THE LAST LETTER FROM ROME

My last letter from Rome was dated the spring of 1944. My 29-year old-cousin Peter was serving as a gunner In Mark Clark's 5th Army which had just entered the city following the escaping Nazi divisions. I'm glad I saved it, because it was to be my last letter from Rome, from Peter, and from World War II. As I re-read the yellowing pages, I still treasure the words he scribbled to this admiring 14-year-old back home. And yet I fear his words might echo empty now in the spring of 2010....

"Jack, I'm not good with words, but seeing folks here cheering us with tears in their eyes makes me feel something I never felt: Pride in my country..." [66 springs later, instead I read about people angry at their country, because they say its government can't be trusted]

"I can't tell you how many of my buddies died ugly in this mud, but when we're done over here, no more wars...." [66 springs later, instead I read about new wars and why we have to keep fighting them]

"When I get home, I want you to stand up for my wedding. Dawn and I are going to raise a dozen beautiful kids..." [66 springs later, I read how marriage has sometimes become a little outdated, and having kids a little foolish]

"Yesterday, Pope Pius XII blessed the crowds in St Peters, and I was there with joy in my heart...." [66 springs later, Pius is being called a Nazi sympathizer, Benedict a criminal, and religion a fraud]

"If President Roosevelt ever comes to this city, they'll make him king for life..." [66 springs later, being an American president is more like being a target than a king, and he receives as many taunts as he does cheers]

We were told Peter died 10 days after this letter. Sniper fire from some die-hard Nazi left-behind. My hero cousin never returned to his America. The family wept for years. Sometimes, though, in a green new spring like this one, I wonder. If he were still here...

....would he recognize what many of us have become?