The Greatest Generation

As the artist-in-residence at the Women in Military Service For America Memorial/ Arlington National Cemetery, work continues creating a visual history of the greatest generation. The image of the six black women was taken from a photo of this happy display of companionship among some of the 6888th ("six, triple eight") Battalion -the postal unit assigned to France to sort and dispense mail for the US troops. Gladys Anderson, third from the right, the last survivor on the six, died in 2008. What caught my eye while looking with the curator of the women's memorial, was the expressions on these six faces. It was all about camaraderie. Below is an explanation of how this started.



CHASING HEROES: A visual tribute

By Chris Demarest

Chapter One: A picture worth a thousand words


In an old black and white photograph a young man in his khaki shirt and trousers stands on the wheel of a WW II fighter plane leaning against the wing, staring off into the distance. His body language says "cocky". The shot is staged but I'm transfixed by it.

The young pilot is Griffin Holland, now eighty-eight years old and living in Chevy Chase, Maryland. That photo hangs on the wall of his son's house, part of an homage to his father's service in World War II. When I ask Bryan about the photo, his eyes light up as he removes it from the wall.

"My dad flew the P-47 Thunderbolt," he says. "Unfortunately.", he adds. "By the time he shipped to Burma, the war was winding down and most of the Japanese planes had been destroyed or moved to other combat areas. All he did was fly around and shoot at things on the ground." It was an oversimplification to which he quickly added how his father also served in the Korean War moving onto jet fighter planes. "He would love to talk to you," Bryan added after the many questions I was peppering him with. I was fascinated by Griffin's experiences and was already thinking about getting a chance to talk to him one and finding out more first-hand.

Bryan and his family were new acquaintances of mine. With each visit, I made a point of wandering into the den to look at that photo. There were other artifacts from his father's military service in that room. Medals and ribbons neatly framed under glass hung on another wall, a Zippo lighter emblazoned with the squadron's insignia sat on the fireplace mantel. A photograph of Griff from Korea hung nearby. But it was that shot of a cocky fighter jock that intrigued me.

Eventually I met "Griff" and his wife, Mabel, both spry and youthful octogenarians , easily passing for a decade less than their ages. With little hesitation Bryan introduced me to his father asking him to recount some of his time as a pilot in the second world war. Cocktail in one hand, reaching out to shake mine, I felt a strong grip, later thinking that hand had history steering his P-47 through the war.

My father had also been a pilot in the war, in Burma, but his were noncombat missions in the cargo plane, the C-47. He did fly the infamous "Hump" - the route over the Himalayan mountains into China, far from a cake walk. But unlike my father, Griff was more open about his experiences. Though he may not have had encounters with enemy aircraft, he did fly 91 missions which must have presented more than a few hair-raising episodes. Echoing Bryan's recitation, Griff described his missions the same way: "mostly flying around and shooting at things on the ground." He laughed.

"We were constantly reminded of the dangers when we flew," he said. "Below us was the jungle and the Japanese, neither of which we wanted to face. When we flew strafing missions we were told never to break off our target. Sometimes it meant flying straight into a fussilade of bullets. We weren't thinking about the consequences of being shot down during those runs, but when we did have time to think, we were spooked a few times flying over that canopy of green foliage. It wasn't a friendly place to crash."

"But", he continued. "It was a ball. We lived in tents near streams, had hot meals cooked for us and slept in warm beds." Somewhat guiltily he adds that he never experienced what the soldiers faced slogging through the hot, steamy jungles, no fresh food for days.

Griff's cockiness was diminished from the young pilot in the sixty-nine year old photo, but there was still a swagger and sense of humor which I've since seen in many veterans of his generation. He never bragged of his accomplishments. He talked openly about his experiences and answered all my questions that evening. I don't know if it was because he was reaching the end of his life or that it was simply who he was. I did sense that he appreciated having an opportunity to reflect on a time in his life that had great meaning and impact, possibly having the most meaning to his life. It also made me rethink my father's legacy and what the war had meant to him. He had died in 1989 and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, that being his proudest and last wish fulfilled. I was also feeling a connection to my youth, born only a few years after the second world war ended. My friends and I played "war" in each others backyards, commandeering a few relics from our dads' service: sailor's cap, backpacks and canteens all suffering the mustiness of attic and basement storage. In some ways, I was coming full circle back to a time when talk of World War II was still alive via movies and television shows I grew up watching.

After that evening with Grif I knew what I had to do. I needed to paint that photo of young Second Lieutenant Griff Holland. I immediately called Bryan and asked his permission. He was surprised but giving me the okay, added that he'd also buy it as his father's birthday was only two months away.

In three days, the painting was completed. I posted the image on my Facebook page. The reaction from friends was immediate and thought-provoking. It suddenly occurred to me, the "greatest generation" a term Tom Brokaw coined for his book about the WW II generation, was fading fast and why not pay a visual tribute to them? Immediately I put out the call for photos from friends of their parents in service and within the first week, several jpgs filled my mailbox.