“The guys who didn’t come back, those are the heroes.”
I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve heard veterans say that. My mother began thanking veterans for their service. At first, it shocked them. The Vietnam War was highly controversial. It wasn’t common practice to thank vets until after 9/11. But both then and now, our vets will likely respond to our thanks by remembering those who didn’t come back.
I awoke this morning remembering a story from my friend, Maj.(Ret.) Edward Miller. He and his childhood best friend were in San Diego one night during WWII and heard the sounds of battle down by the waterfront. The next morning they looked around and found missile debris with Japanese writing on it. Both went immediately to enlist.
His friend served on a bomber. The ball turret gunner was scared he’d be trapped, so he asked Ed’s friend to promise he’d come get him out if they were going down. One day the plane was hit, and he headed back from the cockpit to keep his promise. It was the last time he was seen alive.
Ed told me the story over 50 years later, and still had tears in his eyes.
So did I.
His friend was the kind of guy you could trust to keep a promise to risk his life to save yours–even if it cost him his own. He was the kind of hero who did not come home.
I’m grateful to be free, and that if I choose to learn German or Japanese or Arabic that it will be only because I want to. I can’t thank our servicemen enough. Caring for their friends who survived and for their families will only scratch the surface of the debt I (we) owe them. Guarding the tools of freedom–learning about our history and system of government and voting, or possibly serving personally–are mere table stakes. So is taking the time to consider the relative cost and effectiveness of military force against our enemies.
Ed Miller practiced these ideals during all the years I knew him. He never had to face the temptation his friend overcame. He was the hero who came home. It was a privilege to know him, and to gain insight into “the guys who didn’t come home.” Both Maj. Miller and his friend defined themselves by their actions of service and kindness.
Now it is our turn to keep the legacy alive.