By Gerard J. St. John

            John J. Pershing, commanding general of American Expeditionary Forces in World War I, viewed a national draft as essential to raising a modern army.  He pointed to the problems posed by volunteer service in the Civil War, and similar problems experienced by the British in the early years of World War I.  In 1917, when Congress passed the Draft Act, Pershing called it, “A triumph of democratic government.”  When I received a notice requiring me to report to my local draft board (in 1958), I had no illusions of triumph.  The draft was a fact of life.  It applied to everyone.  That changed during the war in Vietnam.  In 1973, the “universal” draft disappeared (except for an administrative requirement of “registering” for a draft).

              In August 2002, the draft was the farthest thing from my mind.  Catherine and I were vacationing in Boulder, Colorado, home of the University of Colorado, and a thriving community of small restaurants and lively places of entertainment.  After dinner, we walked along Pearl Street when I noticed a group of young men and women off to our left.  They appeared to be a year or two older than the college students.  As we neared them, one young man stepped to the side and walked directly toward us.  He stopped in front of me and said, “Pardon me, sir.  Are you a veteran?”  When I answered in the affirmative, he replied, “Thank you for your service.”  It was the first time I heard that comment.   I was at a loss for words.

            Today, if you give any inkling of having spent time in the military, someone is sure to say, “Thank you for your service.”  Last year, my brother Jack was experiencing the onset of dementia.  When he visited a local supermarket, he wore a baseball cap that had a decal of the aircraft carrier USS Forrestal.  Several shoppers came up to him and said, “Thank you for your service.”  Jack liked the attention.  On leaving the supermarket, he stopped, looked back at his own image in the plate glass window, saluted his reflection, and said, “Thank you for your service.”  It is funny and sad at the same time.

            It is one more example of how the meaning of words and phrases change with the passage of time, regardless of whether we concur in, or are even aware of the change.  It reminds me of Judge Raymond Pace Alexander, the dean of Afro-American lawyers and judges in Philadelphia, and how he could not bring himself to use the word, “Black,” to describe members of his race.  In his era, that was an insult; but times changed – and Black became an acceptable term, regardless of Judge Alexander’s aversion to it.

            In my era, military service was considered by some to be an obligation, by others an honor, but to none was it undertaken with the expectation of gratitude.  In my case, the Marine Corps offered the challenge of officers boot camp, leadership of hundreds of Marines, responsibility for loading more than one thousand Marines and their equipment into attack ships, and the opportunity to visit Southern California, Pickel Meadow, Okinawa, Guam, the Philippines, Japan and Hong Kong.  It was an offer I could not refuse.  Why should anyone thank me for complying with the law?

            The fact of the matter is that the words of these present-day well-wishers embody no element of gratitude.  They are merely mouthing a litany that is socially acceptable but devoid of any real meaning – like when we say, “God bless you,” after someone sneezes.  Once I realized the cultural insignificance of this phrase, I was no longer at a loss for words.  I smile, nod politely, and say, “Deo Gratias” (Thanks be to God).  Let them figure it out.