Memorial

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This short story of Pfc Beste was sent in by his nephew, Mr. Joe Burlager: In 1940, the Selective Training and Service Act was put in place, requiring men between the ages of 21 and 45 to register for the draft. This was the first peacetime draft in United States history. Then in 1942, the minimum age was lowered to 18. Born in 1923, Clem was my grandparent’s first born, and was the right age to be drafted into the army just one year out of high school. My grandfather told him that he was needed on the farm and that he should claim a hardship case that would allow him to avoid the draft. But Clem said “no, I will just do my time over there and be back on the farm before you know it”. Clem paid the ultimate price for our freedom, and lost his life December 18th, 1944, two days after the Battle of the Bulge began. The battle was the last major German offensive and caught the allied forces completely off guard causing the American forces to endure the worst casualty count of any operation during the war. Of course, this happened long before I was born. I am not sure why, maybe because it saddened them so much, but my grandparents gave the flag that once draped over their eldest son’s coffin to my parents. Although it only had 48 stars, it was way better made than any flag I have ever seen today. Dad made an awesome flag pole from an old metal sign post and a long section of galvanized pipe. When put together, the whole thing was just as tall as our two-story house. He also taught us to treat that flag with the greatest respect. We learned how to properly fold it after we took it down, and never let it touch the ground. This symbol of American pride and sacrifice was not to be taken lightly. Fast forward to the summer of 2016, while on a European vacation I had an opportunity to visit Uncle Clem’s grave site, located in the American War Cemetery in Margraten, Netherlands. I emailed the cemetery before going there so they were expecting me when I got there. The place was absolutely stunning, set in the rolling hills of the Netherlands countryside. Once there they treated me so wonderfully. After I checked in, they escorted me out to the grave site, put a small American flag next to the tombstone, and asked if I would like my picture taken. They gave me some paper and graphite to make a rubbing of the inscription on the stone as a personal souvenir. To show their thanks, the local people adopt grave sites to make sure they are all well maintained. For me, the whole experience was both sad and awesome at the same time.