A Quick Study of the National Cemetery of the Alleghenies

Most of the national cemeteries in my native Tennessee were started in the 1860s to accommodate the thousands of soldiers then dying in the local battlefields, and there were plenty of both battlefields and dead soldiers. In the immediate aftermath of those battles the dead from both sides were heaped into trenches as quickly as possible. A little later the Union dead were re-interred individually in what then became the national cemeteries (the Confederate dead were often left in their original trenches, a common fate for the defeated in war). A walk through any of these sites is an American history lesson in itself, and oddballs of my ilk can spend hours in silent tribute while pondering the stories of the names and dates on the markers.

The National Cemetery of the Alleghenies near Pittsburgh is a history lesson, too, but it didn’t open for business until the summer of 2005, so the dates are grouped together a little more closely. I chanced upon the cemetery while trying to find a shortcut home. Row after row of identical white stones stretched out, bright in the summer sun. The death dates of all those I could see were 2008 or 2009. Another fresh section in the distance appeared to be slowly filling with veterans of a more recent war, but almost every one in my field of vision included “World War II” on the stone, and many had “Korean War”—and a surprising number had both—thus offering physical proof that the World War Two folks are indeed moving on at an accelerated pace. This is of course a normal circumstance, one eternally shared by all generations, but it seems especially and appropriately noteworthy for those with this particular bond.

On a day not so far away, maybe thirty years, maybe a little more or a little less, there will be a news item about the passing of the last known surviving veteran of WWII. Most of his or her comrades will have departed many years before that date. Sometime very soon thereafter, perhaps before—or perhaps even at the very same moment—the last surviving veteran from the Korean War will also move on, likely as a footnote.

Many, many soldiers survived WWII to die in Korea, and thousands of others survived both wars to oversee some small measure of calm and comfort for their collective progeny. To these thoughts my trip to the National Cemetery of the Alleghenies added a clear reminder that every man and woman old enough to serve during the Korean War is part of the World War II generation—every one. The math backs me up on this. Those old enough to legally serve in Korea were born no later than 1935, and most were born earlier. This means they were old enough to see the newsreels, endure the sacrifices, and share the grieving. And then they served their country in a war that was as fierce and horrible as any war in our history.

The message dancing in my head as I resumed trying to find my way home was simple: honor and celebrate the veterans of the WWII generation, both military and civilian, and remember that the same generation also served and died in great numbers in Korea. I want to keep that point of gratitude close to the heart.

© Phil Rice 2009