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thedrifter
07-03-08, 06:53 AM
A generous gesture for those who served bravely
July 3, 2008

By ANDRE SALLES asalles@scn1.com

Wednesday, June 25: 0300 hours

It is pitch dark outside Piper's Banquets. The sun will not even consider rising for another two hours. Most of Aurora is fast asleep.

But here, about a dozen local World War II veterans are wide awake. And more than that, they're visibly excited. In a few minutes, these men will board a luxury bus provided by the city of Aurora and head off to join about 50 fellow veterans at Midway Airport in Chicago.

Minutes after that, they'll be in the air, flying toward Washington, D.C. The trip is free, courtesy of Honor Flight Chicago, an organization that finds veterans and flies them to the memorials they earned for their service to this country.

There are some milling about Piper's Banquets this morning who still can't fathom the idea complete strangers would devote their time and money to giving them such a gift.

The people who run Honor Flight Chicago think of it as paying back a debt. They know the World War II Memorial took a long time to build: It opened in 2004, roughly 60 years after the war ended. They know surviving veterans of that war, mostly in their 80s, are dying at an incredible rate. And they know that what they're providing will bring tears, laughter and memories.

But all that's hours in the future. For right now, this morning, these men -- white-haired and weathered, some too weak to stand -- are meeting each other for the first time. It's tentative at first. Are you Army? Navy? Marines? Where were you stationed?

Merritt King, of Geneva, and Jim Taff, of St. Charles, arrive together, along with King's daughter, Allison. Both men were part of the invasion of Normandy in 1944, and they're two of the last surviving members of a local veterans group they call the Beach Boys. They started with 12 members, Taff will tell you, and now they're down to four. But they're both jovial, life-loving men -- almost a two-man vaudeville act at times.

Larry Black, of Oswego, is by himself. Of everyone here, Black has the most trouble getting around. He walks with a cane, hunched over, his face a map of concentration. Black gets emotional when he thinks about the war and about the young men he served alongside in the Naval Armed Guard. Through tears, he will tell you he's not taking this trip for himself. It's to honor the ones who didn't come back.

Then there's Don Thompson, of Montgomery, smiling and ready for adventure. He flew planes for his entire military career and has some unbelievable stories.

There's also Gilbert Dumdie, of Aurora, always ready with a joke; and Amos Nicholson, of Aurora, the only one to dress in his full uniform, medals and all. Few can believe he still fits into it 60 years later. Nicholson just laughs.

Also ready and waiting is Richard Williams, of Aurora -- the birth certificate says Stanley, but he never uses it -- a deep thinker who has seen everything. He keeps to himself this morning. He doesn't know what to expect from this trip, but he knows it will stir up memories, ones he may not want to revisit. And he's preparing himself.

The bus pulls up, and the world-weary heroes climb board in single file. When they were young, they were ready for anything. As they start their journey today, they still are.

0430 hours

The busload of veterans arrives at Midway Airport and is greeted by enthusiastic people with signs and flags. This will be the start of a trend today: Everywhere they go, these men are saluted and cheered, hugged and thanked. Some don't quite know how to take it, but most salute back, hug and say thank you in return.

The terminal area of Midway offers the first glimpse of how well-organized Honor Flight Chicago really is. Every veteran is assigned a guardian, each with an easily spotted green shirt.

The guardian's job is to make sure the veteran has the best day he possibly can. They push wheelchairs, apply cold towels to foreheads and buy everything their vet needs.

They are also there to talk, to be a constant companion -- a reminder this day is about serving those who served.

Honor Flight Chicago was started earlier this year by four Chicago businesswomen. All four are here today, working with volunteers to make sure things go smoothly.

Each is related to veterans: some living, like Suzanne Stanits' husband, a Vietnam vet; and some not, like Nancy Kapp's father, who fought in WWII.

The whirling dervish of the group is Vice President Mary Pettinato. She's everywhere, solving a hundred little problems at once and still taking time to meet with every veteran who walks through the door.

It's Pettinato who sought out these vets, inviting them on the Honor Flight, and the love she has for the WWII generation is clear. She gives out hugs like candy and makes everyone feel welcome.

Later, at the departure gate, the vets are milling around, talking with their welcoming party. More than once, a young soldier pulls a WWII veteran aside and says thank you. These are moments to treasure. There is pride and gratitude in the older men's eyes, mixed with nervous anticipation.

0920 hours

After about two hours in the air, the plane lands at Dulles International Airport, complete with water cannon salute from two firetrucks.

It's not just any plane. Southwest Airlines has secured Illinois One, the brand-new 737 with the screaming eagle painted on both sides.

The glass walkway at Dulles offers the first opportunity for the veterans to see the plane, but few of them take it because on the other side of the glass walkway is another hundred or so volunteers with flags and signs.

It's starting to sink in that this is the reception they will receive wherever they go today, and the smiles come out in earnest.

But the vets are quiet, still reserved. The jovial ones, like Nicholson and Dumdie, are entertaining the world as usual, but there is anticipation in the air.

As Honor Flight guardians grab wheelchairs and maneuver them through the terminal to buses waiting outside, the veterans also get their first glimpse of the weather in Washington D.C. -- hot, muggy and bright. Sunscreen is applied, bathrooms are visited and then they're on their way.

1130 hours

It's not about the memorial, this Honor Flight trip. But in the early hours of the morning, it seems like it. As the buses pass the massive structure, all heads turn and look. Pictures are snapped as eyes go wide. It looks enormous, even from the road.

The memorial takes up a massive section of the mall between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. It's made almost entirely of stone, with two massive arches, one for the Atlantic and one for the Pacific theater.

There are 56 stone columns, one for each of the country's 48 states and eight territories, as of 1945. The centerpiece of the memorial is a huge pool with arcing jets of water on all sides that fill the area with a loud, rushing sound.

As the veterans amble off the bus, they are directed toward the Illinois column. There, a flag ceremony is held in their honor and photos are taken. Then the Honor Flight staff steps back and allows the veterans to experience the memorial in their own ways.

Their reactions are all different.

Larry Black takes a moment to ponder the wall of 4,048 gold stars, each one representing 100 lives lost in the war. Merritt King and Jim Taff wander and read the inscriptions on the walls.

There are visiting dignitaries -- most notably Kansas Sen. Bob Dole, who poses for pictures. Rep. Bill Foster, of Geneva, newly elected congressman from the Fox Valley, spends some time with the veterans. And State Sen. Chris Lauzen, of Aurora, who took the flight with the local vets, hands out pins with the state seal of Illinois on them.

But these two hours are not about glad-handing or posing for pictures. They're about memories and about the individual ways these veterans deal with them.

"I almost started crying, coming in there," King says. "It's unbelievable. To think the war was 60 years ago and people still feel this strong about it."

1400 hours

The bus has been reloaded, and the veterans are on their way to the Marine Corps War Memorial -- the massive statue of the flag-planting at Iwo Jima. An amazing thing has happened: Everyone is talking with everyone else.

The hard part, emotionally speaking, is behind them and, like the war 60 years ago, they got through it together.

But for Elgin Marine Gordon Schnulle, the most difficult part of his day is about to start.

Schnulle is one of 18 Elgin military men who landed on Iwo Jima in 1945. The battle was one of the bloodiest of the war. Nearly 6,000 U.S. soldiers died on that island, and roughly one-third of the Marines killed in World War II died there.

The monument is much larger than it appears in pictures -- a monolithic tribute sculpted with astounding precision.

Only three of the 18 men from Elgin who stormed that island are still alive, including Schnulle. He's been preparing for this moment for years. When he visited Iwo Jima in 2005, he had scooped up a box of the black volcanic sand, and he brought it with him on this trip, planning to spread it on the memorial.

But first Schnulle has to get through the list of names -- his tribute to his brothers, fallen and still standing. As a crowd gathers, Schnulle faces them and begins to list them off.

"D. Ray Wilson, Navy. Deceased.

"Robert Chapman, USMC. Deceased.

"Russel Gieske, USMC. Deceased."

His voice is strong in the beginning, but it falters as he moves his way down the list. By the end, he's choking back tears. He turns and slowly fishes the box of sand from his pocket, hands trembling. He opens it, taking out a handful of the black sand and curbs his shaking long enough to spread some of it on the base of the statue. There is no wind. The sand stays where it falls.

All is silent. And when he turns back around, this group of tough old veterans is united as one. They cheer and clap, and the Marines shout "Hoo-rah!" There are hugs and handshakes and tears, and Schnulle looks both proud and devastated.

This is proof that today's trip is not about the memorial. It's about forging these bonds, honoring the fallen and celebrating the living. At the start of the day, these veterans were wary, cautious, uncertain. Now they are inseparable.

2020 hours

It's been a long, exhausting day, but you'd never know it looking at the way these 80-year-old men are bouncing around with smiles on their faces. They are on the plane home now, waiting on the runway at Dulles and talking with each other.

After taking a whirlwind bus tour of the city, the vets got the chance to see the Lincoln, Vietnam War and Korean War memorials. Richard Williams took the opportunity to climb the stairs and see the statue of Lincoln, one of his heroes.

But as they wandered back, the men all congregated in an outdoor café. It was there that the stories finally started coming out.

By the time they boarded the plane to return to Chicago, this ragtag band had become like brothers. They've all been up for about 18 hours at this point, but they're wired.

They sing songs on the way back to Chicago -- God Bless America, America the Beautiful. Don Thompson talks about how much he'd like to fly the 737 back to Midway.

2115 hours

The Honor Flight staff has one last surprise.

As the veterans slowly shuffle out of the plane and into the terminal at Midway, they are greeted by hundreds of volunteers with signs, cheering and clapping.

And amidst the cheering crowd are family members, here to share the moment. All of this comes as a surprise to the veterans, and while some try to keep their steely exteriors, most wear their feelings on their faces. They are stunned, they are grateful, they are happy.

In many ways, the day has been one long buildup to this moment. It's a massive release of emotion. Schnulle salutes the color guard, the gratitude evident in his eyes.

Many vets break down and cry as their family members wait to embrace them. Strangers walk up and thank them for serving, hugging and crying.

For some, the welcome home stands in stark contrast to the empty train stations and bus depots that greeted them on their way back from the war.

After a while, the cacophony dies down, as families disperse into the night. Green-shirted guardians run here and there, tying up one loose end after another. The day is done but no one will forget it.

For about 18 hours, Larry Black has been wearing a huge smile, a marked contrast to the tears he shed only days before. He's the picture of contentment, sitting in his wheelchair in the baggage claim area, surrounded by family and new friends.

And as he reflects on the day, he offers what is, for this weary old World War II veteran, high praise.

"That was pretty good," he says, his eyes alight. "Pretty good."

Ellie