by STEPHEN SMITH
One of my goals as a student at BYU has been trying to find the most peaceful, serene spot on campus so I can fully concentrate on my studies. It has been my quest for the perfect study room. OK, not really. I just need a place to take a nap. Nevertheless, I believe I have found the tranquillity I have been searching for: the Memorial Lounge on the second floor of the Wilkinson Student Center.
Walking into the lounge is comparable to walking into a silent chapel. No one dares speak louder than a whisper. No one eats or drinks. Even the library doesn’t command so much respect and reverence. The lounge almost seems sacred.
On the south wall, names of the fallen dead are displayed on cold, grey metal plaques, framed by an American flag on one side of the wall and a Utah State flag on the other side. In the center of the wall, the words “These We Honor,” stands out as a deceleration to all that enter.
Glass display cases line the west wall, containing photos, letters, medals and mementos of men who gave their lives in battle or who are missing in action. These men were at one time students like us, who answered the call of their country and died in doing what they thought was the right thing to do.
During my first visit to the lounge, I was filled with a strange emotion. Whether it was patriotism, pride or just sorrow, I wasn’t sure.
The names and photos that were before me were men — BYU students, who at one time couldn’t have been much different than I am now. Doing their best to pass classes, unsure about life after graduation, trying to figure out women, etc. But yet, in a manner of months, some of these men were away from the peaceful BYU campus, fighting and dying on a foreign shore.
“Men and women have died for your freedom.” I had heard the phrase often enough, but it took seeing the names and faces of men that had actually died for it to sink in.
I frequent the Memorial Lounge often now, mostly to study, sometimes to sleep, but always thankful for the men whose names are posted silently by the flag they swore to protect.
In a few days, another three-day weekend will be upon us and vacationers will raid campsites, lakes, reservoirs and beaches desperate to pack the 72-hour period with as much fun as possible. Unfortunately, most of the thrill-seekers will be oblivious to the reason they don’t have to be at work or school. Memorial Day will just be a blank check for a good time. Not that this is entirely bad. Hopefully I’ll be out of Provo enjoying myself as well.
But a day that offers an opportunity to memorialize not only relatives that have died, but also men and women who died in defense of their country, should be taken advantage of.
Despite the current situation in Kosovo and the various military confrontations we have had, America has enjoyed a relatively peaceful period as of late. Our generation has never had to worry about being drafted, or about taking cover in a foxhole, or about writing a letter to someone’s mother, detailing the death of her heroic son.
Has this lack of war, this quiet period in our history, made us as Americans a little too comfortable? Have Americans forgotten, or have we ever learned the horrible pain that accompanies the news of a loved one’s untimely death on a cold battlefield?
Perhaps this lack of painful memories allows many of our lawmakers to be so free with American pilots, soldiers, sailors and Marines. They are sent, never questioning their orders, but perhaps questioning the reasons and the politics.
The best way to understand a situation is to ask those people who are involved in it. We can ask current ground troops about the rightness of sending in ground troops rather than the politicians. We can reflect on the men and women who have died, even though their voices have long since fallen mute. Perhaps this will help us know what to do, before we arbitrarily send off thousands of soldiers to fight and die for a country thousands of miles away.
