I was just getting used to the idea that it was finally spring and all of a sudden here comes Memorial Day, the traditional kick-off to summer. Fun Fact: 818 is the number of hot dogs consumed every second between Memorial Day and Labor Day. If that includes corn dogs count me in.

Oh dear, one paragraph in and I’m already digressing.

Aside from the day you’re allowed to start wearing white, holiday sales, and cookouts, Memorial Day is not, in truth, a time for celebrating. It’s more of a time for remembering.

It’s one of a handful of days we set aside each year to recognize American servicemen and women in one way or another. Like, say Veterans Day. Or Armed Forces Day, which was just last Saturday. Although Armed Forces Day is still observed on military bases and big cities with a military presence nowadays, it doesn’t seem to be as universally “in” as it once was and goes largely unnoticed. Not unlike other military-oriented things. Like ROTC, which up through the 1960s was compulsory for entering college freshmen, uniforms and marching and spit-shined shoes all, like it or not. And what the heck is a spit-shined shoe, really?

But a lot of our national holidays hinge around turning points; you know, beginnings or endings.

For beginnings, our holidays range from the signing of the Declaration of Independence to the birth of Christ. For endings, we have, for instance, VE Day and VJ Day, the days marking the end of hostilities in Europe and with Japan, and you would not be out of line to put out the flag and shout “huzzah!” on both those days, especially when you remember that we lost over 400,000 fighting in WWII. Throw in all the other wars, conflicts, police actions, and you-name-it, and that brings us back to America’s military triumvirate: Memorial Day, Veterans Day and Armed Forces Day.

I’ve got to throw in here that although you see the flag every day at places like city hall and the post office, when you’re in a little country 10,000 miles away and people you don’t know are trying to hurt you, seeing the flag is like a seeing a little bit of home.

Whether you’ve served in Iraq or Afghanistan or Korea or Vietnam or any one of dozens of far-flung places, when you’re out there in the midst of the mess of war nothing is more beautiful or comforting than looking up and seeing the stars and stripes rustling in the wind. Makes you feel like somebody’s got your back if you know what I mean.

The following doesn’t really apply to Memorial Day, per se, but please indulge me for a minute or two for a story about a WW II bomber pilot from Magdalena. The thing is, I got a call from my friend Frank Howard a couple of weeks ago to let me know about a distant relative of his, Jose Garcia, a World War II veteran, who died this last in February at 102.

Jose was raised on a sheep ranch in Magdalena, graduating from Magdalena High School and eventually going on to Northwestern University in Chicago. Right after the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, he enlisted, and with a little college under his belt, entered as an officer and trained as a B-17 pilot.

Once in England, he and his crew named their aircraft El Conquistador and flew 25 missions over France, Belgium and Germany. But not without a scratch. Once on a mission to bomb an oil refinery in Germany, his B-17’s number 1 engine was shot up by anti-aircraft fire. Unable to stay in formation, the plane was attacked by enemy aircraft. With another engine badly damaged and with one dead and four injured crewmen aboard, Garcia managed to keep the bomber flying and crash-landed, wheels up, at England’s Leiston Base.

Garcia and the 351st bomber group were credited with downing 16 enemy planes between 1943 and 1944. He safely made it through the war and ended up a dentist in Albuquerque.

But I digress. Again.

We deem Memorial Day special by closing the banks and post offices and all the various and sundry government offices, giving their staff workers time to spend with their family and maybe have a cook-out. But it’s more than that.

Hopefully, we will keep in mind the reason for having a day such as this, and if you go down to Isidro Baca Veteran’s Park this coming Monday you’ll know for sure. On the pyramid there’s a plaque with six names; Socorro’s Vietnam casualties. Indulge me, if you will, for this whole Vietnam thing is very personal to me. I came back but so many others did not.

Anyway, set aside a few moments on Monday to remember them all and give them a mental salute.

Be there or be pyramidal.

John Larson, El Defensor Chieftain