I grew up in a small, rural village in upper New York state just after World War II and Korea, a time when the veterans of those conflicts were in their 30s and 40s. The village offered them two social organizations: the American Legion and the Veterans of Foreign Wars.

Every Veterans Day, the village held a parade to honor their service and the sacrifice of the 10 men who did not return. The high school band led, playing patriotic tunes, followed by the village dignitaries (my father included), a color guard (shared equally by both veterans groups), the VFW firing party in white shirts, black trousers and caps, carrying Springfield rifles, and a hodgepodge of townspeople ... Women's Auxiliary, kids on bicycles and on foot, farmers on tractors and generally anyone who wanted to walk in the parade along Main Street from the high school to the cemetery.

The parade route was lined with villagers, who clapped and called friends in the formation by name as they passed by ... and who took their hats off and held their hands over their hearts to honor the American flag.

At the cemetery, there was the usual jockeying for position, as people tried to pass through and around the headstones to be closer to the speaker.

The orator was usually the mayor or the school superintendent who always delivered a 20-minute monologue filled with platitudes praising the sacrifice of the nation's war veterans, heavy on those who were lost.

My buddies and I were much more interested in the firing party, particularly their rifles.

Immediately after the address and polite applause, it was time for the 21-gun salute. The crisp commands, rifle manual and the sharp report of the weapons always fascinated me.

After the last volley, one of the band members played taps ... and then the boys were allowed to scramble for the expended cartridges, to the annoyance of the firing party.

The ceremony officially ended on the last note. The village had honored the nation's veterans.

Those scenes have stayed in my memory through a 26-year career in the U.S. Marine Corps and in the years since retirement. On each Veterans Day, I hearken back to those carefree days of my youth and the subtle effects they had on me as a youngster: love of country, respect for veterans and pride of service.

Those feelings were severely tested when I came home from Vietnam, to a country torn apart by anti-military sentiment. However, as in the lyrics of Bob Dylan's "The Times They Are A-Changing," the Gulf War caused the people of America to -- again -- honor the service and sacrifice of their sons and daughters.

Today the veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan are celebrated as heroes by a nation that recognizes military service as a higher calling and patriotism as a bedrock of this country.


The author is a retired Marine colonel and a vice president of the Marine Corps Heritage Foundation, working at the National Museum of the Marine Corps. He is the author of seven previous books, most recently "The Battle for the City of the Dead." Colonel Camp lives in Fredericksburg, Va.