May 29, 2023
MY CORNER by Boyd
Cathey
Memorial Day, What It Means, and Why
Friends,
Observing Memorial Day 2023, like millions of other Americans I
recall the sacrifices of those who selflessly gave their lives in far off places
like Guadalcanal or the Hurtgen Forest or Anzio beach. Some remain in neatly kept
cemeteries in France or other countries. In many cases, those men did not
understand fully “why” they were engaged in conflict, save that their country
had called them to do so. And, thus, it was their duty to do so.
Has this not been the case with most of the conflicts in which the
American nation has been engaged since the end of the War Between the States?
As we look back now, we can point to Korea and Pearl Harbor when we
were attacked, and thus, with some justification, we can mention those
conflicts as, at least from that perspective, justified. But how many other
conflicts—wars—can we say the same thing about, and not just the more recent
“American police actions” (in Bosnia, Somalia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, etc.)
which remain extremely controversial in almost every respect?
What about the Spanish-American War, arguably a blatant case of
American imperial power against Spain? And World War I? Increasingly, the
evidence points to a monumental error, perhaps a calculated one, on our part to
affect
the outcome of a European war, with eventually disastrous consequences for
everyone involved. Is it not justifiable to say that the victory of the Triple
Entente (i.e., Great Britain, France, and Imperial Russia) and the resultant
Draconian peace, hugely facilitated and made possible by wrongheaded American
intervention, set the stage for the rise of world Communism and, ineluctably,
the accession to power in Germany in fourteen short years of Adolf Hitler?
And more, what of the mound of evidence indicating that Franklin
Roosevelt, eager to enter the war in Europe on Britain’s side, took actions
that forced the Japanese into war, making the Pearl Harbor attack all the more
likely. Were his actions, what historian Charles C. Tansill called “the back
door to war,” so designed? Historians and authors still hotly debate those
assertions.
Through it all, through all those wars and military conflicts, and
more recently through Vietnam, and then the Balkans and the Middle East,
American boys, fathers, sons, and brothers have done their duty, not usually
asking difficult questions, but rather answering the call when issued.
Has this not been the case almost always?
In 1941 it was far easier to make the case that our young men must
answer that call. After all, for whatever reason, we had been attacked, and we had no other option than to respond
and respond forcefully, to mobilize and prepare for years of grueling and
painful war.
In his letters to my mother he left behind [now in the NC State
Archives], my father, Harry S. Cathey, writes from France and Germany in 1944
and 1945. Some of the words and designations are obviously in a code they had
between them—he could not identify locations in the combat zone. And what comes
through above all are two things: his sense of duty to his country and his
abiding love for my mother—no real complaints about his conditions, although he
does express the wish that he can taste her cooking again and, of course, the
hope to see her soon.
A member of the 101st Cavalry, my father was assigned to
a Light Tank (“Stuart” type, from available information) and was involved in
reconnaissance operations. On March 15, 1945, near Kaiserslautern in the
Rheinland-Pfalz, his tank was hit directly by a German projectile. Dad, then
piloting the tank, was seriously wounded, and his best buddy Dale Lackey, the gunner,
was killed.
What has always affected me deeply and impelled me to count my
blessings is that shortly before that attack, my father and Dale had traded
positions: my father had been for several days prior the gunner, and Dale the
pilot. They often switched positions—and they had done so only hours before the
fatal incident. That trade had saved my father’s life, almost miraculously,
just as it had taken Dale’s.
After the war and after my father got out of Walter Reed Hospital
with a permanent back disability, he and my mother went to Granite Falls, North
Carolina, to visit Dale Lackey’s widow. And several years later, when I came
along, I received in his honor and memory the middle name “Dale.” Throughout my
life, always, I carry that name of a man who seventy-eight years ago perished
in a place where just as easily my father could have been. Thus, Memorial Day is always significant for me, for I honor
especially my father’s service and also the memory of his buddy.
Some seventy-five years later, I decided to
search out any living members of the family of my father’s compatriot, and I
discovered that Dale Lackey had had a son named Dale, born
December 8, 1944, who never got to see and know his father. I looked him up and
found him in Statesville, North Carolina, and I contacted him. With emotion I told him about my middle name in honor of his father, and how
that change in tank positions saved the life of my dad. As we talked by
telephone I think we were both deeply moved as we realized how war can radically
alter destiny and lives, not just of its direct participants but also of their
families.
After seventy-five years I
made a new friend whose friendship is both very special and spiritual.
Thus, Memorial Day is very significant for me, for I honor especially
my father and his buddy Dale Lackey whose name I also carry.
Those men are called “the greatest generation,” and the reasons
that are given are that they “saved us from totalitarianism,” or “they made the
world safe,” and the list goes on. Much of that we would now say was a kind of very questionable, self-justifying propaganda…but always with an embedded, fragile,
often obscure kernel of truth.
They were not political strategists or encumbered with high
positions in government where long-range policies were made. Perhaps if they
had been, things might have been different.
I like to think, as I reflect on Memorial Day and its deeper
meaning, that
above all those men did their duty, experiencing the pain of separation, the privations
of war, the many necessary sacrifices, and oftentimes death. In this they leave
their memory and honor to us all, unselfishly.
And, so, we honor them,
we remember them—at times our hearts
still ache as we recall them in our presence, as we recall listening to their
voices and stories, and as we admired and continue to admire their hard-earned
and often weary wisdom.
That is, in so many ways, the real “why” of Memorial Day.
[Small portions of this essay were used for articles
in Chronicles
magazine (May 25, 2020) and Roll Call: The Journal of the NC Military
History Society, May 2019]
Thank you for sharing your fathers story. It hits home and I’m certain that you have many fond memories with your dad. God bless and happy Memorial Day Boyd. C Palmer
ReplyDelete