Honor Air
For those who served, it was an honor indeed.
In a retirement home, you have time to reflect on your life.
My mind went back to a happening of 10 years ago.
While working at the information desk at a community center, a guest saw the Marine Corps ring on my finger.
He said, “They are looking for you.”
Joking, I said, “I am too old to re-up.”
“No. I mean the Honor Air wants to take you to Washington D.C. in honor of your service time”.
He filled me in on the details.
Two days later, Nathan Brown from Coldwell Banker Residential Brokerage appeared at my door to introduce himself and his company.
The following day Nathan drove me to Roswell Area Park, where we had breakfast.
Then, onto the waiting buses wearing our Red, White, or Blue pullovers to match the color of our buses.
We headed to Hartsfield-Jackson airport.
The Roswell Fire Department rigged two extended ladders touching at the top with the American flag hanging below.
The firefighters cheered and applauded the departing veterans as the buses drove under the ladders.
It was the beginning of a momentous day for us aging vets.
The police cleared the way to the airport.
Crews loaded the disabled and their chairs first.
The rest of us and our guardians filled the plane with 120 passengers in all.
The giant plane rolled out onto the runway, and in minutes we were headed to the nation’s Capitol.
The excitement and anticipation of what was to come were electric.
Many vets wore caps identifying their branch of service. They chatted with one another, asking:
“What was your outfit?”
“Where were you?”
“What ship were you on?”
Some were able to make a connection of a vaguely recalled action.
The plane landed at Regan National, and the firetrucks were ready with their water cannons. They sprayed the entire plane with water.
Inside the terminal, the USO volunteers were waiting. Warm hands shook ours. Smiling faces greeted the vets.
“Thank you for your service to your country.”
We Vets in turn thanked the well-wishers.
A large crowd mixed with the USO. They all applauded, cheered, shook our hands, and waived to us. It was good to be respected for what we had done, but we knew we were not heroes.
More people cheered, smiled, and waved to us as we went down the stairs to the buses. We made our way through the crowd and seated ourselves on the buses.
Our first stop was The World War Two Memorial, situated on the north end of the reflecting pool, opposite the Lincoln Memorial.
The well-designed waterfront memorial flanked by two pavilions symbolizes war fought across two oceans.
Inscriptions at the base of the pavilions mark the critical battles of the war.
Fifty-six tall pillars with a state or territory name made a perfect place for vets to pose for photographs.
Along the entrance, twelve bas-relief sculptures show scenes of America at war.
A vet pointed out to his guardian the action of a depth charge on the stern of a patrol ship. A little piece of history, being passed to a younger generation.
The most poignant display on the Freedom Wall was the four thousand gold stars in high relief. Each star commemorates the more than 400,000 lives of Americans lost in World War Two.
A man walking beside me said, “One of those stars represents my best friend. We went to school together; we were Boy Scouts together. He was a B-17 pilot, shot down over Germany. War is such a waste of good young people.”
The crowd moved toward their buses. Looking back at the monument, one said, “That monument was exceptional.”
The buses rolled to the following memorial. We stopped at the Lincoln Memorial and the Korean statues.
The Vietnam wall is impressive. It rises out of the earth, ascends about eight feet, then drops slowly down again. Inscribed on it are the names of those who perished there. I knew two of them personally.
The final stop was Arlington National Cemetery, where thousands of headstones mark the resting place of those who served our country.
We were in time for the changing of the guard in front of the Tomb of the Unknowns.
The disabled vets wheeled into position. All were silent as the guard glided back and forth in front of the tomb.
On the hour, the guard officer appeared with the next watch. The officer inspected rifles.
We watched the changing of the guard with our hands over our hearts. The bugler played Taps.
As the veterans walked or were wheeled to their buses, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the silent hills and headstones of the fallen.
It was time to return to Reagan National and the trip home.
The USO dancers in their 40’s dresses were cutting a rug with some able vets.
We went through the jetway hung with patriotic bunting to the plane and settled into our seats.
As the plane broke through the clouds, we could see the long orange streak of the setting sun. It seemed to want to hang onto the day.
Many of us felt the same way. We did not want to let go of our Day of Days.
A quiet settled over the passengers. For most, this would be their last trip. 1,500 World War Two Veterans are dying every day. It will not be long before there is no “Greatest Generation.”
Authors Note: I made these notes in 2012. Over these ten years, most veterans on this trip are gone. Those of us who remain remember our benefactors and our loyal guardians.
The Honor Flight continues off and on through the Covid crisis.
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