Brave soldiers deserve honor for sacrifices.

Byline: Bob Welch The Register-Guard

A month ago, I had the honor of eulogizing Dr. John Bonzer, a longtime Eugene physician who died April 20. He was 88.

Dr. Bonzer helped patch hundreds of wounded soldiers during World War II. I got to know him because of a book I'd written about a woman in his platoon who was the first nurse to die after the landings at Normandy.

In all the interviews I did with Bonzer, the words that haunt me on this Memorial weekend, when we honor those who've died in military service for their country, are these:

"They were all so young." And then he stopped talking because he started to choke up - 60 years after the fact.

It is such people we're called to honor tomorrow. Perhaps in a moment of silence. A memory. A prayer. A bouquet of flowers on a grave. A flag out front. A phone call to a soldier we've never thanked.

But, I admit, having been immersed in war research for the last six years - I'm finishing work on a second WWII-related book - I arrive at Memorial Day 2007 torn:

More awed and appreciative of the sacrifices soldiers have made. And more skeptical and suspicious of those who send them to war.

More amazed at what soldiers have endured for those of us who didn't have to fight. And more appalled at the whole idea of fighting as a means of resolution.

More fascinated by ordinary people who take on extraordinary responsibilities. And more frustrated by policymakers who talk the talk of freedom and dignity and honor, vote to add $95 billion to war efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan, but then aren't around when the Humvee explodes or the body bags are stacked or the doorbell rings at the new widow's house back home.

War correspondent Chris Hedges, in "War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning," argues that war "gives us resolve, a cause. It allows us to be noble."

But I've learned this from the doctors and nurses and soldiers I've interviewed: It's not as neat and clean and noble as Washington would have us believe.

War is Don Malarkey, an Astoria kid and 1948 UO graduate, marking "KIA" or "SWA" on the guys in his Easy Company photo who had been killed, or seriously wounded, in action during WWII; of 117, fewer than two dozen were unmarked.

It's Malarkey's uncle, Robert, who played football at Oregon in 1915-16, returning from France, having been gassed by the Germans in World War I. And spending six years in veterans' hospitals before dying, his lungs like burnt toast.

It's a young woman recently sending me a thank you for a book I'd sent her, and including a photo of her brother. "My hero, my brother Jon," it says on the back. "Killed in Iraq. 1-26-05."

We so desperately search for meaning in the deaths of those who die in war - and I understand why. Who would want to believe that their son or daughter or brother died in vain?

"Today, the tired, battle-scarred, pain-racked body of Robert Malarkey is laid to rest amid the peaceful dunes of Ocean View," wrote The Evening Astorian Budget in 1926. "There is grief and sorrow there, but there is pride and joy, too, and there is victory and triumph and glory."

And yet here we are, 81 years later, going through the same "triumph and glory." The Iraq War has cost the equivalent of Springfield's population - 60,000 people.

I think of the small flags turning the green lawns of UO white and red last winter, each representing those dead from the war in Iraq. It was a reminder - just like Memorial Day - that war asks a huge price.

And the politicians - those who press the "yes" button to prolong the war - don't pay it.

I can't help but think the policymakers would be less willing to keep backing this madness if, like Dr. Bonzer, they had spent a year up to their elbows in young men's intestines.

All of them so young.

Bob Welch can be reached at 338-2354 or at [e-mail].