Last full measure of devotion

Several flags flap in the breeze at Veterans Memorial Park in Lewiston.

A monument marks the entrance to the park.

Remembering area Mainers who gave the last full measure of devotion.

Remembering The Maine.

My son stands next to a World War II army jeep.

A five-inch U.S. Navy gun sits next to the army jeep.

Checking out the names of the dead.

I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity.

Dwight D. Eisenhower

Do you know what a soldier is, young man? He's the chap who makes it possible for civilized folk to despise war.
Allan Massie

LEWISTON — While the rest of the country went shopping last weekend, we wandered into a small park where a semicircle of large granite markers and pristine benches bear the names and dates of the dead.

My son read the names chiseled in the hard and polished granite. He discovered that letters etched next to each serviceman's name indicated where they served and whether they died during peacetime or war. To me, they were somebody's kid who never came home. These sons and daughters gave what Abraham Lincoln called in his Gettysburg Address: "the last full measure of devotion."

We have visited Veterans Memorial Park several times during our walks along the Androscoggin River. When a five-inch naval gun was installed at the memorial, we checked out the monstrous cannon and were amazed at its size. A huge anchor sits next to the powerful gun. The day after Veteran's Day we paid another visit take pictures of a World War II army jeep, which were called 'Willies.' 

The small parcel of land honoring fallen servicemen sits next the Veteran's Memorial Bridge and just across from a roaring falls.

The World War II relics are certainly a sight to behold, but I couldn't help but think about Mainers who lost their lives in conflicts all over the globe. I can't imagine the pain when families received a telegram informing them of the death of their son or daughter.

I have known veterans who served in World War II, Vietnam, Korea and the Gulf wars. It is an endless procession of devoted Americans who gave up a chunk of their lives to serve their country. I discovered that some veterans who served on the front lines are reluctant to march in parades or talk about the insanity of war.

I don't blame them.

My son suggested we visit the poignant memorial again on a warm Saturday morning. I am proud of him for taking a keen interest in this nation's history and its countrymen who served no matter what their political ideologies or reservations were when they put on that uniform.

We are quiet patriots. We have a small flag that hangs from our pine tree. We don't have bumper stickers pasted on our car proclaiming our devotion to the republic. But we do have nothing but respect for vets who put it all on the line.

I honor men like my father and uncle, Al and Rocco Blasi, who missed the fighting in Korea and ended up serving in the occupation and rebuilding of Germany. There was Louis Statuto — a World War II GI who lost half his finger to a German sniper's bullet. He was a soft-spoken neighbor who I knew for two decades before I discovered that he was a veteran. When I shook his hand and noticed half of his finger was missing, the gentle man spoke about his combat experiences. There was the late Robert Marra, who was combat medic during World War II and later became a Boston Symphony Orchestra violinist, who served his country with valor and distinction. Robert Zabroski, an uncle of mine, fought in but never speaks of the Vietnam War. Wes Davis, a cousin of mine and a brave Marine, flew into harm's way in a helicopter during Desert Storm. There was Tony Grosso, another uncle, who fought the Germans during their last-ditch effort in the Battle of the Bulge.

They either avoided or survived the carnage of war. They were lucky.

For veterans who never returned home, their names are inscribed in stone at memorial parks and military cemeteries all over the world. So while shoppers were out looking for bargains at the mall, we stared at that the forgotten names on the granite markers and paid homage to the young men and woman who stood in the way of aggression without any fanfare.