Veterans Day is intended to thank and honor all who served honorably in the military—living and dead—whether in wartime or peace. While growing up in the 50s and early 60s, I associated Veterans Day with WW II and Korean War vets. I remember how visible these veterans were. They participated in Independence Day parades, Veterans Day parades, and other events wearing their military and veteran insignia on their hats and vests. The American Legion and Veterans of Foreign War Posts were abuzz with constant activity. WW II veterans were always seen posting the nation’s colors at various events and serving as auxiliary honor guards at military funerals. As a young boy, I was in awe of their presence, uniforms, discipline, the rifles and flags they carried, and the ceremonies they performed, although I had little understanding of what they endured to become a veteran.

My understanding of what it meant to be a veteran increased significantly by learning about Audie Murphy. He became my favorite veteran. Audie Murphy was born June 20, 1924, on a sharecropper’s farm near Kingston, TX. He had only five years of schooling and was orphaned at age 16. By age 17, he was 5 feet 5 inches tall and weighed 112 pounds. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, he tried to enlist, but the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps all turned him down for being underweight and underage. He finally joined the Army a year later, in 1942, having falsified his birth certificate to enlist before he was eligible.

Murphy quickly rose to the enlisted rank of Staff Sergeant and was given a “battlefield” commission as 2nd Lieutenant. During the war, he killed 252 Germans in combat, and he once jumped onto a burning tank destroyer to turn its machine gun on enemy troops. He was wounded three times, fought in nine major campaigns across the European Theater, and miraculously survived the war. He became the most highly decorated soldier in American history, receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor, among numerous other awards.

Due to his notoriety and hero status, Audie Murphy became a movie actor. He starred in films such as The Red Badge of Courage (1951), To Hell and Back (1955), The Quiet American (1958), and 33 Western movies, the last of which was made in 1969. I got to know Audie Murphy through his films.

I was in grammar school when these hugely popular movies first premiered. These movies went to our local drive-in-theater partly owned by my parents (free admission) and within easy walking distance of my home. It was easy for almost any boy to idolize and hero-worship Audie Murphy. He was THE American war hero. Yet he was humble, sincere, small in stature with a boyish face. In virtually all his movies, he was the “good guy,” saving damsels in distress and the world from tyrants.

On May 28, 1971, due to poor visibility, a Colorado Aviation Aero Commander 680 airplane crashed into the top of Brush Mountain near Blacksburg, VA, claiming the life of decorated American World War II veteran Audie Murphy and the lives of five other people. They were on a business trip from Atlanta, GA, to Martinsville, VA. I had just returned from a one-year combat tour in Vietnam as a platoon leader and helicopter pilot in an Air Calvary unit and was on my way to Germany for further duty. I was devastated by the news of the loss of my boyhood hero.

Within eight years of that plane crash, my family and I moved to Blacksburg, VA, for jobs at Virginia Tech University. We bought a house near the base of Brush Mountain, a few miles southwest of the Murphy crash site. Shortly after arriving in Blacksburg, I parked our Volkswagon van on the hardtop road below the crash site and hiked up the two-mile-long, steep, rutted dirt road to the ridge top. Another 2.3-mile hike along the ridge crest put me at the Audie Murphy memorial marker placed by VFW Post 5311, Christiansburg, VA.

Mr. Albert Pyle was with Murphy on one occasion when Audie was seriously wounded in the hip. After Murphy’s death, Mr. Pyle recalled an experience with Murphy:

“Just before he was shot, he had managed to capture a German non-com and his radio man. . . The stretcher bearers picked Murphy up, but he still held a carbine across his middle. Grinning, he directed his two prisoners ahead of him as they made their way down the side of the hill. . . .This then was the shy Audie Murphy, so badly wounded and still attempting to complete his job, even though he is was in great pain.”

The inscription on the memorial stone says .. “Audie Leon Murphy … June 20, 1924 – May 28, 1971 … Born in Kingston, Texas. Died near this site in an airplane crash. America’s most decorated Veteran of World War II. He served in the European Theatre, 15th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division and earned 24 Decorations, including the Medal of Honor, Legion of Merit, Distinguished Service Cross, and Three Purple Hearts. His wife, Pamela, and two sons, Terry Michael and James Shannon, survived him. Erected by Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 5311, Christiansburg, Virginia.”

On a recent fall day, I rode my KTM 790 motorcycle up that steep, rutted dirt road. It was worse than I remembered when I hiked it 43 years ago, but not much of a challenge astride my KTM. Nothing much had changed during that intervening time. The road and trail to the memorial were the same, the forest appeared the same, and I was alone both times. The Appalachian Trail ran along a different route during my first visit in 1979. There seemed to be few visits. Shortly after that, the Appalachian Trail was re-routed past the memorial site. Forty-three years after my first visit, with the site now more accessible, there were many mementos and an American flag at the base of the monument— Murphy had clearly not been forgotten.

I removed sticks and leaves from the granite monument, sat at the base of the nearest tree, and closed my eyes. I felt the sunshine scatter across my face as the breeze opened the tree branches and leaves overhead. I recalled several Audie Murphy movies and, in my mind, rewatched some of my favorite scenes as I slumbered.

I woke with a start to leaves rustling beside me. I peered out of the corner of my eye. It was just a fox squirrel digging for acorns. I sat quietly for another ten minutes contemplating this beautiful, peaceful ridgeline as the squirrel bustled near my feet. I wondered why this particular place, nearly within sight of my home, took the life of my boyhood war hero, a man who survived so many other near-death experiences.

Fewer than 1% of the 16.1 million Americans who served during World War II are still with us. They would all be in their 90s or older. They are passing at the rate of 130 per day. As the WW II and Korean War vets slowly faded over the years, I was indifferent about Veterans Day even though it was in honor of all who served in the military, not just the WW II and Korean War vets of my youth. I wasn’t alone in my apathy. For 20 years following the Vietnam War, Americans were fatigued with all things military. It was 25 years after I departed the Army before I heard the words: “Thank you for your service.”

Times are different now compared to that fraught, post-Vietnam War period. There is a greater appreciation of what our veterans and their families have done for all Americans and the sacrifices they made in the process. Most folks know intuitively that there would be no life, liberty, or pursuit of happiness without them. Veterans and our active soldiers, sailors, and marines, who will all be veterans one day, have protected our rights as Americans and made the dreams of our Forefathers possible.

Lest we forget, seeing veterans actively participating in community events is helpful. Audie Murphy’s war movies were very influential back then, but Murphy is not with us anymore, and his cohorts are quickly fading away. It’s time for Vietnam veterans and the young Iraq and Afghanistan vets to be visible and remind folks that our military families are ever vigilant on behalf of all of us.

After all these years, I began wearing a Veterans cap.

For more war stories, go HERE.