Over the years I have made several visits to our Nations Most Hallowed Ground – Arlington National Cemetery. There is no other place like it. I am always humbled as I watch the lone sentinel walk the 21-steps across the mat. The reverence, honor and dedication to duty is amazing. I am further humbled as I watch the precision in which the Changing of the Guard is performed. But I am most humbled when I walk silently and alone among the simple marble headstones. It then that I truly realize the real cost of freedom.
A few years back, as I was walking quietly among the neat white stones, I notice there were a large number of aging veterans in the cemetery. Some were in wheelchairs, other on walkers and other were being assisted by family, friends, and caregivers. Most were veteran of World War II, many in uniform but all were wearing hats or name tags indicating their service. Those youthful faces who were at place like Omaha Beach, Iwo Jima, Midway and Pearl Harbor, were now wrinkled and worn.
As I walked among them, I noticed an elderly gentleman sitting alone in his wheelchair. I watched him for a few minutes before walking over, shook his hand and simply said, “Sir, I want to thank you for your service and for the freedom I enjoy.” He very quietly said, “Thank You, but I got a friend buried over there who did more than I ever could. I wish we could thank him.” I sat down on the bench next to him and for the next few minute we talked about his friend who was killed in action in France during World War II.
As he talked, I watched as his eyes overflowed with tears. As I listened the love that he had for his friend and the other that he served with was obvious, and my own eyes began to overflow too.
I had been listening to this American Hero for the better part of 30-minutes, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands shaking and his voice cracking. We continue to talk, and I ask him if he could have had one thing from back home during those awful day of combat what would it have been. He looked at me and without hesitation said, “Dry Socks.” To say that I was not prepared for his answer would be an understatement. He went to explain that they marched day in and day out. Crossing rivers, streams and through swamps and at night they slept in the rain in foxholes and trenches. He explained that trench foot was a real problem. He when on to explain that some of his buddies had to have the foot amputated as a result.
Then he told me something ever more amazing. When the war ended and he made it back home, whenever he went to the store to by socks, he always bough two packs. One for himself and one pack that he donated to the veteran’s hospital or his local homeless shelter. A practice that he continues to this very day.
A few minutes late one of the chaperones came up and end our visit as it was time for his group to move on. I shook his hand, I told him what an honor it was to meet him and once again thanked him for his service. As I was turning to leave, he handed me a quarter and ask me if I would place it on his friend’s stone. I took the coin and walked up the hill. I removed my hat as I knelt and placed coin on the stone. I look back and tears were once again streaming down his cheek as his chaperone slowly push him away. I have been back to Arlington two times since and each time I have made it a point to stop by and visit the grave of this veteran’s friend.
Today, as we celebrate our Independence I am reminded that no one and I mean no one can truly know the price of Freedom it you haven’t clutched the perfectly folded flag that has covered the coffin of a son, daughter, husband or wife. America is the LAND OF THE FREE BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE.
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