My friend Mert sat at his usual place, drinking coffee, the inevitable Marlboro hanging from his mouth.

A man around Mert's age walked into the store wearing hunting clothes, and Mert immediately noticed his cap, a baseball cap that read "World War II Veteran."

Mert caught his eye and waved.

"You at Normandy?"

The gentleman replied that no, he was in the Pacific, where he saw all of one town through his whole service in five different areas.

They spoke for a moment of the things veterans do, then parted ways. I could not help but envy both of them for a moment, despite the horrors Mert saw in Europe, and those the other man saw on unpronounceable islands in the Pacific.

They had a shared experience, one that swept through an entire generation and reshaped the world; both men served their country in a time where there was never any doubt about the objective, the need for their service, or what was asked of them.

They didn't have talking heads on television questioning if the war was right, or politically motivated, or handled well or poorly. They didn't have to wonder if the people back home supported their efforts or not.

Their country called, and they answered, like so many young folks do now. Unlike today's veterans, though, these men could be assured everyone at home believed in what they were doing and why. No one was trying to drag down their commander-in-chief, and in turn, them.

It is a tragedy that the politicians and the generals get remembered when a war is finally over. The most important jobs are filled by those most often forgotten-the folks who carry the rifles, steer the ships, and fly the airplanes. The ones who feed the soldiers and clothe the sailors and make sure the fliers have what they need to make the aircraft fly.

Those are the folks whose names are often forgotten, even if we honor them en masse.

Oh, we have memorials and things that feature the names of the dead. But what of the living veterans, the ones who were first honored on Armistice Day, what we now call Veteran's Day?

That first celebration was held the year after they returned from what was supposed to be the War to End All Wars, a catfight that eventually lost its grand title and became simply known instead as World War I.

Most of those first veterans, men like my grandfather and my friend Mr. Jimmy, are gone now. Their sons, the ones who benefited from the lessons learned in World War I, were called up when Japan was no longer our ally but the Germans were still the enemy. They fought again a few years later, in a confusing war called Korea.

Those are the veterans who are now dying off in such alarming numbers. With each loss is we are short another quiet hero, one who did what his country needed, then came home, adjusted, and started over again. For each one that a tape-recorded version of "Taps" is played at the graveside (there are so few buglers anymore the music is often taped) we lose another irreplaceable thread in the fabric of our nation.

The service of those in Korea is also forgotten almost as quickly as the war itself, the first for our nation in a new world order, called the Cold War.

Of course, America won the Cold War, too.

Although the politicians fought the big battles in that one, in the United Nations and the negotiating tables, our veterans really won it in places like Korea and Vietnam and even in the Atlantic Ocean near Cuba. They showed the Communists that picking a fight with America wasn't worth the risk. Even when there was no definite outcome, America still won in the end.

The evil Empire blinked when stared at by our warriors, then crumbled. Today, for the first time in half a century, a generation of children has grown up without nightmares of nuclear war.

Because our warriors were there and ready.

Even though we can't always remember their proper names, the soldiers, airmen and sailors, had their nicknames, no matter what the war. They were Doughboys, GIs, Leathernecks, Dogfaces, Grunts, and Swabbies.

Regardless of the nicknames, regardless of their jobs, they were all warriors.

Although more and more of our veterans pass away all the time, we are breeding a new line of warriors, too, others who will share an accord some day when they return from new lands with strange names. America's warriors have always inspired more warriors, and it takes a special person to be willing to sacrifice everything not just for their family, but for millions of people they've never met, some of who might not even be grateful.

Everyday we lose more of those whose spirit was the mortar to the bricks our Founding Fathers used to build this nation. Thankfully, that spirit still shows in the children of those Grunts who fought in Korea and Vietnam, those modern day soldiers and sailors and airmen and Marines who are also the grandchildren of those WWII Dogfaces, and the great-grandchildren of WWI Doughboys.

Thursday, Nov. 11, is Veteran's Day. It's more than little flags placed on the graves of our fallen, more than a day off for some folks and an inconvenience for some headed to the Post Office or the bank.

It is a day set aside to honor and remember those who put down the wrench, the fountain pen, the shovel or the schoolbook and went off to defend their country and your way of life.

It is a day when we need to honor their service, courage, and sacrifice.

More than that, Veteran's Day is their day, the day for all those warriors, who-no matter when or where their service took place-are of one accord.

They have a bond many of us cannot share-not only have they loved their country, but they were willing to put their lives on the line so we could stay the land of the free-and especially, the home of the brave.

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