They Were Just Boys

I just finished watching a Memorial Day Presentation on PBS. I make it a practice each year to watch this presentation which is hosted by Manny Manzano and Gary Sinise because it is simply one of the best. During this year's presentation the late actor Charles Edward Durning was used to represent the men and women who fought and died during the Second World War. 

I rarely get through one of these things without tears running down my checks and a lump in my throat and my voice dropping nearly an octave. This is partly due to the presentation itself and partly because the presentation is a salute to a group of people who cannot hear or  appreciate it . . . the men and women who died in the service of our nation. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for all that was sacrificed by so many to sustain the freedom I enjoy.

I am aware, and in the past have said so in this blog, of the sacrifices of family and fellow citizen in every war since the American Revolution to preserve that liberty. It moves me that people I never knew would believe so strongly in individual liberty and national freedom to offer up their own liberty, freedom and life for me to possess the same. To them, though insufficient, I can only say "Thank you."

However, what makes it such an emotional experience for me is that two of the most important men in my life served during the Second World War. One was my father-in-law, Floyd Dees and the other was my father, Buford Appleby.  Both of these men survived the war and neither of them ever shared much about their war experience.

My father was 29 years old when he became a part of the United States Army Air Force. Drafted immediately following the attack on Pearl Harbor Dad became and expert with regard to B-17's and C-47's. He was among the first men to be sent to Europe and North Africa. Having transported a B-17 to the Eighth Army Air Force in England he eventually found himself assigned to the IX USAAF, 52nd Wing, 315th Troop Carrier Group  34th Squadron. . . a combat group.

Dad would drop elements of the 82nd Airborne (504 parachute regiment) in the early hours of the
morning on June 6, 1944. He would also drop the elements of the 82nd during Market Garden at Grave in Holland as well as Operation Husky. He would finish the war with the Air medal with an Oak Leaf Cluster. Were it not for his personnel file I would never know just how much of a role he and his buddies played in the European Theater of Operations because he just never spoke of those experiences.  A great book on the subject is the late Michael N. Ingrisano's  Valor Without Arms: A History of the 316th Troop Carrier Group, 1942-1945 

I mentioned earlier that my Dad was 29 when he went into the USAAF and that made him one of the older men. In fact I recall one of his friends tell me that the only reason they didn't call him "Pop" was there was another man in the group older than him.

During the winters on his many trips to the Front he must have given away dozens of flight jackets, gloves and boots to weary infantrymen. This brings me my point. He once told my sister that after delivering gasoline and other supplies to Patton's 3rd Army they would often bring a plane full of wounded GI's back to Amien, France for medical treatment. Then he added with a great deal of pathos, "They were just boys."

I have thought about that phrase, "They were just boys" many times since. With the exception of a handful of men like my father they were all "just boys."  The men he dropped in the early morning hours of the Normandy Invasion were really "just boys."  The same was true of Market Garden and Husky. He knew every time a stick left his plane that many , if not most of them, would not be coming home. But it wasn't until he saw them being loaded into his plane as wounded soldiers he realized just how young they really were.

That's why I get so emotional. They were young, so very young. These, as he called them "boys,"

were giving up all their tomorrows for me to have a life of Liberty and Freedom. Don't misunderstand, none of them wanted to die but they were willing to die so I could have the life I enjoy. And die, many of them did. Nearly 400 thousand lifetimes were sacrificed so I could have my life . . . so you could have yours.

Each one of those lives had family they loved, dreams they cherished, hopes they aspired too and yet they gave them up so that you and I could have what we have. I don't know what their lives would have been had they not died on the battlefield. I rather suspect that all they wanted was exactly what I have. 

So I get weepy eyed when I think about their sacrifice. I get a lump in my throat when I weigh what they gave up and it just breaks my heart that they cannot hear my "Thank You." The only way I can pay the debt I owe them is to live well the life they gave me through their sacrifice.  I can only honor them by living my life to it's fullest.

Take a good long hard look at the life you are living. Does it justify their sacrifice? Is it being lived well?  They invested in your life. Whose life are you investing in?