From the editor: All for one

Over the weekend Babe Heffron died.

No big deal, really. Heffron was 90 years old—the range in which time claims so many people. The shadow moves, as poet Rolf Humphries wrote.

Of course, late in life Heffron had advanced from the position of regular old World War Two veteran to something special. He served in the company featured in the HBO mini-series “Band of Brothers.” Following on the heels of “When Trumpets Fade” and “Saving Private Ryan,” it was one of the productions responsible for imposing realism on our normally whitewashed image of combat.

Yeah, I would argue there were earlier stabs at this, including “Hamburger Hill” and the 1950s version of “Red Badge of Courage”—but no matter. Realistic war films, whatever the era, seemed to have been scorned by the Hollywood academy until recent times. A few programs offered up in the 1990s and early 2000s suddenly awakened American youths to the exploits of those old folks they referred to as “grandpa.”

The men depicted in “Band of Brothers” weathered things us non-combatants could never imagine. And the people of Bastogne, Belgium, in particular remain grateful. Sitting at a café in the town square one afternoon, I noticed a dessert liqueur on the menu labeled “Nuts”—a nod to the famous response of Gen. Anthony McAuliffe to the German demand of surrender.

But as Americans, we have a habit of succumbing to packaged history. As a result of the HBO series, Heffron and his comrades justifiably became American heroes decades later. Yet hundreds of thousands of men battled nearby, under conditions just as treacherous.

When HBO introduced their series “The Pacific,” it likewise focused attention on a handful of veterans. Robert Leckie’s brilliant “Helmet for my Pillow” and Eugene Sledge’s “With the Old Breed” were prime sources. But the television writers ignored other first hand accounts. After Leckie was wounded on Pelieliu, the sergeant he referred to as “The Artist” died from friendly fire. Others suffered under extreme conditions on the Bloody Ridges. You can read about it all in Russell Davis’ fine memoir, “Marine at War.”

In reading “RIP” notices on Facebook in honor of Heffron, however, I realized that for many familiar with World War Two only from television and film, this man and his buddies from “Band of Brothers” had come to represent the whole of this nation’s experience. He is—and rightly so—considered a hero. Yet many another served on untelevised fields. He is—and rightly so—seen as a representative of that generation that fought and returned home to build families, as well as a nation. Yet others fell into the same role. And, mind you, few did so easily.

The problems combat veterans faced readjusting to civilian life would fall into another genre, more psychological and traumatic than heroic. In fact, film noir was invented to mimic the disassociation and suppressed urges of this transition. Some men struggled on their return. Others directed anger at those who prospered at home while they endured misery in combat. Many folded back into society, squelching any memories while donning the iconic grey flannel suit.

Their children rebelled in the 60s and 70s. In the 90s and 2000s, their grandchildren were drawn back into the original fray, through images on screens big and small. All the trauma of combat, all the get-the-job-done heroism, all the homecomings, the millions of individual stories apparently lost in a forward looking culture flooded back into our collective memories and settled upon the men and women depicted in a few films and televised dramas.

Men like Babe Heffron are heroes. Hopefully, those on Facebook offering condolences realize he wasn’t the only one.