Some Thoughts on Memorial Day
Copyright © 2006 Henry J Sage

Growing up in the small village of Pleasantville, New York, during and after World War II, I came to know Memorial Day in a way that seems very distant now. My family still called it “Decoration Day,” from the time when the day was set aside to decorate the graves of fallen heroes with flowers, a practice dating back to the Civil War era.  It was always celebrated on May 30th, regardless of the day of the week. 

Starting early in the morning the marchers would begin to assemble for the parade in a large plaza across from our railroad station.  Led by a color guard of members from the different military services, the parade would loop from one end of our village to the other, a distance of about two miles, and back to the plaza.  Marchers included the high school band, our spirited local fire department band, fire trucks, visiting bands from nearby towns, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, American Legion, Police and National Guard units, Gold Star Mothers* and other groups.  All along the route families would gather along the curb to watch, waving flags, and boys like me would run along beside our favorite units.

When the parade got to Bedford Road School, about three-fourths of the way around, it would halt, and dignitaries would make remarks before the World War I Memorial, a bugler would play taps, riflemen would fire three volleys, and kids would scamble for the empty shell casings. Then the parade would continue back to the Plaza, at one end of which was a World War II Memorial.  In the center was a large white curved tableau inscribed with the names of all the men and women from our village who had served during the war.  The names of those who had been killed were inscribed in gold, the rest in blue.

Between brief remarks, probably by the mayor, and a prayer by a local priest or minister, the names of all those who had died would be read over a loudspeaker.  Among the crowd one would see many with tears in their eyes, for all of us knew at least one of the names—a former high school football player, a clerk from a local bank or store, or someone who had commuted to New York City every day before the war—fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, and friends.  The ceremony would close with the bands playing the National Anthem, and we would drift off to picnics, family dinners or maybe the swimming pool, which always opened on Memorial Day.

Everybody knew what the day was for, everyone remembered someone, and few if any wondered if it had all been worth it.  Despite the sad parts, it was always a good day. Those were different times.

Later, when I was in Vietnam in 1969, Buddha's Birthday happened to fall on Memorial Day. I was invited to a ceremony at a local village which we supported with various goodwill projects, and several other Marines and I were guests. We observed a ceremony at a small temple, at which Buddhist monks prayed, and gifts of food and other items were placed on an altar for the ancestors of the villagers to enjoy. As I was aware that the Vietnamese had been fighting for centuries to ward off their enemies, it occurred to me that their ceremony was not all that different from ours.

* Gold Star mothers were those who had lost a son in battle.
In the flag below, the two blue stars represent family members in active service.
The gold star represents a family member who was killed in action.
Families would hang the flags in their windows.
There was at least one on every block.

Memorial Day History | History Channel: Memorial Day | World War II Home | Updated May 24, 2008