Honoring America's dead

There are no Americans alive who lived during America’s most violent, brutal and deadly era. None remember the greatest cataclysm in American history that continues to define our nation in its present, and shape its future. Some say there is no racism in America, and that learning about the evils of slavery, oppression and racism threatens the future. They do a great disservice to the memories of the dead who fought an existential struggle to preserve the United States, abolish slavery and rebuild the meaning of freedom. There was no doubt about the cause for which they fought. The most popular ballad of the day, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” made that clear. Julia Ward Howe wrote the lyrics at the Willard Hotel in Washington, DC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword

His truth is marching on

I've seen him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps
I can read his righteous sentence in the dim and flaring lamps

His day is marching on

In the beauty of the lilies, christ was born across the sea
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me
As he died to make men holy, let us live to make men free

While God is marching on.

It was Abraham Lincoln’s favorite song, and it was sung by every American soldier, including the 180,000 Blacks — many former slaves — who would fight and die for freedom. 

The American Civil War was long estimated to have killed 620,000 people. Recently, scholars have revised those numbers upwards to be between 750,000 to 850,000 people. The equivalent death toll adjusted for today’s population would be approximately 6.2 million to 8.5 million dead. Should such a war take place today the suffering, trauma, devastation and loss would be unlike anything ever experienced by any living American. 

The day we celebrate today was originally known as “Decoration Day” because the survivors of the conflict decorated the graves of the war dead by laying flowers on them.

This day — Memorial Day — honors the fallen war dead of the United States of America. It honors what Abraham Lincoln called the “last full measure of devotion” towards the nation and the concepts of human dignity, freedom and happiness. Across two centuries and ten generations American soldiers laid down their lives in lonely and bitter places next to their brothers, but far from their mothers and sisters. They suffered agonizing deaths at young ages so that we might be free. They did not live as saints, but they all died as martyrs on an altar of freedom. Abraham Lincoln wrote to a woman whom he erroneously believed was the mother of five American soldiers killed in battle. The letter may be familiar from the opening scenes of “Saving Private Ryan.”

Executive Mansion,
Washington, Nov. 21, 1864.

Dear Madam,

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,

A. Lincoln

One hundred years after Abraham Lincoln was murdered another great champion of freedom, who stood defiantly against human slavery, was laid to rest. His mother was an American, and during his lifetime he was made an honorary citizen of what he often referred to as the “great republic.” He was the great moral voice of resistance against totalitarian aggression when all seemed lost. Hundreds of thousands of Americans who served side-by-side with his countrymen died in battle against a transcendent evil, and they gave new meaning to the words of an old song. No doubt it is the reason why Winston Churchill requested that it be sung at St. Paul’s during his funeral (start at 2:30).  

Above the beach code named “Omaha” in Colleville-sur-Mer there is a small slice of American territory in Normandy, France, where 9,386 American soldiers are buried and 1,600 missing are remembered. There are 45 pairs of brothers in the cemetery — 33 buried next to one another — and one father and son. There is one World War I veteran buried in the cemetery. His name was Quentin, and he lies next to his brother Ted, a recipient of the Medal of Honor. They were both sons of President Teddy Roosevelt. There are 25 cemeteries like the one above Omaha Beach across 16 nations where America’s sons and daughters lie in peace and eternal rest. In many, the headstones all face west, back towards the United States across vast oceans that they crossed to die in battle.

Nearly a quarter century ago, on September 11, 2001, a clear blue sky on a brilliant Tuesday morning would become a harbinger of death and chaos as America was attacked. Again, an old song would be sung in St. Paul’s and a new generation would go to war. 

Many are buried in section 60 in Arlington National Cemetery. They are this generation of America’s war dead.

This day though is not about their death. It is about the memory of their lives and their extraordinary love. 

They were Americans, and they were part of a continuum that stretches back through the days and weeks into decades and centuries of ordinary people who took a stand and sacrificed all that they had — or would ever have — for their country. America’s imperfections and faults are no longer their concern, but rather, ours. It is our collective obligation to perfect as best we can what they did not live to see. 

When the first graves were decorated with flowers in 1865, 1866, 1867 and 1868, and Americans tried to understand and move forward there were no cars, planes, internet, paved roads, electricity, rock and roll or cable news. It’s easy to look backwards and think we had nothing in common with those people. That would be foolish. They knew loss and suffering. They knew America. Like us, they hoped for their children and grandchildren. They struggled and wept. They despaired and angered. They loved and lost.

On May 27, 2007, Memorial Day, Mary McHugh mourns her dead fiancé, Sgt. James Regan, in Arlington National Cemetery’s Section 60. Regan had been killed by an IED explosion in Iraq. Photo credit: John Moore/Getty

Today marks the unofficial beginning of summer. It is now okay to wear linen shirts and white shoes. There are sales aplenty. Drink specials too. That’s okay. The pursuit of happiness matters. Perhaps though, before the playlist starts playing the summer soundtrack, this song, “Taps,” might get some consideration. It was first heard long ago, and it can still be heard every day somewhere in the United States. Wouldn’t it be a thing to one day live in a world where it would never have to be played again?

Before you listen to it though it’s important to remember that other old song, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” When Martin Luther King Jr. told us of the promised land over the mountaintop, from the edge of his martyrdom, his last public words were from that same song: “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…”

This essay was originally published on May 29, 2023.

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