Very big 'band of brothers' flies to Washington, D.C.

It was a perfect day for an excursion. Blue sky, benign breeze, autumn leaves just about to turn color.

Inside Bradley International about 100 aged veterans of World War II  were milling about, 30 in wheelchairs, waiting to board a jetliner for a trip to the nation’s capital to tour the U.S. National World War II Memorial, and other monuments that celebrate the bravery and sacrifice of  American men and women in our various wars.

Why was World War II the primary goal of our trip? Because monuments and memorials had been erected in years past for other wars, but it wasn’t until Steven Spielberg produced the movie, “Saving Private Ryan,� that someone asked, “Now where is the World War II monument?� So more than 50 years after that great conflict, a 5-acre memorial was built to remember what Tom Brokaw named “The Greatest Generation.�

Twelve million served; close to 2 million World War II veterans are still alive and we are dying at the rate of 1,200 a day.

That’s why an organization, the American Warriors of Connecticut, flew us to Washington to tour the memorial honoring our service.

It was an extraordinary performance. We each wore a finely woven T-shirt with our name embroidered over our hearts. A badge hung from our necks with our name and the name of a beach. A beach, you say? What beach? We were divided into three groups and to identify us and make certain no one got lost, each bus corresponded to our beach badge.  Catching on, now? I was Utah Beach, one of the three beaches the American armed forces stormed on D-Day in Normandy.

Back to Bradley: The long airport corridor leading into the plane was lined with people. They shook our hands and said, “Thank you for what you have done.�

There was a doctor, a nurse, an EMT and airborne “Guardians� for each one of us. We just had time to finish breakfast when the jetliner, like a German Stuka dive bomber, took aim at the runway at Washington National Airport. We hit the ground, bounced, bounced again, and then the giant engines roared in reverse and we came to a stop.

We boarded our buses and at the Mall, our local “Guardians� for the day stepped forward. At the World War II memorial, 30 wheelchairs were extracted from the buses’ storage bins.

My Guardian was Alex, a sailor who had come up to Washington from his base more than 100 miles south to volunteer to serve the Connecticut Warriors.

He pushed me from bus to memorial, memorial to bus, etc. He called me “Mr. Barney� and couldn’t have been more gracious.

The U.S. National World War II Memorial is a large pond with fountains erupting into the sky, encircled by 50 pylons each with the name of a state.

I had to bypass the Vietnam Veterans Memorial because the line of people waiting to see it extended up a hill to the sidewalk.

At the Marine memorial, inspired by AP photographer Joe Rosenthal’s iconic picture of the flag raising at Iwo Jima, my camera went to work.

Then at the newest memorial, the soaring wing-like pylons of the U.S. Air Force, I filled my memory card.

We had box dinners on the swift ride home and did another Stuka dive at Bradley airport. It was a long day, and I was happy I survived and was ready for a pillow.

But no, we exited the plane through another corridor of well wishers — more “thank yous� and handshakes — then stopped for a fife and drum corps concert, music by a band and songs from pretty songstresses.

At the exit, a very strong motorcycle biker plucked me out of my wheelchair and deposited me into my son’s car.

It was an inspiring experience. A tip of all my caps to the American Warriors of Connecticut and the country.

Freelance writer Barnett Laschever is one of Goshen’s few remaining World War II veterans. All of his three brothers also served, as a major in the Air Corps, a Marine corpsman and a soldier.

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