Published in the January 4-17, 2017 issue of Morgan Hill Life

By Connor Quinn

Photo by Marty Cheek
Connor Quinn pauses for a moment of reflection before reading the Honor Roll at downtown Morgan Hill’s Nov. 11 Veterans Day ceremony.

Some things turn out to be harder than you expect them to be. For me I like to go into things a little head strong and overly confident, then figure out I’m in over my head. Most times I like to think I figure it out and get the job done. Such was the case when Morgan Hill’s Eddie Bowers asked me to read the Honor Roll at the Veterans Day ceremony downtown this year. I couldn’t turn him down, as he has almost single handedly kept this tradition going. I’ll say that I was completely confident at the time that I would have no issues doing it.

I felt that way up until about 20 minutes before the ceremony. As I watched the crowd grow and reviewed my lines, I felt a stirring of emotions that I wanted to quickly get away from. I’m not sure if I can say exactly what I was feeling, but it wasn’t the type of emotions that I wanted on public display. Yet I had committed, so I was going to see it through.
The weekend before I had flown to London to reunite with friends from Pamplona to talk about life and another thing I had gone into overly confident, the Festival of San Fermin and the chaotic Running of the Bulls that I had participated almost every morning I was there. I noticed when I arrived that almost everyone was wearing a little paper and plastic poppy flower on their suit jackets.

I asked a good friend, Angus McSwan, who was wearing one what the significance was behind the poppies. He explained that the poppies were sold to raise funds for veterans on Armistice Day, which in case you don’t know is the 11th of November. The date marks the ending of the First World War, why we celebrate veterans that day. He went on how it is derived from a poem, by John McCrae called In Flanders Fields. We then talked about the differences between U.S. veterans and those from the U.K. I was surprised that the level of benefits for veterans was significantly less than those that we have going for our veterans. It saddened me and made me all the more appreciative of everything that I was allotted for my time in service.

Fast forward to the ceremony. I was wearing one of those paper poppies Angus had generously bought me and the memories of that conversation came forth in raw emotion. I guess you could say that the emotions I was feeling were a combination of pride and sorrow. Memories of those who had come and gone; and were unable to enjoy something special like our little ceremony. I was already tearing up when it came my turn to speak. I thanked everyone for coming out that morning and said I would try to get through this. On the first paragraph, my voice broke and I had to take some time to compose myself. Somehow I was able to get through the Honor Roll and thankfully back away from the microphone.

After the ceremony I rushed off to the M&H Tavern with my father and another local Vietnam veteran, Terry Howell, to get a drink to calm my nerves from the emotional roller coaster I had just put myself through.

Terry and I got to talking, he complimented me on delivering the speech, saying he knew it was hard. He had done it, albeit 20-plus years after his time in service, and had gone through the same emotions as me. The fact that I did it in two years means something special to me and I think says something about the differences of social perception from his generation to mine. I’ll forever be proud that I got a chance to represent my generation to that crowd on that day, but I’m not rushing back to do it anytime soon.

Connor Quinn is a local U.S. Army veteran attending SJSU.

 

In Flanders Fields, by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.