In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. John McCrae, 1915 As we approach another November 11th, it would serve us well to refocus on the true reason why we honor Veteran’s Day. On the American calendar, Memorial Day is greatly esteemed, as well it should. Schools are closed, We remember the sacrifice of the men and women who have died serving our country, and we should, because that sacrifice is significant. However, we often miss a day that slips by in November, sometimes not even remembering that it is a holiday until we stare at the empty mailbox trying to remember what it is that we've forgotten. Even when we do remember, we don't often think of the sacrifices still being made by those the day commemorates. I believe Veteran's Day has just as much significance in its own way. John McCrae’s poem, In Flanders Fields is often quoted at times of remembrance, but so often we miss the sacrifice that is made by those who receive the torch thrown from the failing hands of the poem.[i] We see the torch throwers, and venerate their memory, but miss those still carrying the torch passed to them decades ago. We fail to notice the hesitant ones who don’t stand in the church services or community remembrance events (if they even have one anymore) because they unassumingly and quietly continue to carry the torch passed to them so many years ago. Why does the torch weigh these heroes down, to the point where they feel unworthy of such obviously deserved recognition? My great uncle, Howard Struble, flew fifty missions in a B-17 bomber over Europe in 1944 and 1945. He was an anomaly. In 1943, in order to fly fifty missions over Germany, a crewman normally had to literally beat the odds. Even if a plane had a 5% chance of being shot down (pretty good odds for that year), 20 flights (which normally counted for 40 missions) would mean that one would have to literally be lucky to have not been shot to the ground yet. Even in 1944 when the percentage of planes shot down was less, there was a better than 50% chance that one would have to experience being shot down at some point. But what was the experience like for the hands catching the torch? In a diary entry on October 20th, 1944, my uncle wrote about flak so heavy he didn’t “see how we got through it” and the plane having “half a dozen flak holes, all up around the nose.”[ii] But I don’t think that the desire for self-preservation is the reason why the torch carried by our surviving veterans is so cumbersome. The clue, I think, lies on an entry from an earlier date. On September 21st, 1944, my uncle wrote “One plane got hit in the waist, killing both waist gunners. It broke in two when it landed. . .Bombed a marshalling yards [sic.] in Debrerogen Hungary, only 100 miles from Russia the tail gunner was also killed. It turned out to be some of our buddies that were in our barracks at Drew and went thru training with us. It was their 1st mission, the lower ball man got out without a scratch. All the control cables were cut and all that was holding the ship together was about 8 inches at the top and 2 ft. at the bottom. . .”[iii] The question that haunted “Uncle Bud,” as we called him, was to wonder why he was left alive to bear the torch, when so many equally deserving men no longer had that opportunity. This theme is transcendent. When one reads any book that relies heavily on interviews of survivors, the agonizing question “Why me?” practically bleeds through the pages. It is a powerful theme in all of historian Adam Makos’s books. In Spearhead, Clarence and the other soldiers in the tank divisions that led the attack into Germany in 1944 and 1945 are tormented by those who are left behind.[iv] In Devotion, men who fought and survived the Battle of Chosin Reservoir were haunted by those left in the snow-covered mountains of North Korea.[v] In A Higher Call, Charlie Brown remembers many times when the bunks of fallen airmen would lay empty, only to be silently packed up, and the bunk filled by another boy who may not last past the next raid.[vi] So, like the revolving door of airmen in a B-17 bomber barracks, the list goes on, and on throughout American history. Okinawa. Omaha Beach. Vietnam. Baghdad. Kabul. “Why me?” McCrea addresses this question at the end of the poem, when he wrote: If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. The simple fact is that the torchbearers of our society live every day of their lives with the intimate knowledge of the exact price of our freedom. They feel the impossible weight of history crying out and demanding that they keep the faith of those who sacrificed their lives. They see their faces. They hear the whispered last words over and over in their nightmares. Some watch the orphaned children of the fallen grow up and feel responsible. Others hate themselves because they can’t bear to see the orphans. Most, like Uncle Bud, just bear the torch in silence, hesitantly and awkwardly standing at events, wondering what they did to be worthy of being remembered at all. But they are worth remembering, because they come home, touch countless other people's lives in beautiful ways, and carry with them the memories of the ransom paid for the precious gift that is our freedom. Uncle Bud loved dogs and horseshoes. He’d always ask about my dog when I went to his house. I'll never forget Sparkle, his border collie that would search the house systematically for any one of the dozens of toys she knew by name. Well into his 80’s, he’d beat a bunch of twenty-year-olds playing horseshoes, and I'd wonder how he did it. I have such good memories of Uncle Bud at the Fourth of July picnics that he and his wife held every year. But at the end of his life, the memories of the ghosts from his diaries came back to haunt him. The doctors had to use electric shock therapy to try to bolster his failing mind, which was literally collapsing under the weight of a torch he had carried for over half a century. Uncle Bud was a hero not because he had the courage to die for his country, but because he had the courage to live after serving. He faithfully carried the torch passed to him. The torches may have a fire that burns those who carry them, but they also give light. Uncle Bud lived a good life, full of horseshoes, dogs, and annual Fourth of July picnics with family. He loved and was loved by dozens of family members around him. There are so many veterans carrying so many torches. This, and every Veteran’s Day, let’s take the time to remember, thank, and support the thousands of combat veterans who live every day courageously; faithfully carrying the torch passed to them. And perhaps, as we honor them and remember with them and celebrate their lives, we will help our heroes to embrace the answer to the question "Why me?" [i] Mccrae, John, In Flanders Fields, December 8, 1915. [ii] Struble, Howard. “Excerpts of journal entries.” Personal journal of Howard Struble, Unpublished, 1944, pp. Oct. 20th. [iii] Struble, Howard. “Excerpts of journal entries.” Personal journal of Howard Struble, Unpublished, 1944, pp. Sept. 21st. [iv] Makos, Adam. Spearhead: An American Tank Gunner, His Enemy, and a Collision of Lives in World War II. New York: Ballantine Books, 2019. [v] Makos, Adam. Devotion: An Epic Story of Heroism, Friendship, and Sacrifice. New York: Ballantine Books, 2015. [vi] Makos, Adam, and Larry Alexander. A Higher Call: An Incredible True Story of Combat and Chivalry in the War-torn Skies of World War II. London: Penguin, 2013.
5 Comments
steve merrick
9/27/2019 12:58:17 pm
"...not because he had the courage to die for his country, but because he had the courage to live after serving."
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Nancy Embich
9/27/2019 02:22:46 pm
Great tribute to Uncle Bud. I stand in my "museum room" often and reflect on all our family who has served and protected our freedom. I feel blessed to have so many visuals to remind me of all who have served and I am proud to be married to a Veteran. Veteran's Day means a lot to us. Uncle Gary even gets some calls of thanks from friends who know he was part of protecting our freedom. Thank you for sharing. The younger generations for the most part really have no clue.
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Great-aunt Dolly Struble
9/27/2019 03:09:54 pm
Dear Nate,
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Alanna Warren
9/28/2019 10:21:57 pm
Oh Nate, what an awesome tribute to Veterans and especially my Dad. You just never realize how much someone can impact so many lives. I'm so glad you have those good memories of him. Thanks for sharing this with us.
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Erin Merrick
9/30/2019 10:58:05 am
Nate, this beautiful tribute is an incredibly touching remembrance of your uncle and all who have served and sacrificed to secure our freedom. Well done!
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AuthorNathan Gilson is a Social Studies Teacher in South Carolina with over 10 years of experience in the public school systems. He has taught US and World History courses, and is currently working toward a Ph.D. in History from Liberty University. Archives
April 2021
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