On this episode of Our American Stories, Lee Habeeb shares a very personal Memorial Day story.
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Speaker 1 (00:15):
And we continue with our Memorial Day special all show
long here on our American stories. This one is a
personal story. It happens every Memorial Day. I'm drawn back
to a day long before I was born, the day
my mother found out her brother was killed in World
War Two. It was before there were support groups for
(00:38):
such things, before we knew what PTSD was, before anyone
dared to talk about war and the carnage it leaves behind.
The war was a defining chapter of my mom's life.
Almost every family she knew had at least one son
fighting in the war. After Pearl Harbor, my mom told us,
men young and old alike rushed to serve their country.
(01:01):
Her brother John was one of them. He joined the
army at eighteen, along with several other young men. Living
in her five story walk up in West New York,
New Jersey, On a sweltering fall day in nineteen forty,
four months after D Day, a black government car pulled
up in the front of my mom's apartment building. Two
(01:24):
serious looking men got up and walked up to the stoop.
My mother, who was nearing her twelfth birthday, remembered praying
that it would be someone else's apartment door those men
would knock on, and felt terrible praying such a prayer.
She huddled near the door of her family's apartment, listening
to the footsteps as the men walked up the stairs.
(01:47):
Please not our floor, she prayed. Then the worst thing
they could have happened happened. The men stopped on her floor.
It was John, She told me, I knew it was John.
Within moments, the two men arrived at the door, followed
by three knocks. She never heard her mom cry so loud.
(02:11):
It was more of a whale. My mom told us.
It was a sound I never heard from her before
or again. Her dad barely cried, but my mom would
never see him enjoy his life fully again. He'd lost
his only son, his bloodline, his future. John, the uncle
(02:33):
I never knew, is buried at the US Military Cemetery
in Saint Laurent, France. A framed picture of that cemetery
hangs on my office wall, next to a framed purple
heart citation. For me and millions of Americans, Memorial Day
is a sacred day. Yes, it's also the extended weekend
that kicks off the summer with hot dogs and picnics too,
(02:57):
But mornings on Memorial Day were always about honoring those
who paid the ultimate sacrifice serving their country in uniform.
The number of Americans and American families like ours who
paid that price is well over a million. Lives lost.
(03:19):
More than twenty five thousand died fighting the Revolutionary War,
thirty six thousand plus in the Korean War, fifty eight
thousand in the Vietnam War, one hundred and sixteen thousand,
World War One, four hundred and five thousand in World
War II, and an astounding six hundred and twenty thousand
in the Civil War. To date, over seven thousand Americans
(03:40):
have died in the Global War on Terror. Memorial Day
is more than a weekend of fun and sun is
so many millions of us. It's personal. That's why it's about,
first and foremost visiting military cemeteries and adorning grave sites
with small American flags. Indeed, it was General John A.
(04:01):
Logan who started that tradition back on May thirtieth, eighteen
sixty eight, at Arlington National Cemetery, where he and some
volunteers decorated the graves of more than twenty thousand Union
and Confederate soldiers. In nineteen seventy one, Decoration Day was
renamed Memorial Day and became a national holiday to honor
(04:23):
all Americans who died serving their country in times of war.
In Andrew Carroll's remarkable book, War Letters, Extraordinary Correspondence from
American Wars, his forward included a quote from General William
to come as a sherman in his speech he gave
in eighteen eighty There is many a boy here today
(04:45):
who looks on war as all glory. The boys, it
is all hell. You can bear this warning voice to
generations yet to come. I look upon war with horror.
Carrol's book is filled with a remarkable array of letters
from soldiers to the home front. Many were the last
(05:06):
letters that those soldiers, sailors, and airmen ever wrote to
their loved ones. Lieutenant Robert E. Mitchell wrote this to
his family on October sixth, nineteen eighteen. We're licking the
tar out of the Germans. The spirit of the boys
is great, and they're primming over with confidence. These are
stirring times, and regardless of my personal outcome, I'm glad
(05:28):
to be a part of it. Lieutenant Mitchell was killed
a mere nine days later. In a letter to his fiance,
Audrey Taylor. On July sixth, nineteen forty four, Lieutenant Jack
Emery wrote these words, I like to sit up these warm,
bright nights and watch the white clouds and dark shadows
move in the night. That's when I miss you the most.
(05:51):
On the nights that I sit up alone, I can
feel you close to me. Sometimes we sit and talk.
Sometimes I pretend we're just sitting there with our arms
all about each other. Lieutenant Emory was shot down three
days later over Burma. One of the most harrowing letters
came from Lieutenant Tommy Kennedy, who was captured and imprisoned
(06:13):
on what came to be known as Japanese hell ships
in Manila Bay. He scribbled these words to his parents,
if I could only have been killed in action, it's
so useless to die here from dysentery with no medicine.
Wright Mary Robertson at Hutsdell, Penn her son Melville died
(06:34):
of dysentery on the seventeenth of January. With his head
on my shoulders. We were like brothers. He was buried
at sea, somewhere off the China coast. I weigh about
ninety pounds now, so you can see how we are.
I will sign off now, darlings, Please don't grieve too much.
I'm not afraid to go, and we'll be waiting for you.
(06:57):
Lieutenant Kennedy's last letters were passed from one p O
W to another when the final survivors were free at
war's end. Kennedy's parents finally received those letters. It had
been four years since their teenage son left for the Pacific.
Twenty five year old Second Lieutenant Jack Lundberg's note to
his mother, father, and family was written a few weeks
(07:20):
before D Day. It's what soldiers, airmen, and seamen call
their final letter, the last note to loved ones in
the event they don't return home from battle. I want
you to know how much I love each of you.
You mean everything to me. It's the realization of your
love that gives me the courage to continue. After thanking
(07:43):
them for the sacrifices they made on his behalf, Lieutenant
Lumberg closed out his letter with these words, we of
the United States have something to fight for. Never more
fully have I realized that there's just no other country
with comparable wealth, advancement, or standard a living. The USA
is worth a sacrifice. Remember always that I love each
(08:06):
of you most fervently, and I am proud of you.
Consider Mary, my wife, as having taken my place in
the family circle, and watch over each other. Love to
my family, Jack. Two and a half weeks after D Day,
Lieutenant Lundberg was the lead navigator on a B seventeen
mission to bomb the railroads in a small town in France.
(08:28):
Hit by German anti aircraft rounds, Lundberg's plane crashed. His
body wasn't recovered until nine months after his death. In
a letter to his mother on September sixth, nineteen fifty,
Private William Bury wrote, I'm in a foxhole writing this letter.
Still here on the front line, I pray every night.
(08:50):
How is the family getting along? Fine? I hope well.
I spent my birthday here. I'm on a machine gun.
I haven't slept for six days. I will hoping to
hear from you soon, your loving son Bill. He died
a few weeks later, not long after his twenty second birthday,
an early casualty of the Korean War. Carol's book is
(09:13):
filled with letters like these, as well as letters from
American family such as mine, who lost a loved one
to one of our nation's wars. We families cherish those letters, medals,
and photographs that were left behind. They're an enduring memory
of a life that could have been, of graduations and weddings,
in the birth of children missed, and of lives lost,
(09:35):
preserving all the things we Americans love and that we
all too often take for granted. That's why Memorial Day
matters to so many of us. It's also why it
should matter to all of us. My personal story Memorial
Day and what it means to me here on our
American stories, I
And we continue with our Memorial Day special all show
long here on our American stories. This one is a
personal story. It happens every Memorial Day. I'm drawn back
to a day long before I was born, the day
my mother found out her brother was killed in World
War Two. It was before there were support groups for
(00:38):
such things, before we knew what PTSD was, before anyone
dared to talk about war and the carnage it leaves behind.
The war was a defining chapter of my mom's life.
Almost every family she knew had at least one son
fighting in the war. After Pearl Harbor, my mom told us,
men young and old alike rushed to serve their country.
(01:01):
Her brother John was one of them. He joined the
army at eighteen, along with several other young men. Living
in her five story walk up in West New York,
New Jersey, On a sweltering fall day in nineteen forty,
four months after D Day, a black government car pulled
up in the front of my mom's apartment building. Two
(01:24):
serious looking men got up and walked up to the stoop.
My mother, who was nearing her twelfth birthday, remembered praying
that it would be someone else's apartment door those men
would knock on, and felt terrible praying such a prayer.
She huddled near the door of her family's apartment, listening
to the footsteps as the men walked up the stairs.
(01:47):
Please not our floor, she prayed. Then the worst thing
they could have happened happened. The men stopped on her floor.
It was John, She told me, I knew it was John.
Within moments, the two men arrived at the door, followed
by three knocks. She never heard her mom cry so loud.
(02:11):
It was more of a whale. My mom told us.
It was a sound I never heard from her before
or again. Her dad barely cried, but my mom would
never see him enjoy his life fully again. He'd lost
his only son, his bloodline, his future. John, the uncle
(02:33):
I never knew, is buried at the US Military Cemetery
in Saint Laurent, France. A framed picture of that cemetery
hangs on my office wall, next to a framed purple
heart citation. For me and millions of Americans, Memorial Day
is a sacred day. Yes, it's also the extended weekend
that kicks off the summer with hot dogs and picnics too,
(02:57):
But mornings on Memorial Day were always about honoring those
who paid the ultimate sacrifice serving their country in uniform.
The number of Americans and American families like ours who
paid that price is well over a million. Lives lost.
(03:19):
More than twenty five thousand died fighting the Revolutionary War,
thirty six thousand plus in the Korean War, fifty eight
thousand in the Vietnam War, one hundred and sixteen thousand,
World War One, four hundred and five thousand in World
War II, and an astounding six hundred and twenty thousand
in the Civil War. To date, over seven thousand Americans
(03:40):
have died in the Global War on Terror. Memorial Day
is more than a weekend of fun and sun is
so many millions of us. It's personal. That's why it's about,
first and foremost visiting military cemeteries and adorning grave sites
with small American flags. Indeed, it was General John A.
(04:01):
Logan who started that tradition back on May thirtieth, eighteen
sixty eight, at Arlington National Cemetery, where he and some
volunteers decorated the graves of more than twenty thousand Union
and Confederate soldiers. In nineteen seventy one, Decoration Day was
renamed Memorial Day and became a national holiday to honor
(04:23):
all Americans who died serving their country in times of war.
In Andrew Carroll's remarkable book, War Letters, Extraordinary Correspondence from
American Wars, his forward included a quote from General William
to come as a sherman in his speech he gave
in eighteen eighty There is many a boy here today
(04:45):
who looks on war as all glory. The boys, it
is all hell. You can bear this warning voice to
generations yet to come. I look upon war with horror.
Carrol's book is filled with a remarkable array of letters
from soldiers to the home front. Many were the last
(05:06):
letters that those soldiers, sailors, and airmen ever wrote to
their loved ones. Lieutenant Robert E. Mitchell wrote this to
his family on October sixth, nineteen eighteen. We're licking the
tar out of the Germans. The spirit of the boys
is great, and they're primming over with confidence. These are
stirring times, and regardless of my personal outcome, I'm glad
(05:28):
to be a part of it. Lieutenant Mitchell was killed
a mere nine days later. In a letter to his fiance,
Audrey Taylor. On July sixth, nineteen forty four, Lieutenant Jack
Emery wrote these words, I like to sit up these warm,
bright nights and watch the white clouds and dark shadows
move in the night. That's when I miss you the most.
(05:51):
On the nights that I sit up alone, I can
feel you close to me. Sometimes we sit and talk.
Sometimes I pretend we're just sitting there with our arms
all about each other. Lieutenant Emory was shot down three
days later over Burma. One of the most harrowing letters
came from Lieutenant Tommy Kennedy, who was captured and imprisoned
(06:13):
on what came to be known as Japanese hell ships
in Manila Bay. He scribbled these words to his parents,
if I could only have been killed in action, it's
so useless to die here from dysentery with no medicine.
Wright Mary Robertson at Hutsdell, Penn her son Melville died
(06:34):
of dysentery on the seventeenth of January. With his head
on my shoulders. We were like brothers. He was buried
at sea, somewhere off the China coast. I weigh about
ninety pounds now, so you can see how we are.
I will sign off now, darlings, Please don't grieve too much.
I'm not afraid to go, and we'll be waiting for you.
(06:57):
Lieutenant Kennedy's last letters were passed from one p O
W to another when the final survivors were free at
war's end. Kennedy's parents finally received those letters. It had
been four years since their teenage son left for the Pacific.
Twenty five year old Second Lieutenant Jack Lundberg's note to
his mother, father, and family was written a few weeks
(07:20):
before D Day. It's what soldiers, airmen, and seamen call
their final letter, the last note to loved ones in
the event they don't return home from battle. I want
you to know how much I love each of you.
You mean everything to me. It's the realization of your
love that gives me the courage to continue. After thanking
(07:43):
them for the sacrifices they made on his behalf, Lieutenant
Lumberg closed out his letter with these words, we of
the United States have something to fight for. Never more
fully have I realized that there's just no other country
with comparable wealth, advancement, or standard a living. The USA
is worth a sacrifice. Remember always that I love each
(08:06):
of you most fervently, and I am proud of you.
Consider Mary, my wife, as having taken my place in
the family circle, and watch over each other. Love to
my family, Jack. Two and a half weeks after D Day,
Lieutenant Lundberg was the lead navigator on a B seventeen
mission to bomb the railroads in a small town in France.
(08:28):
Hit by German anti aircraft rounds, Lundberg's plane crashed. His
body wasn't recovered until nine months after his death. In
a letter to his mother on September sixth, nineteen fifty,
Private William Bury wrote, I'm in a foxhole writing this letter.
Still here on the front line, I pray every night.
(08:50):
How is the family getting along? Fine? I hope well.
I spent my birthday here. I'm on a machine gun.
I haven't slept for six days. I will hoping to
hear from you soon, your loving son Bill. He died
a few weeks later, not long after his twenty second birthday,
an early casualty of the Korean War. Carol's book is
(09:13):
filled with letters like these, as well as letters from
American family such as mine, who lost a loved one
to one of our nation's wars. We families cherish those letters, medals,
and photographs that were left behind. They're an enduring memory
of a life that could have been, of graduations and weddings,
in the birth of children missed, and of lives lost,
(09:35):
preserving all the things we Americans love and that we
all too often take for granted. That's why Memorial Day
matters to so many of us. It's also why it
should matter to all of us. My personal story Memorial
Day and what it means to me here on our
American stories, I
Host
Lee Habeeb
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