As for me, like the vast majority of Americans, I am reserving my honors and memories today for my ethical and heroic father, Jack Anderson Marshall, Sr. (1920-2009). He enlisted early in World War II; fought in Africa, Europe and the Battle of the Bulge, the latter after having his foot nearly blown off by a hand-grenade. He was awarded the Silver Star and a Bronze Star before he retired (against his will) with the rank of Major, and lived with the pain of his ruined foot from that point on. (I am looking at the special shoe the VA made for his grotesquely deformed left foot right now: I keep it by my desk). Dad refused to limp, no matter how much that foot hurt him. My mother told me he didn’t want to give the Germans the satisfaction.

Here’s Dad in 1945:

My father hated war but was good at it: his memoir is called “Reflections of a Timid Commando.” He was fair to all, fought his biases, admitted when he was wrong, never gloated when he was right (and he usually was) and regarded fighting for his country as, by far, the most important accomplishment of his life, with creating a safe, happy, stable home and family a close second. I visited him (and Mom) today at Arlington; there are so many heroes there whose stories I wish I knew. They are the ones we should honor today.

Not George Floyd.

_____________

Pointer: Willem Reese