IT IS FOR US: THE LIVING...

IT IS FOR US: THE LIVING...
BY RUTH K. SMITH
115 Toledo St.
Adrian, Michigan


Martha Kane dressed slowy. It was Memorial Day again. Another spring had passed, no matter what the calender said.
"I'm no spring chicken" Martha thought, not minding too much that the changing seasons no longer brought the peaks of joy and anxiety they once had.
She and Fred would go to the parade, of course. Fred was ready, waiting on the porch. Once in a while she could hear him call a greeting to a neighbor.
They had gone the evening before, to take flowers to the cemetery. It was a rite, and they never neglected it. There was not much sadness about it. Her parents and Fred's had lived good lives and long ones. Even at the time, their passing had brought no overwhelming greif.
Martha finished pinning up her hair, and sat down to put on her stockings. The time since the war had gone so quickly.
"I remember," thought Martha, "that when the first war had been over this long, there was disillusionment and shallow sophistication everywhere you looked. No one would admit ever having an ideal. I wonder if that is going to happen again?"
Martha was deeply thankful that both of her boys had come back. They were doing well now. Joe was married and in business for himself, and Freddie was settled in a good job now that he had finished college.
She had done no more nor less than millions of other mothers who had shared her involuntary sacrifice, but hers had come back. Now that the years are gone, it seemed like a dream that they had ever been away.
But there had been Louie. Louie had been a natural leader, the head of the neighborhood gang. He had been bold and venturesome, but a good kid. He had been in and out of Martha's kitchen with her own boys.
Louie had not come back. His loss brought Martha a sharp questioning grief. There was mourning, in the heart, this Memorial Day. His Memory was still fresh with her, and perhaps a dozen others. When memory of him ended, there would only be his name in bronze on the Honor Roll. It would be as meaningless to the few who might sometimes notice it, as the names of hundreds of other written there, were to her.
Martha powdered her nose, automatically, then went to join Fred on the porch. The morning was as bright as a new penny. There was a scent of warm clover in the air.
"It's early, yet." Martha said, "but we may as well start. We can take our time."
Fred rose stiffly. He knocked the ashes from his pipe and put it away. They walked along slowly, past the small comfortable homes in the neighborhood.
In the next block, they stopped a moment to speak to Jim Baker. Jim was crippled with artritis and was sunning himself on his front porch.
"How's Ed?" asked Martha, after they had discussed the weather.
"Just about the same, Martha, "Jim replied, "Just about the same. His mother went up to the hospital again today, but I'm afraid it won't do much good. Ed never knows any of us. The doctors and nurses are awfully good, but Ed just went through too much."
The three of them were silent. There was nothing to say. Ed had been a sensitive boy. He had loved music, and had been keenly aware of the peotry of living. He had showed promise of unusual talent. But Ed had forgotten everything but the terror of the wet green hell he had been through. Unless there could be some miracle, Ed might have better have gone with Louie.
Martha mourned for Ed, too, as they moved on down the street. The beauty of the summer day only made their loss more poignant.
The parade formed at the Armory, and followed a line of march around the town, with brief halts for ceromonies at the memorials, dedicated to the dead of four wars. There was a ceromony on the river bridge for those who had gone down to the sea and had not come back.
Fred and Martha had given up following the parade all the way around. It had become the custom for people to gather at the monument nearst their home, or merely to stand on the corner to watch the parade go by.
The stop nearest the Kane's was at the courthouse, and the rites were to be for the boys of '18. It was still early when Fred and Martha reached there. The building was getting shabby and weatherbeaten. It sat on the top of a small rise of ground like an old lady, who hasn't yet discovered that she is not so grand as she used to be. The lawn lay like a sweep of green skirts, bordered with Norway maples, newly come into leaf.
There were a number of people on the lawn when the Kanes arrived, and more were coming. Martha knew some of them; others she had seen only on other Memorial Days. Her path and theirs never crossed in the time between.
"It is for us, the living---" she thouht as she looked around. Everyone stood solemnly, talking quietly, if at all. There were a dozen half- grown boys, frolicking like puppies on the grass. No one minded, except two or three mothers.
"Let them play," Martha thought, "It was only the day before yesterday, my boys and Louie and Ed were like that."
They stood a few moments beside a tall man, whom Martha did not know. She felt a sense of shock when she noticed his hands, clasped in front of him. The left one was grotesquely artificial, when he unclasped his hands, it dangled limpy from his sleeve. It looked so it should have belonged to a clothing store dummy. It was more shocking than a hook. It could serve no useful purpose.
With the man was his small son, child about four years old. There was a look of solemnity on the man's face, and the quiet, well-behaved child seemed to sence that something of importance to his dad was about to happen. There was an understanding without words between them.
Fred and Martha moved out of the hot sunshine into the shade of the maples. From her new position, Martha noticed Gramma Peasley.
Martha could not remember a parade without Gramma looking on. Today, she was sitting in the back seat of the car driven by one of her grandsons. They had parked as near the speaker's stand as possible, so Gamma could have a good view of the proceedings. She looked as old as the hills where she lived. She wore an old-fashioned muslin cap, and a black knit shawl. Her glasses were hooked on the end of her nose, probably more firmly than they looked to be. If she had any teeth, she had left them at home. In the front seat, her grandson and his wife looked as prosperous and well dressed as anyone in the crowd. Gramma had lost boys in three wars, ans still had a small army of desendants.
There were all sorts of people. Two women, standing together, were obviously from the section the boys called Frog Hollow.They were dressed in faded housedresses, not too clean, ans their children were unkept little brats.
Mary Graham stood near the two. She was trim in her neat business suit. Her insurance firm handdled more business then any other agency in town. It probably had been fifteen years since Mary had been inside a housedress.
Next to Mary was a youngish woman, in a cheep looking red print. Her spike heels made her footing a little uncertain on the soft sod. The sun touched up her unnaturally blond hair, showing up the mousiness of it at the roots.
There was the Andrews family, whose great grandparents had been part of a colony of emancipated slaves to be brought to this part of Michigan after the Civil War. There was the soft staccato of Spanish from a group of Mexicans recruited from Texas during the wartime labor shortage.
Almost all these people had children with them.
"It is for us; the living---" The phrase came into Martha's mind agian.
There was Caroline Ames, modishly dressed and slim, and accopanied by three of her grandchildren. Caroline had taken a job in ordenance during the war, and worked at fanantically. Now that her boys were home and settled down, she was thoroughly enjoying her grandchildren.
Pete Davis was there with his French wife.
Martha listened a few moments to what Hattie Green was saying to a couple of women her own age.
"They had the biggest horses I ever saw. And a lot of Floats, all covered with flowers and flags. Some brewing company's horses--"
Martha remembered a good many parades. She had marched with her schoolmates, and had seen her own children march. One year, when Louie's mother had been sick, she had pressed his Scout pants so he could march. One year, Ed could not get his tie right, and she had fixed it for him. She felt no less a part of it, now that she merely stood and watched.
The crowd had grown. There were several hundred people. The parade was slow in coming.
"It is for us; the living--" Martha tried to think just what came next. Fred would know, but now that he was getting hard of hearing, Martha did not want to start a conversation which might require repetitions.
The parade was coming. There was the sound of drums in the distance. "It's queer what drums can do to people," she thought. There were shivers running up and down her back, and a lump in her throat. "I hope I can keep the tears back."
The parade was coming aroundthe corner, a block away.
First, the National Gaurd, looking rugged in their service uniforms. Minute men. Once during a race riot in Detroit, the Gaurd had been called out, and held under military regulations at the Armory. Fred had been one of them.
Next came the Amerian Legion. Martha remembered when the G.A.R. had led the parade, then a few Spanish War Veterans. Now the Legion.
"They called us the 'lost generation'," Martha thought. These men, marching, did not look lost; they looked resolute and responsible. They had carried the burden of two wars, and weathered the depression, between. It had been a spiritual depression, as well as a financial one. They had carried the load, and were still capable of carrying it, until their sons should take over.
There were three bands. In turns, they played 'Stars and Stripes Forever'.
There were the Veterans of Foriegn Wars, The Disabled Veterans, the Marine Corp. The Boy Scouts, The Girl Scouts, the cub Scouts, and several cars filled with Gold Star Mothers. It was a big parade.
Everybody gathered as closely around the speakers stand as they could, and stood at attention. The Mayor gave a talk. Someone from the Legion Auxilliary placed a wreath at the foot of the monument. Then all the the people and their children bowed their heads in prayer.
Martha did not hear what was said. She heard, "It is for us, the living, rather to be here dedicated, that Louie ans Ed should have not died in vain. This is a dedication, and all the people and their children are dedicating themselves that this nation under God, shall have a new birth of Freedom."
There was a three gun salute, then Taps
The parade formed again, and moved on. The people quietly turned away.
There would be a picnic and ball games. The beaches would be open for the first swimming of the season. The Legionaires would go out to their Club House. But they would not forget their dedication.
Martha took Fred's arm as they crossed the street. She sensed a new security.