President Reagan’s 1986 Memorial Day Speech at
Arlington National Cemetery
In honor of those
who lost their lives while serving our country, I would like to
share with you President Ronald Reagan’s 1986 Memorial
Day remarks
at Arlington National
Cemetery:
Today is the day we put aside to remember fallen
heroes and to pray that no heroes will ever have to die for us
again. It’s a day of thanks for the valor of others, a day to
remember the splendor of America and those of her children who rest
in this cemetery and others. It’s a day to be with the family and
remember.
I was thinking this morning that across the
country children and their parents will be going to the town parade
and the young ones will sit on the sidewalks and wave their flags
as the band goes by. Later, maybe, they’ll have a cookout or a day
at the beach. And that’s good, because today is a day to be with
the family and to remember.
Arlington, this place of so many memories, is a
fitting place for some remembering. So many wonderful men and women
rest here, men and women who led colorful, vivid, and passionate
lives. There are the greats of the military: Bull Halsey and the
Admirals Leahy, father and son; Black Jack Pershing; and the GI’s
general, Omar Bradley. Great men all, military men. But there are
others here known for other things.
Here in Arlington rests a sharecropper’s son who
became a hero to a lonely people. Joe Louis came from nowhere, but
he knew how to fight. And he galvanized a nation in the days after
Pearl Harbor when he put on the uniform of his country and said, “I
know we’ll win because we’re on God’s side.” Audie Murphy is here,
Audie Murphy of the wild, wild courage. For what else would you
call it when a man bounds to the top of a disabled tank, stops an
enemy advance, saves lives, and rallies his men, and all of it
single-handedly. When he radioed for artillery support and was
asked how close the enemy was to his position, he said, “Wait a
minute and I’ll let you speak to them.”
[Laughter]
Michael Smith is here, and Dick Scobee, both of
the space shuttle Challenger. Their courage wasn’t wild, but
thoughtful, the mature and measured courage of career professionals
who took prudent risks for great reward—in their case, to advance
the sum total of knowledge in the world. They’re only the latest to
rest here; they join other great explorers with names like Grissom
and Chaffee.
Oliver Wendell Holmes is here, the great jurist
and fighter for the right. A poet searching for an image of true
majesty could not rest until he seized on “Holmes dissenting in a
sordid age.” Young Holmes served in the Civil War. He might have
been thinking of the crosses and stars of Arlington when he wrote:
“At the grave of a hero we end, not with sorrow at the inevitable
loss, but with the contagion of his courage; and with a kind of
desperate joy we go back to the fight.”
All of these men were different, but they shared
this in common: They loved America very much. There was nothing
they wouldn’t do for her. And they loved with the sureness of the
young. It’s hard not to think of the young in a place like this,
for it’s the young who do the fighting and dying when a peace fails
and a war begins. Not far from here is the statue of the three
servicemen—the three fighting boys of Vietnam. It, too, has majesty
and more. Perhaps you’ve seen it—three rough boys walking together,
looking ahead with a steady gaze. There’s something wounded about
them, a kind of resigned toughness. But there’s an unexpected
tenderness, too. At first you don’t really notice, but then you see
it. The three are touching each other, as if they’re supporting
each other, helping each other on.
I know that many veterans of Vietnam will gather
today, some of them perhaps by the wall. And they’re still helping
each other on. They were quite a group, the boys of Vietnam—boys
who fought a terrible and vicious war without enough support from
home, boys who were dodging bullets while we debated the efficacy
of the battle. It was often our poor who fought in that war; it was
the unpampered boys of the working class who picked up the rifles
and went on the march. They learned not to rely on us; they learned
to rely on each other. And they were special in another way: They
chose to be faithful. They chose to reject the fashionable
skepticism of their time. They chose to believe and answer the call
of duty. They had the wild, wild courage of youth. They seized
certainty from the heart of an ambivalent age; they stood for
something.
And we owe them something, those boys. We owe
them first a promise: That just as they did not forget their
missing comrades, neither, ever, will we. And there are other
promises. We must always remember that peace is a fragile thing
that needs constant vigilance. We owe them a promise to look at the
world with a steady gaze and, perhaps, a resigned toughness,
knowing that we have adversaries in the world and challenges and
the only way to meet them and maintain the peace is by staying
strong.
That, of course, is the lesson of this century, a
lesson learned in the Sudetenland, in Poland, in Hungary, in
Czechoslovakia, in Cambodia. If we really care about peace, we must
stay strong. If we really care about peace, we must, through our
strength, demonstrate our unwillingness to accept an ending of the
peace. We must be strong enough to create peace where it does not
exist and strong enough to protect it where it does. That’s the
lesson of this century and, I think, of this day. And that’s all I
wanted to say. The rest of my contribution is to leave this great
place to its peace, a peace it has earned.
Thank all of you, and God bless you, and have a
day full of memories.
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