I wandered along the street that day in a Kansas town near the end of May.
A small parade was movin’ through so I stopped to watch . . . nothin’ better to do.
It was a straggly bunch, a disjointed group; just a couple of bands and a Boy Scout troop.
Kids decked out in red, white and blue, a twirling team and a clown or two.
A yellow convertible with flowered strings and a big red truck with ladders and things.
It was a lame parade; a rather sorry sight; not much energy and nothin’ seemed right.
Hey, Dude! I’m young! So what do I care? Me and my beard and my pony-tailed hair.
I’m enjoyin’ life! Like you’re only young once, so I live in the moment and chase every hunch.
The parade was boring, the crowd was too. I needed to find somethin’ else to do.
I started to leave; I’d had enough of this crummy town and this memory stuff.
Then across the street, I saw them there – just . . . Four Old Men with silver hair.
Their shoulders slumped, their hands in their laps, Four Old Men wearin’ Legionnaire caps.
They struggled to stand as the flag went by, one missing a leg, another an eye.
An empty sleeve hung at one man’s side but they snapped to attention and saluted with pride.
It wasn’t for themselves that they were there, those Four Old Men with silver hair,
but for brothers in arms who’d fought and bled in defense of freedom and who now are dead.
I got the strangest feeling inside my breast. As I looked at the medals on the old men’s chest
I saw four young boys, not Four Old Men who’d gone to war way back when.
Only young once? Doesn’t seem right! Not for four young boys with a war to fight.
They were younger then than I am now. Gave up their youth and survived somehow.
I’d watched friends blow weed to get high; they’d watched buddies get shot and die.
My youth was wasted as you might can tell but THEIR young years would’ve been pure hell.
I’d hit beaches with burning desire but THEY’D hit beaches facing enemy fire.
My only thought? Get a good tan! THEIR only thought? Defeat Japan!
On Omaha beach they’d fought and won -- at Tarawa, Sicily, Bataan and Verdun.
In skies over Germany filled with flak, then the Battle of the Bulge turned the enemy back!
In the jungles of Asia so many men died but the Battle of Midway turned the tide.
I saw four young men barely past their teens, and understand now what sacrifice means.
Once four young boys now they’re four old guys, who, as I watched, made me realize
that so many men, courageous and brave, who’d defended our freedoms now lie in a grave.
I know what a waste my youth had been – I never had the courage of any of those men.
Never gave a thought to those who’d died, but I’ve a new respect down deep inside.
I came to know just standing there watching Four Old Men with silver hair
that, to those who died, our debt’s immense. Heroes all . . . in the truest sense.
They’d said not a word yet I cherish this thought -- of all the lessons I’ve ever been taught
I’ll never forget what I learned there . . . by watching Four Old Men with silver hair.
Ray Cox June, 2009
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Dad couldn't swim. A fellow solder saw him going under and shoved a piece of something that floated under him and told him to hang on. He did and he lived.
On Memorial Day of ’09, as part of its coverage of Memorial Day across America, Fox News aired a brief clip of a parade in some little Midwestern town. The camera panned the crowd and I noticed four old gray haired veterans in their uniforms and Legionnaire caps sitting in folding chairs at the side of the street silently watching the parade.