In New Orleans, WWII Becomes Up Close and Personal

The National Museum does a stellar job of remembering the how what, and why of our nation’s crowning achievement.

This is one of six pavilions that house the museum’s expansive collection of WWII memorabilia.

When I wrote about feeling conflicted en route to my 50th college reunion, a friend responded with this ever so articulate comment about the upcoming milestone:

“Nothing quite so poignantly reminds us of the vast swath of life that is behind us, or of the precious brevity of that which is before us.”

And so I consider it a blessing that I encountered the National WWIi Museum, which houses the memories of one of our nation’s most tragic and most glorious of times. Before the war, we were divided — isolationists and interventionists. Pearl Harbor united us. We won — at a steep cost of 400,000 plus. But we would do well to recall — especially now — the achievements of the “greatest generation.”

As kids, we often went into the woods to play war. Back in the 50s and early 60s, the glory of WWII was still a fresh memory. We were surrounded by its mementos. One kid in our gang had a leather flyers helmet, a relic of his father’s service. My father was too young to join the fighting but served in the U.S. Army’s occupation force in Germany. I often perused his photos and scrapbooks from that time. And in 1962, I started watching “Combat!” with Vic Morrow as Sergeant "Chip" Saunders. Many of you remember, yes?

Despite portraying the grim side of men at war, “Combat!” couldn’t dispel the romance of it all. In real history it began badly for the United States. The Japanese devastated the Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor. We promptly lost the Philippines and thousands of American troops went on the “Bataan death march.”

The nation made a remarkable effort to raise a 16-million strong combined services force — and to supply them. In the end, it became clear and simple, especially with the liberation of Germany’s heinous concentration camps: The good guys won, and the bad guys lost.

From the kid who reveled in playing war with his pals, I lived through national dilemma that the Viet Nam war became. I could have been drafted. Up to my cohort’s draft lottery, I was consumed with my freshman year classmates with the giant “what-if?” Every day, we discussed the alternatives. Risk pulling a low draft number? Leave for Canada? Join ROTC (Reserve Officers Training Corp) program at the college?

The potential shame of dodging to the north eliminated that option. ROTC would have required cutting my then long and plentiful locks. Never! So that meant facing the draft. In the end, I ended up at 155, high enough to avoid going into the services as Viet Nam was winding down.

Perhaps because I could have been drafted I have harbored a prurient curiosity about war. I list my favorite college class as “WWI in History and Literature.” And I have read widely — fiction and non-fiction — about the Civil War and nearly all of its American-involved successors.

Our visit to the WWII museum didn’t tell me much I didn’t already know. Still it was a rich multimedia experience, giving voice up and down the ranks of those who served through audio, video, and its artifact exhibits. As a history buff, I’ve been to countless museums but this one outdoes them all if only for its importance.

The U.S. fought to make the world safe for democracy. It freed Europe from the crimes of fascism. We assumed a role afterward, sometimes wrongly, of standing up to ideological threat of Communism.

In the end, during our divisive political climate, the WWII museum stands as a beacon light, reminding us of all the white, black, Japanese, and Native Americans who served —and sacrificed their lives — to the idea at the core of our nation: Freedom for all, the rule of law, a government for and by the people.