“I stood in the national cemetery and realized, through the stony silence, that I was standing on sacred ground. I was surrounded by monuments of heroic Americans who deserve to be held in high regard for all time.”
— Martin Abrams, 1947
Today I was given the opportunity to visit with a true American hero.
We sat in his darkened room, kept in this twilight because Charlie cannot bear brightness. He said, “Ask me anything you want to ask me. I may tell you, at least once in awhile, that you really don’t want to hear the answer. I hope you will understand.”
Charlie is a veteran of both World War II and the Korean War, but he says he is not a hero.
Too young for war
“I was really far too young for World War II, but I lied about my age,” Charlie says with a grin. “I wasn’t the only one, that’s for sure. We were boys, but we were Americans, and that mattered more than any numbers on a birth certificate.”
Charlie had grown up with very little, raised by a father who made a hardscrabble living in the coal mine industry and a mother who did everything she could to stretch the food in her pantry to feed a large family.
“Mama didn’t want me to go, but I knew that I was not only doing the right thing for my country, but I was helping my family, too.” Charlie remembered sending as much money home to his parents as he possibly could in order to help his younger siblings.
Total isolation
While we visited in Charlie’s room, I realized he spends day after day in total isolation. He is an American hero, a man who earned numerous military awards, and he seemed puzzled by the fact that I wanted to talk to him about his accomplishments.
“I saw a lot of war. Guys right beside me injured, some injured beyond hope. I knew there were mamas back home that were going to be facing a whole lot of heartache, that’s for sure. There were so many who served with me who deserved high praise — they were the boys who never got to come back home again. They are the ones who you should be writing about, not me. I sit here in this room and there are days I can’t help but wonder, ‘why did I get to go on?’ I really do.”
Not real heroes
Magazines and newscasts carry stories of NBA stars and the Hollywood famous, trying hard to convince us that these are our heroes. The crowds gather around them, seeking photographs and autographs. People spend money they don’t have to buy a small part of their empire. The glory never stops.
On this sunny Sunday, Flag Day, I sat inside a darkened room where few seem to gather. I had brought Charlie strawberries fresh from my garden, and he was as grateful as could be. “Ah, there is a glorious treat!” he said as he enjoyed each bite.
True heroes
We owe our heroes so much, and it pains me how little we give. Every day should be Veterans Day. We should never, ever forget what so many have given.
