By Jenna Johnson
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, August 11, 2007
They step carefully from taxis and rental cars, steadying themselves with canes or the arms of their middle-aged children. Safely on the sidewalk, they look up and take in the granite and bronze grandeur of the National World War II Memorial.
The rush of memories and emotions takes them back to their 20s, when they were young and agile and their hearing and eyesight were sharp. Back to when they traveled by fighter plane, submarine, tank, battleship and parachute to face down the forces of the Fuehrer and the Emperor. They stand in the Washington heat with sweat rolling down their faces. Some allow themselves to cry.
This is a moment they want to share with their families before they die.
So even with temperatures reaching triple digits Wednesday and the high 90s Thursday, these proud veterans refused to stay away -- or, worse, to simply cross the memorial off their list of things to see.
"It's part of me," said Judson Frederick, 82, who traveled from Toledo to see the memorial with his daughter. "Some of my friends never came back, and I wanted to honor them. Some of the guys I grew up with in Ohio went into the Army with me and never came back. I want to honor all of them."
Some veterans said they didn't factor the heat into their plans.
The combination of old age, fading health, profound emotion and high heat can be deadly. D.C. emergency responders said they are often called to treat heat-related episodes at the memorial, whose granite plaza can be five degrees hotter than the rest of the Mall.
"We see a lot of people who want to make a final pilgrimage, and they step down into that memorial, and it's like a heat bowl down there," said Lt. Jeff Wright of the D.C. fire department.
The U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs estimates that 1,900 veterans die each day, most of whom served in World War II.
"I figured if I didn't see it now, I never would," said Walter Sturgeon, 85, who drove from Utah with his son and daughter-in-law. "They should have built this 20, 30 years ago."
Some veterans limited their visits this week to 20 minutes or so -- enough time to walk down into the memorial, pose for photos at their home state pillars, reminisce about battles engraved in their memories and register their names.
Bob Duddy, 82, of Maine had a cab wait as he walked to the memorial Thursday. The Navy veteran was accompanied by his wife, a son, two grandsons and his little sister, Dotty Duddy, who still remembers throwing rice in the streets when the war ended because "Bobby's coming home."
"This is his memorial," his son, Mike Duddy, said.
Wayne Penny, 80, from Indiana sat in a triangle of shade in the heart of the memorial's plaza Wednesday afternoon, his green baseball hat soaked with sweat. Two tourists stopped by, and he told them about joining the Navy just as the war ended and completing a tour in the "still dangerous" Mediterranean.
His wife waited on a shady bench nearby.
"It's not something you can go to and stay all day," she said. "But he really likes it."
Sturgeon has wanted to see the memorial since it opened in 2004, but his wife, Cloe, was too sick. After she died in January, he decided to make the trip.
As the Army Air Forces veteran walked through the memorial, he touched the pocket of his button-down shirt, where he had tucked a black-and-white photo of Cloe.
"She would have liked this trip," he said.
The memorial's bronze reliefs depicting war scenes inspired Lowell Hines to recount his adventures as an Army X-ray technician "all over Europe and across France." Two younger generations of Hines men -- son Barry, 60, and grandson Brett, 35 -- listened intently.
"They were planning the D-Day invasion," Hines, 86, told them. "And they knew there would be a lot of casualties. They set up an aid station right behind the line. Then there was a station hospital that was constantly moving. Then if you were real bad, they would take you to the general hospital, then back to the States."
The three men -- and another grandson who planned to fly in from Chicago for the weekend -- have talked about visiting the memorial since it opened. But with Hines turning 87 this month and his WWII breakfast club dwindling from 100 members to 12, they decided to make the trip from Springfield, Ill.
They wanted to hear the stories.
"Dad doesn't talk about it a lot," Barry Hines said. "His generation seems to have just done their job and not expected anything in return. Back then, duty was more central to the human spirit."
With a final look at the bronze medics carrying a soldier on a stretcher, the three men continued toward the memorial plaza. Hines recalled the foggy day when Adolf Hitler made his last push into France.
"We knew something was going on," he said. "Just not sure what it was."
View all comments that have been posted about this article.