 |
Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday November 25, 2002 Volume IV Number 47 |
FOCUS - Easy Company
The Second World War was the big event of history just before I was born.
My parents were in High School as Pearl Harbor suffered that early Sunday morning surprise attack on December 7, 1941. On the other side of the globe, Prime Minister Winston Churchill spoke for Britain as Hitler’s Nazis mercilessly attacked the British Isle first with bombers and fighter planes of the Luftwaffe (the Royal Air Force surprisingly drove them back into France across the English Channel seriously damaging Hitler’s war machine) and then with devastating and relentless buzz bombs from mobile launch sites in France and Holland. My parents were teenagers as the United States emerged from neutrality to full participants in the global conflict.
As a little boy, my images of that war were
in shadowy black and white. I knew that my dad served on a “Tin Can,” a
destroyer headed for the Pacific. The explosions at Nagasaki and Hiroshima cut
Dad’s involvement in the War short. A complete surrender was signed a short
time later, September 2, 1945, on the deck of the USS Missouri in Tokyo
Bay by the Emperor of Japan and
Supreme
Commander of the Allied Forces, Douglas Mac Arthur. But Dad’s older brother,
my uncle, fought on the ground in the infantry as GIs chased Nazis out of
occupied France and on into Germany until Hitler finally took a gun to his own
head in a hide-away bunker not far from his beloved Eagle’s Nest. I knew the War had been an epic event in history; that
it set the stage for my own debut on planet earth as my Mom and Dad exchanged
wartime letters and love blossomed as tens, no hundreds of thousands of
American troops celebrated Victory, returning home, just starting out their
lives, survivors, ready to marry and study in the classroom and make a life for
themselves.
It was history. But I wasn’t there.
War stories were glamorized in movies and on that little flickering black and white television set in our living room. There were heroes and near misses and shooting from the trenches and dog fights in the air and battles at sea, all somewhat sanitized by Hollywood back lots. There were grainy newsreel scenes – but it was a shadowy memory of a time that was. Before me.
Sometimes I think about the events that shaped my impressionable growing up years. The Kennedy assassination. The Vietnam War. The first lunar landing. The anti-war movement. The flower-children. The Nixon resignation. And it occurs to me that my children have the same fuzzy notion of all those things that I had about WWII. They’ve read the stories. Seen the news clips. Watched the docudramas. Heard about the social-political-economic-psychological significance of the events. But they weren’t there.
It is for them – history.
Maybe I’m getting old enough now to enjoy the perspective. Maybe now I’m realizing how significant those events were. Maybe you’d call this stage of life, well, reflective.
Easy Company (101st Airborne Division) trained stateside, but then shipped out to England to prepare for a secret mission. They would jump out of a fleet of twin engine C-47 Skytrains, each attached by a tether to a steel cable which in the freefall would yank a giant canopy out of a pack, snapping open in the wind, and each trooper would float downward, dangling underneath their parachute, swinging back and forth all the way penetrating enemy territory, Occupied France. The mission: cut off supplies to the enemy along the beaches of Normandy. Soften up the German lines of defense. Prepare the way for the massive tidal wave of invaders on the greatest military raid ever staged.
For Easy Company, the harrowing ride in the night skies of June 6, 1944 was only the beginning. The brave troopers, who began that fateful night flying directly into enemy fire as a prelude to the hailstorm of gunfire on the beach the next morning, led the effort to penetrate hostile territory and eliminate the world’s most threatening menace.
The Easy Company took it all the way from Normandy to Berchtesgarden, the first of the Allied Forces to raid Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest.
* * * * * * * *
The cell phone rang at about five o’clock. We were just shutting down the office, ready to head home when I looked at the caller ID on the little LCD screen which read “Unknown Caller.” I pressed the answer key.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Kemp?”
“Yes.”
“This is Detective (name) from the County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Yes?”
“I’m standing in front of your house. It’s been burglarized. Will you be home soon?”
“Pardon me?” A dozen questions formed in my mind all at once. I became a bumbling moron. He explained again. Sheriff’s called upon to inform victims must find themselves repeating on a routine basis. I sat down and listened, nodding.
The doors were wide open, he said. The house ransacked. He and his partner would wait outside until I arrived on the scene. My house is now a “scene.” A crime scene.
I stepped into Carolyn’s office and announced the news.
It was a long ride home. We’ve been burglarized before. Our business. Ten years ago. All of the pain and confusion and anger and fears… it all came back like a thunderbolt. It was a silent trip home. I drove like I was on auto-pilot. Neither of us had much to say, other than something like, “Wow, this is all we need now.” As if there is better timing for a break-in than today.
I imagined broken windows. Toppled curio cabinet. Dishes shattered on the tile. Graffiti spray painted on the walls. Family photos torn. Stereo wires dangling, and missing components. Computer equipment ripped from the walls, cables and cords laying there attached to nothing. Busted up dresser drawers and maybe like last time, a bloody trail left by a crazed intruder so intent on theft that he cut himself open in the forced entry.
I prepared myself for the worst. I reached for my cell and called two of my best buddies, just to alert them and ask for their prayers as we sorted through the rubble.
I began thinking about my recovery plan. Who to call? Claims to file? Systems to prevent this from ever happening again? Those German Shepherds next door, the pack of ‘em that bark insanely every time I walk by, baring their teeth, snapping all the way down the fence, fierce, piercing eyes, looking like they would have me for lunch if it weren’t for the chain link separating us. As many times as I have cursed them under my breath, I began to wonder, where do you find such wonderful dogs? Would that I had a couple of those beauties in my back yard as this intruder approach my house this very afternoon.
You’ve learned by now that I possess an active, fertile imagination. It was in full operation by the time we pulled up to the house, the moment of truth, where two uniformed officers of the law, armed, radios on, notebooks at the ready, stood at the front door.
“Mr. Kemp?”
“Yes.”
Carolyn following, we walked inside.
* * * * * * * *
This Thanksgiving follows a tumultuous year.
They say we’ve been in a recession. The stock market gave in to the bears. The War on Terror is in full effect. Our nation’s leadership is rallying the world behind an effort to root out the perpetrators of terrorism and crimes against freedom loving peoples. Parents fear their children will be asked to fight in a dangerous war. Corporations have crumbled under the weight of crushing debt and greedy, self-serving leadership. Officials tell us to prepare for ominous, horrific surprise attacks.
Any where.
Any time.
Our way of life is under threat.
Maybe the difference this year, our second Post-9/11 Thanksgiving, is that we are more aware of the threat. We are more vigilant. In the light of these awful possibilities, the blessings of home and family mean that much more.
* * * * * * *
If you prepare for the worst then reality will not seem so bad. That’s my motto.
Carolyn and I entered into our house with the detectives close behind. Every drawer was open. Every cupboard, too. The house, a shambles. We looked for real damage.
There was none.
It was a mess. An unwelcome intruder invaded our home. He could have taken so much more, but he didn’t. The ransacking turned out to be open drawers and open doors and clothing scattered. That’s it.
He only got two things.
My brand new (beloved) 5 Megapixel digital camera with extra memory and the old video-cam. Both Sonys.
Gone.
The phone rang. One of our favorite people from church. A professional handyman. Allen said, “Ken, I heard. I’m on my way over with all my tools. What needs fixin’?”
His words and his offer caused a swell of emotion I can’t describe. “Thanks, Allan, but we’re OK.”
“Cool. That’s a relief.”
And then he said, “Pam’s on her way. She’s got a hot dinner for you two. She’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
Friends.
We have some of the best.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
Listen to history. It tells how Easy Company mustered the courage, the determination, the loyalty to home and country and faced incredible hardship. They knew the cold of winter combat, the fierce resistance of the enemy, the loss of buddies, unspeakable injuries, the pang of hunger and the bitterness of defeat. The camaraderie of the platoon became their source of strength. It finally led to a glorious victory. That camaraderie has lasted a lifetime. They are, to this day, a Band of Brothers.
Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg produced a powerful series about Easy Company based on the book by historian Steven Ambrose.
As we gather our families together this week to express our gratitude, let’s remember the bravery of Americans like those from Easy Company who fought and died to give us this great land, to preserve it from the attacks of our enemies. Let’s remember those who today wear the same uniform, have the same eye-of-the-tiger look in their eyes as they consider the daunting task ahead. Let’s find comfort in knowing these are Americans – of whom we can be proud.
Our personal losses (while they are painful and annoying and disappointing) pale in comparison to the blessings of home and family and friends.
Let’s embrace one another this week. And let’s take time to thank our God in Heaven who is the giver of every good and perfect gift.
Let’s be a band of brothers.
And sisters, too.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2002
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
|
|