By: Ali Elizabeth Turner
Dear Ms. Farris,
I fully understand that the chances of you actually reading this letter yourself are minimal. I also understand that you are convinced that filming yourself vandalizing the WWII Memorial in Washington D.C. was a reasonable act of protest, that you describe yourself as both a “victim,” and a “whistleblower.” For the purposes of this open letter, I am going to assume, and yes, I am going to use the “assume” word advisedly, here, that something has indeed happened that I pray, if true, comes to light and justice is served.
I also understand that you are 41 years old, in the same general age of my youngest child, whose grandfather, Roy White, Jr. served in the very war whose memorial you doggedly defaced. That being said, I can only conclude that you know very little about the men and women who deservedly are called The Greatest Generation, or you would not have attacked their memory. In my family, they include uncles, cousins of every degree, and the people from both sides of our tribe who served at home.
In my personal life, also included are Lou Lembo and Bob Caddock, who helped liberate concentration camps in April of 1945. They include Fred Wildish, who endured the Bataan Death March. And, while we are talking about Fred, you need to know about my mother, Mary Hersman White, who indeed served at home as a war bride. In 1945, she gave birth to my big sister who was six months old before my father ever saw her. Two decades after WWII was over, and before much was understood about PTSD, somehow my mom knew that if Fred was coming to our house for bridge club and the requisite dessert that was part of it, she would NOT serve cherry pie using cherries from our very trees. May I tell you why? Because while the Japanese were busy starving Fred and his fellow soldiers, when the captors actually DID feed them, they would put rocks in their food, knowing full well that hungry soldiers would wolf down their meager “rations.” The intended result would be that either the soldiers would break their teeth or cut up their intestines. My mom could not bear the idea that maybe, just maybe, she missed a cherry pit, and that Fred might be the one to bite down on it. So, she always made grasshopper pie, which is like a cheesecake made with crème de menthe. It was soft and it was sweet. We loved it, and it was many years before we knew the “rest of the story.” So, as far as I am concerned, you defaced the memory of my mom as well. May God have mercy on you, and I mean that literally.
I do pray that as you face felony charges for attacking what, for the rest of us, is a reminder that millions of people gave all in order to have the German language remain an elective topic of study in the United States of America, and to drive Toyotas, BMWS, and Fiats only out of choice, that you realize that within a day there was no trace of your presence at the fountain. It remains open for all to reflect on what it represents, and they don’t even have to pay admission to do so. Thank you for reminding us of what our families did for us all, including you.
Sincerely,
Ali Elizabeth Turner, Publisher, Athens Now
