Every year on the last Monday of May, America observes Memorial Day to remember the men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. It is a long weekend and everybody looks forward to three days of fun and frolic.
This federal holiday is typically celebrated with a backyard barbecue, or a family dinner, parades, fireworks, road trips and nostalgic visits to the cemetery.
Coincidentally, the day also heralds the arrival of summer. School is out for seniors all over the country and everyone else counts the days leading to the long break.
And oh yes, every woman’s dream (and her husband’s nightmare), this holiday is also known for bargain sales even at high-end stores. At Nordstrom’s, there was a roomful of Kate Spade purses at slashed prices. I saw a beautiful royal blue travel handbag. Glanced at the price tag and decided, blue was really not my color.
On TV that day, I caught a show about World War II survivors, now in their late 80s who saw action on D Day, June 6, 1944. They went to Normandy to visit Omaha Beach, their exact location on the day of the great offensive. Some shed tears as they described seeing their friends fall.
‘They got killed’
“The sea turned red,” one of them recalled. He had taken the soldiers across the English Channel on an LST (Landing Ship, Tank). “They kept telling me, ‘Get closer to the beach. It’s cold. We don’t want to get wet.’ I did, and they didn’t get wet. They got killed.”
The man, barely out of his teens on that memorable dawn, sobbed as he told his story for the first time in six decades.
Another veteran with the airborne forces landed on a tree. “I killed the first enemy soldier I saw. I had no choice. I was later captured and was a POW until shortly after VE day, (May 8, 1945) when the war in Europe was over.”
Their stories were similar. Each recounted his experiences with sadness. Some just shook their heads and wept. When they were called heroes, one replied: “We are no heroes. We had a job to do and we just did it.”
There is a cemetery for those who died on Omaha Beach. It is on a beautiful, quiet bluff overlooking the water. The hundreds of simple white crosses were built to face west, in the direction of the land of their birth.
For Memorial Day, volunteers all over the US lovingly place little American flags on the resting places of those who died in their country’s service in whatever conflict. It is a day of remembrance and gratitude for Americans all over the world. How sad it is that the number of white crosses is still growing.
The story of D Day was told in the 1962 movie “The Longest Day.” It tells of the risky attack on Normandy by troops under Supreme Commander of Allied Expeditionary Forces (and later America’s 34th President) Dwight (Ike) D. Eisenhower.
Meeting ‘Ike’
Time to ramble a bit.
I met President Eisenhower at a state dinner in Malacañang. Our President then was Carlos P. Garcia. I got my invitation late and ran to Ben Farrales (one of my favorite people on this earth) for help. I didn’t own a terno! He whisked a red taffeta number out of his stock room.
I dressed in his atelier. Do you remember that “Mang Ben” had a beauty salon above it? I have not known pampering like that ever again.
I felt like a princess as I walked up the regal Palace stairs on the arm of a man in a beautiful uniform who was tasked that evening to escort single ladies to the reception hall. It was an elegant affair. There was dancing under the chandeliers. I remember being thrilled to death to meet and shake hands with Ike. He had a nice, naughty smile.
I circulated a while, like most society writers did back in the day. But I had a midnight deadline to meet. I ran down the stairs and in long dress and high heels jumped into the Manila Chronicle vehicle—an Eisenhower jeep!
A few minutes later, in faded pedal pushers and a white shirt, I was hitting the keys on my Underwood rushing my front-page story. Those were the days.
By the way, early in the morning of Memorial Day, the American flag is briskly raised all the way to the top of the flagpole, then immediately and solemnly lowered to half-mast, where it stays until noon. The flag is restored to full mast at midday and flies high for the rest of the holiday.
And speaking of flags, I am sure mine is a voice raised in protest a little late. I have not seen much written about the Lady Gaga concert at the Arena but I know there were strong words spoken by religious groups. Thanks to Facebook, I saw some “live” shots of her sold-out show.
A couple of pictures have the very talented and internationally popular Gaga perched on a piano/motorcycle, with a Philippine flag, first dragged behind the vehicle, then draping her body, and finally wrapped around her legs.
I just have a question. If there are rules about how and when to sing our national anthem, and believe me I know there are, is there perhaps something we can say about Gaga’s treatment of our flag? I am just wondering, is anyone out there offended like I am?
News streaming
The new technologies never cease to amaze me. Thanks to this little device, I had news streaming live from our Manila networks last Tuesday. I didn’t miss the last day of the impeachment hearings.
Programming started at 2 a.m., Florida time. I watched and listened, hoping but not daring to hope too much.
I must have napped in between speeches. I remember seeing the score at 5 to 2. Then suddenly it was 9 to 2. There was no time limit to speeches and, of course, a couple of judges took full advantage of their TV opportunity.
Then the Presiding Judge came up to speak. What a moment that was! It was brilliant! Unforgettable. It gave new meaning to the word statesman. And when he pronounced his verdict, there was no doubt that finally, the truth had come to light.
It was almost 6 a.m. in the East Coast when I finally turned my laptop off. All the votes were in. The score was a resounding 20 to 3— in favor of the Filipino people.
Finally, as I settled down to sleep, I hugged my pillow and whispered a prayer. “Thank you Jesus. Your eyes are on the Philippines!”
