mother didn’t like to go to the depot; she said it made her sad. In those days these newly conscripted soldiers were referred to as Doughboys, instead of GIs. (A doughboy is a boiled dumpling, perhaps a common part of their diet.) By the time the war ended, I was ten years old. It had been nine months since my father had been taken from us, and we were then living in Thatcher [Arizona]. How vividly I remember that momentous day of November 11, 1918. School had let out for lunch hour. Eight of ten of us kids were walking west from the school, which would put me at my house in another three minutes. We had just overtaken one of the lady schoolteachers, Daisy Curtis, my fourth grade teacher. At that moment, I spied W. W. Pace, a stalwart of the town, and at that time possibly the chairman of the school board. As we approached him he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, held up both arms for us to stop and excitedly said something to the effect, “I have an important message for you. I was in hopes I could get to the school before you were let out for lunch. School is canceled for the rest of the day—the war had ended! We received the news just a few minutes ago. Germany has surrendered.” The town went crazy.

A shout went up from our little group. I saw Miss Curtis dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes and bowed her head in silence. Since we were on Main Street, the town center less than a couple of blocks away, I became conscious of noise and a babble of voices as others received the news. They came out of their houses and hugged neighbors. Grabbing hold of the excitement, I forgot my friends and raced for home, where I blurted out the news to my mother, who held little Frankie in her arms. Wondering about the racket outside, she’d just stepped out onto the porch. In another ten minutes, the street had filled with shouting, dancing, laughing and crying people. Vehicles of all description appeared. Cars, buggies, bicycles tricycles, men on horseback: the din unbelievable. Anything men and women could find with which to make noise came out of storage that day. Dishpans and washtubs all took a beating, and in the middle of the banging, tooting and hollering, the school and church bells began to ring, and lie a famous America poet has said, “While high overhead with wild increase, the great bell swung as never before, seemed as if ‘twould never cease. And every word it ardor flung, from off its jubilant iron tongue, was War! War! War!” But our bells were saying, “It’s over! Peace! Peace! Peace!”

I ran down to the corner where the largest crowd had gathered. There, Don Pace had just arrived with two large cowbells, and with one in each hand he succeeded in doubling the bedlam. For the rest of the day, and for many, far into the night—happy, exuberant, unrestrained people went crazy.

The Armistice had been signed that day during the 11^th minute past 11 o’clock, the 11^th day of the 11^th month of the year.

Some moments, and some people, are worth remembering on into a second century. Those who defend our sacred liberty deserve this annual moment of remembrance—and more.

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[i] FamilySearch.org is a genealogy website open to the public at no cost. It is provided by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, who have always been interested in family history for religious reasons. Collaborating with the public helps with the Church’s interests while also serving anyone interested in their family history. Living people will not appear, unless you are the person to input that information into your own family tree for your viewing only. Also, only Church members may use the information for religious purposes for their own relatives; and for anyone deceased under 100 years, permission must be granted by the closest living relative.

Never Forget

Yesterday was Veterans Day, and a special one, because it is 100 years since the cease fire, or armistice, ending conflict in World War I. This happened at the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month, in 1918. That’s why we always celebrate on the day, whatever day of the week it is. It became a national holiday in 1938, and was changed to honor all American veterans, living and dead, serving in all wars and peacetime, in 1954.

image from VA.gov

The poppy is a symbol of the fallen. It relates to a poem, “In Flanders Field,” by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, channeling the voices of the fallen soldiers, buried under the hardy bright flowers. The poem was written in 1915, and spread widely prior to McCrae’s death in early 1918. A woman named Moina Michael read the poem in a magazine just two days before the armistice, and was inspired by it. She wrote a poem, “We Shall Keep Faith,” in response, and vowed to always wear a red poppy. She came up with the idea of making and selling red fabric poppies to raise money in support of returning veterans.

Although the poppy was originally associated with the armistice, in America we don’t typically wear poppies on Veterans Day; we honor the fallen on Memorial Day, in May.

There aren’t any WWI veterans still alive, now, after a century. And there are only about a thousand WWII veterans still alive, with an average age of 95.

This past Saturday’s Glenn Beck Podcast featured a young man, Rishi Sharma, age 21, who has made it his life’s mission to document the stories of the remaining WWII combat veterans. He tries to interview at least one a day. He started in high school, mostly going to local rest homes. And then expanded, eventually starting a GoFundMe page to make it possible. He mostly lives in his car, driving from place to place, making friends with veterans. If you want to help contribute (monetarily, or by doing interviews), you can go to Heroes of the Second World War.   

Rishi Sharma on Glenn Beck podcast, screenshot

Sharma says that often he’s the first person these veterans have told their full story to. Many of them just came home and got involved in work and family life, and didn't talk about their experiences. He says,

We shouldn’t have to wait for an obituary to find out about the most amazing and heroic people that live in our community. You know, we should be able to talk to them. We should be able to learn about it while they’re still alive, so that we can talk to them, and look them in the eyes, and thank them. And, you know, interact with them.

There are just so many interesting obituaries that you find, you know, that I find as I’m trying to find the veterans. But there’s no interviews of them. And I’m wondering to myself, here is this veteran that’s been able to live into his 90s and 100s, and no one took the time just to document his story? You know, all those sacrifices and moments of his life have not just been put into three paragraphs? They don’t deserve that.

I mean, they deserve a voice in our world, and our future world, because I think the best thing that we can do for 410,000 boys who were killed in the war—and everyone who was killed in the war across the world—is give their death some meaning. Because if we just pretend that that was a long time ago and it doesn’t matter, and continue to act the way we’re acting now, we’re literally spitting on the graves of those men.

Because, it’s bad enough that they had to die at 18, 19, 20—you know, the fact that they were born, had the middle of their life and the end of their life both before they could even drink alcohol—you know, that’s a really sobering thought. But, it’s bad enough that they had to be killed, but it would be even worse if they were killed for no reason. And I really hope that the veterans who I interview, who say that their friends have died in vain—I really hope that they end up being wrong, and that their friends died for a purpose.

Because, I mean, it was just 75 years ago, which is such a short time in the span of humanity. And, I mean, it should still be relevant and raw. I mean, I just don’t understand why people don’t talk more about it.

If we’re going to be a civilized people, it is required of us to honor those who have made our freedom possible. That is something we all ought to be able to agree on.

At a time when it’s so easy to be disagreeable, there was a response this weekend that I thought was helpful. If you’ll remember, a week earlier, on Saturday Night Live, a comic had mocked congressional candidate—now my new Congressman—Dan Crenshaw, who lost an eye to an IED in Afghanistan, on his third deployment (he deployed twice more after recovering the sight in one of his eyes). The response, on SNL this week, is worth seeing, below. It’s fun. After the humor, Dan is able to say what veterans really want to hear. He suggests that, while saying, “Thank you for your service” is good, he’d like us to say—well, I’ll just use his words:

There’s a lot of lessons to be learned here. Not just that the left and the right can still agree on some things, but also this: Americans can forgive one another. We can remember what brings us together as a country and still see the good in each other.

This is Veterans Day weekend, which means that it’s a good time for every American to connect with a veteran. Maybe say, “Thanks for your service.” But I would actually encourage you to say something else. Tell a veteran, “Never forget.” When you say, “Never forget” to a veteran, you are implying that, as an American, you are in it with them, not separated by some imaginary barrier between civilians and veterans, but connected together as grateful fellow Americans. We’ll never forget the sacrifices made by veterans past and present, and never forget those we lost on 9/11, heroes like Pete [Davidson]’s father. So I’ll just say, Pete, never forget.

Big Thanks

Today is Veterans Day in America. It’s a day to thank those who have served in the military. We owe them big thanks. We honor them.

My mother's father served in WWI

Several friends have honored their military connections with photos of parents, uncles, brothers, themselves—any loved one who has served--on their online profiles.

I’d like to add mine here.

Veterans Day began at the end of World War I, the “war to end all wars.” I have a grandfather who served in that war, my mother’s father. He was serving in the Army at the time he married my grandmother. The story is, he had to go AWOL briefly for the wedding. Everyone had traveled to town for the wedding, and suddenly and unexpectedly his leave did not come through to leave base. This was not quite before phones, but it was certainly before a convenient way to reach people by phone. The options were to leave his bride waiting at the altar without information, or to get there in person. He consulted a superior officer, someone who couldn’t give the leave but who could advise that this was a time to bend the rules. So he left base briefly for the wedding and then had to hurry back.

Fortunately for me, his service did not require losing his life. He and my grandmother had eight children, with my mother as the sixth. My grandmother died before I was born (at about the age I am now), but my grandfather lived until I was in my late teens, and we enjoyed his visits, and enjoyed visiting him on his Idaho farm, with a huge garden he managed up until his final years.

My dad served in WWII

My dad served in World War II. I wrote in more detail a couple of years ago. It was nearly a decade after the war by the time he met my mother, so his military service was kind of ancient history to us. Still, I like the photo of him in uniform and I’m proud of his service.

My son Economic Sphere is currently serving in the US Army. I wrote about his recent accomplishments last month. He does not like his photo to show up online, so I’m living with that. However, I found one that I think he will approve. This was taken after his DLI graduation, when the teachers were getting photos with his class.

My son, currently serving
in the US Army

We get him home for Christmas, and I have warned him that we will be doing family photos—since we have added a grandson and son-in-law since the last time we were together for photos. I probably won’t post that one either, but I will have it on my wall to glory in.

I have no trouble remembering the military in my family.

Beyond that, I hope we all will remember, with gratitude, the service of our military—and always offer gratitude and honor for their service.

Veterans Day

One of the proper purposes of government is protection of our sovereignty and borders. Many thanks to current and former members of the military for carrying out this necessary service!  

Joseph Ambrose, WWI veteran,
in 1982, at age 86,
source: Wikipedia

One of my sons, Economic Sphere, is currently talking with an army recruiter, so we may have a soldier in the household very soon. I’m proud of him, so let me brag a bit: he took the aptitude test this week and placed above the 99^th percentile. With a college degree he is hoping to do some work in his field (in part to quell his mother’s fears), and maybe eventually move into intel, like my dad did. He’s good at strategy; he can beat me at chess in three moves if I don’t put on my best game. I’m thinking he will be an asset to the country. 

A little Veterans Day history: It was the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month of 1918 when the Germans signed the Armistice (truce) that ended World War I. The rarely right Woodrow Wilson declared celebrations on that date in 1919. Seven years later Congress urged Calvin Coolidge to hold a similar recognition on that date. And then, in 1938 the act was passed to make November 11^th an annual holiday, called Armistice Day. It wasn’t until 1954 that all veterans were honored on this day, and that’s when the name changed. 

My Dad in his WWII uniform

I rather doubt there are still Armistice Day veterans around. 1918 was the year my dad was born; he served in WWII and passed away two Christmases ago at the age of 91. But, since it turned out that WWI wasn’t “The War to End All Wars,” we continue to have veterans to honor, and it’s important that we salute them for their sacrifice and service. 

So today I put the flag out. And I’m using this space to say thanks.

Bert, the superhero bomb sniffing dog,
currently serving with my nephew
in the US Coast Guard