Remembering.

My college thesis dealt in large part with memorials. Specifically, I addressed the crossroads between history and memory, and where these two concepts intersect, argue, and attempt to resolve their differences. Ultimately, I'm not sure that they ever really do. Seven years out of college, I'm even less inclined to debate the issue.

I've maintained a bit of an interest in memorials. The statue above is one of E.M. Viquensney's "The Spirit of the American Doughboy," one of the most popular of World War I monuments. There are hundreds of these around the US. For those with an interest in this kind of thing, this site gives an interesting overview of both this statue and its artist. World War I memorials are fascinating. The scale of the war created the need for a touchstone, and towns could shop for models through catalogues. Some were unintentionally comical, while others, like "Doughboy," had a certain sense of dignity about them.

My town's doughboy had been missing his rifle for as long as I could remember. This irritated the hell out of me, yet I never put pen to paper (or even fingers to keyboard) to try to see what could be done about it. I contented myself to just bitch a lot at the bar behind the statue and to the right, adjacent to the train tracks. Fortunately, a less apathetic group of folks started a campaign and got our doughboy a new hand and rifle. For good measure, they got him refurbished. With the spirit of improvement in their hearts, the even re-landscaped the park itself. There was a big ceremony at the unveiling, complete with an appearance by former U.S. Senator Fred Thompson (perhaps best known in his role as air traffic controller Trudeau in Die Hard 2, Die Harder). It was a pretty big deal. Just as most people don't think about their health until they are ill, fixed up, the "Doughboy" became just another statue.

So, today, I want to call attention to our "The Spirit on of the American Doughboy," but more specifically, to that which it represents. I am profoundly grateful to the men and women who have fought bravely and proudly for our country and way of life. God bless you, all. Memory doesn't live as a day on the calendar or in a statue or plaque, but these things serve to remind us of those who have sacrificed much on our behalf. I've kind of come to view these things as sharing a similarity to bells rung by monks during meditation; they refocus the wandering mind on that which is important.