Verhovayak Lapja, 1945 (28. évfolyam, 1-52. szám)
1945 / Verhovay Journal
VOL. XXVIII. MAY 30, 1945 31 NO. 10. MEMORIAL DAY Inaugurated 77 years ago for the commemoration of the heroic dead of the American civil war, Memorial Day had but a historical significance for this generation until the time of the first World War. Since then this generation has twice experienced the tragic sorrow of those who have | lost their dearest ones on the field of battle. The day of paying tribute to the | unknown heroes of the past became the | day of mourning for the heroes we loved. Of the sorrows and tribulations of the | civil war we learned in the schools and from the books we read. The sorrows of this war arc taught us by life. The shapeless shadows of a bloody past have come to live with us in the innumerable tragedies of the present time. Now we know the price of Liberty! I Now we know what it costs to keep and defend our land! Now we know that no glory of heroism is as sweet as its price in tears and heartbreak is bitter! Now j we know with what superficial indifference we have learned the stories of the struggles of former | generations! Now we know that our Land and Our Liberties were paid for with the sufferings, heroic sacrifices and mourning agonies of genera tions which have long ago returned to the earth | that they helped to purchase! Now we know all this—of experience. Nearly a quarter of a million American men have lost I their lives in this most horrible of all wars. Nearly a million of American men and women have paid with their blood and many of them will continue to pay the price for OUK American way of life throughout their life-time with sufferings that will never leave them. More than 150 Verhovayans have paid the Supreme Sacrifice in this war. More than 150 families will continue to pay | the price of our liberties with a life-time of mourning. They are our friends, brothers and sisters.!! Their sorrow is ours. Their tears make us cry, too. The mourning makes it hard for us to find j | again the happiness of laughter. These young men are lost for ever to the living. Their ashes are scattered all over the blooddrenched earth which writhes in the agony of the ever-recurring curse of war. And their next of kin are left with nothing but memories. The sweeter the memories, the deeper the hurt. The greater a happiness once possessed was, the greater the suffering once it is lost. There is no greater sorrow than that of loosing a good son. There is no greater heartbreak than to lose one we loved more than anything or anyone else in the world, including ourselves. It is for this reason that many who mourn for their loved ones, fear to remember them. They remove their pictures and they bury in the attic all their belongings. They try to convince themselves that the one who possessed their heart never existed at all. They try to overcome their sorrow by suppressing their memories. They try to kill the pain of mourning by denying the past. But memories cannot be killed. Everything we ever experienced became immediately a part of cur personality. The love we once had and later .lost, remains stored away in the recesses of the mind. We cannot destroy our memories just as we cannot tear out our heart or cut off our arm. They are part of our being. And the thing to do is to live with them and not to try to deny them. Memories denied will take revenge on the mind. They must be granted their proper place or else they will poison the soul. Memories killed rot in the mind just like the flesh spoils once life has left it. We must find the courage to live with our dead. And it does not make much difference whether it was our hope, a dream, an ambition or a person who died. The difference is only one of the intensity of sorrow. But we must realize that with every disappointed hope a part of ourselves died just as part of us dies when someone we loved leaves us for ever. Once we find the courage to live with our dead by living with our memories, the deep agony caused by their loss will turn into an ennobling, soul-purifying condition which has moments of peace that no one without great suffering may ever experience. Memories of our beloved ones have their compensation in the fact that time never touches them. We remember our dead at their best, the'way we loved them most. Their faults recede, the unhappy hours they brought us are covered by the happy days they have given us. Memories glorify the past. Those with whom we live are always subject to change. Their love we may lose. They may even become our enemies. We see their beauty fade. We see with anguish their changing habits. As life goes on, people change and seldom in a way that would make them more lovable. Life is a constant recession As Samuel Butler said: “Life is one long process of getting tired.” Or as Shakespeare puts it: “Thought’s the slave of life and life time’s fool.” Our thoughts and emotions, our reactions and habits change as life progresses and life is at the mercy of the whims of passing time. Only the dead remain with us as we loved them best. We look at their picture and while tears of sorrow cloud our eyes... a sense of satisfaction fills the heart for having loved and lived with the one who was so utterly adorable. Time will not change their features. We’ll never see them grow old. We will never see them writhing in the agonies of human misery to which all who live are subjected. They will never turn away from us. They will never cease to love us. They will never change their agreeable habits into annoying ones. They will never grieve us. THEY WILL BE THE ONLY PERFECTION WE EVER SAW. This is the thought that gives the real meaning to the portraits the Verhovay presents to the families of our heroic dead. This is why—knowing the anguish of mourning—we ask all who sorrow not to attempt to escape their memories. Those memories are gifts and not ghosts. They are lasting beauty which decay can never touch. And just as flowers grow over graves, the beauty of memories covers the agony of sorrowing with the merciful quilt of never fading beaufy. We said above that the sweeter the memories, the deeper the hurt. But if we learn to live with our memories then the deeper hurt, the greater sorrow will become the richer source of a peaceful resignation, an indian-summer of the soul in which the joys of the past summer are relived every day until our last hour comes which shall join us with our beloved ones who preceded us. The never changing beauty of memories is the victory over the sorrow of mourning. It shall be the evergreen in the hearts of all who mourn on this saddest of all Memorial Days. They Gave Their Lives 148. FIRST LIEUTENANT EDWARD SAUS LETTER FROM GENERAL MacARTHUR It is the first time in this war’s Verhovay history, that the mother of one of our heroic dead, in this case Mrs. Helen J. Saus, 799 North Stxth Street, Martins Ferry, 0-, received notice of the heroic dead of her beloved son, First Lieutenant Edward Saus from the great military leader of the Pacific War, General Douglas MacArthur. A reproduction of his letter is published herewith for wre are sure that all of our leaders will appreciate the signature of this famous man who will go down in history as one of the greatest soldiers of America. GENERAL HEADQUARTERS SOUTHWEST PACIFIC AREA !»’rs. Helen J. Jaus,- 7V9 North -Sixth Street, Hartins Ferry, Ohio. Dear Mrs. Saus: A.P.O. 500, ilarch 5, i>*5. "" In the death of your son, First Lieutenant d,«ard Sáus, I hvae lost a gallant co.rraietih-arms, and I C3r.no:. express to you the .poignancy of ray regret. His service under me in'the Southwest Pacific was character!*«^by his complete devotion to our beio/cd country and by his death in--our crusade for freedom and liberty he is enshrined in its’ imperishable glory. ' faithfully, Since this reproduction is made of a photostatic copy, the text will hardly be raedable excepting the heading of the letter and the famous signature. Therefore we reprint the text of the letter which should give great comfort to the bereaved mother. ‘’Dear Mrs. Saus: In the death of your son, First Lieutenant Edward Saus, I have lost a gallant comrade in arms, and I cannot express to You the poignancy of my regret. His service under me in the Southwest Pacific was characterized by his complete devotion to our beloved country and by his death in our crusade for freedom and liberty he is enshrined in its imperishable glory. Very faithfully, Douglas MacArthur.” 1st Lt. Edward Saus was born in Martins Ferry, O., on November 19, 1910. He was a member of Branch 40, and is the third heroic dead member of that branch. Serving with the infantry, he was killed in action on February 15, 1945, in Manila, Philippine Island. He was the 39th Verhovayan to pay the Supreme Sacrifice on the Japanese front. He is survived by his widowed mother, Mrs. John Saus and his wife, Viola Nea Saus, 608 Vine St., Martins Ferry, O., who is the 18th war-widow of our Association. May the brotherly sympathy of the membership of our Association give them some measure of comfort in their deep sorrow! 149. PFC. MICHAEL TOMA • Pfc. Michael Toma, a member of Branch 302, Hooversville, Pa., and the first heroic dead member of that branch, died the heroe’s death on July 25, 1944, somewhere in Europe. At that time the War Department notified his mother that he was missing in action. For many months the family waited for the news that he had beed found, but in vain. Their hopes were shattered when the telegram arrived announced that Pfc. Michael Toma was killed in action on the day he was reported missing. (Continued on Page 2)
