“All gave some. Some gave all.” – Howard William Osterkamp
Osterkamp of Dent, OH, served in the US Army 1951-1953. He fought in Korea as part of C Company, 5th Regimental Combat Team, receiving a Purple Heart. He gave some. Many in his company gave all — their lives.
Osterkamp in Korea.
This is Memorial Day weekend, the weekend we honor our war dead. Every generation has a war they specifically remember on Memorial Day: the one they or their contemporaries fought in. For my grandfather Lardas, it was the First World War, where he too received a Purple Heart and earned US citizenship through combat service in the American Expeditionary Force. For my father and father-in-law, it was World War II, where each served in the Signal Corps, one in Europe and one in the Pacific. For my uncles, it was the Korean War, one in the Army and one in the Air Force.
For me, it was the Vietnam War, although I personally was too young to have served in it. I turned 18 in 1973, the year the draft ended. Yet many of my contemporaries served. Some did not come back. For those born in the 1970s, it was Desert Shield/Desert Storm. For the children of the 1980s and later, it was the War on Terror.
I have been largely untouched by all of those wars. While all male family members of my grandfathers’ and father’s generation served in wars, all of them made it through their war to return safely to the US. One of my wife’s cousins fought in Desert Storm and made it back safely. Some of my school friends served during Vietnam, but none saw combat, and all returned safely. Veterans’ Day touches me more directly than Memorial Day.
I am the only one of my generation — or my children’s generation to have served in the US military. (My service was brief — ROTC followed by discharge upon graduation due to a surplus of newly minted 2nd lieutenants. I went straight into six years of inactive reserve, and do not consider myself a true veteran.) It is not that surprising. The size of the military has shrunk dramatically. While service was part of everyday life for my grandfather’s and father’s generation, even when I was a young adult, it was fading as a rite of passage to adulthood. By the time my children were adults, only a tiny fraction of this country served in the military.
What those under 50 do not appreciate is how shabbily the country treated those who served in Vietnam during the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s. Those who survived were attacked and spat on (it’s not a myth — I saw it happen), reviled, and discriminated against. The dead? Many claimed they deserved it. It was not until Desert Shield the image of the veteran improved (“Thank you for your service”) and the war dead again became the honored dead.
I know members of the military died during Desert Storm/Shield and the War of Terror. (The grave of one of those men, a private who died before his 23rd birthday, is close to my wife’s grave in the cemetery where she now lays). I did not personally know anyone who died in Vietnam. Yet for me personally, Memorial Day is about the Vietnam dead, scorned when they returned. It may be generational. It may be because I still resent how they were treated.
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