THE LAST FULL MEASURE

“But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” President Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address, November 19, 1863

Each Memorial Day we remember those men and women who, in Lincoln's poetic words at Gettysburg, “gave the last full measure of devotion” for our country, its citizens and ideals. I think of sailors like my late grandfather, Harry Meyer, who risked their lives in service of this nation. A recent graduate of Marquette University, working for the Milwaukee Journal, not yet 25 years old and newly married with the baby on the way, he voluntarily enlisted in the U.S. Navy when World War II broke out. After serving as a naval flight instructor in Pensacola, FL, he shipped out to Guam. Like most men of the "Greatest Generation" he never bragged about his service; he simply considered it a privilege and obligation to fight and risk death for his family and fellow Americans. 

One evening when I was in college, as we sat by the shore of Lake Michigan and enjoyed a rare drink, we had an even more infrequent discussion about his time in the Navy during the war. I asked him whether he ever shot another man. He gazed out over the lake for a moment, bit his lip and replied slowly, "I did. We were on patrol. There were some [Japanese soldiers] in the jungle that started firing at us even though we had them surrounded and demanded they surrender. They kept firing. We shot back. After a while they stopped shooting. They never” he swallowed hard, “came out of the jungle…..” That ended our conversation. I joined him, looking silently over the lake, until the sun disappeared below the blue horizon. 

I think of soldiers like Mr. Brown, a wheelchair-bound man our family met a few years back when viewing the Marine Corps War Memorial in Washington, DC. We were there on a family vacation. Mr. Brown, in his eighties and nearing the end of his life, was there on a final pilgrimage. As we stood silently at the iconic memorial showing the Marines raising the flag over Iwo Jima, Mr. Brown said softly "I was on Iwo Jima when they raised the flag." He told us, in his Tennessee twang, how he fought the Japanese on Iwo Jima. During the vicious battle to claim the island, he spent his 21st birthday with his buddies crouched in neck-deep water on the island trying to avoid enemy detection. His grandson, pushing the wheelchair, said in awe “Wow, Grandpa.” Mr. Brown braced his hands on the arms of his wheelchair, turned around and noted with steely blue eyes: “And you better believe I’d do it again.”

This Memorial Day weekend, let us enjoy the precious time we have with friends and family. But let us also pause and give thanks for those who answered the call to serve our country. Thousands and thousands left their homes and never came back. Many more came back bearing the visible and invisible scars of war. We can stand and thank them because, when called, they stood tall and fought for us.