(read part 1 here)
Once you walk past the main entrance and the walls memorializing those Missing In Action in Holland in WWII, walk around the memorial tower into the cemetery proper.
A tall hedgerow and gorgeous gardens of roses border the graves.
I walked around the right-hand half of the cemetery for some time, looking for Uncle Mike's grave. The office and visitor center at the front of the cemetery was closed when I walked up. I assumed that was because it was Sunday, but it turned out he was just closed for lunch. There's a big reference book of names and plot numbers that make it easier to track down a loved one, even though my walk was enjoyable.
Along the way, I came across the graves of two of the six Medal of Honor recipients buried here:
PFC Willy F. James, Jr. was one of seven African-American soldiers belatedly awarded the Medal of Honor by President Bill Clinton in 1997.
PVT George J. Peters of the 507th PIR (part of the 17th Airborne Division) was mortally wounded when he single-handedly destroyed a German machine gun emplacement that was attacking his platoon in Operation Varsity, near the end of the war.
Soon after, I found Uncle Mike:
Uncle Mike was the oldest of seven children, six boys and one girl. My dad was #6 in line. (Daddy served in the USAF during the Korean War.) Rightfully so, I grew up hearing all sorts of stories about Uncle Mike, from how he was good at roller hockey to how he broke his ankle in parachute school (excluding him from joining the Airborne), to becoming a Ranger, to his heroics in the Ardennes. I wish I could have known him.
At the back of the cemetery is a flagpole flying the US flag. I walked back that way, then headed back to the entrance. The Netherlands American Cemetery isn't as well-known as the ones in Belgium or Normandy, but it's still a proud and sacred place.
Once you walk past the main entrance and the walls memorializing those Missing In Action in Holland in WWII, walk around the memorial tower into the cemetery proper.
A tall hedgerow and gorgeous gardens of roses border the graves.
I walked around the right-hand half of the cemetery for some time, looking for Uncle Mike's grave. The office and visitor center at the front of the cemetery was closed when I walked up. I assumed that was because it was Sunday, but it turned out he was just closed for lunch. There's a big reference book of names and plot numbers that make it easier to track down a loved one, even though my walk was enjoyable.
Along the way, I came across the graves of two of the six Medal of Honor recipients buried here:
PFC Willy F. James, Jr. was one of seven African-American soldiers belatedly awarded the Medal of Honor by President Bill Clinton in 1997.
PVT George J. Peters of the 507th PIR (part of the 17th Airborne Division) was mortally wounded when he single-handedly destroyed a German machine gun emplacement that was attacking his platoon in Operation Varsity, near the end of the war.
Soon after, I found Uncle Mike:
Uncle Mike was the oldest of seven children, six boys and one girl. My dad was #6 in line. (Daddy served in the USAF during the Korean War.) Rightfully so, I grew up hearing all sorts of stories about Uncle Mike, from how he was good at roller hockey to how he broke his ankle in parachute school (excluding him from joining the Airborne), to becoming a Ranger, to his heroics in the Ardennes. I wish I could have known him.
At the back of the cemetery is a flagpole flying the US flag. I walked back that way, then headed back to the entrance. The Netherlands American Cemetery isn't as well-known as the ones in Belgium or Normandy, but it's still a proud and sacred place.
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