Dear Du Quoin: Remember our fallen as Memorial Day nears
Ever since becoming the mayor of Du Quoin, I've grown more introspective about my hometown - its history, its values and the dues paid to get us where we are today. In all of that I find myself frequenting Keyes City Park more and more, and particularly standing in front of the veterans monuments reading the names of those Du Quoin men who since the founding of this community went into harm's way and gave their lives in the defense of our community and our nation.
The people of Du Quoin owe a debt of gratitude to Joe Stephens for rekindling interest in the role played by Du Quoin men in the Civil War. This is particularly true of the retelling of the incredible story of the attack by the Du Quoin Braves on a key rebel-held position that turned the tide of the Battle of Corinth in Mississippi. The date was Oct. 4, 1862.
At the head of the attack was prominent citizen and Captain of the Du Quoin Braves Guy Carlton Ward. Captain Ward, showing astounding bravery in leading his men directly toward the muzzles of loaded Confederate rifles and muskets, captured the position. At the most pivotal moment of the battle, Capt. Ward was shot through the forehead and was most certainly dead before he hit the ground.
The Braves swept over the captured artillery positions, likely turning the captured cannon on the fleeing rebels. Capt. Ward is buried in an obelisk-shaped headstone at IOOF Cemetery in town, the epitaph in a few words capturing the essence of Capt. Ward's courage. "He Fell at the Moment of Victory"
We immediately associate the name of Roy Mitchell as the namesake for the Du Quoin American Legion. His name is inscribed on the Veterans Memorial at the park, the first Du Quoin soldier to die during World War I. Seven more would follow.
William "Bud" Schroeder was one of my dad's best friends. They were born two months apart. He fell during World War II, a United States Marine Corps private killed during the American invasion of the South Pacific island of Tinian on July 31, 1944. I remember Lu Ellen Erwin, the matriarch of the hard-working Erwin the Florist family, telling me that she knew intuitively that Bud had been killed because as she worked in the flower shop late one night she saw uncharacteristically that the lights were on at the nearby Schroeder home (now Searby Funeral Home).
Glenn Revelle was killed in Quang Tri Province in South Vietnam. A United States Marine Corps private and rifleman, he died of multiple fragmentation wounds on September 24, 1966. I was in the 7th grade at John B. Ward School (JB Ward, by the way, was a brother of Guy Carlton Ward) at the time and can well remember the pall cast upon the entire town.
Lance Corporal Drew Uhles was about the same age as our older daughter. A mortarman in the 1st Marine Division, he was killed in the explosion of an IED during Operation Iraqi Freedom. He died on Sept. 15, 2004, four days short of his 21st birthday. Drew was old enough to die in battle but not yet old enough to drink a cold beer.
What were these heroes thinking in their final hours and final minutes? Of home and family? Of wives and girlfriends, walking hand in hand down Main Street after a show at the Grand? Of Homecoming and football games? Of work on the farm or the mines or during the Du Quoin State Fair?
I am constantly awed by the courage they found within themselves to advance, whether into a rebel firing line, wading ashore under machine gun fire on a speck of an island, or down an IED-strewn highway in some faraway land. As each name is etched in the monumental stone at Keyes Park, so also is another story of individual valor.
As have many holidays in America, the meaning of Memorial Day has become trivialized. It's become another long, lazy, three day weekend. We sleep in, fish, watch car races and, in more patriotic moments, fly our flags. Memorial Day is intended to be a day of reflection upon the horrifically steep price this town and this nation have paid for the freedoms we so take for granted.
Sometime during the upcoming Memorial Day weekend, I encourage you to rise above the national norm that cheapens holidays such as this. Visit the park and read each name on the two monuments at the park. Pause with each name and reflect on what each of those boys - our sons, brothers, friends, and fathers - endured to earn a hallowed spot on the marker. We owe them a debt that we'll never be able to repay, except through prayer, thanksgiving, and active, constructive citizenship. That would be the very least that we can do to properly recognize and thank Du Quoin's fallen.