4
Mountain Views-News Saturday, May 23, 2015
America The Beautiful
Celebrating Memorial Day 2015* by Craig Hakola
PRAYER FOR PEACE,
MEMORIAL DAY, 2015
- - - - - - -
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A PROCLAMATION
On Memorial Day, the United States
pauses to honor the fallen heroes
who died in service to our Nation.
With heavy hearts and a sense of
profound gratitude, we mourn
these women and men -- parents,
children, loved ones, comrades-in-
arms, friends, and all those known
and unknown -- who believed so
deeply in what our country could be
they were willing to give their lives
to protect its promise. Our hearts
ache in their absence, but their spirit
gives us strength to continue their
work of securing and renewing the
liberties that all Americans cherish
and for which these heroes gave
their last full measure of devotion.
In solemn reflection, we gather -- in small
towns and big cities, on battlefields, in
cemeteries, and at sacred places where
blood has been shed for freedom's cause
-- throughout our country and around the
world to remember the unbroken chain
of patriots who won independence, saved
our Union, defeated fascism, and protected
the Nation we love from emerging threats
in a changing world. Today, their legacy
is carried forward by a new generation of
servicemen and women and all who strive
to shape a more perfect America; and their
enormous sacrifices continue to make our
opportunity possible.
We owe all those who sacrifice in our name
a tremendous debt, including our Nation's
mothers and fathers who have given their
daughters and sons to America, spouses
and partners who shoulder the weight of
unthinkable loss, and courageous children
in whom the legacies of their parents live
on. As a Nation, we must uphold our
obligations to these Gold Star families. We
have pledged to them that they will never
walk alone -- that their country will be
there for them always -- and we must work
every day to make good on this promise.
Our Nation will never forget the valor and
distinction of the women and men who
defend freedom, justice, and peace. Today,
we rededicate ourselves to commitments
equal to the caliber of those who have
rendered the highest service: to support
our troops with the resources they need
to do their jobs; to never stop searching
for those who have gone missing or are
prisoners of war; to ensure all our veterans
have access to the care and benefits they
have earned and deserve; and to continue
our constant work of building a Nation
worthy of the heroes we honor today.
In honor of all of our fallen service
members, the Congress, by a joint
resolution approved May 11, 1950, as
amended (36 U.S.C. 116), has requested the
President issue a proclamation calling on
the people of the United States to observe
each Memorial Day as a day of prayer
for permanent peace and designating a
period on that day when the people of the
United States might unite in prayer. The
Congress, by Public Law 106-579, has also
designated 3:00 p.m. local time on that day
as a time for all Americans to observe, in
their own way, the National Moment of
Remembrance.
NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK
OBAMA, President of the United States
of America, do hereby proclaim Memorial
Day, May 25, 2015, as a day of prayer for
permanent peace, and I designate the hour
beginning in each locality at 11:00 a.m.
of that day as a time during which people
may unite in prayer.
I also ask all Americans to observe the
National Moment of Remembrance
beginning at 3:00 p.m. local time on
Memorial Day. I request the Governors
of the United States and its Territories,
and the appropriate officials of all units
of government, to direct that the flag
be flown at half-staff until noon on this
Memorial Day on all buildings, grounds,
and naval vessels throughout the United
States and in all areas under its jurisdiction
and control. I also request the people of
the United States to display the flag at half-
staff from their homes for the customary
forenoon period.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto
set my hand this twenty-second day of
May, in the year of our Lord two thousand
fifteen, and of the Independence of the
United States of America the two hundred
and thirty-ninth.
BARACK OBAMA
I had been traversing New York City for
a week and I was checking off the final
items on my list before my departure
on Tuesday. On this morning I was
traveling out to take the Staten Island
Ferry to see the Statue of Liberty,
and then I would be heading north
by foot to snap a few pictures of the
Brooklyn Bridge, before spending the
remainder of the afternoon celebrating
the Memorial Day weekend in Times
Square with everyone else. For the past
two days the triangle of Times Square
had been swelling in the anticipation of
the big celebration and I was eager to
get down there as well.
I walked several blocks from my hotel
and made my way down a flight of stairs
to the subway platform where I believed
the correct subway was departing for
lower Manhattan and the Statue of
Liberty. I wanted to double-check my
directional skills so I probed a couple
passengers to confirm I was migrating
in the proper direction. The people
of the subway were uncomfortable in
giving me any information, which I
thought was rather odd, but maybe
New Yorkers considered it best to not
mingle with strangers in the confines of
the subway? I continued my quest and
approached a gentleman and his wife.
“Am I taking the correct subway for
lower Manhattan?” He took a measure
of me and then responded in a rich
French accent, “Why does an American
ask a Frenchman for directions in
America,” peppering his comment in a
wry smile and a shrug of his shoulders?
“You know of trains far better than
we Americans,” I quickly countered.
Appearing to appease his half joke, half
serious tone. As I further added that I
was from California and our diet did not
consist of trains. “Where are you going,”
the Frenchman asked? “I am heading to
see a French gift,” as I returned his wry
smile with a ripe one. Which caused him
to reach into his pocket and unfurl a
rather large map of the catacombs of the
New York subway system. “I was there
just yesterday, it is beautiful,” he added,
with a sense of ownership. Five minutes
later and he has given me a tutorial of
the entire New York transportation
system with a color-coding lesson and
extolled the greatness of France and the
flowering vineyards which populate the
landscape of his country. I thanked him,
and he firmly grasped my hand and told
me of the treat that was in store for me.
I was the first one in line for the next
ferry, so I took the opportunity to make
my way to the front of the boat where
it was open. The day was a portrait of
perfection and the Statue of Liberty
appeared ever part the image of the
stories I had read of the immigrants
discovering the sacred woman of hope
upon the completion of a long voyage.
How many people had passed beneath
her torch and marked her face the place
of promise and how many tears had
she comforted in her port? My mind
lingered in the thought of selling all of
one’s possessions to pay for passage on
a ship and the grief of having a single
last embrace for your family and friends
that were left behind. It appeared
every part the desperate act of a great
gamble to me. Forsaking one’s history
and abandoning one’s people for the
whispers of a dreamy land across the
length of an Ocean, there was a type of
strange magic in the thought of it all.
Traveling to the ends of the world in the
great quest for hope. How their hearts
must have sung with joy upon the sight
of her torch, and how their burdens
must have vanished upon her gaze.
I had touched her spirit as well and
saw her torch. There is no beauty like
hers in all the world. The ferry docked
in Battery Park and I ventured along
the water until the Brooklyn Bridge
came into view. Off to my left was the
bridge, about a half-mile up the river
and directly across the street from me
was a large landing area for helicopters.
Throughout the morning I had seen
helicopters buzzing the skies of New
York City. They did not flutter as tourist
adventures but navigated upon crisp
lines and firm directions. I sat myself
upon a slab of concrete and spied the
frantic activity of helicopters coming
and going. There were five on the
landing area in a single moment with a
mixture of military, civilian and charter
aircraft comprising the grouping. Each
pilot counting seconds as the propellers
crawled but never ceased to spin,
with the captains waited to take on,
or jettisoned a cargo of passengers. A
large Osprey helicopter landed in the
center landing area. Quickly taking on
its passengers and flipping its propellers
toward the ground and surging from the
landing area. So it went, a few choppers
would settle and a few would take flight
in a pageantry of dragon flies dancing
in and out, and then, occasionally, a
massive stork would swoop down from
the sky and splash upon the middle
of the landing area as the other small
helicopters sprinkled about on the
perimeters. One such stork descended
from the sky and landed a single military
man in a smart flight suit. He exited the
chopper and gave the pilot a nod of
his head before rapidly moving across
three lanes of heavy traffic, jumping a
median and navigating the other side
of the street while passing me at arms
length. Surly, he was an important man
to control such an entrance. There must
have been a number of such people
lining the streets of New York this
holiday weekend.
I had made it a point to venture down
to Times Square each day. I could feel
the pulse of the city in that place and
I wanted to touch the heart of the city
for as long as I could. There was a visual
excitement leaving Central Park and
turning unto 58th Street and scanned
the long corridor of buildings and the
distance signage of Times Square, which
rose as a forest of moving lights upon
the middle of the street. I had made a
game of picking out the New Yorkers
and those from out of town as I walked
the streets. The New Yorkers brandished
oversized purses which had little chance
of fitting in an overhead compartment,
and they did not consider it a crime to
batter pedestrians among the crowded
streets of New York with their shoulder
hanging purses. The New Yorkers always
sprang a step faster from the curb than
other people (that is, if they were forced
to waiting for a light). They were point
A to point B type of people and they
didn’t lug out as a tired horse when they
hustled upon the streets as others did,
but stayed upon straight lines. They
were the first to range out into the street
and dodged traffic as a modern day
bullfighters and they proffered their
horn to save the effort of a finger.
As I came into Times Square the
traffic swelled to a halt. Over the last
few days the military personnel had
been coalescing in this area and the
streets were lined with cleanly pressed
uniforms. The navy band was playing
in the middle of Times Square and a
group of several hundred people circled
the musicians as they filled the streets
with the jubilant sounds of a post World
War II era beat. It was approaching five
in the evening and I decided to find a
restaurant/bar for a bite of food and a
drink.
I located a nice restaurant that had
seating available at the bar, close to
Broadway. I ordered a drink and sat
upon the reflection of the day. A few
minutes later and a young married
couple from Birmingham, England,
took up residence next to me and our
conversation quickly moved to soccer
and the impending World Cup Match,
which pitted America and England.
Being from Birmingham, they were
born into this world to love soccer, and
they gave me the unabridged English
strategy against us. Another forty-
five minutes later they thanked me for
their visit to my beautiful country, and
added, “Good luck in the match,” as they
departed. I spoke with the bartender
about New York and the people as they
left and another couple took control of
their seats. It was an older gentleman
and his daughter this time, and they
were from England as well, but called
the city of
Bristol their home. The two were
exceedingly well read and appeared to
pry as much from books as
the first couple had from soccer. They
offered many rays of insight into
England and America. We must have
spoken for an hour on politics, art,
and the topic of the day, healthcare.
Halfway through our conversation
the gentleman turned to more serious
tone, “America is going to have to bail
England out of our financial mess.” As
they reminded me, that they were not
part of the European Union. I laughed
and added, “We will try, I only hope
we can save ourselves as well.” They
finally rose and wished me a delightful
night. They had shared many endearing
stories of their various adventures in
New York, and said of all their travels
across the globe, “There was no place
like New York.” As certain as they left,
and having every sense of timing, a
most intriguing couple assumed their
still warm seats. They were Brazilian,
and he immediately took to quizzing
me upon possession of their seats.
“Who is your favorite musical artist?”
Being in New York and channeling
the spirit of the city, “Frank Sinatra,”
naturally squirted from my lips. I could
see by his expression on his face that a
key had been placed in a lock. His wife
had brought art to New York to display
at an exhibit down the block and the
two were celebrating their anniversary.
They spoke about how much they
loved the great City of New York. They
considered the Empire State Building
a great monument to beauty, and the
two dined in the building each year
on their anniversary. They repeatedly
told me throughout the night, “You
don’t understand what a great country
you have here.” There was a dual sense
of veneration mixed with desperation
in his voice, one that attempted to
convey the deeper understating of his
heart. He explained where he and his
wife had came from and I sensed in his
words the belief in his mind that one
must travel extensively to understand
the singular uniqueness of America.
He told me that he needed to go to his
room and instructed his wife to stay
with me and talk. Ten minutes later and
he reappeared with a CD. “I am a singer
and these are my Frank Sinatra songs,
I would like you to have it for your
travels.” There was a warmth in these
two that bond the human heart and I
wished that they would never depart.
He offered me a long friendly glance
before they left that night. I am sure
he was hoping that his words and the
deep feelings for the country he loved,
and was not a citizen of was somehow
imparted to me.
It had been a very long day and I been at
the restaurant for over four hours. I was
looking forward to the walk to my hotel,
but curiosity had become the better
part of me, and I could not leave the
bar until I discover the next party to sit
upon those chairs. Within a few short
minutes and I would have my answer.
A couple of ordinary Americans
plopped themselves in the seats next to
me. It appeared the string of luck had
ended. Little did I know I was about
to discover the greatness of America
in its most tangible form. The three
groups of foreigners that I spoke with
that day had instructed me on the
greatness of America. These two were
out there fighting for it. The other
soldiers that I had previously seen in
the city were wearing uniforms, but
these two were camouflage in civilian
clothes. “I thought military personnel
were supposed to be wearing uniforms,”
I questioned?
“Our uniforms were soiled the night
before and we cannot discuss it.” I
chuckled at the thought, there must
have been a humorous story attached
to that telling. A few beers in and the
stories that Michael King would tell
me began to trouble my soul, fighting
in Afghanistan. Twice a roadside
bomb had blown up the truck he was
in. In each case the vehicle he was
in was destroyed. One of the bombs
had killed his best friend and Michael
only survived the explosion because of
where he was stationed in the vehicle,
the top. He repeated a line several times
that night, “You don’t know what is like
to lose your best friend, see him killed
in front of you. I can never explain that
feeling to you!”
The two were young kids, and they
deserved to be out frolicking on a
Saturday night with their girlfriends in
Tennessee, instead of the deadly world
of Afghanistan. I have met many young
men of their age, but I can seldom mark
such youth with the decisive word,
Character. Here I had found myself
spending an evening in the capital of
glamour and each person that I had
spoken to that night was here for that
reason, but they were not here for that
alone, for there was an underlining
current to each conversation from my
foreign friends, the beauty and reality of
the American Spirit. Sitting in the seats
next to me was the best example of that
spirit. These two men had not entered
the military to acquire wealth, and
whatever sense of adventure the two
may have felt as they enrolled was long
since stripped by the realities of war.
They were purpose driven people and
trying to deliver a sense of good to the
world. Michael was going to reenlist the
following week, and I wondered after all
he had told me that night; how he could
do it. His burden seemed too much for
my mind. Maybe he felt it more a risk
to not return and leave the many things
undone that he knew must occur to give
those people of Afghanistan a place
of peace. I knew those two soldieries
carried an unfair burden though, and
was I certain of that fact. This incredible
young man, Michael, would be forced to
carry the ghosts, and have to harbor the
memory of another, his best friend, for
the remainder of his life. These two were
thoughtful people and could have been
poets in another life and their sense
of duty and good made you damned
concerned about their wellbeing.
It was well past one in the morning as
I walked along Central Park and up 5th
Street. I am thinking about those last
two people that sat next to me. For the
first time in my visit to New York City a
peace has overtaken the city. There are
no cars on this stretch of road and the
only noises are the boisterous birds of
the trees. It is not like New York at all on
this night, it is different!
Before you comfortably place your head
upon your pillow each evening, may
you find it in your heart to offer them
a moment and add the dear people of
the military to your prayers. They have
promised their names to the struggle
for peace on earth and liberty, and some
have eternally pledged their life.
craighakola@aol.com
MAYOR ANTONOVICH’S MEMORIAL DAY MESSAGE
LOS ANGELES COUNTY — Mayor Michael D.
Antonovich issued the following Memorial Day
message:
On the 40th anniversary of D-day, President
Ronald Reagan said, “One’s country is worth
dying for, and democracy is worth dying for,
because it is the most deeply honorable form of
government ever devised by man.” On Memorial
Day, we remember and pay tribute to fallen heroes
and their families, to appreciate the blessings of
liberty and recognize the power and virtue of their
sacrifice. And in their honor, we resolve to be ever
vigilant in preserving liberty and peace throughout
the world. At Gettysburg, President Abraham
Lincoln said,
"...from these
honored dead,
we take increased devotion to that cause for which
they here gave the last full measure of devotion -- that
we here highly resolve these dead shall not have died
in vain...”
|