It is always a pleasure to be here on the lawn of Michigan’s Own Military Museum. Stan and Lou Bozich are wonderful hosts. A special thank you to the both of them.
I spent a little time with Stan yesterday, to find some inspiration for my words today. This beautiful building, behind me, holds a priceless treasure of memories; this museum is the only one of its kind in the Nation.
It is my sincere hope that you will consider becoming a stakeholder in Michigan’s Tribute to the Soldier. Please join me in becoming a valued member of this Museum. Also… purchasing a brick is another patriotic way to commemorate your visit here today.
Of course… this Patriot’s day does not belong solely to any one person. It belongs to each American remembering the events of September 11, 2001. I would like to thank you for letting me share some time, and my thoughts with you.
There are books and websites dedicated to this question: What was the average person doing when America was attacked? Where were they? What were they thinking?
Let me introduce you to Joe… just an average Joe.
September 11, 2001
It was Joe’s turn to bring the donuts. He arrived at the shop at about 7 a.m.
The coffee was made and co-workers kept popping in to grab a sweet roll and to shoot the breeze a little. They were getting set to punch in for another day’s work
Everyone liked Joe, they liked talking to him. He had a great sense of humor and it was well known that he would quickly give you the shirt off his back.
This average Joe never had an easy life, but…the thought never occurred to him that he should ever turn bitter or live with regrets.
Joe was divorced twice. The third marriage took hold when he decided that drinking beer was a just little too much fun. He had three children. And, he rediscovered them in plenty of time to be a gentle and generous grandfather.
He owned his own business for many years in another state, and moved back to Michigan for a steady job with health insurance and a modest pension.
He was just an average Joe, at the shop early… because it was his turn to buy the donuts.
Little did he know that at about the same time… nineteen hijackers boarded… and took control of four large commercial airliners.
8:46 a.m. - American Airlines Flight 11 was crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade CenterGuys were walking back into the shop saying, “There’s something going on in New York. You better turn on the TV.” Watching the coverage, Joe said, “Hell… that must have been a pretty big plane. How could something like that happen?”
9:03 a.m. - United Airlines Flight 175 hits the South TowerIt was pretty clear, by now, that this wasn’t a simple accident. Already the word, Terrorism, was being included in nationwide TV and radio broadcasts. … “How could this be happening?”
9:37 a.m. - American Airlines Flight 77 slams into the PentagonUnbelief had settled in at the shop. Joe called home and kept asking the same question over and over again, “How could this be happening… in my country?”
10:03 a.m. - A fourth flight, United Airlines Flight 93 crashes near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Its ultimate target was thought to be the U.S. Capitol Building or perhaps the White House. Talking to loved ones on the ground, and fully aware of the fate of the other three planes, passengers engaged in a fight with the hijackers. Among the last words heard from inside the aircraft… “Let’s Roll!”All day long, the people around the world watched the coverage in stunned-disbelief, all asking the question, “How could this have happened?”
2,977 People were killed in that murderous attack. And, no… I never include the hijackers, in my count.
More than 6,000 people were injured. And, while thousands of people fled the burning towers… firefighters, police officers and emergency medical personnel made their way to ground zero at a dead run.
Many firefighters were killed; many when the towers came crashing down, at least one was crushed as one of many victims fell from the top floors.
That evening… in cities and small towns across the United States, many American families, like mine, found themselves at special church services. Many prayed at home.
Joe... prayed at home.
Most of his adult life, and almost until the day that he died in 2002; co-workers, friends and neighbors would comment on how strong his German accent was… for an average guy named Joe.
Indeed he was German. But… Joachim was a hard name for most Americans to pronounce, so they simply called him Joe. The United States was his country, now; even if he was born some sixty years earlier in Klein Lueben, Germany.
Joachim lived through some terrible times, as a youth in a war-torn country. Not long after World War II… and the struggle over the city of Berlin, the Russian’s took his father, Bruno, to Siberia… never to be seen again.
Joe’s mother Frieda, after losing both a husband and a country, took her own life!
September 11 changed something in Joe; and the winter before he died, he tearfully revealed that he himself had been tortured by the East German Army, for not being very “cooperative” citizen… something he never spoke of before.
In my life, there are just three men who have given me pride-risen, patriotic Goosebumps
• The first was my father Joachim Horn… the day that he swore an oath to you and me to become an American citizen. It was one of the proudest days of his life… and the day he legally changed his own name… simply to, Joe.
• The second was President Ronald Reagan when he uttered the words, “Mr. Gorbechav… tear down this wall!” Those words helped to free the rest of my family in East Germany.
• And, the third was President George W. Bush as he stood on that pile of rubble at Ground Zero, and with his arm wrapped around a firefighter, said to the world, “I can hear you! I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!”
The rescue workers at Ground Zero chanted, “USA, USA, USA…”
Before he stepped off the rubble, the President finished very simply, “The Nation sends its love and compassion!”
So, how does a Nation respond?
Throughout history, when men are threatened… they are likely to fight to protect themselves. However, it’s been said… if you threaten their mothers and their own children… they will fight to protect their country!
So, while most Americans were wondering exactly how justice would be meted out… young men and women across the land were quietly joining the military in record numbers. While we civilians worried about new threats from abroad in our own country… young patriots were rushing directly into the danger.
The ranks of Blue Star Families swelled.
In Michigan, teary-eyed families were seeing off sons and daughters, husbands and wives into war with an enemy we’ve never experienced.
An enemy with no uniform, few geographic boundaries, and a fanatic culture of death most of us could never comprehend.
Yet… American soldiers, of their own free will, chose to fight to defend this great nation. They willingly picked up the American Sword of Justice… and stabbed it bravely into the heart of pure evil.
We are a grateful Nation!
Over time… countless months, and sometimes years, of worry… most of our young soldiers have returned home safely. Some have permanent injuries. Some have traumatic disorders that haunt them still. Still… some return to the battle.
I met a young soldier in the western part of my district. She came home with a new leg. Another friend of our family came home in a wheelchair. Today… we continue to pray for Cpl. Kendall Judson, who came home healthy but was badly injured, his first day back.
And still, we are a grateful community… To all those who serve we say… thank you for your service.
Now… comes the hardest part for me. When I learned that more than 160 Gold Star Family members would be with us today, I nearly became speechless.
It happens to many of us when we deal closely with death. What in the world can we ever say that would ever equal the sacrifice of our Gold Star Families? The words “Thank you” seem completely inadequate. And… being a State Representative gives me no special wisdom to rationalize the loss of a young soldier.
It seems that it is left to us, only to honor the memory of the fallen warrior.
Sometimes… it’s not the words that matter
Many years ago, my wife and I spent time at a Children’s Hospital with some very dear friends who were preparing to say goodbye to their newly born infant daughter. She was born without an artery between her heart and her lungs. Not many words were spoken. We just held a vigil with the grieving parents. They are dear friends… to this day!
More recently, a friend of mine lost a son in a fiery car crash. In the parking lot of the funeral home, we sat in silence on the tailgate of his pickup. He chain-smoked cigarettes. Even the prescription medicine couldn’t stop him from shaking like a leaf. No words of comfort could relieve him of his grief. Together… we just sat there.
One summer day, on my way home from Lansing, I made a visit to a funeral home in Chesaning, after a 14 year-old girl was killed in another car accident. Honestly, she was a beautiful young girl. I have a daughter who was just her age, at the time. When I turned from her casket, I approached the father, I lost all speech. I had never met this man before. I shook his hand and hugged him tight… father to father. I sobbed all the way home, thinking of my Andrea.
What words are there, then, to explain the death of young people? It seems a wholly unnatural order of life.
One day… we mere human beings will learn if Angels, with wings and halos, truly exist. But, in the meantime, I’m convinced that God sends forth each of his creatures to be “angels” for one another. A kind word of encouragement, a pat on the back, a squeeze of the hand… can mean all the difference in the world to a troubled heart.
This past Thursday, at a dedication of a senior citizen assisted living facility; the speaker quoted a Bible verse… Isaiah 46 says, “I will be your God throughout your lifetime - - until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.”
At that facility was a different Joe… Mr. Joseph Greko. He was a platoon leader in the army and fought in the Battle of the Bulge. Joe is a great guy! He was debilitated by a stroke about ten years ago. When asked what he would say to Blue Star families had the chance…here’s what he said:
•
War is hell!• It changes you. It changes your mind.• People can't expect you to come home the same. Their body might be here, but their mind is back there with their buddies with what they saw and heard.• I had my stroke 10 years ago. I still can't walk. I still go to therapy. But it's not nearly as hard as what I dealt with in the war.• I don't know how people do it without faith. I try to stay positive. I pray a lot and I read my Bible every day. And I know God has a purpose for me being here. That's why I'm happy. God has a purpose for me. Maybe it's to talk to you about this. Maybe it's something else. But that's why I'm happy--He has a purpose for me.For the rest of us civilians… those of us with gray hair, and too little time for the treadmill. We can only remain a grateful nation. We offer our sincere thank you to our soldiers, offer our words of support and comfort to Blue Star families, and to our Gold Star families, when words fail us… perhaps we’ll just sit together quietly… on the end of the tailgate.
The building behind me offers some important clues to deal with soldiers and military families.
I hope you’ll search out the words of Specialist Holly McGoegh, as she lost a friend in war, and just before her parents lost her, she said, “If I die… I hope you’ll remember that it was for a good cause.”
So, on this Patriot’s Day… though the words thank you just don’t seem quite adequate… Thank you… we won’t forget!
• And, we won’t forget that the Nation is losing 2,000 WWII Veterans every day
• We won’t let the Korean War be the “Forgotten War”
• And to all of our Vietnam Veterans… we offer you a proper and sincere… Welcome Home Soldier!
And of course… some things about America should never “change”!
Allow me one last personal story. Augusta Wulf, born Augusta Tzchepetski, was my mother’s mother. My great-grandfather was a blacksmith for the Russian Czar. Around 1917, at the beginning of the Russian Revolution, the family fled to Prussia and took on German citizenship.
Forty years later, in 1957, Augusta and Frederick Wulf, my oma and opa, fled East Germany to come to the promise of America. Joachim and Ursula Horn followed their lead in 1958, when a small Lutheran Church, in Indian Village, in Detroit, sponsored them in.
Folks… my family fled two countries, to be here. Believe me… there is no where left in the world to flee.
The United States of America isn’t just a place of Freedom for All! And, it certainly isn’t a free for all! The United States of America is - Freedom’s Last Stand!
Through some timeless, and divine providence, for billions of people in hundreds of countries around the world, our great Nation is still the, “Shining City on the Hill” that President Reagan so aptly described.
America made a heartfelt promise to my family…one that they, and millions of other lost souls, could not deny. The American soldier, our firefighters, our police officers, and our everyday community heroes keep that promise to this day.
Let our enemies hear this and be dismayed; as long as there are brave young men and women, willing to lift that Sword of Justice to defend this last bastion of liberty… then there truly is Hope in the world!
With all my heart… May God continue to bless the United States of America
Remember! Always Remember!
