I think I am now thinking more on the two major military oriented holidays than I used to because I am coming very close to the day when I will be a true Veteran, as in: a former member of the armed forces. (Merriam Webster). As I evaluate my own service, even if I serve out 30 years, I will still "Hold my manhood cheap" because I wasn't there on "St. Crispins Day". Don't get me wrong, I have done what God gave me the ability to do the best I could and I'm not ashamed of that, but there are two "Bands of Brothers", IMHO: Those who belong to the VFW, and those who belong to the American Legion (there is a difference). I will always be relegated to the latter.
That said, I'd like to convey a couple of stories of Veterans I've known. I just so happens that both were barbers.
The first is Jimmy. Jimmy cut hair in the Ft. Sill O'Club when I was there from 1999-2003. Jimmy never saw St. Crispins Day either, because Jimmy served "between the Wars" (meaning WWI and WWII). Jimmy played Negro League Baseball. He used to regale us with stories about the Ft. Sill O'Club from back in the day; back when the satellite club in the Bachelors Officers Quarters was called "The Wing and Rotor" (because Army Aviation started at Ft. Sill as aerial observers) and they still had dancing girls. One time Jimmy told me the following: "When I was in the Army, we made $12 a month and around $6 went to the laundry, the company fund, etc. But in those days you could go to the PX and buy a pack of cigarettes for a nickle or a six pack of beer for a nickle, and if you didn't have a girlfriend, you could get a good hooker for $2." I didn't ask Jimmy what defined a good hooker or what a bad one cost. He retired from cutting hair just before I left Ft. Sill because his mother was sick and needed more of his time. I assume Jimmy is no longer with us, 10 years later, but who knows....
The second is a gentleman who's name I never knew. He cut my hair in a strip mall outside Ft. Stewart in the 1996-1998 time frame. He'd had his St. Crispins Day. I don't know why he started telling me this story, but one day he did: "I was on a ship in WWII. When we crossed the equator going south, we were all happy, because the South Pacific was pretty much over by then. We practiced assaulting an island and then we stayed there overnight. There was an island nearby that they wouldn't let us go to, because all the women over there were naked. Then we crossed back over the equator into the North Pacific. We practiced assaulting another island. Then we got back on the ship and went to another island. That's when all hell broke loose, because that was Okinawa." That was the end of the story. I guess what struck me about that was this gentleman had no certificates or mementos on the wall. He didn't advertise the fact that he was a WWII veteran. He was just a man making a living who shared a story with a kindred soul.
This Veterans Day, I have done more than I ever have. Usually I just stay at home, but Friday we went to a spaghetti supper in New Baltimore to support Wreathes Across America. I would say that 93% of people there were Veterans. Today, we went to Texas Roadhouse for their Veteran's Day lunch. Seeing these guys, who every other day of the year are the guys who change your tires, or cut your hair, or manage your investment account, whatever, all in one place and accepting the recognition they deserve every day on this one weekend of the year was moving.
I say all that to say this: Our veterans, especially the older ones, are a rare commodity. They walk among you in anonymity. Seek them out. Listen to them. Go where they go when you are welcome. You will be better for it.
