Perhaps - just perhaps - it is the story of the bugler that will allow us all to surround ourselves with the meaning of Memorial Day, 2012.
May 28, 2012
Bill Little, Texas Media Relations
Perhaps - just perhaps - it is the story of the bugler that will allow us all to surround ourselves with the meaning of Memorial Day, 2012.
For most of the past 22 years, retired Navy Commander Harvey Edward Little walked to the front of the First Presbyterian Church in Ambler, Pennsylvania, on the Sunday before Memorial Day. There, he stood with the light shining in through the stained glass windows, and talked about the power of the weekend, and what it all meant.
Monday, as the sun was about to burn through the mist in a forest-like cemetery in the Pennsylvania hills, we buried my brother.
And the bugler played taps.
The month of May had begun for the Texas football family with Mack Brown introducing Admiral William McRaven at an event in Austin. There, he watched the architect of the mission that killed Osama Bin Laden become emotional as he talked about the realism of war, and the loyalty of America's fighting men and women to each other. He cried because a brave fellow Navy SEAL had been among those killed in a helicopter crash on a mission in Afghanistan.
Less than a week later, we all celebrated our own Nate Boyer, a staff sergeant in the Green Berets currently serving with the 5th Battalion, 19th Special Forces Group in the Texas National Guard. Nate, a bronze-star winner after two Special Forces tours in the Middle East, received the Outstanding Young American Award from the Greater Austin Chapter of the National Football Foundation and Hall of Fame. He will spend the first part of his summer deployed - and take along a football and pads so he can continue to practice as he tries to earn the starting role as the Longhorns' long-snapper for punts this fall.
Friday completed the span of the generations, as ardent Longhorn fan Frank Denius was honored again by the French government for his bravery following the D-Day invasion of World War II in June of 1944.
Through all of that, Memorial Day looms as a reminder that while we may always remember, at this time each year we stop to say thank you.
Admiral McRaven, a UT ex-student, reflected in his emotion what Nate Boyer said to the high school graduates honored at the Austin NFF chapter banquet.
"I fight," he had said, "for the person on my left, and the person on my right."
The author, William Manchester, said that well in his book, "Goodbye Darkness," when he said that he had learned that the Marines who died on Okinawa had given their lives...not for God or country, but for each other.
Darrell K Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium was built in 1924 and first dedicated to the Americans who had given their lives in the fighting of World War I. Several Longhorn football players were among them, including perhaps the best two-sport star of the era just prior to the war, Pete Edmond.
When America was drawn into the conflict in Europe, Pete Edmond gave up his banking job to enter Officer's Training Camp, and was commissioned as a second lieutenant. He left for France in April of 1918.
At first, he wrote letters every day - even if they only contained a few lines. A last letter arrived on October 24, 1918. It painted a grim picture of war on the western front as the fate of the world hung in the balance. That was the last his family ever heard from Pete Edmond. Months later, after searching for word through the military and the Red Cross, the family received a cable gram from General Pershing himself.
"Deeply regret to inform you... ," it began. It went on to describe where Edmond had been buried, in what would become the largest overseas cemetery in United States history.
Later, the family would begin to piece together the story of Lieutenant Pete Edmond.
On August 6, 1918, he made a personal reconnaissance of German positions in the area, covering almost two miles of ground under heavy fire. For that, he was awarded the Silver Star, the third highest recognition in the US military.
On September 26, he was wounded, but refused to go to the rear and stayed with his men as company commander.
And then, on October 11, 1918, he was killed charging a German machine gun position in the battle of the Argonne Forest, one of the bloodiest campaigns in the history of American warfare, where 26,000 American soldiers died.
He died fighting for his men, and fighting for his country.
Almost a century later, my son, David Little, left his law practice in Austin to return to active duty as a Marine lieutenant colonel. For most of a year's tour of duty, he served in the broiling heat of the vast Al Asad province in Iraq.
David stood, along with his cousins in uniform at the graveside for Commander Harvey Edward Little. Together, they represented the Air Force, the Navy, and the Marines.
His mind drifted back to the sands of the Middle East, to his fellow officers who had to write letters to the families of fallen Americans who had died fighting for freedom, much as General Pershing had done almost a century before. Harvey Little had seen that, serving in the middle of the Vietnam War as an officer aboard the USS America, and during his 22 years as a naval officer.
In the history of American military, the bugle has a long and honored tradition. I thought of that as I remembered the scene at the little cemetery in Pennsylvania, where the naval officer had played flawlessly and beautifully. It was still drifting through my mind as I climbed on a plane in Dallas to head to Oklahoma City for the Big 12 Baseball Tournament.
There were at least a dozen young men and women on the plane who were headed to Oklahoma City so they could get on a bus to travel 90 miles to Fort Sill, near Lawton, where they would begin two months of basic training in the army of the United States of America. Chris, the young man sitting next to me, had left his home in Jonesboro, Arkansas, that morning, and fell asleep as this leg of his journey with a dream of becoming a medic was about to end.
The gate agent had said the same thing to each young person who had checked in.
"Thank you for your service."
The next morning, a bugler would awaken them in southwestern Oklahoma, to a totally different cadence and melody.
In the cemetery with the tall spruce trees and the wistful look of a mini-forest on what is called Rose Hill, the bugler finished his playing of "Taps" and laid the shiny instrument in the dew-kissed grass and joined his commander at the graveside. Together, they meticulously folded the flag which had draped the coffin. When they were finished, the commander turned to Harvey's wife, Joan (who had been a Navy nurse) and looked straight into her eyes, and this is what he said as he handed her the folded flag:
"On behalf of the President of The United States and a grateful nation, I thank you for your husband's service to his country."
In November, we as Americans celebrate Veterans Day on the anniversary of the end of World War I. In May, we stand together with the members of our U. S. Forces and honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.
When David Little returned from Iraq, he sent an e-mail home before he left.
"I cannot leave this place," he wrote, "without remembering those who will not return. Both friends and Marines and sailors I did not know shed their blood and gave their lives here. They believed in what they were doing. They took a stand and made a difference with their lives, and are to be respected for that. They stepped up and faced death so that others would not have to, and they are to be honored for that.
"And, they gave of themselves selflessly so that my children and yours can play in the yard, go to school, and live their lives without fear...they are to be thanked for that."
And so it should be, on Memorial Day in a May of memories.
