Honoring Veterans

“Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.” This old quote became reality for us a few days ago when we boarded a tour bus and headed to Branson, Missouri. I don’t like driving long distances anymore and now sitting back in a reasonably comfortable coach seat to ride along has become our preferred mode of travel. We travel with the North Dakota Farmers Union bus which has made it possible for us to visit 49 states. Because of the way the highways work out, we’ve never been in Delaware. That said, we have had some valuable takeaways in our travels.

Twice we’ve traveled to the northeast for the fall foliage tours, but we didn’t just look at colorful leaves. Our driver has taken us to the heart of New York City, Washington, D. C., Boston, and Philadelphia, cities that opened up to us like a history book. Without his expertise at driving, we’d never have gotten into the midst of it all. 

This recent trip to Branson was one of several trips to that entertainment center that we’ve ridden along on. Some of the shows are outstanding and the city stands open and willing to accept tourist dollars pouring in. Branson is a top motor coach destination with about four thousand buses arriving each year.  On this trip we saw many, each one holding 40 to 50 people.

In each nine of the shows we attended, special recognition is always made by the entertainers for the veterans attending. They are asked to rise and be recognized, sometimes playing the song that signifies each branch of the service. This article is being written on Veterans Day, November 11. In World War I the armistice was agreed on by all parties to be observed on this the eleventh month, the eleventh day, and the eleventh hour of 1918. Beginning in 1938, the date became a national holiday.

My maternal grandfather, Andrew Sandvig, came to this country as an immigrant from Norway, and like many, had not yet become a naturalized citizen. That made no difference to a nation looking for men to carry a rifle as we entered the war. In fact and according to a New York Times article, “…nearly a quarter of the draftees in 1918 were immigrants, the result of an influx that had transformed America’s demography into a ‘melting pot’ of lineages.” 

Grandpa soon became a citizen since upon induction he had to swear allegiance to the U. S. and renounce allegiance to King Hakkon of Norway. Like so many veterans in wars, he came back not wanting to talk about what he saw or did. He carried a little government issue New Testament in which he wrote a few comments, enough so that I’ve been able to construct his wartime experience from reading history of his units. It is little wonder that he wanted to forget.

Casualties were high. At the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, 14,246 gravestones mark the burial place of U. S. Army soldiers who died in the battle that ended with the armistice. In one engagement he wrote something which I’ve been able to verify, “we lost half our men.” Service to his adopted country numbered him as one of the the millions who have served. Furthermore, he produced a line of descendants who served in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. To paraphrase the quote that introduced this piece, his service made him modest, humble, and honorable when he returned home.