The World War II veteran said he didn't do anything. I almost believed him.
A plucked string carries the vibration along its entire length, and the sound it makes can resonate far beyond the moment it came to our ears.
I plucked this article from my news feed the other day because it sounded like something I would like to contemplate and share with you, this Memorial Day.
Memorial Day seems like the most modest of our holidays, even though it is a celebration of those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country and community. These sacrifices are anything but modest, yet Memorial Day is a holiday little recognized for its true meaning, unless you are a veteran yourself. In some respects, it has been reduced down to the jingoism of petty patriotism.
This article by John Kirby introduces us to a veteran named Charlie Nease, who fought in WWII, survived, and lived a good life. To him, it was nothing—“I did not do anything, “ he says in the article.
We don’t know this man, but we all know him. The middle class, post-war neighborhood I grew up in had several of these men on every block. We saw them get up and go to work every morning, and they did not look like heroes. Then, and now, we mistake modesty for insignificance.
As we celebrate this Memorial Day, let us contemplate that heroes are not just those whose graves we mourn over, or the ribbon bedecked generals who lead our troops. They are also the modest ones, like Charlie Nease, whose generous authenticity was foundational for the rest of us—those who heard our nation’s call, did their duty, and came home to return our nation to normalcy through love of family, hard work, and civility. They served their country as much by who they were after the war as what they did during the war.
Of course, some of our brothers and sisters who perished in the fight never got this chance. And for that we are greatly indebted and honor them today. Their honor is the strum of the plucked strings our community needs to hear again. On this Memorial Day, this is the resonance I wish feel in my own heart as I recognize the sacrifices and achievements of those who have fallen, those who have passed, and those who are still living, in service of our great country.
—Ray Brimble
The World War II veteran said he didn't do anything. I almost believed him.
Written by John Kirby, originally published on CNN.com
Private Charlie Nease, in his 45th Infantry Division uniform.
The old man said he didn't do anything. I only half believed him.
People of his generation say that all the time, especially when they talk about their service.
That's one of the reasons we call them the "Greatest Generation." It's not just because they won World War II. It's because even in that most ultimate of victories, they remained humble.
Anyway, the old man kept saying it over and over. "I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything."
And then he wept... openly, valiantly. And then he said it again. And I stood over him, all decked out in my dress blue uniform, ashamed for the first time to be wearing it. I'd been invited back to my hometown of St. Petersburg, Fla. in the spring of 2013 to give a speech, and I wanted to stop by the local veterans' hospital to pay my respects.
But who in the hell was I to be in his presence? What could I possibly say to such a man?
Charlie Nease in 2013
I know Memorial Day honors those who were killed on the battlefield. And Private Nease surely wasn't, though many of his friends surely were. And yet, right around this time of year, I can't help but think about him. The more I do, the more I think he was right after all. He didn't do anything. He did everything, everything a man could hope to do with his life and still call himself a man.
And we are all richer, whether we know it or not—whether we choose to appreciate it or not—for having had people like him walk the earth. That's seems one hell of a memorial to me.