The Brother I Never Met

By David R. Swarts



Dreams DO come true. 

 

After my mother gave me my brother's Purple Heart for giving his life on April 12, 1945, on the island of Okinawa, I had always dreamed of going to Oahu to "see" my brother--at least to see where he was buried.

 

I had always shed a few tears about his death.  After all, my mother was two months pregnant with me when she learned of his death.

 

Finally, on the 29th day of July in 2008, the day arrived when my wife, Donna, and I had the opportunity to make my dream come true.  We had spent twelve hours on a plane and about 20 minutes in a cab to reach the Punchbowl Cemetery.

 

The cab driver was from Viet Nam and was making a living at driving taxi cabs.  Since I had been in the U.S. Army during the Viet Nam Conflict, I thought about the irony of the venture.  He drove us to the top of the hill and dropped us off.  We knew where my brother was buried, having done extensive research before our trip.  (This trip was a vacation, but, in reality, it was something we had dreamed about for many years.)  This was it!

 

The flag was at half-mast.  Later we learned that there were many internments. today.  After, the flag was again raised.  About ten rows up from the office building, Donna found the grave of Walter James Swarts.  It was located between someone from New Jersey and another from Arkansas. If my brother had lived, he would have been almost 84 years old now.  Instead, at the age of 20, he gave his life so others could keep theirs.

 

Shortly after our arrival, the Honor Guard from Hickam Air Force Base arrived.  They were rehearsing for their contribution to honoring two more veterans.

 

There was a slight rain.  None of the rain we encountered in Hawaii was long-lasting.  The Hawaiians consider the rain a blessing--especially this hot, dry summer.  If we looked overhead, we saw beautiful blue sky and white clouds and wondered how it could ever rain.  It was, sure enough, a blessing.

 

It was peaceful.  Quiet.  Comfortable.  Serene.  Sort of what I had imagined.  The birds made it even more peaceful.  It seemed as if they were purposely making it that way.  An employee at the cemetery told me they were red cardinals (including baby ones), doves, pounders, and bobos.  They appeared to make the punchbowl even more charming than I could have imagined.  It was a mixture of joy and sympathy.

 

"Jimmie" had been buried in Okinawa after his death and remained there until February 24, 1949, when he was reburied in Oahu.  My other brother, Daniel, was stationed in Hawaii at the time and saw the burial.  I know he was as "weepy" as I was.  I found out what unit he belonged to and thought about the future research I would perform finding information about his tank battalion.  It was hard to believe that 49,078--now 49,080 people were interred here.  Now filled to capacity as far as ground space, others were being cremated.  Later in our trip we saw the area where ashes could be scattered.  I was overwhelmed, as you can imagine.

 

The personnel in the office were pleasant.  They researched records and, knowing we were going to be in the punchbowl for some time, had Jimmie's stone cleaned.  They actually took his stone out of the ground, transported it to some "cleaning place," and returned, in fantastic condition--not that it was in horrible condition to begin with.  They quickly blew the grass and leaves from around the area and installed a small flag, which blew in the breeze that continuously blew all the time we were there.

 

I didn't cry as much as I thought I would.  Maybe I got that out of the way before we got here.  I know I'll cry again about the loss of my brother, but it will be much more comforting now.  What a peaceful place for him to rest!

 

I videotaped our adventure--60 minutes of it.

 

We were amazed at the grass; it was like carpeting that was four inches thick.  The grassy areas, as well as the paved areas, were in super condition.  Workers all over were being extra particular about their jobs.  It was almost like they knew these people who had sacrificed their lives so that they could live free.

 

We found a map of Okinawa near the memorial and the chapel.  I thought of my trip over--and anguished over the half-day spent in the air and compared it to the same trip my brother took, probably about 64 years ago, for a much different purpose.  How could he leave a small, rural, Pennsylvania home where there was a loving family, and come to this beautiful area to fight for his life and for the lives of millions of others?  What was I complaining about?

 

Was he scared to be in a tank in the middle of the Pacific fighting people he didn't know or understand?  I bet.  But, as Donna said, he had learned this was his mission.  I learned the same kind of mission during my stint in the Army.  I was scared to death in basic training.

 

I came home from basic training--the same home Jimmie would have come to--at Christmas time.  My dad took me to the bus to make the trip to Fort Knox, Kentucky, to continue my armor training and perhaps to head to Viet Nam.  Nobody knew.  And, yes, I was scared to death.  I asked my dad on the way to the bus why mom didn't come with us to see me off, like she always did, and he said, "You're heading on the same route as your brother Jimmie."  I hadn't realized how stressful this had been for her.  Six of her seven sons had served in the military.



On the lookout, I rediscovered how much it was to be "free to be."  To travel freely.  To enjoy good company and good food.  To have a lovely and loving family.  And, I even thought how "lucky" my mother might have felt to learn, upon my brother's death, that seven months later I would be born.

 

We walked around the entire cemetery.  The views of Honolulu were awesome.  We picked out the spot in Waikiki where we were staying.  We saw the beautiful beaches and looked, in awe, at Diamond Head.  Although we hadn't been to Pearl Harbor yet, I was reminded, over and over again, what these fallen comrades had given for me--and countless others--to enjoy.  I also thought about the thousands of the "living" military members who STILL are fighting so that we can live in freedom.

 

As we approached the end of our self-guided tour, I heard a helicopter overhead.  It sounded like the type you'd hear on a story about Viet Nam.  It confused me.  It completely mixed my emotions.  I imagined one of my fellow Army buddies being shot upon--or killed--in a helicopter and, at the same time, realized how much someone was experiencing the time of their life flying over beautiful Oahu.  They were "free to see."  Partially because of my brother.

 

I went back to the office.  On the way back, a Volkswagen bus made its way up the hill.  It was a newer VW bus, but it reminded me of the hippies--yes, I'm a boomer.  But during the 60's, there were also a lot of my classmates that gave up college and careers, so that the rest of us could drive Volkswagens and set records for how many people we could cram in them.

 

We were given two big sheets of tracing paper and two pencils to stencil my brother's headstone.  Although modern technology captured his stone and many other memorable spots on film and disk, there appeared to be a personal touch of creating another stone with paper and pencil.

 

I didn't want to leave.  I said "goodbye" and "thank you" a dozen times.  I looked at his flag gently blowing in the gentle breeze, and it appeared to wave at me--at times to even "salute" at me.  I finally realized we knew each other.  And he appreciated my trip to "see" him and honor him.  My dream had been completed--almost.

 

We walked down the crater to a bus stop.  We met a couple from Philadelphia there and, while talking to them, an employee from the cemetery brought me two beautiful, colored pictures of my brother's stone.

 

I knew there were a few people who realized what this trip meant to me.  But they weren't in my shoes, exactly.  I never knew this guy.  I never saw him.  I loved him as if I had.  And, I always knew he was my hero.  And I'm sure that many of the hundreds of thousands in Honolulu realized what sacrifices were made here and in many other locations throughout the Pacific--and for that matter, around the world.

 

I know my two daughters will realize, too, how free they are because their uncle gave his life so that they could have a life.  Free to be.  Free to see.  Dreams DO come true.