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05/26/2009: "Memorial Day - Friday Harbor - 2009"

(Keynote speaker Ary Hobbel -D. Vandaveer photo)

(The following is the keynote address given by San Juan County resident Ary Hobbel to the gathered crowd at Memorial Park in Friday Harbor. It is unusual speech in that Mr. Hobbel's Memorial Day comments are from the view of someone who, in his words, "although only a young boy at the time, I was there" as World War II raged around him and his family in Europe. -Editor)

You may question why so obvious a foreigner as I should stand here during your Memorial Day ceremony. In response I can offer that I am an intensely grateful first-person beneficiary of the battles fought and the sacrifices made by your countrymen and so many others; I am hopeful, then, that you may find it acceptable that I should commemorate Memorial Day with you.

Although only a young boy at the time, I was there! As a toddler I was carried out of a burning city of Rotterdam, my father spent time in a German labor camp, we were shelled repeatedly, saw V-1's come flying low over our house, my parents were part of the underground railroad and we lived under oppressive occupation until countless thousands of young Americans, Canadians, Brits, Poles and others came over to fight for a cause they believed in, for freedom and liberty they considered sacrosanct, worth fighting and even dying for.


Directly above Omaha Beach lies the Normandy American Military Cemetery at Colville-sur-Mer. Among the nearly 10,000 marble crosses and Stars of David can be found the grave markers of 31 Army Rangers of the Second Battalion who gave their lives on D-Day, alone.

Laid to rest side by side at this same cemetery are two sons of President Theodore Roosevelt: Quentin was not yet 21 years old when his airplane was shot down during the First World War, his elder brother Theodore Jr, a Brigadier General and Medal of Honor recipient, one of three buried here, joined him in July 1944

These brave young men came to, ultimately, liberate us. They may not have been able to grasp the broader political situation in the world, they did not know the enemy they fought, nor did they understand him and they certainly did not know the people for whom they were willing to lay down their lives, but they came, they fought and they conquered. All too often, they came to die. I owe them, I honor them and I thank them -yes, for me too, this is Memorial Day.

The small Belgian town of Ypres was already a vibrant trade center during Roman times; it is still surrounded by Flanders Fields and the poppies, as immortalized in the touching poem by Lt. Col. McCrae. During the fierce WW-1 battle near here, known as the Ypres

Salient, 58,000 troops of the British Commonwealth were lost during the first day alone, 19,240 dead, over 35,ooo wounded; an additional 8,000 dead among the French troops.

'Troops' is such a convenient euphemism for 'young men in the prime of their lives', is it not? Let us not forget, however, that these 'troops' were sons, brothers, fathers, husbands -- real human beings until they became corpses on a field of battle.

It is in Ypres, at the Menin Memorial Gate, that, for the past 80 years, uniformed volunteers have been performing a brief ceremony at eight o'clock sharp every single evening, except during the 4-plus years of occupation, to keep alive the memory of those tremendous sacrifices, to treasure freedom and to commemorate those who fought for it.

Volunteer buglers play the Last Post as veterans lower military flags and banners. Until 1940 this tribute was to the forces of the British empire and the French of WW-1; since mid-1944 it has broadened to include the Allied troops of WW-2 enroute from the beaches of Normandy and in the process of liberating the French, Belgians, the Dutch and, not to forget, those who were still alive in the numerous transit, labor and extermination camps throughout Germany.

During the War years the ceremony continued in England, but it was resumed at the Menin Gate on the very evening of the day during which General Maczek and his Polish 1st Armored Division liberated Ypres, even though the battle still raged in the surrounding countryside. In Ypres, at the Menin Gate, it is Memorial Day every evening at 8, it is sober, solemn and fitting.

On May 14, 1940, a German Regimental commander took part in the total destruction and occupation of my home-town of Rotterdam. Four years later, in 1944, he had been promoted to General of the Infantry and been rewarded with the military governorship of Paris, by inference all of France.

In that capacity, he redeemed himself somewhat by disobeying several direct orders from Hitler himself, who used these words: "Paris must not fall into the hands of the enemy, or, if it does, he must find there nothing but a field of ruins." General Dietrich von Choltitz had been given direct and specific orders to blow up every bridge in Paris and every building of any significance. To this end, all had been charged with dynamite, bombs, torpedoes and what other explosives could be rounded up. Von Choltitz refused to ignite the fuses. Thanks to this general and his heroic insubordination,

Paris had been saved, but it had not yet been liberated.

A scene repeated in thousands of towns and cities throughout western Europe, the liberation of Paris make for a poignant illustration. When the allied troops finally entered the City of Lights, they came by the thousands, in tanks, half-tracks and trucks, riding in and on these and marching among them. These weary troops had fought for 80 days to cover the 160 miles from the beaches of Normandy, they had crawled through mud, ditches, vineyards and cow pastures, been wounded, had seen comrades die and get injured, done without sleep and, all too often, food; they had wended their way through and past the burning, bloated, stinking remains of their enemy, the Wehrmacht. Last time they saw a bath or shower may well have been before they left England. They were not a pretty bunch, yet to the Parisians they looked absolutely stunning.

These troops entered Paris, to liberate a city that was saved from total destruction by a Nazi general whose name was associated with the destruction of Rotterdam and Sebastopol and who, at the very end of his military career, may well have earned his place in history.

Welcoming these liberators, your countrymen, were the ecstatic, jubilant and grateful Parisian citizens; they lined the streets and boulevards, they cheered, they wept. Young women climbed onto tanks to kiss a grimy face and ride along in this jubilant parade, old ladies raised a pendant crucifix in grateful blessing, dignified gentlemen handed a bottle of treasured wine that they had managed to save to a total stranger in a foreign uniform. The recipient may not even have been of legal drinking age at home ....

Uniform wherever the Allied Liberators entered was the noise, a cacophony of human and mechanical sounds, all at full volume. Then, in an open window of an upstairs apartment along one of the boulevards, the bell of a trumpet appeared, playing the opening notes of the Marseillaise -the French national anthem.

For a moment the crowds fell silent and then joined in, hesitantly at first, but then with greater confidence and in rising volume: "Allons enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé" , 'Come, children of the fatherland, the day of glory is arrived!' Not only an anthem, itself a battle hymn, but very much an ode to joy. For the first time in over 4 long, dark years, the people of Paris could sing this and sing it without fear of being shot. And sing they did, with pride, with volume and from the heart -not just their own, but the heart of a nation. Yes, they sang their anthem in jubilant

celebration of having been delivered from the oppressor, as an ode to freedom but ... at the same time also as welcome to those delivering that freedom, as a thank-you for their valiant efforts and their sacrifices and, in the end, as tribute to and in memory of those who did not live long enough to be a part of this day of glory, especially those who remained behind somewhere between the landing craft in the surf of Normandy and this moment of triumph over evil. Memorial Day, indeed.

There may be honor in death on the battlefield, but there's neither dignity nor fairness in it!

Earlier this Memorial Day weekend, in The Netherlands, on 65.5 acres of hallowed ground that is considered by all to be American soil, a sober ceremony was held to pay tribute to those who fought and to honor those who fell. This is at the immaculately maintained American Military Cemetery at Margraten where 8,301 fallen American sons still lie buried and another 1,722 names are listed on Tablets in a Court of Honor for those who are still missing. High-ranking representatives of government and the military attend, as do local dignitaries and common, everyday civilians who still remember, as do I, and who feel a need to pay tribute,. Yes, this is your Memorial Day, but others, too, remember.

A few side notes about this Margraten cemetery:
American troops liberated only a small south-eastern portion of The Netherlands (roughly twice the area of the Kitsap Peninsula), Brits, Canadians and Poles were assigned the rest of the country -and yet .......
In 1946, some 19,300 American bodies were buried here, among them 4 women, 40 sets of two brothers, 4 Medal of Honor recipients.

57% of these were later brought home for re-burial in the States, leaving the remaining 8000+ to rest where they fell, in the country and among the people they liberated.

Every single grave has been adopted by a local citizen who maintains the site.
Several appropriate ceremonies are held at the cemetery annually, culminating in the one on Memorial Day. For the 60th anniversary of the end of WW2 in Europe, on May 8, 2005, Queen Beatrix of The Netherlands was joined in a special ceremony at Margraten by the president of the United States. George W. Bush was the first, and so far only American president to visit this place of honor.

There are similar cemeteries and ceremonies for fallen Canadians, Poles and British troops. Even after 65+ years, they are treated with much respect and maintained with great care. Schoolchildren not only make field trips to these historic sites, but they participate in the maintenance of grounds and graves, so that they, too, may learn to respect and honor and come to realize that freedom is not free, that it does not ever even come at a discount; that freedom is earned through great sacrifice and that it takes full-time effort to maintain it, as it takes them effort and dedication to maintain the graves.

As long as there is mankind, there will be wars. As long as there are those who believe in the sanctity of liberty, who are willing to fight for freedom and for peace, to write a blank check for up to their very life, there will be liberty and there will be mankind.

"They freely give their lives and fondest hopes for us and our allies, that we might learn from them courage in peace to spend our lives making a better world for others!"

Prior to going into battle, Roman gladiators would salute their emperor with the words: "Hail, Caesar, those who are about to die salute you!"
Permit me to paraphrase that to suit this occasion: "To those who did battle and those who died, I salute you and I honor you!"

In this, I aim to speak for all of us, because this is our Memorial Day and we do remember.

Thank you.