Fort Report: Our Veterans

I often pass through Chicago’s airport on my way from Nebraska to Washington. Along one of the terminals hangs a picture of a striking young man in an aviator jacket. The crowds rush by without much notice. A little while back I paused to read about the man’s life. I realized that he was Edward “Butch” O’Hare, a World War II flying ace—the person after which Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport is named.

Butch O’Hare’s story improbably begins with Al Capone, the famous gangster from Chicago. Butch O’Hare’s father, E.J., was a sleazy and conniving lawyer for Al Capone. He made a name for himself by negotiating a widow out of a patent on the mechanical rabbit machine that was once used at dog tracks. This caught Al Capone’s attention, and the gangster recruited Butch’s father to become a “counselor and business manager” for the criminal enterprise.

But something changed. E.J. realized he was not providing a worthy example for his children, particularly his son Butch. For the sake of his son, he made a decision to turn Al Capone in to the authorities. The mob does not easily forget, and later E.J. was gunned down.

Even though he had aided a murderous and corrupt organization, he stopped, made a pivotal choice, and embraced that which is good. This decision helped create the conditions for his son to attend the U.S. Naval Academy. Butch O’Hare graduated and went on to fly combat missions in World War II. During one pitched battle at sea, O’Hare and his wingman were protecting the USS Lexington in Wildcat fighters. On the horizon, appearing in V formation, were eight Japanese Betty bombers with tail guns that could prove deadly in aerial fights.

Despite the lopsided numbers and the grim reality that he and his wingman were the only American planes in the proper position, O’Hare made the decision to engage the bombers. He opened fire with his wingman, but his wingman’s gun jammed.

In a moment of pure heroic will, O’Hare pressed forward alone and unaided toward the enemy Bettys. He executed a daring maneuver, allowing the lead bombers to pass him and opening fire on those in the rear. In four minutes, under intense fire, he shot down five of the bombers, protecting the USS Lexington and the service members aboard. For this brave and selfless action he was awarded the Medal of Honor. As the medal citation reads: “…one of the most daring, if not the most daring, single action in the history of combat aviation.”

So here is the story of three men. A gangster who robbed and killed. His lawyer who turned from greed to good. And the lawyer's son who turned from good to great.

Choosing well, choosing honorably for the good—this is the continuous high calling in each of our lives. The veterans around us have made this choice. And their choice, the choice to be willing to personally sacrifice, has made them great.

Today, we honor our veterans for their sacrifice. Their bravery has afforded us the liberty and security we now enjoy. That a person would dedicate his life for his friends—for another—is the noblest of human ideals. That we would unite in gratitude to reflect on the heroism of our veterans is one of the greatest human expressions. That we would gather in so many ceremonies across the country is a reflection of our common bonds, our narrative as a people, and our notion of our nation.

Some veterans saw battle. Some veterans had friends who did not come home. Some veterans held a wounded brother as they died, watching helplessly as war consumed another innocent life. Countless other veterans simply performed their duty, with no questions asked or demands made. They cooked, cleaned, and computed. They repaired, drove, and maintained the effort. They returned to civilian life and perhaps never mentioned the details of their military service, except to say: “I did what was expected. I did my duty.”

Thank you veterans.