Veteran's Day Note

I have seen several things written today about Veteran’s Day, so I thought I would post my reflections.   My thoughts take me to Cheb, a little town in what is now the Czech Republic.   Cheb is a small town where at the end of World War II American forces of the 1^st Infantry Division made their final push.  There is a monument there, outside of the town, dedicated to the soldiers of the 1^st Infantry Division who died in and around the area. 

            Near the end of my tour in Germany, I had the great honor of accompanying a contingent of soldiers from the 4/16^th Inf. Battalion of the 1^st Infantry Division, led by, who was then, LTC Russell Honore’, to lay a wreath at the monument.  It was a special ceremony because no Americans had been to Cheb in such a capacity since Czechoslovakia had become a communist country after the war  behind the Iron Curtain.  The monument is located somewhere several miles out of the center of town.  When we arrived we learned it was located in a grove of heavily leaved trees, located out behind a gas station.  You could not see the monument because of the trees.  It didn’t look like much.  When we marched back to the monument, our jaws dropped.   There was this 15-20 obelisk monument.  It looked like a miniature Washington monument.  It was beautiful.  But more astonishing was that the monument contained the names of thousands of American soldiers who died fighting in the area around Cheb.   We wondered whether anyone even knew this monument was there.   None of us ever expected to see so many names, or for that matter, any names.  We were also amazed that so many local citizens showed up.  What was amazing was that so many of the peoples were wearing shirts and clothing with 1^st Infantry Division and 2^nd Infantry Division patches sewn on them.  We learned that these were patches soldiers had given local citizens back in the final days of the war. It was amazing. 

            I can tell you there were some wet eyes,  although some of us were still trying to regain our sobriety after a night of sharing vodka with our Czech hosts at their Officer’s Club.   That experience is not a part of this story. 

            It was quite an experience.  I remember seeing all of those names.  They are the veteran’s I remember today.  All the young soldiers who left it all out there and never came home.  So today, I remember those soldiers, and remember others too, like my initial drill instructor, SSG “No Slack” Jackson, what a man, ramrod straight, a man who never messed a crease or popped a bead of sweat, no matter how long the run may have been; or Cpt. John P. “Pat” McKenna, of Houston, Texas, a Viet Nam vet, who carries the scars of a combat veteran, if you see him in town please tell him thank you; or MG Michael Nardotti, the retired Judge Advocate General of the U.S. Army, of whom I always said that I would follow him through the gates of Hell, if he said we needed to go in there; or the Cpt. with whom I served at the Aviation Systems Command, whose name I cannot remember, but whose face I shall not forget, because it was one big scar from the burns he received in a helicopter crash in Viet Nam; or any of the many Command Sergeant Majors with whom I have served in my career, those men and women who, tough as nails, run the Army on a daily basis, and whose mission is to take care of soldiers; or the many Commanders and NCO’s who find it hard to sleep sometimes when they think of their soldiers who didn’t come home, and who ask themselves, “why did I make it back;”  or, my uncles, Clem Szymanski, recipient of the Silver Star, and his brother Eddie Szymanski, both who served in World War II; or all of the soldiers who are out there at this very moment, in harm’s way.  These are the veteran’s I most especially remember today.  I salute you all.