It's Veterans Day in the States. A little tale, apropos... * * * I was at dinner with my father and some of his friends. I came back from the bathroom. His friend Nate was talking. “So that’s when I met Himmler,” he said. My jaw dropped. Did he mean the Himmler? As in Heinrich? The chief of the Nazi SS?’ I sat down. Nate was still speaking. “I was a pilot in WWII,” he continued: “I was what you’d all call a ‘spy’. I flew special missions. I’d been captured before---and escaped. But this time,” he said, “I was shot down. My partner and I survived; but we were captured at the German-French border. We were brought to a camp and locked up. Mind you, we had very special information, and I knew we were sought by Nazi intelligence. I knew this could be my last day. I knew it. “They tied and blindfolded both of us, and then---a day later---they removed the blindfolds. “It's hard to see after a day in a blindfold...you squint. The light is blinding. But as my sight returned, I saw several Nazi officers standing over me in our cell. And one of them was very high-ranking. You could tell by his insignia. And when I saw his face, I knew: It was Himmler. I’d have recognized that face anywhere.” Everyone at the table was stunned. He took a deep breath, then continued: “Here it is: You're facing one of the biggest monsters in European history: I mean, he was responsible for countless deaths---his own people, the French, Russian, Poles...and he oversaw the destruction of millions of European Jews. We didn’t know all of this then, but we knew enough. When you’re in secret services, you learn a lot... He leaned forward: “When you see a man like that in person, you think you will jump up and strangle him. I couldn't, of course: I was tied to a chair. But lord, I wanted to. His gaze wasn’t human. He was steel. He was marble. I mean there wasn’t a 'person' in there. And for a moment. I felt awe. Let me explain: I don’t mean I worshiped him. I mean awe. I mean you can’t believe that one man---one man---could have masterminded so much human death. It was incomprehensible. It was awe of sheer power: deep, deep, dark power. And I was looking in his eyes. Of all I saw in that war, this was---I don't know what else to call it: It was seeing evil face to face. I thought, at last I'm meeting sheer evil. Hitler himself couldn't have outdone this man's gaze.” He stopped. He couldn’t talk. “It’s ok,” said Dad, “you don’t have to continue...” “Danny,” said Nate (my father’s name was Danny): “I’ve told these stories a million times. It’s ok. I choke up, and I’ll continue. I'm not about to stop. “Himmler then asked me questions. Now I’d been through this before, I knew the procedure: They put on a massive Show, they strut and scream and threaten---they all do that. But I knew they wouldn't kill me---not yet. Why? They wanted to know what I knew. In fact, on this mission, I knew little. But they didn't know that. So they wouldn't kill me yet. I was seething inside, but I sat coolly. If I'd acted rashly, both me and my partner would be dead. So I sat and stared. I didn't flinch. “Suddenly, Himmler pointed to one of his assistants. His assistant took out a gun---as easily as if he'd taken out a handkerchief---and shot my partner dead. He was gone. It was instantaneous. You're all looking at me like 'how did you know'? You know. You don't need to know details... "I gasped. And then I froze. I turned to steel. If you’ve been in this position, you deal with it and mourn later. I mourn to this day. But I remember an explosion inside of me, I wanted to grab all those Nazis and kill them on the spot. To this day I wonder why I didn’t. I wouldn’t have gotten very far, but maybe---just maybe---I’d have gotten the ‘big guy’. Himmler. I was tied up, but if I'd offered them information, if I'd said the right thing, maybe they'd have untied me. I don't know. I just know that it haunts me to this day that I sat within a foot or two of some of the most ghastly murderers in all Europe, and I didn't move. I can't get that out of my head. You can't know what it's like to feel that until you've been there...I can't explain it... “But before I had another moment to ponder, Himmler---that monster---grabbed my face and screamed: ‘You WILL tell us what you know, Herr Offizier!' Then---to my shock---he walked out. His officers followed! They slammed the door. I thought this was a dream. Suddenly, one of the soldiers turned back, grabbed my friend by the legs, and dragged him out of the cell. He slammed the door once more. That was the last I saw of them. Any of them. One second, a life is gone; some men with incomprehensible power are gone. And I'm sitting alone in a cell, in the dark. “I was in that prison 6 more hours. Then I was rescued---by several of our men. No one said anything. I was smuggled out of Germany---we were right at the border---and taken to one of our camps. On the way out, we passed some young German refugees---they’d lost their parents and an older sister to the SS. More refugees followed. We got back to base, and I asked my commanding officer, “why did the Nazis disappear?” But no one knew. It was near the end of the war, maybe the Nazis had run for their lives. All I found out was: Nearly all the men who’d flown on our mission were gone. Either shot down and disappeared, captured, or killed on the ground. I was one of the only ones who’d escaped. I swore, if I got home alive, I’d find out what happened to each and every one of them, and why. I'd find it out. It became my mission. To the end of my life.” “Did you do it?” my father asked. “Most of them,” Nate continued. “Their stories were heartbreaking but brave. But I never traced 'my' story.” He sighed deeply: “I didn’t care. When you’ve seen enough people die---soldiers and civilians---you don’t care about your story as much. But I remember every one of them to this day.” He looked at everyone at the table: “A lot of people died back then. They always do. That’s why I tell these stories. I have lots of them." He turned to me, because I'd asked him about the war, some days earlier: "If you want to hear more, Mark, come by when you visit your father, next. I’ll tell you everything. I promise...” Nate wasn’t his real name: He was a private man and wouldn’t have wanted his name to be used. But he was a friend of my father’s, they’d played cards together, and one would never have known that this mild gentle man had seen so much horror. A year later, Nate died of a cancer. I hadn't even known he was ill. He braved it masterfully to the end. He was in his 80s. My Uncle---another WWII veteran---said: “They walk among us, Mark, soldiers and innocent victims of war. And each time one leaves us, it’s one less witness to a whole other side of life. Don't forget them...” To all who’ve served in war, and its countless innocent victims, my deepest gratitude and respect on this Veterans Day. May you be honored and remembered forever... -----------------------------------------------