Each year since I wrote the following piece in 2004, I read it again. This year, with the debate raging about our Military involvements, it is fitting to remind ourselves that the cream of our youth are still laboring in harm’s way. Let’s all take a little time out this weekend to honor them in our thoughts and prayers.

The TV coverage that weekend in 2004 was exceptional. It had a lasting effect on me. Happy 4th!!

Best, George

A Time to Remember

It’s not often I hope for rain. The occasion was MSNBC’s wall-to-wall coverage of D-Day 60. I got my wish. It was teeming when I tied-up our skiff at the family dock in Lonelyville, Fire Island. Rosie, our intrepid dog, followed me to the cottage. We settled in for a long weekend in front of the TV. I have always been in awe of those who served under fire.

Recently, two brave youngsters from my hometown, Bay Shore, N.Y. gave their lives in the war against terrorism in Iraq. Many close friends who participated in WWII are either gone or suffering in their last days. My Dad, a Brit, served in the British Navy in WWI. He was just 17 when a German submarine torpedoed his mine-sweeper, surfaced and machine-gunned the survivors. Dad was one of a handful to be spared. He was wounded in the right knee and creased in the scalp. A number of our friends and sons of friends perished on 9/11. The faces, the images and their stories are easy to summon. Lots to think about.

I joined the Navy reserve in Lawrence, Massachusetts, along with several football teammates in 1950. We were a little older than most of our Andover classmates. It was shortly after the outbreak of the Korean War. I graduated from Andover in 1951, entered Yale in September, applied for the NROTC and was placed on a waiting list. One evening on my way back to the room after football practice, I picked up my mail and was startled to learn that I had been activated. I was ordered to report to Bainbridge. The next day at practice, four other teammates related similar stories. Our coach immediately contacted the Professor of Naval Science, an active duty Captain. The PNS had already applied to increase the size of the program. Two days later we were informed that we had been accepted into the NROTC program. Graduation Day 1955, all of us received our commissions as Ensigns, to serve our tours of duty. In my case, I reported to the Destroyer U.S.S. Preston (DD 795), home port Newport, Rhode Island, for duty in the Atlantic and Mediterranean – two of the best years of my life.

The Korean War had ended by then. There, but for the grace of God! I’m sure that I’m not alone in wondering how I would react under fire. Did I do the right thing completing college instead of just reporting freshman year? The question kept surfacing.

I transferred to the USS Abbot in 1956. Our Captain was a much-decorated Annapolis graduate who took a Destroyer to sea at Pearl Harbor and was aboard the Arkansas on D-Day. He assured me that I did the right thing finishing college. Of the 3 Ensigns who reported aboard that July, I was the first to qualify as Officer of the Deck, and the first to be trusted by the Captain to dock the Abbot, a very tricky evolution. The other two envious Ensigns had to wait their turn, both Annapolis graduates. Not bad for an Ivy Leaguer!

My doubts were never fully assuaged, I like to think that I would hold up my end under fire, but unless you’ve been there you’ll never really know…

That Saturday on Fire Island was dreary and wet, low lying clouds scudding across the lead gray sky, propelled by a stiff north-east wind. I grabbed a blanket from the sleeping porch and settled in on a couch in the living-room in front of the TV.

Watching the events of the D-Day celebration and listening to the stories of those magnificent survivors so modestly told; the added dimension of President Reagan’s death as the celebration unfolded; and the backdrop of the WWII Memorial dedication still fresh in our minds all made MSNBC’s coverage even more riveting.

So many highlights: Ronald Regan’s speech to the “Boys at Point Du Hoc,” his comforting words to the school children who had watched the Challenger explode, the deaths of the astronauts – one a teacher, and John McCain’s unforgettable story of the Reagans’ concern for the families of POW’s. He recalled on one occasion being present in the Oval Office when the Reagans hosted some of those families.

As the President was speaking, he felt a tug at his suit jacket and looked down to see a little boy,

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

The President excused himself and took the boy to the bathroom in the office. When they returned, he quipped,

“That’s the first time in a long while I’ve had that duty.”

He resumed his conversation with the families. Again the little boy tugged at the President,

“Please bring my Daddy home.”

From that day on, President Reagan wore a bracelet with the father’s name, Marine Captain Todd Hansen. The boy’s Daddy never came home.

So many stories, so many scenes – the faces of the veterans, the tranquil sea in the background, the deserted Normandy beach, the field of crosses, the French and U.S. flags together at each grave, all events melding together.

Could it be that the timing of Ronald Regan’s death was no coincidence?

I got my wish. The rain was heavy, the house was quiet, an uninterrupted time to reflect about all of the brave men and women who served under fire and the many who gave their lives; about my great honor to wear our country’s uniform, and be able to come home to my family. The tears like the raindrops, kept coming. The pondering continues!

George S.K. Rider