Rememberance Day in America

The address was in Navajo, the ancient language of the Navajo Nation who live on the harsh high desert reservation of Northern Arizona. The only other Native American tribe to share its language is Apache. The words were short, and to most of us listening perhaps harsh. Yet, they had rhythm and strength so even those who could not comprehend them, felt the emotions of the speaker. His name was Stewart Farley and he was the proud son of a war hero. He told his audience of his love for his father, Ward Farley, an unsung hero who had been forgotten by his country.

Ward had left the reservation after he heard his country was at war. Like so many other American young men, he lied about his age in order to serve his country.

Although he could speak only Navajo he signed his name and served with the famed night fighters of the Timberwolves Division which played a key role in spearheading the assault across the Roer River in February 1945. Fighting ahead of the front lines, the Timberwolves outflanked and outfought their enemies, saving thousands of Allied lives. During the campaign Ward Farley was seriously wounded and left for dead for two days before he was found and evacuated. Now 65 years later he was finally receiving the decorations earned so long ago.

There were many dignitaries present this Memorial Day weekend but it was the Native Americans, like the Farleys and John Chavez, whose sacrifices like those of the Navajo Code Talkers had been ignored for a half century, I had come to honor.

I am always humbled in the presence of such quiet warriors and it has been my privilege to know some of them. They never speak of the horrors they faced and I often wonder if I would have found the courage these ordinary men found in their extraordinary circumstances. I served my country but my war was not designated a hot war but a cold war. We played chicken with the Soviet Union, teenagers armed with thermonuclear weapons. I spent 26 months on the DEW line, manning a Nike Hercules missile site just below the Arctic Circle, as we played out our own version of Dr. Strangelove. I was never fired upon in anger, at least not by an enemy soldier. I served without distinction and returned invisibly to civilian life. I did not have to suffer the insults of my younger friends who served in Vietnam nor freeze in the frozen hills of Korea  in “the forgotten war” as my older friends did. I was fortunate.

Twice each year I take time to remember the men and women who have paid such a heavy price for my right to live in this great country. In the fall as the leaves die on the trees I remember my grandfather, a regimental sergeant Major who was gassed in 1915 in the trenches, fighting the war to end all wars.  Now as the sun returns to warm the earth I think of my friends, some of whom are no longer here, my nephew who is returning to the sand box for the 5th time since 1991, and all the men like Ward Farley. Perhaps no one has ever said it better than Sir Winston Churchill: “Never have so many owed so much to so few.”     

Thank you Brothers.

Hozo-go nay-yeltay to
A-na-oh bi-keh de-dlihn

May we live in peace hereafter
We have conquered all our foes,

Translated from the Marine Hymn
by  Jimmy King, a Navajo instructor