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Published: July 14th 2014
At some point, we plan to retire to South Carolina, and we decided to use some vacation time to see some things in middle America that will be a long trip once we reach the east coast.
For some time, I have wanted to visit Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery where my mother's first husband (and my sister's father) is buried. He was a gunner on a B-24 during World War II. Part of the 459th Bombardier Group, they flew out of Giulia, Italy. On April 13, 1943 the plane was shot down near what is now Gorica, Croatia with the loss of the entire crew. During World War II, the Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery became the final resting place for many groups of servicemen whose remains were recovered in such a manner that identification of individuals was not possible, and is now the resting place of Waymon Steakley and his fellow crewmen of the B-24H serial number 41-28675. I have not been able to locate the name they gave the plane. I don't know if my mother ever visited the cemetery.
The national cemetery, like all such institutions, boggles the mind with the seemingly never-ending rows of grave markers,
stretching away as far as the eye can see. Although there are plenty of people who are buried here who died many years after their years of service, there are far too many whose headstone reveal death dates during dates of war, aged in their 20's. A large portion of Plot 79 appears to be empty, but when you start walking there you realize that it has many headstones set flat in the ground rather than standing up, each marking the place of repose for multiple men, mostly World War II aircrews. Nearby is the marker for a Navy flyer who was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously. We took flowers and placed them on the grave, something that probably rarely occurs for this group. They were brave men, who flew and di their duty knowing that about 25% of all aircrews were not going to survive.
While standing there at the headstone, I kept thinking of the old Irish anti-war song which shares a tune with the somewhat later "When Johnny Comes Marching Home":
They're rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They're rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They're rolling out the guns again
But
they never will take my sons again
No they'll never take my sons again
Johnny I'm swearing to ye.
Leaving the cemetery, we headed to the Budweiser Brewery, planning a tour. In what turned out to be an ill-fated decision, we decided to shorten the tour to just the Clydesdales in the interest of saving time in order to get to the Gateway Arch in time for our 1 P.M. ticket to ride the tram to the top. Unfortunately, we chose the one weekend in which the area around the Arch was even more torn up than usual. After an hour and a half driving around and trying to find a way to the parking facility, we gave up and went to an Irish pub for a sandwich and a beer.
This evening, we drove to McCormick and Schmick for seafood and then to the famous and insanely busy Ted Drewes Frozen Custard stand. I would estimate 3-400 cars in the area with people getting custard
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Nalani
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Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery
Fascinating about Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery and your connection to it. I had never heard of it before and had to look it up since both David and I (coming from military families) have a deep respect for those who gave their lives in service. We have made a point of paying our respect to several military cemeteries when traveling.