“Memories are the wellspring of gratitude.”
It’s impossible to be grateful for things that we are either unaware of or that we have forgotten. Learning about those who have given their lives in defense of our country enlarges our memories and lays the foundation for increased gratitude.
Many years ago, I along with my wife and our children had the privilege of walking the grounds of the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific (informally known as Punchbowl Cemetery) located at Punchbowl Crater in Honolulu, Hawaii.
There the names of 28,788 military personnel who are missing in action or were lost or buried at sea in the Pacific are listed on marble slabs in ten Courts of the Missing which flank the Memorial's grand stone staircase.
The dedication stone at the base of the staircase is engraved with the following words:
IN THESE GARDENS ARE RECORDED
THE NAMES OF AMERICANS
WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
IN THE SERVICE OF THEIR COUNTRY
AND WHOSE EARTHLY RESTING PLACE
IS KNOWN ONLY TO GOD
The largest cemeteries, and in many respects those which evoke the most tender emotions, are honored as the resting places of men and women who died in the crucible of conflict known as war while wearing the uniform of their country. Still today, after all these years, tears fill my eyes and my heartaches as I ponder the shattered dreams, unfulfilled hopes, grief-filled hearts, and lives cut short by war.
“All that we can know about those we have loved and lost is that they would wish us to remember them with a more intensified realization of their reality. … The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.”
It was early on the morning of January 11, 1943. Thomas Sullivan was the only one moving about the kitchen of their home at 98 Adams Street in Waterloo, Iowa. He had awakened that morning to prepare for work. He had seldom missed a single day. If his trains didn't run on time, important war supplies would be delayed, and American boys might die.
He started fixing breakfast. His heart was heavy. He tried to keep busy, in an effort not to think about what was worrying him. He figured everyone who sends a child into war worries. Only his anxiety the past few weeks was more than usual. The family hadn’t received a letter from the boys in more than a month.
He couldn’t help remembering the Ball family from Fredericksburg, Iowa. Their son Billy was a good baseball player. He’d grown up with the Sullivan boys and was well liked by them. He called upon Tom’s daughter, Genevieve, from time to time. Billy was among the thousands of servicemen killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor December 7th, 1941. The Ball family received word of his death by official letter from the Naval department. Tom sighed deeply.
Born and raised in Waterloo, Iowa; the five Sullivan brothers had always stuck together. From George, the oldest to Able, the youngest was only a 7 year age difference.
News of Billy’s death is what precipitated the Sullivan boys desire to enlist. As they stood in the recruiting office they demanded that the Navy assure them that they would be allowed to serve together...on the same ship. If the Navy wanted the Sullivan brothers, it would have to be a package deal. “WE STICK TOGETHER!” George declared.
A brief entry in the Des Moines “Register”, on January 4, 1942 simply said, “five husky Waterloo brothers who lost a "pal" at Pearl Harbor were accepted as Navy recruits yesterday at Des Moines. All passed their physical exams "with flying colors" and left by train last night for the Great Lakes, Ill naval training station.
"You see," explained George Sullivan, "a buddy of ours was killed in the Pearl Harbor attack, Bill Ball of Fredericksburg, Iowa."
"That's where we want to go now, to Pearl Harbor," added Francis, and the others nodded.
All five Sullivan brothers received their commissions aboard the light cruiser Juneau.
It had been nearly 10 months since the Sullivan's had enlisted. Five beloved sons, five inseparable brothers, five patriotic and courageous young men.
Now on this cold winter morning, in the quiet of the kitchen, Tom’s only consolation was that they had received no such letter from the navy.
The smell of freshly cooked eggs and steak wafted through the house. Breakfast was almost ready when he noticed a black sedan pull up and park in front of their home. Three men in Naval uniforms exited the vehicle and walked toward the front door. Tom somehow knew that they were bringing news of his sons. He also knew deep down inside it wouldn't be happy news.
On the night of November 12, 1942, the sky in the Solomons was dotted with stars, but there was no moon. It is possible that the five Sullivan brothers munched on some chocolate walnut drop cookies while they waited for action, because their mother often sent them cookies from home. The mood aboard the Juneau was tense, because the Naval fight for Guadalcanal was about to begin.
Due to bad weather and confused communications, the battle occurred in near pitch darkness and at almost point-blank range as the ships of the two sides became intermingled. Suddenly, guns boomed and shells burst like meteor showers across the black sky. In the fierce fight that followed, the Juneau was put out of action when a torpedo exploded in her engine room.
Listing severely the Juneau, along with two other cruisers damaged in the battle, headed toward the safety of Espiritu Santo for repairs.
The Juneau had just cleared the channel at 11 a.m. when she was hit by another torpedo fired by Japanese submarine I-26. She was blown skyward “with all of the fury of an erupting volcano.”
The three men in Naval uniforms were welcomed inside. "Which one?" Tom asked.
Lieutenant Commander Truman Jones swallowed hard. It was the saddest, most disagreeable task of his Navy career. "I'm sorry. All five," he said matter of factly. There was no other way to break this kind of news.
As the rest of the family gathered in the living room, mother Alleta, sister Genevieve, and Katherine Mary, wife of the youngest of the five Sullivan brothers; it was a moment filled with sorrow and grief. Commander Jones steeled himself to finish his unenviable task.
"The Navy Department deeply regrets to inform you that your sons Albert, Francis, George, Joseph and Madison Sullivan are missing in action in the South Pacific."
All but ten of the 700 sailors aboard the ship went down with her. Among the fallen from the Juneau that fateful day were 8 other pairs of brothers.
One sentence only, spoken by one person only, provides a fitting epitaph:
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
"Death is the portal through which we all must pass. That separation evokes pangs of sorrow and shock among those left behind. The hurt is real… even when the elderly or infirm have been afforded merciful relief, their loved ones are rarely ready to let go. The only length of life that seems to satisfy the longings of the human heart is life everlasting." - Russell M. Nelson
As I ponder the great sacrifices made by so many men and women while serving our country my heart is full. I am grateful and yet I am saddened too. I am proud of what The United States of America stands for and I am humbled by the sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform. No words bring greater comfort to my soul than these spoken by an angel at the Savior's empty tomb,
“He is not here: for he is risen,”
I AM GRATEFUL FOR THEIR SERVICE,
HUMBLED BY THEIR SACRIFICE,
AND PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN.
Enjoy your long weekend, your barbecue, your boat. But never forget that Memorial Day is a holiday to honor a very real sacrifice.
“This is the Land of the Free, because of the Brave.”