Memorial Day, Inadvertently

What is it about war memorials that makes people want to place them where they can be driven past, usually at fairly high speeds, but not walked to or read without a special effort? I'm convinced this country has fought in wars no one's ever heard of, only because their monuments are located in the middle of busy intersections or otherwise inaccessible spots. (Then there are some that are a bit too accessible, like the Korean War Memorial in Washington DC, which juts invisibly out of the ground  – so that anyone walking by can catch their foot on it and - well, let’s just say, be careful around that thing when it’s dark out.)

Anyway. I'd driven past the monument on Route 156 near the intersection with Great Neck Road I don't know how many times, occasionally looking over in a vain attempt to find out what it was. But the three large stones with affixed plaques, arranged in a semi-circle in the grass, were too far away. I didn't know for sure that it was a war monument, though I guessed because of the array of American flags. And, of course, because of the “let’s put this where people can’t read it” thing. Finally I decided my ignorance had lasted long enough. Those stones looked important, and I felt remiss for not knowing what they said.

On closer inspection I found there was a sidewalk in front of the memorials, but it didn't seem to lead to anywhere. I parked in the closest lot I could find and crossed two busy streets. (There’s a distinct awkwardness to being the only pedestrian for miles, surrounded by drivers. You want to tell them that yes, you do have a car, it’s just over there, really.) I got to the Sidewalk To Nowhere, and realized the little park in which the stones stood was quite pleasant and well cared for. Sure that the passing motorists were wondering what the heck I was doing, and how I got there, I started to read.

I was expecting recent wars, but the first plaque surprised me. “To honor those patriots from the land now Waterford who courageously responded beginning with the Lexington alarm in the War of Independence,” it said, above a list of names. I was struck by how many of them were repeated two or three or more times. There were six Douglasses and eight Beebes.

The next one commemorated veterans of the Civil War, and featured more names (but fewer Beebes  - just four - and no Douglasses.) At the bottom of that list was another tribute, easy to miss, honoring the ten Waterford residents who fought in the Spanish American War, “Beginning with the destruction of the USS Maine in Havana Harbor April 1898 and ending with a peace treaty February 1899.” If, like me, you had forgotten the Maine (sorry) here’s an explanation for this confusingly punctuated sentence. The Maine was sunk in February 1898; the following April is when Congress declared war. Hostilities ended in August, and the Treaty of Paris was signed that December and ratified by the Senate in February of the next year.

The third stone honored veterans of “The World War.” It had the most names of the three memorials. Next to five of them were tiny stars, marking those who lost their lives. At the bottom was a date, the reason for the plaque’s sad and ironic title: “Dedicated November 11, 1928.”

Only after I left did I realize that I had found the Sidewalk To Nowhere and read the lists of names just in time for Memorial Day. I usually don’t do anything special on that day, except be happy that it’s part of a three-day weekend. I can’t say that crossing a few streets is really doing anything either – on the scale of laziness it’s one step above staying home and drinking lemonade. But on Monday, if I am at home drinking lemonade, I’ll also be thinking about those stones, and all those names, especially the ones with little stars.