Mountain Views News     Logo: MVNews     Saturday, May 23, 2015

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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...”