Schmit,
Thanks for cutting me so much slack, but I confess I had forgotten the proper title (if I ever knew). By way of apology, I'll relate what Paul Harvey would call, "The Rest of the Story".
I was quartered at Fort Myer (South Post) in 1968 - the year DC residents rioted and burned a good portion of our capital city. We were restricted to Post because of the riots.
One Saturday morning, just to get out of the barracks, I walked the short distance to Arlington cemetery. I felt a strong need to somehow show respect for those buried there.
While I wandered around the area, I noticed a man, all alone, leaning against the Marine Corps War Memorial. It did not look like he was praying or lost in thought. I thought he was ill. I approached to see if I could help him.
He seemed very old to me at the time. He was standing with his right arm extended, leaning against the Memorial with his head on his arm. As I approached, I could see he was sobbing.
Embarrassed, I turned to leave when he must have sensed I was there. He looked up and quietly said, "I was there."
I wanted to leave but I somehow felt it would be impolite or disrespectful. I stood there uncomfortably while he gradually got himself under control.
I was a callow youth with little understanding of the Memorial, or what it represents. He began to tell me his story. He explained that he was a Marine on Iwo Jima when the American flag was raised on Mount Suribachi. He spoke of the friends and comrades he lost in the terrible fighting there.
He told me many things I did not understand at the time. He spoke of places with strange names. He spoke to me of the hardships he and his buddies had endured, the fighting, the losses. It was heart-rending to listen to, but somehow fascinating.
He must have talked with me for nearly an hour, maybe longer.
I remember thinking that here was an American hero - a real hero! A real American.
And I don't even remember his name.
As I grew older, I began to understand more of what the Old Marine had told me. Though I no longer remember his exact words, he has haunted me for over thirty years.
It's rather ironic. I went to help a sick old man, but it turned out he helped me become an American.
[This message has been edited by Dennis (edited August 28, 1999).]