PERSPECTIVE: WE MUST NEVER FORGET THE MEN OF VALOR

The item hit the 50 Year Ago column in "Out of the Past" last month. "Lt. William J. Hunter, 23, of Cape Girardeau, was killed in the crash of heavy Army bomber Friday near Liberal, Kansas; he and three other crew members were killed in crash about 70 miles southeast of Liberal air base, near Laverna, Oklahoma."

Born in 1920, the only brother in a family that included three sisters, Uncle Will would have been in his early '70s by now. An accomplished musician, a good student, quick with a smile and friendly to all, he was trim and physically fit at over six feet in heighth. All reports I have received describe a young man universally well-liked and respected during his growing up years here in Cape. He attained a good record at Southeast Missouri State Teachers College, graduated, and like so much of his generation went off to the Army. An entire world was at war.

Assigned to the Army Air Corps, he was eager to fly in the service of his country. I can imagine my grandparents indeed the entire family bursting with pride on the day he earned the wings that signified becoming a pilot. That proud, extended family would include a sweetheart who waited back home. Marriage plans were in the offing, contingent, of course, upon his safe return from active duty.

Uncle Will had loads of other plans. In fact, he had political ambitions whose fondest hope included, perhaps, serving his beloved state as Governor. Like every other Hunter I have known he was a Democrat though, like the rest of the family of that distinctive southern variety. Before entering the service, he had worked in Jefferson City in the office of the late Senator Paul C. Jones (D.-Kennett), who would later serve 18 years (1951-'69) as the widely respected U.S. congressman from southeast Missouri.

Then, in April, 1944, in a numbingly familiar occurrence during those days of so much sorrow, so much loss, all these hopes came crashing down. Will, who was awaiting orders to go overseas into battle, had been killed in a training accident.

My grandfather made the long, tiring train trip out to Liberal, in southwest Kansas, where the remains of all four crew members were interred with military honors. Because of difficult wartime economic circumstances, not all the other families were able to make the trip, so grandfather wrote to the other families people he had never met to describe the ceremonies. He told them that all their sons had died heroes' deaths in devoted service to their country.

Uncle Will was a member of what I believe to be the Great Generation, the World War II generation. It was a generation that lived through remarkable sacrifice. In my generation, though many have served with honor, by and large we have known nothing like that sacrifice, where, to take one example at Midway an entire squadron of 15 planes was launched from the carrier deck into battle with the Japanese, and only one plane returned. In a few minutes of fierce fighting, 14 brave, two-man crews had perished.

I hope that in the midst of all today's chatter about multi-culturalism, our school children are still being taught of such uncommon valor, the kind that brought us such Incredible Victories as Midway.

Where do we find such men? We have found them right here. They walked always in the pathways of honor. And we must never, ever forget them.

In Flanders Field, the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row by row, that mark our place.

And in the sky, the larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago, we lived, felt dawn, saw the sunset glow, loved and were loved.

And now we lie in Flanders Field.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!

To you, from failing hands we throw the torch.

Be yours to hold it high!

If ye break faith with us who die,

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders Field.