Old Glory proudly waves above the GWB on a previous Memorial Day. F LoBuono

I wrote this for Veteran's Day. It is certainly applicable to today, Memorial Day. I re-submit it in honor of ALL veterans; those living and those deceased.

This was originally published in The Nyack Villager:

They Were Giants

It seems to happen to me every Veterans Day. I’ll be watching a documentary on The History Channel of any one of the great battles of WWII. Riveted, it suddenly strikes me: “Oh my god, war is such a horrible thing. What a terrible price to pay – THEY paid”! I unabashedly shed a few tears. Whenever I am reminded of their sacrifice, I am overwhelmed with emotion. These men were GIANTS. I apply that moniker to all who served in that capacity but in particular to the so-called and so aptly named Greatest Generation – the men and women of WWII.

A large part of this connection lies within my family; both my father and his brother served in combat units in the European Theater. My father was an engineer with Patton’s Third Army and my uncle served on a tank with the 2^nd Armored Division. My father is gone 20 years now and my uncle, like so many of his comrades, just recently passed away. But their sense of duty, honor, commitment and pride in service has lived beyond them both.

One thing that strikes me so deeply is that, despite the enormity and importance of the task at hand, it so often came down to young, 18 and 19 year old boys who became men in the blink of an eye, the flash of a muzzle, or the blinding light of a fierce explosion. They became steel forged in the crucible of mortal combat. Yet, for me, it’s their humanity in the midst of such barbarity that affects me most. These men knew their mission was to survive by killing the enemy, destroying them and eliminating his ability to wage war. It was his JOB and he was going to do it! He also came to know that loyalty and commitment to his brother in arms was the key to his survival. This is such a powerful thing that it can even overcome the frightening might of a .50 caliber machine gun bullet. Giants, I say, Giants!

In the time after the violence of battle and they could reflect on what they experienced, they realized the terrible cost of war: so many young lives lost, the enormous human potential wasted. It is at these times of deep, inner reflection that the emotion, the compassion, the deep sense of humanity comes out in all of them. In the end, they, before all others, know we must choose humanity over brutality. It’s this legacy that, despite the obvious sadness for the loss of so many young lives, gives them tremendous inner strength, validated by their very presence.

There is a family legend about the two LoBuono brothers from Cliffside Park, N.J. – my father and his younger brother. Somewhere in eastern France, my father, the engineer, was building a pontoon bridge across a small river so that the US tanks could roll on. Well, sure enough, my uncle, the tanker, needed to get his tank across that very river. At some unknown intersection, in the middle of a great battle to save the world, two brothers had a chance meeting. It only lasted a few minutes but I can only imagine the deep pleasure it must have given them to finally see one another again. It had been two years since they last met. There was brief blurb of the encounter published in Stars and Stripes. “Brothers Meet in France” read the headline. My mother still carries that article, folded and graying, in her purse.

I recall that story every Veterans Day and think of my father and uncle. I think of all the veterans of all the wars. And I prefer to think of that story above all others because it’s one of reunion, family, and hope. Ultimately, they are the values that these men fought and died for in the first place.

Perhaps my father met his brother again. Somewhere. In some far away place. Like they did on that day in 1944. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think that veterans and all brothers in arms will once again be with one another - as they were in their youth.

Well, there I go again with the water works. I get softer as I get older. But I still don’t mind the tears. They were worth it. They were ALL so worth it.

Author’s note: I sincerely hope that, eventually, we will learn from their sacrifice and abolish war so that we will never have to memorialize the loss of so many again. Wishful thinking? Perhaps, but a worthy goal, don’t you think?