Seventy-five years ago today, the guns fell silent across Europe with the defeat of Nazi Germany. I have a print of “The Returning Soldier” by the incomparable N.C. Wyeth, which is a fitting tribute to mark the anniversary of Victory in Europe—VE Day—May 8, 1945. This wonderful painting captures in a single frame the emotions of an unforgettable homecoming. The soldier’s mom is in a lingering embrace, and she appears almost to be dreaming. Perhaps she, in fact, wonders if this is too good to be true. The dad waits—he’s probably not the hugging type anyway—but his affection is just as deep. The pride in his son and the relief of having him back from the war brims in his eyes. Little sister and kid brother are rushing to the gate, and the family’s collie completes the welcome. A blue-star banner hangs in the window. Now it can remain a blue star and not become a gold one (the sign that a family’s loved one wouldn’t be coming back).
The only one in the painting whose expression is hidden is the soldier. Perhaps in this Wyeth lets him share the feelings of one American GI who wrote on VE Day, “I should be completely joyous on this occasion. As it is, it comes more as an anticlimax. I remember the many who marched with me, and who also loved life but lost it, and cannot celebrate with us today.”
Peace was hard won and would be hard kept. In the Pacific there were yet more bloody months ahead before the surrender of Japan, but May 8 was a day to celebrate. For us, seventy-five years later, it is still a hard-won day to remember—not simply because of the profound ways that day shaped our world and freedoms, but also because of the living links to the “Greatest Generation” that still remain. Of the 16 million Americans who served in World War II, only 400,000 are still alive today—a number rapidly dwindling by the month.
If you know a veteran from those years, find ways to connect with them and hear their stories. Of all the WWII veterans I have personally known, only one is still living—my neighbor, who will be 95 this summer. Not long ago, he told me of his coming home from the war. VE Day was more of a respite from two years of combat in Europe, for he was immediately sent to the States to prepare to join the war in the Pacific. In August 1945, however, the atomic bombs and the Japanese surrender allowed him to go home at last. He hitchhiked from Oklahoma to South Carolina and had no way to make a call or send a telegram to his parents. So, when he reached Greer, South Carolina, he just walked down his old street and up to his house and knocked on the door. His mother opened it, and (like the mom in Wyeth’s painting) fell into his arms—only she wept with a sudden joy akin to shock. Between her tears she said, “I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know when.” Her soldier, her son, was home!