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Richard Alber Williams
This is Richard A. Williams in the year 2004. November 27th to be
precise. The process of remembering a past mixed of equal parts adversity and
affection has been a gratifying challenge. I spent my...voir plusThis is Richard A. Williams in the year 2004. November 27th to be
precise. The process of remembering a past mixed of equal parts adversity and
affection has been a gratifying challenge. I spent my early, carefree years in
poverty, never realizing how richly I would be blessed. My father, Walter J.
Williams, was a brick mason who gave himself unselfishly to his family. To
him I dedicate this remembrance. He was a man who gave love freely but
rarely received any himself. Fortunately for me, I have had a satisfying life and
the privilege of experiencing extraordinary friends and paramours who taught
me both how to give and receive love.
I need to stress that this narrative is as much about the people who inhabit
my memories as it is about my life. This is a story, one of many, about the people
who lived in my era, in the time of economic depression, of Pearl Harbor, of
the gas chambers, of the “Greatest Generation” coming to grips with civilian
life after the shock of Omaha Beach, the horror of Hiroshima. Despite the
dire times and carnage, or perhaps because of them, I found myself immersed
in a selfless era. People were more thoughtful, more generous. Their sincere
concern for their neighbors, for their friends, seemed to be a given: it was what
you did because you recognized the shoes they were wearing and the mile they
had just walked. Today, vicious self-interest pervades every nook and cranny
of our nation and creates a tragedy of the commons—in the war room, in the
boardroom, and in the bedroom. I want to acknowledge that this is about not
just me, but my compatriots—co-patriots is probably more accurate—in that
era. We did what we had to do, not just for our country, but for each other. It
wasn’t about power or politics, maneuvering or spin, arm twisting or lip service.
It was about reaching out to the person next to you. May God grant the return
of that spirit of patriotism. Soon.
While living in Orlando a neighbor of mine John Stevens asked me about
the war. I related some incidents of action. John said to me you should write a
book about the war. I replied why should I write about the war, I lived it once.
John replied that he thought it might be helpful to young men now entering
combat. So with that thought in mind I proceeded to write about the war. I
didn’t do it for money.voir moins