Memorial Day Remembrance, 2014

I wrote this speech to deliver to the Village of Kohler, Wisconsin, as part of their 2014 Memorial Day parade and ceremony.

Memorial Day is dear to Americans because it isn’t about us. Simply put, if we are here to celebrate it, then it isn’t about us — because we are alive to remember. It honors the achievement and sacrifice of our countrymen and women whose service required their very life.

As a Marine, the stories of my forbearers who gave their lives in service are legendary to me. Nearly any Marine can tell you the story of Lieutenant Bobo. Quoting from his Medal of Honor citation: “When an exploding enemy mortar round severed Second Lieutenant Bobo’s right leg below the knee, he refused to be evacuated and insisted upon being placed in a firing position to cover the movement of the command group to a better location. With a web belt around his leg serving as a tourniquet and with his leg jammed into the dirt to curtail the bleeding, he remained in this position and delivered devastating fire into the ranks of the enemy attempting to overrun the Marines.” That occurred in Viet Nam in 1967.

A more recent example is Corporal Dunham. His Medal of Honor citation relates, “…[A]n insurgent leaped out and attacked Corporal Dunham. Corporal Dunham wrestled the insurgent to the ground and in the ensuing struggle saw the insurgent release a grenade. Corporal Dunham immediately alerted his fellow Marines to the threat. Aware of the imminent danger and without hesitation, Corporal Dunham covered the grenade with his helmet and body, bearing the brunt of the explosion and shielding his Marines from the blast.” This occurred in Iraq in 2004.

These young Marines, and their sacrifice, live on in the institutional memory of the service. I first encountered Lieutanant Bobo’s name in 2003, when I underwent Officer Candidate School in Quantico, Virginia. It was the name of our Chow Hall, a place of great importance to us candidates, and our Drill Instructors never wasted an opportunity to tell us the story of the hall’s namesake (usually as part of a larger diatribe regarding our worthlessness and general incapacity to become Marines. Ah, the sweet nurturing environment of Basic Training!). Enlisted Marines also learn about Lieutenant Bobo in their Boot Camp. I know that in time, buildings and roads on bases throughout the Marine Corps will bear the name of Corporal Dunham, and newer generations of Marines will learn about — and be inspired by — his heroic deeds as well.

These two stories from different wars show us that the decision to give what President Lincoln called “the last full measure of devotion” at Gettysburg (arguably the first Memorial Day celebrated by this nation) is not made in the moment of stress. Lieutenant Bobo would not have had the fortitude to resist evacuation and direct the fight after losing his leg unless he had already decided, in some deep unconscious center of his soul, that he would give his all for his country. Corporal Dunham could not have jumped on that grenade “without hesitation” and within the five-second fuse of such weapons, had he not already chosen — in the months and years of training and operations prior to that moment –that the success and integrity of his mission and his team were more important than his own life.

This day is set aside to celebrate our nation’s fallen, but not only their final heroic deed of service. It celebrates also their lives, for each of them had the character and courage to dedicate themselves wholly to the rest of us long before we collectively asked them to sacrifice themselves. They represent the best of these United States, the ones who have made our existence and prosperity possible: the Minutemen who faced British cannon and muskets in 1775; the 2nd, 6th, and 7th Wisconsin Volunteer Regiments who as part of the famed Iron Brigade defended the high ground west of Gettysburg on the first day of that battle, enabling the rest of the Union Army to emplace and finally score a victory which led to the preservation our nation whole; the Soldiers and Marines who faced the unprecedented peril of amphibious landings at Normandy and throughout the Pacific; the heroes of Viet Nam and recent conflicts in the Middle East.

Today I remember the Marines I knew personally who died in service. Some, like Lieutenant Blue, died in Battle. He was as an outstanding officer, who routinely aced physical and tactical tests at The Basic School where we were classmates. He was also known as a “good dude” (in our lingo), which meant he was the kind of guy who would give up weekends to help his fellow students master testable skills, like marksmanship and compass navigation. He already had what the rest of us recent college graduates were struggling to develop: outstanding character. In training, he had all the talent and drive to graduate as the number one student, but chose instead to use his gifts to help his fellow students (and even so he graduated in the top 10% of our class). Our success was more important to him than his own. If anyone understood the importance of character and service at the tender age of 25, when he was killed by a roadside bomb in Iraq (2007), it was Lieutenant Blue. Word of his death spread quickly among his classmates, even to those like me who had limited interaction with him during our short time in school together. I believe he was the first of our class to die in the conflict, and he proved the old adage “the good die young.”

I also remember Marines who died in Training. A fellow fighter jock of mine, Reid Nannen, died this year [2014] when his F/A-18 Hornet crashed into the mountains of Nevada, where he was training at the Naval Fighter Weapons School (otherwise known as “Top Gun”). His callsign, or nickname, was “Eyore” because he was always comically pessimistic, but it under-laid his solemn unwavering dedication to the craft of aerial combat and aviation ground support, which had earned him the rare and coveted spot at Top Gun in the first place. He was also known for his dedication to his family, and was survived by his pregnant wife and three children. Although he was only training, it’s easy to forget that  our service members assume serious risk beyond what most non-military folks ever encounter in just training for combat. And it’s important to note that his family served our country in a way as well, suffering his absence when the country needed him to get ready for war as well as execute it, as he did in Afghanistan, and suffering his loss in the deepest way. Memorial Day is for them, too.

We celebrate the men and women who have died for us because we recognize that the highest and best use of freedom is in the service of others. Some wars we fought to carve out and preserve a spot of freedom on the earth to call home, these United States, and some wars we fought to bring freedom to others. But the men and women who died in our wars swore their lives to protect that freedom, firstly for us, but also for others less fortunate. I ask you all, as I would ask any of our countrymen, to enjoy this day as Americans — enjoy our freedom, our happiness, and our prosperity at the dawn of summer. Enjoy barbecues, enjoy some pick-up basketball games, and enjoy this time with your families. Enjoying our blessings is how I believe fallen service members want us to remember them.

But while enjoying this Memorial Day holiday, I will also honor the fallen with a quiet personal toast of my beer. I invite all of you to do the same.

This article was published first by Military Spouse Magazine. Please check out their site!

Actual Text below:

The 11th of November is recognized around the world as “Armistice Day,” and was first celebrated in 1918 at the cessation of the First World War. Since that day, the combatant nations have developed their own traditions about the day, the most common being a 2-minute silence observed at 11:00 AM (the eleventh hour) with the first minute dedicated to the 20 million people who died in the fighting and the second minute dedicated to those they left behind, specifically their families and friends (who were recognized also as victims of the war).

In the United States, Armistice Day was renamed to Veteran’s Day. Its purpose was changed, too, because the United States already had a day of remembrance for those who died in combat. Instituted after our deadliest war, the Civil War, the final Monday in May is known as Memorial Day and is dedicated to all Americans who died in battle. Our Veteran’s Day, however, is meant to recognize not specifically those who died for our nation, but all those who stepped up to take that risk.

The importance of this holiday lies in the nature of our own democracy. Whereas colonial powers in the 18th century chiefly fought with professional armies and mercenaries, the nascent United States chose to ask its civilians to bear the hardships and risks of military service. The founding fathers reasoned that citizens, who were aware of their value to the state and invested in its continuance, would both best defend the country and prevent tyrants backed by professional armies from threatening their freedom. And so the idea of a citizen-soldier came into being.

We all contribute to our national defense mostly by paying taxes that finance our military. During the Second World War, we collected scrap metal, scrap rubber, and planted victory gardens. We may post social media statuses in support of our military, or advocate better care for those suffering the physical and emotional wounds of conflict, or put a supportive sticker on our car. And those are great and appreciated acts, especially considering the many voices that vilely condemn and degrade our service members.

But what separates the Veterans from the rest of Americans is their oath to support and defend the constitution—and, by extension, both the people it represents and the institutions it created—even unto their own death. The Veterans willingly chose to give up some of their inalienable rights for the sake of military discipline, to give up the comfort and safety of family, friends, and society, to practice and execute wildly dangerous tasks necessary for the defense of our nation. They risk their lives, not just in all the conflicts we’ve fought since the ceasefire in Compiègne, France in 1918, but in their daily existence: they train in all weather, risking heat stroke and hypothermia; they service and operate engines, pushing ground and air vehicles to the very edge of design capability; they practice using firearms and explosives. They also forego the luxury of leisurely self-discovery in their service of a higher cause, as well as suffer deployments which take them away from their loved ones during holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths, and all the other little life events that are markers for memories in a relationship.

For most Veterans, their service was mostly enjoyable. It bestows confidence, meaningful achievement, strong friendships, and unforgettable experiences. But many Veterans also bear scars from their service. They remember comrades who died, or terrible hate in the faces of their enemies, or the price of a second’s neglect, perhaps on the trigger of a gun or in the cockpit of an airplane. That is often the price of military service, though it mostly gets little press or attention, and most Veterans bear such anguish stoically because they know they “signed up for it” and are unwilling to demean their sacrifice by making it the burden of another.

And finally, let us not forget that the privation and suffering of Veterans are shared by their families and friends, who are often left alone and bereft during deployments or training, and who do not have the military support structure of discipline and camaraderie. Service members’ families also receive far less emotional support from our society than military men and women. As they share the burden, so also should they share recognition on this day.

On November 11th, we remember that what Veterans—and those who love them—have done, what they have risked, is special to our country. It continually validates our democracy and our society, recognizing that our nation’s will is truly of the people and by the people. So for those people who take the risk imposed by their oath to defend this country, and who bear the burdens of military service, we (whether we are Veterans or not) offer our thanks and appreciation.

Thank you for your service.

Grief at the loss of a training aircraft

I am currently struggling through the first flying portion of Advanced Training. The stakes are higher here, since each student is destined for tactical aircraft. These aircraft operate in the most dynamic, threatening environment–they fight other aircraft and deliver ordnance through anti-aircraft systems. Consequently, the training is a bit more stringent. This usually takes the form of many long hours in the Simulators on my own, honing my navigation and weapons skills so I can perform them with greater precision and speed. The stress imposed on students has prompted us to to make many ironic statements regarding “glamor of naval aviation.” But flying is still fun, if dangerous. Recently, in fact, our Squadron was brutally reminded about how dangerous this job is. We suffered a serious, fatal mishap we suffered last Tuesday, on January 10 2006.

That day, Rocket 512 (the call sign of the flight) reported over the radio that they entered their low-level training route around 11 AM. They were never heard from again. After two days of waiting and searching, the wreckage of the aircraft was found in Northern Georgia. Of the four aviators aboard, there were no survivors. An investigation into the cause of the mishap is pending.

There was a memorial Mass this morning for the pilot. We do not use active-duty navy pilots; we use contract pilots employed by the Lockheed-Martin corporation, all of whom have a military aviation background. The chapel was full. I reflected there on how close we are in the squadron as a group. Though I personally knew both students and the instructor who died, I was neither friends nor even very familiar with any of them. The students were several classes ahead of me; I had only flown with the instructor once. Yet their absence is tangible. They no longer participate in the stories or jokes we exchange in the Ready Room, they no longer offer unsolicited advice to other students (as is the wont of all aviators), they will never again laugh at or make an ironic crack about the “glamor of naval aviation.” The instructor, particularly, I remember as being funny, friendly and sincere about teaching. He was enjoyable to fly with and made his students better at what they did. He was never cruel, difficult, or petty in the cockpit (as others were). He was a great asset to our squadron.

Perhaps more tragically, he left behind a wife and child. This is also true of one of the students; the other was recently engaged. Of course, this kind of risk was theirs to take and they took it without any illusion – as we all do. Military necessity requires us to ply our trade in dangerous regimes of flight, often at high speeds and low altitudes. Knowing this, we take especial care to identify risks and mitigate them. This is doubly true in a training command, because of “there is no glory in dying in a white [training] aircraft.” All of us officers in the command realize there is nothing to do except grieve, reflect, pick up, and continue with our mission. In fact, I will be doing just that tomorrow.

For this reason (in spite of the loss), things continue more or less as normal. No doubt as I immerse myself again in the task of flying, the grief will recede. But hopefully not the memory of these four aviators. There is a quotation on the wall of our Squadron bar says talks about how any aviator’s death is every aviator’s responsibility; perhaps if they had exchanged one more story about a hazard or they had invested a little more time in training they’d still be among us. That quote in turn reminds me of John Donne’s famous meditation:

“No man is an island, entire of itself / every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main / if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were / any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind / and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls / it tolls for thee.”

The grief I feel is real, despite not knowing any of the dead aviators very well. Their death reminds me of my own mortality, especially at the hand of flight; it is the loss of experience, from which I could benefit. Most importantly, they were comrades whose support I miss, even if I only received it tangentially. Moving on feels good, because grief hurts. But every so often I hear of an aviation mishap, and my mind returns to this one. I hope it makes me wiser.