Palm Beach Post staff writer
Monday is Memorial Day. We honor heroes, whether they died in glorious battle or in a sad accident. They are heroes, not because they died but because they knew they could die, and went anyway.
But there’s a special sadness in people dying in near anonymity.
The stories of the 14 had been small for two reasons. First, the government had directed America’s press to play down bad stories. It was hard enough to keep morale high in South Florida, where people could stand on the beach and watch black smoke from dozens of freighters sunk by U-Boats
And, well, this crash wasn’t that big a deal. By the dozens, brave boys —and, yes, girls — were dying every day.
But of course, it was a big deal. It is a big deal.
The 14, whose deaths a reporter would stumble across seven decades later, were fathers and brothers and sons. Their faces beamed with hope and pride, in their neatly pressed dress uniforms, black and white studio portraits tinted with pastel hues. They dreamed the way we all do.
Bert, and Louis, and Doug, and Radamés, and the rest: A grateful nation cannot salute you enough.
You didn’t get the sendoff you deserved then.
You’re getting it now.
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