Hilltowns remember fallen on perfect day
1
2
3
4
GOSHEN - It was one of those days tailor-made for appreciating, with the bluest of skies and the greenest of pastures as far as the eye could see. The hilltowns celebrated Memorial Day Monday, and, while more grandiose productions were going on in other places, there was something purely American about their efforts, a quiet nod to what we have, and who made it possible.
The Goshen parade stepped off at 10:30. World War II Navy vet Dick Durant, 83, of Goshen, was hoping to hitch a ride with someone in the parade; his legs aren't what they used to be. Though he saw action in the Philippines and in Europe, he doesn't like to talk about it. "I just did my part, " he said.
To his rescue came Kim Dresser, deputy chief of the Goshen Fire Department, who was driving its brand-new 35-foot Darley fire truck in the parade.
"It's never been used in a fire - knock on wood," said Dresser. "It was there at the Meadowbrook fire; our people got used, but not the truck." Dresser helped Durant into the cab.
"Fall in!" shouted former Marine Sgt. Bernard Forgea, in full dress, and the Goshen parade kicked off down Route 9.
For Forgea, along with the color guard and firing squad, all from American Legion Post 304 in Cummington, Goshen was the third stop in a five-event day that started with ceremonies in Cummington and Worthington and would end with a ham dinner and parade in Plainfield. Accompanying the Legionnaires every step of the way were Boy Scout Troop 705 and Brownie Troop 506, both of Chesterfield.
Rolling along were two classic cars, a 1927 Model T Roadster driven and owned by Thomas Liimatainen with son Rory, 12, in the passenger seat, and a pale blue 1950 Chevy Deluxe with 45,000 miles on it, owned by Randy Messick. "It sat in a barn since 1963," he said. "We only use it for parades and for ice cream. Handles like a dream."
While dozens of spectators waved flags along the route, some even barked their approval from the curb. Two of Yvonne Gittelson's boarders at her Teacher's Pet Doggy Daycare, a bloodhound and a chocolate Lab, thought the parade couldn't be beat. They were chosen over other dogs who board there because, as she put it, "They are the most friendly and outgoing and I knew they'd be appreciative."
F-18s did a flyover just as the procession reached the cemetery, and everyone went "Ooooh." But veterans agent Joe Roberts said the timing of it was just coincidental, his town reaping the benefits of another's celebration. "They send you a big bill," he said. "Goshen is in no position to pay for that."
Once in the cemetery, veterans were asked to come forward and stand with the color guard. Dick Durant made his way up the incline with his long hickory cane, along with five other vets, but some declined the spotlight. Forgea singled out a man in the crowd: "Tommy, you a vet?"
"Yessir," came the reply.
"Front and center!" Forgea commanded, and the man fell in with the rest.
"This day is sacred with the invisible presence of those who've gone before us," Forgea began, mentioning "fallen comrades, whose resting places may not be known until the sea gives up its dead."
Former selectman Donald Boisvert spoke of certain veterans who put themselves in harm's way again and again, embarking on multiple tours of duty, simply to "defend our liberties." Boisvert then made the abstract palpable, illustrating how the "transfer of government from one administration to another is one of our most cherished freedoms."
At Forgea's command, Brownies and Boy Scouts scurried to leave sprigs of lilac at every grave marked by a flag.
From the dark woods came an unseen bugler playing taps. The Brownies sang "Oh Beautiful," their youthful voices carrying across the knolls and into the trees beyond.
Small but heartfelt
Then it was off to Chesterfield. No tanks, floats, marching bands or majorettes - just a brisk jaunt to the cemetery, with more people following the parade than those marching in it, all coming to gather on a small hillside, with graves dating back to the early 1800s.
John Roberts, longtime commander of Post 304, led that parade, in a golf cart driven by Donna Forgea. Roberts turns 90 this year - something in his genes, he says, since his mother lived to be 100. Asked if he plans to hang on that long, he said, "Depends on whether I want to or not."
Though he's battled cancer and has trouble walking, his voice is as strong as it was during his days as a "glorified PFC" with the 85th Custer Division during the Anzio campaign in Italy.
Speaking to the unseen heroes interred around him, Roberts loudly prayed that the ideals they fought for would be upheld.
"Salute the dead!" Forgea thundered, and the sharp report of four rifles pierced the air.
That the tiny, low-key procession went by in a matter of seconds was entirely fitting, said Forgea.
"Like everything in America, it doesn't have to be big to be heartfelt." In some of the larger celebrations, the main reasons for gathering can be blurred, he said. "Ninety percent of the people are there to see the governor; here, it's just about honoring those who gave their lives."
Sharon O'Brien from Burlington, Vt., who was visiting relatives in Chesterfield, agreed. "I thought it was very charming, and very reverential," she said.
