A Babe at War

Potomac, MD – Memorial Day. In the early 1940’s, the West was engulfed in a war for which there would be only two alternatives, total victory, or defeat. Two of my three brothers were in the U.S. Army, the other in the Air Force. Too young to comprehend the scope of that conflict, I did what most 6-year-olds of that period would – we mimicked the action of warfare in our play.

I remember cutting out models of planes from the back of Wheaties cereal boxes, and assembling them into three-dimensional flying toys. Each one was properly balanced by gluing a penny onto its nose. This gave the plane good flight attributes. From the attic window, facing the back yard, I launched them downward into imaginary aerial combat.

While playing on the streets and sidewalks in the Pawtucketville section of Lowell, Massachusetts, I noticed small banners hung in the front windows of many neighborhood homes. Each banner had one or more stars affixed to a white background – gold stars represented a serviceman or woman killed in battle. I didn’t understand then; now, I do.

All civilians were involved in the sacrifices needed for victory. Food, commodities and gasoline were rationed. Autos for the consumer market did not roll off Detroit’s assembly lines. You didn’t get to buy a car until the war was over. The U.S. economy was geared 100% to a war effort that had not been entered into lightly. Nor did America come out of it at small cost.

Our family was lucky – all three of my brothers came back in one piece, despite the fact that one of them had moved through the European Theatre of Operations, only to end up in the Pacific, where he prepared for an invasion of the Japanese home islands. Thankfully, that never happened.

It’s very different in 2007: Politicians at the national level do not come together for a common goal. Instead, they squabble among one another in a partisan grasp for power and for the obliteration of political opponents. Their maneuvers skillfully evade the assumption of responsibility and the clarification of national will and purpose.

The burden of war is not now broadly shared, and politicians clamor for simplistic, binary solutions such as “bring ‘em home now,” or “stay the course.” There seems to be no one at the national level with the will and intelligence to analyze the Byzantine complexity that is now Iraq, or the guts to present effective alternatives to the American people. Our elected officials plod along in Washington, mired in their sharply bifurcated ruts, as mothers, fathers, and siblings continue to bury and to mourn the death of brave sons and daughters.

I don’t know what John Basilone, Raritan Borough WW II icon, would say about the Iraq conflict. Somehow, though, I think that this Marine, who knew what it takes to bring a war to an end, would not look kindly upon Washington politicians and their advisors, as they play board games with the national conscience and fritter away the dreams and lives of our totally dedicated servicemen and women.