The meaning of the flag
Toolbox
By KENDALL WILD The Rutland Herald - Published: August 13, 2008
In connection with the Rutland arrival of the Freedom Train in October of 1947, the local Elks lodge sponsored an essay contest among regional high school students. The first prize winner at Rutland High School was Calvin Wayne Atwood. At age 23 he had returned to finish high school after service in the Marine Corps, which included action on Iwo Jima.
His essay, published in the Herald, was entitled "To the Wind," and has considerable relevance to today's world. It is reproduced in part below:
TO THE WIND
Be gentle, kind wind, with flags. Spare them the wrath of bitter days. We of the human element can twist them enough. Breathe on flagpoles gently. They are proud, slim bearers of living cloth symbols. Caress their folds tenderly, toss them in smooth ripples to willing skies. Silk flags and wool, cotton flags and paper, stained and crumpled. Unhappy flags, eager flags, battle flags bearers of many wounds, torn in shreds, covered with grime and powder of many guns. Flags of all nations, flags of all people. Is there a peaceful flag?
Let me say why I speak of flags to you, oh wind — yours is the power to make them live, you and your brilliant comrade the sun ....
I will tell you why the flag is such a mark of shining import in my simple life. It happened on Iwo Jima! You were there. Do you remember Iwo?
It was several days after D-Day. I don't know the exact number of days. Some of the people back home could tell you better than I, for the number of days was only important then as the number of days in which men had died, and so many men had died that the number of days was lost. Somehow the number of days doesn't seem to matter.
We of the Twenty Sixth Marine Regiment had been assigned to the central sector of the front, of the up-island drive. We were pushing our way slowly, crawling from pillbox to pillbox, on our way past the Motoyama Airfield.
We were making inconceivably slow progress against concentrated defenses which represented the best in enemy defense and strategy. At the time of the incident which I will tell you about, we were completely stalemated, and were waiting orders for our next push.
One of the men had field glasses and was scanning maneuvers to the rear, searching for enemy gun positions which had been blasting our rear since H-Hour, D-Day. Suddenly he screamed excitedly at the top of his lungs: "The flag! She's going up on Hot Rock!"
Immediately the front was left uncovered as all eyes turned to the volcanic peak, searching for that which seemed impossible this early in the encounter. Affirmative shouts resounded across the ugly terrain as we spotted the flag waving gallantly to us from the very top of the crater. Men jumped from foxholes, tossing helmets in the air and pounding each other on the back. The exuberance of the moment was short-lived, however, as enemy mortar men had espied the proceedings and were attempting to zero in. We scrambled back to our holes, sobered instantly. But somehow the morale of men, the spirit of minds, had changed at that point.
As we crouched in the earthy holes together, beneath the island-shaking barrage, some of us unaccountably began to laugh. Why laugh? Laughter is a substitute in times like this. Cry, cry, you fools! Let the tears run swift and uncontrolled. Torrents loosed from somewhere deep inside the individual heart, from secret places. Tears falling, blood streaming in sulphur pits. American tears, tears of happiness. American blood, enemy blood ….
Yes, Old Glory on Suribachi — but then it wasn't a famous Rosenthal photograph, or American history, or the object of a brilliant spectacle in Miami's Orange Bowl. Then it was freedom. Freedom from snipers and from shelling from the rear. It meant courage and inspiration for Yankee hearts. It struck terror in enemy minds. For them it was a prelude to defeat. They knew that the "impregnable" had fallen, and must have known that the rest of Iwo could not long resist without the key defenses of Suribachi.
No more radio communications about Marine positions on the beach. No more worries of being swept back into the sea. No more counter-attacks from behind. The foothold was secure.
All this Old Glory meant. Old Glory holds the rear and the Marine Corps will take the front. "Well done, Twenty Eighth!" We will do the rest. Yes, laugh, you crazy wonderful guys, and keep your heads down low. The Eastern back is broken. The tide has turned. This is the American heritage.
Remember her, oh wind, the flag of Suribachi. Remember all she meant to us. Let not these truths escape. Forever linger near the flag.
Kendall Wild is a retired editor of the Herald.
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