Memorial Day

This day always brings me to the proud memory of my father, after who I am named. A kid from New Jersey he served during World War II in the Army Air Corps. He was a crew member on the infamous B26 Marauder bomber. Due to it’s heavy losses early in the war it was nicknamed the widow maker. Dad and his crew flew dozens of missions in European theater. When he returned home he set his focus on Mom and his growing family. He worked for nearly forty years at the Brooklyn Union Gas Company installing and servicing heating and cooling systems throughout the Borough. He was a loving, devoted husband and father. And although I never focused on what he actually did during the war during my childhood, I later learned that it was dangerous and heroic. He never spoke to us in detail and it wasn’t until I was an adult that I reflected on his experience. It came clear one December day in 1990. I was asked to speak to a group of Veterans on December 7th, the anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack. That week I happened to see the movie ‘Memphis Belle’ the story of the famous bomber from the war. The depictions included footage of planes in flight and the crews standing by their open doors. They could see their friends in the other planes and feel the fear of the dreaded ground attacks from below. In one dramatic moment a plane was hit and began crashing. You could see the young boys falling to their death. It was horrifying for them of course. But it was also gut wrenching for their comrades watching it happen in real time. I was riveted to my seat. And I recalled the curious and penetrating words from the Gospel of John that reads “and the word became flesh…” I had first absorbed this phrase and the concept as a student at Union Theological Seminary in New York. It is rich in context and a powerful psychological phrase. I think of it often whenever it take on reality. And it did so that moment in the theater. As I watched the plane crash and saw the emotion of the surviving crews watching helplessly suddenly the ‘story’ of my father’s war experience became real. Dad was one of those experiencing this in real time during his countless bombing flights. So the ‘word’ or idea of Dad’s wartime experience ‘became flesh’ for me then. In a moment Dad’s traumatic experience took on reality for me, altering my understanding of him and his wartime experience. Today I celebrate the lives and heroism of all my relatives who served with honor. Thank you and bless you all this day and every day!