Page 4 of 4

April Nineteenth (Part II)

by Marshall Jamison

Our father, as we grew older, included us in the group of his college students who shared, each year on April Nineteenth, a bus ride from Faneuil Hall in downtown Boston to Lexington and Concord where the day was spent with such as Thoreau, Revere, Alcott and Emerson (to drop a name or two.)

The Green at Lexington is the natural first stop on the trail to the magic wrought by those glorious historic fellows. While now surrounded by the traffic of busy city streets, the Green itself retains the atmospheric mystery of the brave Minute Men who stood their ground and fought for the freedom some of them would die for.

But it is “by the rude bridge that arched the flood” in old Concord Town that the spirit of our land and its indomitable founders is most evident. To two awestruck lads, the legend of heroism eulogized by Ralph Waldo Emerson in his epoch verse was unforgettable. It greets the visitor on the path that leads to and over the bridge to the simple heroic statue of the rugged Minute Man. There the bravery and resolution of the “embattled farmers” of the poem are illustrated with artistic integrity and simple dignity.

Now the Concord River flows peacefully through on green fields and quiet farms which epitomize rural America. May it flow thus always.

To those of us who have had the unearned glorious privilege of growing up in this country and calling it our own, the Nineteenth of April is a day of incredible historic significance. But now the celebration of its glory is deeply scarred for all of us by the unforgivable sin of the Oklahoma Massacre.

We pray the future will bring peace and deep solace to our countrymen who have suffered pain, loss and death. May their forefather’s courage serve as a guiding example for their lives.

Too Late for Thanks: A Partial Recall (Part I)

by Marshall Jamison

As a small boy growing up in historic Cambridge, Massachusetts, my first hero was the old man who lived next door and told me stories. On clear days he would be out early in the morning to watch his son run up the flag on the tall flag pole that stood in his blossom filled garden. His own experiences, real life stories of the Civil War, describing the heroism and glory of his comrades, found me a fascinated listener.

Then when I realized my own grandfather had served in that war as a Marine, could also tell true stories that thrilled my heart and mind, I become a hopeless hero worshiper, stirred by such tales of Valor.

Continue reading → Too Late for Thanks: A Partial Recall (Part I)