“That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.” — Emily Dickinson

 (Note: the events described happened seven years ago. Carl is no longer with us, but he’s well remembered)    

The World War II Memorial, in Washington, D.C., is to honor those who served the United States during the Second World War. It was dedicated in 2004, almost 60 years after the war ended.

There were 14 million who served during that conflict; my dad, my Uncle Bill Ahern, my Uncle Benjamin Franklin Schairer, Sam Geluso, Joe Berzyck, Leon VanDalsen, Irv Vrieling. Bill Hill’s dad. My wife Mary Ellen’s uncle, Carl Eich, was one of those who wore his country’s uniform during that time.

Carl expressed his deep interest in seeing the memorial, but he didn’t think he ever would. But on Aug. 22, 2009, it happened. It was with Honor Flight Michigan.

The trip, funded by donations, is provided at no cost to WWII vets. Honor Flight takes along a contingent of volunteers, called “guardians” to help the vets. The guardians pay their own way.

We assembled at Detroit Metro Airport at 0500. I’d driven from Grand Rapids to Saginaw, picked up Carl, and we went to an airport hotel. Our alarm had gone off at 0330. Ugly early. Our shuttle arrived at the airport to find Honor Flight guys directing us to where we’d meet the group. There we provided our names for the lists, and got our T-shirts, identifying us as being with Honor Flight Michigan, as WWII vets or guardians, and our boarding passes. We were then herded through security.

The biggest vet in our group, by far, was a man named George. He noticed the USMC cap that my brother-in-law, Andy Hollibaugh (Navy, ’60 to ’64) had given me. George thought I should be the guy to push his wheelchair; he’d been in the Corps, too.

George told me had been at Guadalcanal, in the first attack on the Japanese Empire, a fiercely fought battle from August 1942 to February 1943. There were land, sea and air components to the fighting. American soldiers and Marines suffered battlefield losses, malaria and other tropical diseases, and malnutrition from supply line difficulties. The Japanese lost 25,000 men in the fighting before withdrawing from the island. The idea of me pushing his wheelchair was a good one, especially when we encountered an upslope or a downslope.

George and I got the security system beeping some. There was George’s metal wheelchair, and I think he said something about a pacemaker. I had metal too. They probably should have had a line just for the two of us, but there were other beeps, too. Other wheelchairs, other metal parts and remnants.

It was interesting to see how security functioned in different airports. In Detroit, we all went through the metal detectors. In Baltimore, on the return flight, we were all waved past security. Were the TSA officers more courteous in Baltimore – or were they less attentive to security?

Once we got through security in Detroit, we all went to the National Coney Island for breakfast. Greek guys in downtown Detroit opened the original National Coney Island. It was one of my dad’s favorite spots, although his visits were always in the evening. The airport National is open for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They served us all scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, toast, and lots of coffee. We didn’t pay, and I learned later that Honor Flight was charged only a token amount for a big breakfast for a big group.

Our group included soldiers, sailors, Marines, airmen from the Army Air Corps, a guardsman from the Coast Guard, and a woman who had served as an Army nurse during WWII. Some of us who were guardians were vets also, of different eras. I noticed that one guy was wearing a Purple Heart medal, but our military service was not discussed much. It wasn’t about us.

The flight had other fliers besides our group of approximately 45 WWII vets and 15 guardians. After we boarded the plane, the captain announced our presence, and there was a nice round of applause for the vets.

Carl’s seatmate on the flight was an attractive woman guardian named Debbie. She was about 50 years of age. After the flight, she approached me and said, “You’re so lucky. Carl is charming, and funny, sharp, and so able physically. He’s the oldest man of the trip, but you’d never know it. He’s rather flirty, you know. He’s a neat guy.” Yeah, that’s definitely Carl.

The flight itself was uneventful. There were some conversations, but there was some dozing, too, owing to the hour. The air time was 70 minutes. When we pulled up to the gate in Baltimore, the captain asked if our group would deplane after the other passengers had exited. I thought it made sense; we had no connections to catch, and many of us moved slowly. Our leaders wanted us to stay in a manageable group.

The first people we encountered when we stepped out of the jetway were a contingent of active duty military personnel, lining the way into the concourse. They were in uniform, perhaps six or eight from each branch. In addition, there were dozens of civilians. Our WWII vets were greeted with handshakes, hugs, well wishes and expressions of gratitude. Some even thanked those of us that volunteered for helping to make the trip possible.

Not only did these people greet the group, they walked with us to our waiting bus, chatting with the vets the whole time. Carl and George and I spent some time talking with a Marine Captain who looked like a young Denzel Washington. One soldier who looked quite young surprised me – she was a major in the Army. She was delighted that we had a woman WWII Army vet as part of our contingent.

Among the uniformed military personnel in attendance was rather babeish 1^st Class Petty Officer. I snapped a photo that included her, and sent it to my brother in law, Andy, just so he could have an idea what some chiefs look like in today’s Navy.

We got into our deluxe new bus, settled into our seats, and started to pull away and head for D.C. Rick Sage, the overall leader of our trip, barked, “Eyes Right!”

We saw all of the uniformed service members standing at attention, saluting our group as we left the airport. Most of the vets I talked to had been enlisted men during their time in the service. This was very likely the first and only time they’d ever been saluted. Also lining the way were dozens of waving civilians.

Ellis was our bus driver. “I’m a driver, not a tour guide,” he said, “but as long as this coach has a microphone right handy, I might as well talk a little.”

He drove the big bus very well, and his commentary added much to the trip. Ellis was African American, and had spent his entire life in the D.C. area. I took him to be in his mid-40s. He was funny, sometimes rather ribald, and had lots to tell us about his city. He was a large man who looked like he loved to eat. He told us early that the cafeteria in the Department of Agriculture was open to the public, and known to have especially fine chow. Ellis would narrate as we approached points of interest, whether it was the White House, or grassy area that he knew to be favored by lovely young sunbathers.

We were told that Sen. Bob Dole (ret.) would be waiting to welcome us to the World War Two Memorial. Sen. Dole, a former Republican nominee for president in 1996, was very instrumental in coordinating the effort to establish the memorial.

When we arrived at the entrance to the WWII Memorial, Sen. Dole was there, as was his wife, Elizabeth “Liddy” Dole. She had served as senator from North Carolina. I spoke briefly with Mrs. Dole, who asked me where I lived. When I said Michigan, she told me “Bob was severely wounded in Italy during the war, and spent 19 months in Michigan, at the VA Hospital in Battle Creek.” I told her that I’d been there myself, having been wounded in Vietnam. She told me it warmed her heart to meet another vet that had been wounded, and was now doing well.

I mentioned that I had a son living in Davidson, N.C., and found North Carolina, the state she represented in the U.S. Senate. She said that during her college years she’d been “pinned” by a boy who was a student at Davidson College. I found both of the Doles to be very charming and gracious. They had waited out in the baking sun for our arrival, just to shake hands and greet the guys. They waited the entire time we visited the memorial, talking with vets the whole time.

We did spend quite a bit of time there. There are fountains, and a large reflecting pool. Each state and territory has a spire commemorating their contribution to the war effort. There are edifices at opposite ends of the memorial to commemorate the Atlantic and Pacific theaters of action. There were many visitors of all ages at the memorial. I observed that these visitors were fascinated by having actual WWII vets, easily identified by their tee shirts, visiting at the same time. I overheard many visitors thanking the vets.

George wanted to get closer to the reflecting pond. I pushed him in his wheelchair, and, as I’ve said, George was large. The walkway to the reflecting pond sloped downward. I had to use every bit of my strength and bulk to keep the wheelchair descent under control. I thought about how this might have worked out, had George had one the more delicate volunteers helping him. He and his wheelchair could have launched dramatically into the pond; with luck they might not have hit anyone on the way. I’m sure the pond was shallow, and that George and his wheelchair would have been helped back to dry land. But I think it was a good thing I was wearing my Marine Corps cap when volunteers and vets were being matched back in Detroit.

After everyone had had plenty of time to see the memorial, talk with each other, and have pictures taken with the Doles, we got back on the air conditioned bus to eat our boxed lunches. While we sat there, a pretty woman came to visit Ellis. He got off the bus, and greeted her with what appeared to be a very familiar embrace. Not unlike high school boys, we peered out the tinted window to assess the smoothness of Ellis’ moves, and snickered approvingly when he got back on the bus. The vets were old enough to be Ellis’ grandpa, and Ellis may have been a grandpa himself, but Y chromosomes are Y chromosomes. Then we left for Arlington National Cemetery.

Upon arrival at Arlington, we got off the big bus and onto open air shuttle buses. We went for a narrated tour. After a bit we got off the shuttle to witness the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns. Those fond of pageantry found this of interest. We saw the graves of John and Robert Kennedy, to be followed a week later by the grave of the last of that generation.

A guide provided an interesting lecture on the history and traditions of Arlington National Cemetery. It was once Robert E. Lee’s farm. Confederate soldiers are buried there (but no North Vietnamese or Viet Cong). As we went back from the shuttles to our bus, one guy in our group fell. No one knew why he’d hit the deck, and so there was a great deal of concern for his health and safety. He was OK, and suffered only a wrist injury, thought to be a sprain.

Someone suggested that the WWII vets pose for a photo. Carl kneeled on the pavement. Vets kept drifting in, and I suppose Carl was kneeling for about ten minutes. Finally everyone had the photos they wanted. Guardians rushed to help Carl to his feet; he was the only one that had knelt. But Carl popped up to his feet unaided, looking years younger than his age.

When we got back to our bus we went to the Marine Corps Memorial, an enormous statue depicting the raising of the American flag at Mt. Surabachi as the Marines took Iwo Jima. It had started raining, and most of the vets stayed on the bus. Ellis had found a way to park it so the view from the windows was very nice, and most people got to stay dry.

We had some time before we would head back to Baltimore, but the weather had gotten quite rainy; instead of seeing a few more sites and walking around, we went on a grand bus tour of D.C., with a lively narration by Ellis. We drove by the Capitol, the White House, the Smithsonian, the Department of Treasury, the FBI, the Holocaust Museum, the Native American Museum, the Air Force and Navy Memorials, and monuments to Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Franklin D. Roosevelt. Then we made our way back to the airport.

As we waited for our flight, one vet poked me in the arm and said, “I see that you’re Armenian,” he said. Taken by quite by surprise, and hearing information that was totally new to me, I asked how he was able to tell. “Easy,” he said, “I grew up around a lot of Armenians. I know Armenian names, and I can tell from your nametag that you’re one.” My nametag said Mike B Guardian. Bguardian, what could sound more Armenian than that? He wasn’t joking.

Most of the vets weren’t as sharp as Carl, nor as physically able. He told me that he’d been walking a mile and a half every day to get ready for the trip. Carl moved around so vigorously that the other guardians were concerned, fearing that he’d wander off and get lost. Of course, they needn’t have worried.

Carl and I managed to talk some. He was very open and realistic about being 92. “I’m not afraid to die,” he told me, “but I’m not ready. I’m still having fun.”

He’s got some ideas worked out. He favors cremation. He has a living will. He’s religious, and believes he’s going to a better place when the time comes. He outlived his wife, Elinor. And then he outlived his special friend, Irene. He likes to think that they’ve become friends in the afterlife, and look down from heaven in amusement at his antics. “I like to think that, but I don’t know how much consciousness we’ll have,” he said. “Just have to wait and see.”

Before the trip, a friend and I were talking about our weekend plans. I told Paul a little about going to D.C. with Carl. I told him that Carl had been within a few miles of Berlin when the war in Europe ended, and that Carl’s unit traveled back through Paris. Paul and I speculated that being in Paris, just after VE Day, in uniform as an American soldier, must have been one of the greatest moments in history.

Carl confirmed this. “We had to start getting ready for the expected invasion of Japan. Troops that had fought in Europe were going to be shipped over to the Pacific Theatre. But there was still time for some celebration in Paris. The French people were glad to see us, and grateful for what we’d done.” I dare say. He drank some wine, and made some new friends. In large measure. Ever the gentleman, and even with his beloved niece (whom he tends to shelter) hundreds of miles away,

Carl didn’t have much to say on the subject. I did inquire. “Carl,” I said, “you went into the Army at 24. You were single. I think maybe you had girlfriends in England, Belgium, The Netherlands, France, and Germany.” “Well,” he replied, “not so much in Germany.”

As we took our flight back to Detroit, I looked over the aisle at Carl, this time sitting next to and talking happily to, an attractive woman named Jan, who was wearing shorts. She was one of the guardians; I’m guessing her age to have been in the mid-30s. I made eye contact with Carl, and gave him a look that I hoped conveyed what I was thinking: how does this happen to you – on a plane full of old guys, you end up sitting by an attractive younger woman on both flights? Carl just smiled, obviously delighted by his good fortune.

We left Detroit Metro Airport and caught a conveniently timed shuttle to the Airport Fairfield. It was a fine hotel, and they went out of their way to take good care of us. Mary Ellen had made the reservation. She called the hotel and said she needed to reserve a room “for an elderly veteran – and his Uncle Carl.”

There was a nearby bar/restaurant, and we walked there for dinner, then walked back to the room. It was 10:30 p.m. It had been a very long day. “I’m sorry,” said Carl, “you probably wanted to take in a little night life, but I’m kinda tired.” I was tired too, far more than a little. But it had been a great trip.