(Wounded Warriors. Photo Washington Post).
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
‘Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
– Second Stanza of a song set to the melody of a British bar-room anthem you may have heard somewhere.
I meant to get this out earlier, but am still woozy on Day Four of The Process. I was going to tell you about military medicine today, and about the interesting process of triage, prep, anesthetic, surgery and post op in the military tradition. It got my attention, anyway, and I was lucky enough to have had just had the one encounter last week. Some of the kids in the Cast Room were on their fifth or sixth iteration under the knife to get to a stable stump platform on which they could have their prosthetic limbs fitted.
To be in The Process with them at Walter Reed is both inspirational and humbling. It is no place to feel sorry for yourself, nor to feel the sting of the injustice of fate. These young people are taking it in stride- or will, when rehab has proceeded far enough to get them upright again.
Some will not make it. The wounds to the flesh in many of the Warriors is dwarfed by the consequences of blast-concussion to the mind. If anything shook me to the very bone it was the sight of a tall husky young man- a beef-fed Iowa interior lineman type with a thousand yard stare- being led by his Mom down the passageway in front of the Cast Room.
The majority appear determined to do it. For some it will be the challenge of getting back to something like a normal life. For others, it will be the daunting task of getting fit on the new limbs and getting back to active duty.
I got a challenge the other day to come up with a name for the Generation those volunteers who have given so much, as America famously “went to the Mall” to keep the economy rolling along.
I thought of something like The Real One Percent, though of course that whole thing comes with a lot of baggage. The Occupy Movement claims they are the 99% and the 1% needs to step up to the plate and take care of them. They want a bunch of stuff- forgiveness of the students loans they took out, affordable housing provided by the government so they don’t have to live in the basements of their parents, that sort of shit. They are of course kids of the Boomers and the grandchildren of the Greatest Generation that is leaving us.
Finding a name for the ones who served with such distinction is not about politics, of course, and that is why I think we need something new. It is about selfless service and sacrifice, none of which the OWS loonies have much of a clue.
Statistically, though, it is tempting to think about the percentages. In 2010 there were 1.4 million American kids under arms. That is out of a total population (2011) of 311.591,917. You know how numbers lie, since the total population does not equate to the total military-age cohort. Not that many of today’s mass population meets the physical requirements for what needs to be done.
Sad, really.
The percent of kids on active duty amounts to less than half of one percent of the population. The whole enchilada has been borne by that few. England had The Few in their desperate struggle with the Nazi Luftwaffe. We have ours, too.
I would welcome your thoughts on what to call this remarkable generation. This isn’t about politics and they need a name to describe and honor what they have done for all of us.
I won’t be able to go to Arlington and check in on Dan and Vince and the others, who paid the ultimate sacrifice. They are in my thoughts every day, but particularly on this one.
And whether or not our fathers and mothers are really the Greatest Generation is irrelevant. They answered the call, and everyone contributed to Victory. It is the last time we had that sort of unity. So, I will leave you with those who are close to me, who have left this year, those who linger, and those who still face the dawn’s early light with rueful mirth. Here are Raven, Big Bill and Mac, and a member of the generation yet to be named.
(My Dad, Raven, in 2011. Navy Attack Pilot. 1923-2012).
(Big Bill, US Armed Merchant Marine, from the Murmansk Run. 2011)
(Mac and ENS Socotra. 2011. Long may they wave.)
Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com