It may come as a surprise to some younger readers that there was a time in this country when there was no such thing as instant communications. As a matter of fact, my family did not have a telephone until some time in the vicinity of 1935. My mother, who was home all day, was communications-less unless an emergency occurred. She could not drive so it was out of the question for her to go to a store that had a pay telephone to call someone. She relied on one or two neighbors who had telephones. During that era, the standard form of communication had to do with the telegraph. Telepathy came before telecommunications. When there was an urgent need, someone would send a telegram saying that there was an emergency or, occasionally, that we wish to visit with you this Sunday.
I grew up in this era before telephones were commonplace. What I would like to discuss in this essay is probably the saddest telegram anyone could imagine. I would grant you that this essay is being dictated at 5:30 PM on Memorial Day. On a day like this, I am in a pensive and contemplative mood, thinking about the men we have lost in wars over the years.
Now, to carry this one step further, the older readers may recall that from 1941 until 1945 the United States was engaged in the Second World War. It is at this point that the lack of communications together with the war are joined.
When a soldier or sailor or Coast Guardsman is lost, really killed in action, some men from the same service will put on their Class A uniforms and two of them will go to the address of the soldier who has been killed to notify the next of kin. When they drive up to the former soldier’s home, anyone inside will know what is coming. One of the soldiers or sailors will identify the next of kin who resides at this particular address. Having identified the next of kin or the person to be notified in the event of death, the soldier or sailor will then recite words along these lines: “We regret to inform you that your son or daughter has been killed in action.” This really is an abbreviated version of what the soldier or sailor has to say. It is a terrible sad duty. But it certainly is better than the form of notification that occurred during World War II.
As I have mentioned, not everyone had a telephone in those days. It was commonplace for the War Department (now the Defense Department) to send a telegram to notify the next of kin that a serviceman had been lost or killed in action. As you might expect, the person’s neighbors would most likely see the Western Union messenger who was sent from the telegraph office to the home. If my memory is anywhere close to correct, in World War II we lost or had killed in action some 420,000 men. It is heart-rending to contemplate the loss of so many men. But consider the Russians or even the Germans, whose killed-in-action number ran in excess of two or three million people each.
I believe that you can see why veterans such as myself hold no brief for the Second Amendment champions who wish for us to engage in further wars. The simple fact is that wars kill people, such as my friends from St. Louis.
But now let us get back to the contemplation and pensive mood that visit me on every Memorial Day. In 1941 subsequent to December 7, we were engaged in hostilities with Germany, Japan, and Italy. As I have reported to you in earlier essays, there were two young men of about 26 or 27 years who sat next to me in the St. Louis offices of AT&T. These men were David Weiss and Bernie Wheeler. Apparently they belonged to an Army Reserve unit and shortly after hostilities took place, they were summoned to duty. As it turned out, Bernie Wheeler was killed somewhere in the Pacific theater. Communications were such that we never really knew where all of this happened. Not long after that, say in March of 1942, came the terrible news that David Weiss, our great and good friend who sat along side of me, was also killed. On that occasion, we were brought the bad news by David Weiss Sr. The senior David Weiss worked in the telegraph department of AT&T. When he walked into our office, we knew that something terrible had happened. Dave Weiss said simply that he and his wife “received the telegram last night.”
That message of course came from the War Department and it said, “We regret to inform you…” In all of my life, I have never seen a more defeated man than David Weiss Sr. He had lost his only son and there was nothing to be done about it. That was nearly 70 years ago and the pain of David Weiss Sr. speaking to us has never left my mind. This may have been one of the saddest occasions in my young life. I believe that at that time I was 19 years of age.
Before the war was finished, there were two more “We regret to inform you…” messages to be sent to bereaved relatives in St. Louis, one having to do with Don Meier and the second having to do with my former boss, Ashby Vaughan.
As you know, there were four men lost from the St. Louis office. There were Don Meier, Bernie Wheeler, Dave Weiss, and Ashby Vaughan. The death of those men has been on my mind continually. When Memorial Day rolls around, I think of them with greater intensity. They were such good men. I regret to tell you that their lives were marked by the arrival of a telegram to the home of their parents or, in one case – Ashby’s case, of his wife, saying that, “We regret to inform you…” I am certain that my mood will improve tomorrow, as it has always done. But those guys – Ashby, Don, Bernie, and Dave – have a special place in my memory.
The next time a politician says that we should bomb Iran or take some other hostile action; I want you to remember that there are real people getting killed. It may be that the actions in World War II were justified. At least I must have thought so, because I volunteered for service in that war. But can you imagine what goes through the minds of the widows or the mothers and fathers who receive a notice from the War Department, that is now called the Department of Defense, that says, “…your son has been killed in action.”
In the invasion of Iraq, we lost 4500 soldiers. It was the most unnecessary war in which we have ever been engaged and we have the likes of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney to thank for it. As I have said, my contemplative mood will probably change tomorrow. But for the rest of my life, I will still think of Bernie, Don, Ashby, and Dave. I sincerely regret that in three cases a mother and a father, and in the fourth case a wife, were required to receive the saddest of all telegrams which says, “We regret to inform you that your son or daughter…”
E. E. CARR
May 28, 2012
Essay 664
~~~
Kevin’s commentary: it is difficult to imagine how impossibly difficult it would be to give or receive this news. I am thankful that none of my friends or relatives are currently engaged in active combat and I very much hope that that remains the case.