18 | SUNRAYS MAY 2015
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M
emorial Day to me is etched in stone. From the age of nine in
1939 until I flew the nest in 1951, I marched in all the Memorial
Day parades in Missoula, Montana. The flowers of springtime in the
Rockies exploded. Lilacs, daffodils, iris all over the place. Everyone in
town was in the parade or watched it. Just about always it consisted
of the American Legion with its forty and eight motif, red poppies,
the VFW Drum and Bugle Corps in blue tunics, red pants and blue
helmets, the high school and university bands, Cub and Boy Scouts,
ROTC, Sheriff’s Posse with their flags, Shriner go-carts, the 1st Bn,
4th Infantry from Fort Missoula (before they were deployed to Alaska
in late 1940) and Montana National Guard after 1947.
The parade halted momentarily where it crossed the bridge and 21
salutes were rendered by a squad with O3 Springfields as a wreath
and a bevy of poppies were tossed into the waters. Then on again it
went down to University Avenue where it dispersed. Patriotism and the
smell of flowers ruled the day. No one said “thanks for your service.”
They had all been, were in or about to go in. All American families
had much to be thankful for even in the depths of the Depression, and
expressed their remembrance quite civilly at the memorials not just
for the troops but for all the deceased.
World War I was still quite in evidence. A lot of my teachers were war
widows from that one and I recall in the third grade we learned “In
Flanders Fields” and sang “Over There” and “The Rose of No Man’s
Land.” Only 48-star American flags were in evidence and were all
over the place.
And, I might add, the people who organized the parades and festivities
had taken it on the chin in the first war and at Pearl Harbor, launched
6,000 ships, built tens of thousands of war planes, tanks and vehicles,
put on 12 million uniforms and all planted Victory Gardens – and,
as an afterthought, brought outrageous enemies to their knees. Over
200,000 found their names on the memorials.
God Bless America.
Gerald Wilcomb
Colonel,Field Artillery
US Army Retired
We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
Moina Michael, Founder of the Memorial Poppy, 1915
Continued from the previous page
W
hile growing up, I associated Memorial Day with no school and
fun. After serving in the United States Navy, side by side with
other individuals dedicated to preserving freedom and the American
way of life, I now observe Memorial Day with great reverence for the
countless sacrifices American men and women have selflessly given
when called to serve. The real voyage of discovery is not in seeking
new landscapes, but in having new eyes!
“To remember is to honor.”
Joe Nichols
