WASHINGTON - One headline in the Washington Post described it as the "Final Muster."
The New York Times said World War II veterans at last had their place in the sun. (The "sun" part turned out sooo right, I can testify.)
New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, known usually for coining acerbic phrases, watched some of us oldies visiting the WWII Memorial for the first (or last?) time and called us "adorable."
Let the record show that I endorse all of the above.
Certainly for me, being here in the company of thousands of us vets of WWII vintage for the dedication of the long-awaited tribute in stone and bronze to our wartime service, was one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
Yet our hearts went out to the many thousands of others who also went down to the sea in ships or slogged across worldwide battlefields during WWII, to those who were no longer alive, and those who could not personally share in this splendid moment.
The numbers tell the inexorable story: of 16.4 million of us who were in uniform during the war, less than one-third remain, and that number is diminishing by 1,200 daily.
Seeing the new memorial was exhilarating for those of us who came from all parts of the nation - maybe no longer in the best of physical shape - and it gave us a renewed sense of camaraderie.
Everywhere in Washington you could easily spot old vets right away, either because of some tell-tale insignia, or by the cap they wore on their graying or balding head, bearing some ship or unit designation.
(As I will relate later, my USS Stephen Potter cap paid some delightful dividends for me.)
As a gift when I had my 82nd birthday, Paul, our oldest son, promised to fly me to Washington for the WWII Memorial dedication if we could make the necessary arrangements for tickets and lodging.
When Sen. Thad Cochran came through with his two tickets in the reserved seating section for the dedication ceremony, and my grandson let us have his tiny house in Georgetown, we were on the way.
With my son and granddaughter (a D.C. lawyer) the day before Saturday's (May 29) dedication ceremony, I visited the sparkling new memorial for the first time. Over some objections and even litigation, the WWII Memorial was placed squarely between two icons, the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, and, remarkably, obstructing the view of neither.
I walked (or more accurately, shuffled) from end-to-end of the semi-circular memorial plaza that is ringed by 56 granite pillars, one for each state or territory. At one end stands a towering stone arch, with Atlantic inscribed on it, and Pacific inscribed on the other, denoting the two-ocean war fronts.
Of course, I gravitated toward the Pacific tower. That was my war, where for two years as a gunnery officer on my destroyer I helped damage the Japanese fleet and knock down some of their airplanes, while we dodged some close calls.
Every step of the way I hugged dozens of other vets also visiting "their" memorial for the first time, spotting especially old Navy guys and looking, hopefully but in vain, to find some of my Stephen Potter shipmates.
As mentioned, my Navy blue cap with the outline of my ship and DD 538 on it, and probably the gray hair, paid dividends. Twice young women in their 20s came right up and kissed me while thanking me for my service.
After the second, a particularly curvy lass, my son ( a Vietnam vet) asked to borrow my cap. "No deal," I replied.
At the 3-hour-long Saturday dedication ceremony, speakers ranged from Tom Hanks, to Tom Brokaw (who coined the term "Greatest Generation" for our era), to President Bush. They all seemed to outdo each other in lauding and thanking us WWII vets.
Sitting side by side on the stage were two former presidents, George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton, the latter who in 1993 signed the legislation establishing the memorial and gave a major boost to its private funding.
Former Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole, himself wounded in Italy during the war, headed the commission that erected the monument. He sounded the emotional theme that "what we dedicate today is not a tribute to war …( but) a tribute to the physical and moral courage that makes heroes out of farm and city boys … to lay down their lives for the ideals that make life itself worth living."
When my son went to the food tent set up behind us, he met a 50-ish woman from Wisconsin who said her 19-year-old daughter in an Army unit had been killed in Iraq seven months earlier.
With a Wisconsin friend she had been sent an airplane ticket by a Washington foundation to attend the memorial dedication. She insisted that we come sit in the chairs with them and we did.
Their seats were on a pathway that provided more leg room, next to the chairs reserved for Cabinet members and diplomats. Right down the pathway near us were chairs reserved for Sen. John Kerry, the Democratic presidential nominee.
When he arrived surrounded by press people and Secret Service, the Wisconsin lady made a bee-line to meet him and was given a long hug and condolences from him. My son and I followed behind her. Seeing my ship's cap and my WWII medals, Kerry bent his tall frame over to warmly shake my hand and said, "We're both Navy, thanks for your service."
The memorial design symbolically reflects a war that unified the entire nation as never before in our history, certainly a far cry from a nation today that is sharply divided over our invasion and occupation of Iraq.
