A WHIFF OF NOSTALGIA

pridefully acclaimed the nation’s efforts to whip Kaiser Bill,
his Boche hosts and maybe get in a lick against Trotsky to boot. We
remember the influenza epidemics, gold stars in windows, black
veils and crepe armbands.

We dimly recall all that now, but Decoration Day, as it was
known in the early 1920’s, was a vivid, shell-spangled
glorification of the national honor.

By this time the boys were home from ‘over there,’ had
formed the American Legion: what was left of the G.A.R. was invited
to join, as were some rare veterans of the Spanish-American War. In
our eyes these men were heroes, without exception, and this day was
set aside to honor the living and revere the dead. All had served
in a noble cause, no doubt about it.

If you’ve forgotten, no community too small, no city too
large forgot the commemorative event. Everyone participated; to not
appear was almost treasonous, might even indicate Bolshevik
leanings.

There’d be first a Union Service in the city park, the local
Legion Post discreety stacking their 30-’06 Springfield rifles
behind the Civil War monument. Patriotic airs, such as
‘Columbia the Gem of the Ocean’ or Kipling’s ‘Lest
We Forget’ were toot led by the band, followed by a chorus of
pretty maids in white tulle who renkered ‘My Country This of
Thee.’ Then several prayers eulogizing ‘the fallen’,
mixed with pleas for divine intercession for guidance to ‘make
the world safe for Democracy.’ All this in spite of much
disenchantment with Wilson so that ‘he kept us out of war,’
was never mentioned. It was General ‘Black Jack’ Pershing
who got the most credit.

The highlight of the morning, however, was the big parade. Not
just an ordinary parade not going much of any place, but this one
for a purpose, to honor the heroic dead. Again, everyone took
part.

Actually, the marching solemn column outnumbered the spectators,
who usually joined at the end of the parade as they approached the
cemetery. And mind you, they all walked, no cars, only a buggy or
two and one horse which was ridden by the highest-ranking officer
to be found.

Even the Civil War veterans insisted they totter along, at least
part of the way, the horse-drawn buggies picking them up when they
needed help. ‘Way back there’d be a contingent of Red Cross
ladies, but ahead of them the Gold Star Mothers and War Widows in
black; interspersed were moppets in white with armloads of
sweet-scented lilacs, fluffy snowballs, sprays of spirea and fern,
maybe some late violets.

Up front was the color guard, and the Eagle Scout honored to
carry the Stars and Stripes was a figure we envied. You had to be
worthy in every moral fibre to even touch that sacred emblem, we
thought. In those days, too, we could sing at least four stanzas of
the Star Spangled Banner without hesitation, and the Pledge of
Allegiance rolled off our lips as easily as the Lord’s Prayer,
and about as sacred too.

On the way out the band melodies were of the quieter kind. As
flowers were placed on graves of departed heroes, these became
dirges. With much dipping of the flag, many sighs and tears, a
final rifle salute to their departed comrades, the marchers formed
again for the walk back to town.

Now the band got joyfully jubilant, blaring out quick-stepping
tunes such as ‘Hail Columbia, Happy Land;’ ‘Stars and
Stripes Forever,’ ‘Columbia the Gem of the Ocean’ and
who hears them now? and all the other John Phillip Sousa rousers
for which the trumpets and drums had energy? It was pretty
soul-stirring to say the least.

It signified much. We were proud of our country. We paid honest
tribute to those who made the ultimate sacrifice. As boys and girls
we resolved in our hearts that America the Beautiful, Democracy,
Freedom, Motherhood and the ‘Land of the Free and the Home of
the Brave’ were worth martydrom, if need be. No sacrifice would
be too great to save Our Nation.