Yesterday at the library where I was working, there was an elderly man wearing a cap that said, "World War II Vet." I helped him check out a book and as he turned to leave with his wife I said, "Thank you for serving." I don't think he heard me and he didn't respond.
But I wondered if this wasn't the last time I'd have any interaction with a veteran of WW II. The youngest veteran of that awful conflict would be about 86 now. (That's eighteen years old in 1945, plus the 68 years since then.) It was a rather painful reminder that the men and women who won the war are passing from the scene quickly. There will be living veterans for another twenty years or so, but superannuated and probably living quietly within their homes or in various degrees of assisted living.
Thank you to all of them, and to the millions who have already passed away.
Twenty or so years ago, I was in a Richmond Virginia hotel for some reason, and came upon a reunion of marines who had fought at Guadalcanal. For those of you who don't remember, Guadalcanal is an island in the Solomon chain of the Pacific Ocean, not too far from Australia. It was the scene of a desperate fight between the American marines and Japanese army in 1942 and 1943, contesting who would hold possession of a small airfield there. Keeping the runway would allow the possessor to post land based aircraft there and dominate the area. Losing it would make it much harder for the United States to protect Australia and New Zealand. It took almost six months and much bloodshed for the marines to secure the island.
I went over to the dozen or so veterans there and said something like, "You guys went up against the best soldiers Tojo had, and you beat them. For all of us who weren't born yet, thank you."
It was little enough thanks, but I've always been glad I took the few seconds I spent thanking those men.
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