Thoughts From the Front Porch

It’s a term we’ve heard a lot lately, usually applied to our valiant ancestors who survived the Great Depression, went into battle and kicked the Axis’ tail during World War II, then came home victorious to help pave the way for the most prosperous decades of American history. But how can we really define greatness;  what made them different from their own forebears, or the generations that followed?

If we assume it takes large portions of courage, bravery, intelligence, strength and perseverance, then these folks definitely qualify. But those qualities still exist today, however well-masked by these pitiful times. To truly appreciate the source of their greatness, we need to look at how people lived in those days.

It’s said that the finest steel comes from the hottest forge. I doubt any generation ever rose up through tougher times. The War of 1914-1918, aka The Great War, War To End All Wars , or World War I,  produced a fine stock of battle-hardened forebears.  They returned home with a great victory and quietly began raising families, only to find themselves in the grip of the Great Depression just as those families were reaching young adulthood.

This new generation faced an economic plague of unimaginable deprivation. Many did not survive, but those who did emerged with a new strength & resolve that can only come from battling the worst and living to tell about it. Today’s so-called major problems would have been little more than mere nuisances to people of that caliber.  They would have quickly and efficiently dealt with them all.  Enduring hardship and conquering the unacceptable was in their nature.

Thence cometh World War II. America’s enemies were once again clearly defined; their intentions unmistakable. Our parents and grandfolks once again rose to the occasion, and once again they excelled and came home as heroes, rightly so. Each had enough war stories to keep the rest of us enthralled and justifiably envious of their valor.

National pride was at an all-time high, for these Yanks had licked half the world in the name of everything they cherished, many of them for the second time.

War is scary stuff.  Even the most patriotic volunteers would still have been fearful, making me wonder why so many went “over there” anyway. Tens of thousands went because they were drafted.   But, unlike later generations, we’ve heard few stories of deserters and draft evaders in that era.  Many others went because making war for good cause was in their nature, like the Minutemen of Lexington and Concord. If the truth be fully known, the armed services probably offered a better deal for many than they were getting at home.

We were still largely a rural populace in those days.  Farm labor is hard and boring; factory work & mining were no real bargains either. The military at least gave them a break from backbreaking, tedious routine.   Then there’s always a certain percentage of folks who simply do not thrive in everyday life situations. The war offered them an opportunity for real accomplishment and recognition.

Whatever the reasons, Americans rose to the occasion, with the full support of their countrymen and Allies. They were a seasoned, hardened bunch of survivors whose latest assignment was just another ordeal in a long line of stressful situations that we cannot imagine without having lived them ourselves.  These people simply took it all in stride and did what they felt was right.

Those who remained behind also found a new resolve: do everything humanly possible to support their troops overseas and keep our flag flying proudly back home. They openly hated and berated the enemy because he was trying to kill their loved ones and take over a free country, and because our finest were over there instead of home.

These loyal civilians worked overtime to produce what was needed to defeat the enemy’s purpose.  They sacrificed luxuries, grew their own gardens for food, walked instead of drove so there would be fuel for military use, organized home guards in case the enemy made it as far as their homeland, became civilian plane spotters, and performed countless other duties of a concerned populace under fire.

I recently attended a concert featuring a forever-young lady, 80+ years of age, who had traveled all over the States and Europe with a USO troupe.  She and her companions brought a little bit of home to those fighting forces, encouraging them, and reinforcing their resolve.  As I listened to her piano music and watched her perform, it occurred to me that she was also a hero; another integral part of something so immense and wonderful that we must also include her as one of the Great Ones.

You could literally see the inner strength in her face and feel her magnetism as she belted out dozens of tunes that were popular in that era.  Indeed, those songs themselves were also part of the greatness; songs that refreshed and inspired those going in harm’s way with promises of unequivocal support back home and a glorious new world at peace when it was all over.

More than sixty years later this remarkable lady’s music worked its wondrous effect on this new audience, regardless of our age or hers.  One can only guess  what memories were stirred that night.  Many openly wept, and sang along as best they could.

What a pity  those who’ve protected our interests in later conflicts have not been afforded the same glory and acceptance by their own peers.  It reflects badly upon all of us.

Only the great can recognize greatness.  It’s mostly gone now; not from our soldiers, but from those for whom they die.

Views From Benny Hill is a series by Jerry Smith

Views From Benny Hill