Heather's Blog

The Greatest Generation

<-- I know this is a really super long post, but I'd encourage you to read it. Its contents are really important to me - it's all about my experiences volunteering at the National World War II Memorial this past weekend. Please read on, and post a comment when you're finished. Thanks! -->

This past weekend has been filled with great upheavals of emotion for both the veterans, their families, and for me. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried. I’ve felt great impressions of gratitude, pride, and humility. I’ve been empowered, I’ve been inspired, I’ve been uplifted, and most importantly, I think I’ve uplifted others.

The excitement I felt on Thursday after volunteering with the Smithsonian National WWII Reunion on the Mall was only quadrupled by Saturday. I didn’t care that I had to get up at 4:30 in the morning – I was psyched, I was ready to go, I wanted to get out that door and race down to Washington so I could be one of the first ones there.

Unfortunately, trouble met me far sooner than I expected. At 6:15am my carpool was supposed to depart from the Franconia-Springfield Metro Station – the metro trains weren’t scheduled to start until 7:00am, but another volunteer in my group had offered to take a few other volunteers into the District since she had parking access at one of the nearby federal buildings. I waited at the station, and waited, and waited. Another volunteer showed up and as 6:00 rolled around, we both started to get nervous. We tried to call the lady but she never answered. Thankfully I had asked my Father to wait there with us to make sure that we met with our carpool and got on our way. If he hadn’t been there, I don’t know what we would have done. But fortunately he was able to drive both me and the other woman into the District. We wound our way up 395N and crossed the 14th Street Bridge. Right at the corner of 14th and Independence Avenue, the Police officers were blocking off the roads. We piled out of the car in the middle of an intersection and quickly ran out of the way as we waved good-bye to my Dad.

My biggest worry about getting downtown was how much I’d have to walk. My feet still weren’t doing so well and I wasn’t in the best walking shoes (because good walking shoes simply do not exist.) Thanks to my Dad, I only had to walk two short blocks to my assigned volunteer station. I was *so* grateful. As soon as I got to my volunteer tent I was able to sit down and save my feet.

That’s when I was met with my second crisis. Everyone was so incredibly disorganized! No one knew what to do. I was told that I would be in charge of the volunteer tent and that I’d have to handle 400 volunteers shuffling in and out of the tent that morning. I had no clue what to do, standing there in the midst of all these people who wouldn’t pay me any attention at all when I asked them to do something. Some people even started to get into some food that looked like it would only feed 25 people. But, they wouldn’t listen, and the food was gone in five minutes.

When other people started to arrive, they all asked for food – apparently they had all been promised a light breakfast. Trying to stem the panic of the hungry volunteers, I went out behind the tent to talk to the caterers. Turns out, yeah, they knew about the light breakfast, and what had already been eaten was all that was going to be delivered. As far as they knew they only had to feed 25 people at breakfast, and worse yet, 25 people at lunch.

That’s when I started to get a wee bit ticked off. Not only would I have four hundred starving and very upset volunteers come lunch time, it was going to be downright dangerous – in my group alone, I knew of at least 15 diabetics. They *had* to be fed. So, I took charge. I put on my business face and had at it. I got stern with the caterers and told them that if they didn’t deliver boxed lunches for four hundred people before lunch time, heads would roll. They apologized and said they’d get right on it. I knew that if they only received an order to feed 25 people, that it wasn’t their fault. I figured somewhere along the line got their wires crossed and didn’t communicate properly with the caterers. But I had no way of determining who did that, so I got stern with who was in front of me, and who was most likely to bring the food.

I informed my team leader of the fiasco, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She said it was all up to me, and that I would have to be the one to tell every single one of those volunteers that there was no way they were getting lunch. Fun. This day wasn’t shaping up to be as great as I thought.

I waited in the tent because I had told the caterers to come back to me with an update. I waited all morning. Literally. I sat in that tent from 7:30am until 10:00am. Finally, as I was listening to the beginning of the service being broadcast from the National Cathedral, a young man entered the tent and asked if I was in charge. I said I was, and he began to explain in broken English that they had my four hundred lunches, but the truck was some place else. They were going to get it here as fast as possible for me, and that I shouldn’t worry.

Hallelujah. I paced the tent, waiting for the lunches to arrive. Finally, at 10:45am, they hauled in boxes upon boxes filled with packed lunches. I had the tables arranged and ready for the sandwiches by the time everything arrived, then we all started to unpack the boxes. Just as the volunteers began to shuffle through looking for lunch, I had solved the problem and no one knew just how close they came to going without lunch. I was very proud of myself – not only did I handle the problem, but I handled it without causing any alarm whatsoever. Dang I’m good.

I ate my lunch behind the tent, looking up at the giant jumbotron screen, watching the service. As soon as I was done, I peaked back into the tent to make sure things were running smoothly. Everything was fine and people were happily eating their miraculous lunches. I walked over to the other side of the tent to talk to the catering manager, who had been called in to solve the problem. As far as I was able to translate from his broken English, the lunches he’d managed to pull together had been mistakenly assigned to another one of the volunteer tents, which means one tent would have had 800 lunches while we only had 25. It’s a good thing I figured out the problem when I did, otherwise they wouldn’t have had enough time to get the truck from Constitution Avenue to where we were on Independence Avenue.

After spending the morning alone, fretting about sandwiches, I decided I wanted to give up my post and go interact with people. I wasn’t here to get shoved in a tent. I was here to be a part of the festivities, I wanted to interact with the veterans themselves and help them realize how much they’re loved and appreciated. Sure, feeding people’s important and all, but it’s just not the same.

I hitched a ride on a golf cart to where my team leader was stationed, I told her lunch had been figured out, and that I wanted to do something a bit more cheerful. She happily assigned me to what seemed like another unpleasant assignment – the dreaded Ticket Information Booth. At training, they made this post seem like the worst of the worst. Here you were supposed to help lost Veterans who arrived at Seating Section 1, but actually had tickets to Seating Section 3 all the way back by the Capital Building. Or, worse yet, you had to deal with irate people who believed they “deserved” to sit closer to the stage. Basically, it’s arguing with people and disappointing the veterans. Great.

But I tried to be cheerful. At least I’d get to interact with people, and if nothing else, maybe I could help soften the blow. However, all of that changed when I got to the Ticket Information Booth for Section 1, Entrance 4. The booth was being run by two staff members – not volunteers, actual staff members of the American Battle Monuments Commission – named Frank and Kelly. Frank was a great guy from Texas who immediately welcomed me to the tent and showed me how to use the ticket information database on the laptop. Kelly was like super-woman, I swear! She was everywhere, doing everything, making as many people happy as possible, and her brain contained every tidbit of information you could ever want to know.

Kelly and Frank made the day perfect for me. When I asked Kelly if I could help, she said, “Yes, here’s your job: make as many veterans as happy as you can.” I knew I was in the right spot; this was exactly what I was meant to do. I watched the two of them go to such great lengths to make sure this day was perfect for everyone who came up with a question.

But what was the best part? There were a limited number of tickets given out to each section. While priority was given to the WWII generation, we of course couldn’t fit them all in Section 1. So, naturally, many of them came up to Section 1, lost, looking for Sections 2 or 3. In training, we were told to turn them away and direct them to their assigned section. But I liked Frank and Kelly’s theory better – if you can squeeze ‘em in, take ‘em with open arms.
How did we do that without getting in trouble? Throughout the afternoon, many tour groups and individuals came up to us and gave us stacks of extra tickets they no longer needed. Sure, there were lots for Section 2 and Section 3, but occasionally, we’d get tickets for Section 1. I even got handed a few tickets to the coveted Section 1-M, which meant you could actually see the stage.
Kelly told me to just use my best judgment when handing out the Section 1 tickets, and to reserve them for WWII vets and those of that generation. “Give them to who needs them most,” I was told over and over again. After only an hour at the booth, however, I had such a huge stack of Section 1 tickets that I couldn’t hold them all in one hand. I was enthralled!
I’ll never forget the looks I got when I told the veterans I could get them better seats. One man in particular is engrained in my memory. He was tall, lanky, and dressed in shabby, dirty old clothes. His beard was long and white, his face wrinkled and unsure. But atop his head, perfectly pristine, was a vintage US Navy sailor’s hat. He sidled up to the booth, said that he served in the Navy during World War II, and asked how he could get a ticket to the event. I explained that tickets had to be reserved months in advance. As soon as I said that, his face fell and he whispered that he didn’t even know it was happening, that he was just in town for Memorial Day and he only found out about the memorial that morning. I smiled at him and said that it’d be okay. I pulled a blue ticket from my pile and told him that if he’d walk one block to the right, he could take a seat in the reserved seating area, that he’d even be able to see the stage. He took the ticket and nearly cried when he thanked me.

I met a lot of veterans that day, each of them unforgettable. One man, after the ceremony, came up to the booth just to talk to me about how when he was on a transport boat once, he had to pile “lickety-split” off that boat, tripping over his shipmates, because a giant snake and fallen from the trees straight onto the deck.

Another memorable group was from Chandler, Arizona. The American Legion group there had raised enough money in their local community to send all 25 of their WWII Veterans to the Dedication. There was only one problem – the veterans got tickets to Section 1, but all of their aides who were pushing their wheelchairs had been given tickets to Section 2. I was able to swap out their tickets and get them all into Section 1, and as they all paraded by my booth, many of the veterans and their aides smiled and waved at me.

The Ticket Information Booth had to be shut down during the actual ceremony because the gates were shut for security reasons. We were located right by the main American Legion tent, and one of their volunteers came out to invite Frank, Kelly, and I to come into their air conditioned tent and watch the ceremony on their private monitors. They even said we could eat as many cookies as we wanted, which they were giving away for free inside. I was eager to take them up on that offer, so I ran inside, grabbed three cookies, and camped out on the floor right in front of one of the many TV screens. There were dozens of veterans inside the humongous tent. Five were seated near where I was and we talked for a short while before the ceremony began.

Sitting there, eating my cookies, listening to the proceedings, I can’t tell you how many times I cried. When President Bush asked the veterans to stand as they were able, and almost all of the occupants of the tent rose, I cried. When Tom Hanks talked about the symbolism of the memorial and about the war itself, a veteran and I looked at each other and cried.
My most profound memory, however, was when we all stood to sing the National Anthem. There had been problems with the audio and video transmissions inside our tent for some reason, and on occasion the transmission would go out. As we were singing The Star Spangled Banner, just a few lines into the song, the transmission quit on us. As the sound of the crowd turned into a distant chorus, those of us in the tent could hear nothing but the a cappella voices of the veterans, their families, and myself. I was overwhelmed. Suddenly every word in the anthem took on new meaning. Looking around the room at the veterans, wearing their medals, pins, insignia, jackets, caps, and even a few uniforms that still fit, their hands in full salute as they sang with all their might.

O thus be it ever when free-men shall stand
Between their lov'd home and the war's desolation;
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the Pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: “In God is our trust!”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

My national anthem pretty much always chokes me up, but I’ve never cried like this. I felt tears on my cheek as a smile spread across my face. I was so happy to be there, I felt so privileged to be able to help in any way I could, I was so proud that I had been able to make the day a little better for even a few veterans and their families. I was a part of history, and I felt it right then. It really sunk in. And I’ve never been prouder to be an American.

After the ceremony, I went back to my post and answered questions as the visitors left the seating areas. I told as many as would listen about the Smithsonian events on the other end of the Mall, and I encouraged many of them to come back later that night to see the Memorial itself. I thanked them for coming, I thanked them for their service, and I thanked their families for helping out.

Finally, at around 5:00, there were no more questions to be answered. I took a quick photo of Frank and Kelly, thanked them for turning my day around, and went on my way to the Smithsonian metro station. As I rounded the Washington Monument, turning onto Jefferson, I heard the distinct sound of the Artie Shaw Orchestra, echoing down the Mall from where they were performing on the Homecoming Stage. I sang along, bouncing down the street, soaking up the atmosphere, pausing momentarily to take a photo of a gigantic American flag waving in the breeze.

A few American Legion volunteers who remembered me from the tent walked up behind me and said, “Hey, I know you! You’re the cookie monster!” We had a good laugh and talked about the wonderful experiences we just shared at the dedication, and how sad we were that it was coming to an end. We parted ways at the metro station and I went home.

I will never, ever forget my service this past weekend. I know that I owe my freedom to that entire generation, and I feel that I have at least given a little in return by doing what I could to say thank you.

This past weekend has also inspired me to do more. When I was watching the Memorial Day Concert – which also made me cry – I was inspired by a story they told about a volunteer at Walter Reed Army Hospital. After I get my wisdom teeth out, I’ll be going to Walter Reed again to visit my acupuncturist every week, just like I used to before I left for England. I’m going to try to volunteer there too. I’m already going to be down there at least once a week, and my acupuncturist is in the same department where a lot of volunteers are already helping out. I can do my part for the soldiers who have come back and are now facing the loss of limbs. I’m an amputee, I know how scary that can be, at least a little bit. I may have only lost a toe, which I know is miniscule in comparison to what those men and women are sacrificing, but at least I understand a little of what they’re going through. I think I could help. Even if it just means me delivering lunches or fluffing pillows, I’ll do it. Volunteering this past weekend has been one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had, I want to keep helping in any way I can. I feel so happy, so fulfilled, like my life is of some use to somebody. Sure, I know I’ve done a lot of service through the Daily Prophet, but it’s so much different when you can see the face of the person you’re serving, when you can actually see the happiness shine in their eyes. That’s what life is all about, right there.

I’ve also noticed that, with all this happiness and fulfillment, I’ve been far more productive in other areas of my life. I finished a really important writing project that I had to get finished ASAP. I’ve also finished up another project I’ve been meaning to work on for *ages* - HeatherStreet.com. I’m starting a collection of photographs of streets that share my name. I won’t explain it all in detail here, but it’ll be a hoot. Check out the website and you’ll see what I’ve done with it.
I also made the website for FashionAssassin.org. I haven’t written all the content yet – that’s a pretty daunting task, I didn’t want to tackle that until a few other more important things are finished up first. But, the site’s done and will be ready whenever I decide to get the content written. So hooray for that!

And tomorrow… what to do tomorrow? Hopefully I’ll get some forms I need from the State Corporation Commission, which I need to fax to the IRS so I can finally get this 501(c)3 business taken care of for the Daily Prophet. That should arrive any day now, but hopefully tomorrow – I’m tired of waiting for it.

But right now, I need to get some sleep. Sorry this blog entry got so long – I was writing it mostly for myself, so I wouldn’t forget any details, hence why it’s so ridiculously long. I hope you’ve read through it, though. This weekend was important to me, and I really wish I could share all of my feelings and memories. Everyone should feel the kind of happiness I felt on Saturday. It’s really life-changing in the best possible way.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: go hug a veteran! :) Posted by Heather at June 3, 2004 02:16 AM | TrackBack