What did you do last Wednesday?
Was it just another day avoiding COVID-19, or was it a day where you devoted a bit of time to remember and honor the men and women who serve(ed) in our military to protect and defend freedom?
Did you even remember Veterans Day and what it commemorates, or was it just one of those meaningless national holidays most people ignore, if they even know about them?
Bottom line, do you care?
You should, because that day honors the millions of men and women who have worn the uniform of the United States military over the years and put their lives on the line to protect our freedom.
Unfortunately, too many Americans take freedom for granted.
I would suspect that most Americans, especially the younger generations, have no real concept of the wars that were fought to keep us free.
How many know if any of their great-grandparents or grandparents served in World War I or II? Do they know anything about that military service and the effect it had on their own family?
My father-in-law and his brother served in World War I in Europe, and I have pictures of them in their uniforms. I was fortunate they lived to a grand old age and so could tell us younger ones what it was like and why they were fighting. Their reminiscences made that war more real to us than any history book ever could.
Both my in-laws and my mother’s family had many men who served in the military, in varied branches. Most survived World War II but my mother’s cousin (Uncle Henry) was killed in the infamous Battle of the Bulge. He was a young man, recently married and had no children.
My brother, born four months after that battle, was named after him, and his widow was asked to be my brother’s godmother.
I have the flag that covered his casket (it has 48 stars), and it remains for me a most real symbol of the war that was fought so bravely by so many – those who survived and those who didn’t – so that we might be free.
Since then my family members have served in the Marines, the Army, the Air Force and the Navy. My brother joined the Air Force and served in Vietnam. Even now, family members are in the military – the SEALs, the Navy and the Marines.
When I look at the pictures of past wars and the movies that show the hell they were, I have a deep appreciation for the sacrifices those military made for the rest of us. I, and we, owe them remembrance and respect. Veterans Day should be a special day.
Initially, the day was called Armistice Day, named for the official end of World War I. The armistice was signed at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. It’s still celebrated in Europe as Armistice Day (or Poppy Day) and was called the same here until 1954, when President Eisenhower changed the name to Veterans Day – to honor ALL American military, before and after World War I.
There are few veterans from World War II surviving. In the San Francisco area, one of them died on Nov. 4. He was Enrico ‘Rico’ Cinquini. He was 96 and died peacefully after a battle with esophageal cancer. His obituary in the East Bay Times noted a life of dedication and service, both to the country and to the community where he lived after he returned home.
Cinquini was a World War II Marine corporal and was honored as local “Veteran of the Year” in 2017.
Like many of his generation, he didn’t wait to be drafted; he joined the Marines when he was 17. It was the beginning of his war experiences in some of the most brutal and renowned battles in the Pacific. Cinquini survived the landings of New Guinea, Cape Gloucester, Peleliu and Okinawa.
For those survivals, he was nicknamed “Four Star Cinquini.”
While fighting on Peleliu, he and another Marine met Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal, who later would become famous for the photograph of the flag raising on Iwo Jima.
During a bloody battle on Peleliu, Rosenthal asked Cinquini and another Marine if they were from San Francisco and if there was a flag close by.
There was – and a photo of the proud Marines celebrating that flag later ran in a San Francisco newspaper.
Rico survived the war, returned home, married his sweetheart and settled in Northern California. He became a stalwart of his community – Oakley – and had a long career as a businessman and community champion, supporting education, literacy and nature.
In my view, Rico was a hero on so many levels it’s hard to fully appreciate. He was one of thousands of veterans who fought the war and returned home to fight the good battle here to maintain our freedoms.
He was a veteran we honor on Veterans Day – whether from the World Wars or the many other wars we have fought since then – and are fighting now.
I remember when I was a little girl, Armistice Day brought with it a town-wide parade – with the military marching, flags flying and bands playing. It was truly a day of celebration.
Over the years though, the “celebration” has diminished as though we are too sophisticated to cheer the military.
This year, it was worse because of COVID. Even the traditional military parade down Fifth Avenue in New York City was reduced to some military vehicles rolling down the street with no spectators. The observances were somber and virtual.
Military cemeteries did have the flags on graves but there were no bands or spectators. There was a traditional observance at Arlington National Cemetery, attended by President Trump and the first lady.
There are still millions of Americans in the military. Remember, they voluntarily joined, and they’re still being wounded and killed in varied military actions across the world.
We owe them all the honor we paid to earlier veterans. But at the same time, we must insist our politicians get us out of international entanglements that have no foreseeable end. Otherwise, they are suicide pacts.
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