One great sacrifice among many

There is a small bookstore in Cornersburg. I drive by it almost every day on my way to work. During the Easter season, the store’s front window displayed these words, “Greater love hath no man than he who lay down his life for another.” These words are from the gospel of St. John, 15:13. And with these words my story begins.

In World War II a young sergeant served his country in the glider infantry of the 17th Airborne Division. He was from Youngstown, Ohio. On a cold and hazy March 24, 1945, his glider crossed the Rhine River and landed in a field behind enemy lines in Germany. In the ensuing combat, this young soldier suffered wounds from which he expired. He was only 27 years of age.

I never met my father’s brother. He died long before I was born. I learned of his service to this country through letters he wrote to his parents while he was stationed overseas. I discovered these letters shortly after my grandmother’s death in the summer of 1995. I found them in a small cedar box on her kitchen buffet as her home was being prepared for sale. Inside the box a set of rosary beads rested gently upon the aging documents. That evening, I sat at my grandmother’s kitchen table and read each one.

A story of service

The first was dated Feb. 2, 1942. It was an order to report for physical examination by the armed forces prior to induction. The last was dated May 30, 1945. It began with these words, “The Veteran’s Administration has learned with regret of the death of the above-named veteran.” The letters in between portrayed a young man longing to be home once more. He wrote of a girl waiting for his return. He wrote of his dreams for the future, and he wrote of his concern for a brother fighting elsewhere in Europe. His last letter was written seven days before he suffered his fatal wounds.

My grandmother was 99 years old when she died. For over 50 years she kept these letters safe in her little wooden box. I can envision her sitting at her kitchen table on a quiet, dark evening. Under the warm glow of lamplight she’d open the box lid; the scent of cedar would linger in the air. Carefully she’d unfold the aging letters and remember the son she had lost long ago — her tired and worn fingers counting rosary beads as she prayed. I’ve kept the contents of her little box to this very day.

How we remember

We mark Memorial Day with speeches, picnics, and parades. I’ll stand at the town green near my home and watch my eldest daughter march with the Canfield High School Band. I’ll wave as she passes by in her red and black uniform. The music of “America The Beautiful” will sound through stirring crowds. Military planes will rumble overhead in honor of our soldiers. And in cemeteries across our nation, an American flag will billow against blue skies proclaiming to the world, “Here, in earth’s tender embrace rest the finest of America’s sons and daughters.” In such tribute each of us will remember the father, spouse, sister, or brother that fought and died for our country so that we might live in freedom.

My thoughts will be of a young infantryman of the 17th Airborne Division who lost his life in a distant land near the end of WWII. In the quiet of evening, I’ll sit at the kitchen table and unfold his letters once more. Under the warm glow of lamplight I’ll share his words with my children so that they too might understand the ransom of freedom. And the service of that young soldier will not be forgotten.

And on Memorial Day, with God’s affirmation, the words of John 15:13 will whisper to each of us in witness to the sacrifices of all our fallen veterans — “Greater love hath no man than he who lay down his life for another.”

X David Bobovnyik is an attorney and life-long resident of the Youngstown area who writes from time to time about the people and places in our community.