Memorial Day has become over decades the unofficial beginning of summer. With only a few days remaining in the school calendar and warmer weather with longer daylight hours, it’s time to p-a-r-t-y! It may be that because we (used to) have cold, dark winters, the summer months were worthy of celebrating.
I say unofficial because Memorial Day is officially the day, we as a nation, are asked to remember the sacrifices made by our enlisted women and men, those who ultimately lost their lives. But we also joyfully celebrate summer’s beginning. Two ends of the emotional cultural spectrum.
For many thousands of people across our land, Memorial Day means something much more profound – the death of an active-duty loved one. Memorial Day is the only day set aside by our society to officially honor all military personnel who have died while in service to the country.
Not to be confused with Veterans Day in November, the official day for honoring all veterans living and dead, Memorial Day has a longer history, one of honoring and remembering those who died in battle.
Memorial Day’s humble genesis is generally credited as beginning at the end of the Civil War. The day was set aside to commemorate the fallen with displays of grief and gratitude shown by “decorating” the graves of those who perished or were gravely wounded while in service.
Hence, for some time, the day was known as Decoration Day. It would become federally recognized as Memorial Day by federal proclamation in 1978 and included the very popular three-day weekend by moving Memorial Day from May 30 (my son’s birthday) to the last Monday in May.
As Decoration Day began to spread in cities and towns throughout the slowly unifying country in the mid-to-late 1800s, its origins have been claimed by more than one region or group. South Carolina’s history seems to claim the title as first in the nation to honor the war dead from the Civil War. It is said that a group of recently freed slaves were the first after the south surrendered in 1865.
On May 5, 1868, General John Logan, leader of a northern veterans’ group, called for a day of remembrances (later to be held each year on May 30.) People were encouraged to decorate the graves of deceased soldiers in what would be called Decoration Day. President Garfield gave a speech at Arlington National Cemetery where 5,000 participants decorated 20,000 graves.
However, it was in 1966 that the federal government declared Waterloo, New York, as the official birthplace of Memorial Day.
Interesting side note, southern states held their own remembrances day until after World War 1. For those areas of the country still recovering from the Civil War and reconciliation between the north and south, peace would be a long time coming.
No one in my family was killed in action in WWII, the Korean War, the Vietnam conflict, or any of the conflicts and military engagements in the Middle East. We are very lucky. The soldiers in my family served with honor and then returned home to pursue quiet lives in smalltown America.
These men, my father Brayton N. Newell, uncle Charles B. Billard and my son’s father John E. Silva, never spoke much, if at all, about their experiences.
I never knew my father and uncle were Bronze Star recipients until after their deaths. Silva faced racial discrimination in the Army, but he harbored no ill will against those who wondered at his heritage. I remember them because I loved them and because they stood tall and did what was asked of them. Period. Bravery takes many forms.
If those men were alive today, they would go on appreciating Memorial Day for a day to remember and, yes, eat hot dogs and hamburgers from the grill as a season opener in the backyard. They would enjoy the family surrounding them and likely silently recall someone they knew who didn’t make it. You wouldn’t know their deepest memories because they wouldn’t share them. But one thing I do know – they would want us to p-a-r-t-y.
It is fitting that we celebrate summer, and it is fitting that we commemorate our fallen military, even if it is a bit tricky blending the two. But I guess as long as we spend a few minutes hearing heroic stories of those who paid the highest price, place flowers, wreaths and tiny flags on graves of servicewomen and men, and in silence pray for their immortal souls (and our own), then let the party begin.
One thing is for sure however, freedom isn’t free.
This Mattapoisett Life
By Marilou Newell