Memorial Day

In my family, the Saturday before Memorial Day had special meaning. My brother Paul and I would go with Dad and other area veterans to place small American flags on gravesites in Hillside Cemetery.

Dad served in the Coast Guard during World War II, and was former Commander of American Legion Post 109 in Rutherford, NJ. By the time Paul and I came along, Dad had entered politics and wasn't as active in the Legion.

But one event he never missed was the annual "grave decoration detail." As Paul and I grew older, we were allowed to help plant the flags. You had to be careful. Place them too close to the headstone and the staff would jam up against the concrete base of the marker. Place it too far away and it might get snagged by a passing lawn mower.

Some graves bore the insignia of the Grand Army of the Republic, a Civil War veteran's organization. Others had the distinctive shield of the Spanish-American War vets. A few weren't marked at all. The only evidence of their existence was an entry in a tattered brown ledger one of the adults had gotten from the cemetary office.

Last names were written in bold black letters. Reynolds, Everett and Schneider. The local VFW post was named after them. Murray and Hodge were memorialized in the name of American Legion Post 453, the "Negro Post." That's the way it was then.
William Ward died in France a month before the Armistice in 1918. He was 17. Then there was the young Army Air Force lieutenant who never came home from the South Pacific. The P-38 fighter carved into his headstone a subtle indicator that the body of the lieutenant, along with his plane, was never recovered. There were new names too... Mrs. Tassey's son Malcolm. He died in Vietnam.

Throughout the years, Paul and I thought we were just "tagging along" with Dad. It would only be much later that we realized Dad had brought us there to learn a lesson... a lesson about the power of remembrance.

A few days ago I took a walk through Hillside Cemetery. Post 109 had already been there. Unfortunately, an overzealous groundskeeper mangled a couple dozen flags with his power mower. So I spent about an hour replanting those flags, making sure each was straight. I also took time to read the gravemarkers, so that I knew who each of the veterans was.

Some lessons bear repeating...

Hello, OK, Bye-Bye

It's no secret English has become something approaching the "international language." Wherever you travel, the odds are good you can find someone -- usually a high school or college student -- with a smattering of knowledge. Yet while English may eventually become ubiquitous, I find it amazing which elements of the language have become universal.

Given that "hello" is the first word taught in any English language course, it's not surprising how many little kids use it to greet foreigners. Any foreigner. In Japan, the swarms of little kids all repeating the word have been nicknamed "hello birds." (Of course, given my almost constant use of the Mandarin equivalent -- ni hao -- might just qualify me in China as a "ni hao bird."

"OK" is another near universally understood term. Whatever its origins, it's now globally accepted as the way to tell a foreigner you hear (if not actually understand) what they are saying.

Most amazing, however, is the use of "bye-bye." I have no idea how or why it has made it's way into countless local vernaculars. I've had little old ladies on farms in western China, with no apparent knowledge of English, say "so long" with a heartfelt (if accented) "bye-bye." Ditto stern faced passport inspectors at Shanghai's Pudong International Airport.

What sounds like a phrase lifted from an old Care Bear movie may well be America's most popular linguistic export. Right after "Yo," of course.