Praying In The Field Towards Evening

Commander, members of the Post, veterans and all of you assembled here. My thanks for inviting me to talk on this Veteran’s Day. I am Fr Michael Plekon, assistant priest at St Barnabas Episcopal Church here and co-chair of the BMA . I want to share with you the story of a 26 year old who was there in the first wave of Army Engineers on D-Day at Omaha Beach in Normandy on June 6, 1944. He was born Hrihori or Gregory Plekon in Nanticoke PA May 17, 1918. He died January 6, 1991. He was my father. Since the teacher could pronounce Hrihori, he became first Harry, which he didn’t like, then later Henry. One of four brothers, like most of them, left the coal region as most of them did. On Easter in 1940, in Yonkers NY, my maternal grandmother heard a young priest chanting the service in church, went to him afterwards and found he was the son of a boy she’d grown up with in the village of Burkaniew in what’s now western Ukraine. She invited the priest over for dinner and he brought his brother Henry, who immediately fell in love with my grandma’s remaining daughter, Helen. But Henry and Helen had been waiting to do so since he enlisted in the Army when war broke out in 1941. The real story today is that of my father’s courageous service. Like thousands of other soldiers, he was part of the long training in England for months. The ultimate goal was a massive invasion of occupied France, the largest attack in history. Which brings us to June 6, 1944. The Army Engineers, who still do huge projects like clearing and demoing burnt structures in burned out Pacific Palisades, were the first line of the assault, there to clear barbed wire, and other structures on the beach that would block the infantry, tanks, jeeps and trucks. My father hardly ever spoke of that day or any other day in his service in WWII. But on the 40th anniversary of D-Day in 1984 he spoke to a local newspaper reporter. He was awarded the Purple Heart for being wounded in combat and the Silver Star. Here is the citation attached. My father rejoined his 121st Engr Bn to rebuild bridges in Germany, liberate towns and I believe a concentration camp. He returned to his beloved, they married in May , 1946 and I came along in 1948, with two brothers to follow. My father bore within the scars of what had happened to him, the suffering and death he’d seen. We only realized this much later in his life. He was in family life as he was in the service: quiet, humble, hard working. He and my Mom said our evening prayers with us. We were in church every Sunday, why I have been a priest for over 40 years. Today we give thanks for his service and that of so many other courageous women and men. In Ukraine, during the struggle now against Russian invasion and oppression, there is a cry that is also a prayer and it is most appropriate for Veterans Day: Slava Hero’iim. Glory to the heroes, those who suffered and died to keep us free. May they inspire us to continue the struggle for our democracy and freedom in this Land. Amen.

Commander, members of the Post, veterans and all of you assembled here. My thanks for inviting me to talk on this Veteran’s Day. I am Fr Michael Plekon, assistant priest at St Barnabas Episcopal Church here and co-chair of the BMA . I want to share with you the story of a 26 year old who was there in the first wave of Army Engineers on D-Day at Omaha Beach in Normandy on June 6, 1944. He was born Hrihori or Gregory Plekon in Nanticoke PA May 17, 1918. He died January 6, 1991. He was my father. Since the teacher could pronounce Hrihori, he became first Harry, which he didn’t like, then later Henry. One of four brothers, like most of them, left the coal region as most of them did. On Easter in 1940, in Yonkers NY, my maternal grandmother heard a young priest chanting the service in church, went to him afterwards and found he was the son of a boy she’d grown up with in the village of Burkaniew in what’s now western Ukraine. She invited the priest over for dinner and he brought his brother Henry, who immediately fell in love with my grandma’s remaining daughter, Helen. But Henry and Helen had been waiting to do so since he enlisted in the Army when war broke out in 1941. The real story today is that of my father’s courageous service. Like thousands of other soldiers, he was part of the long training in England for months. The ultimate goal was a massive invasion of occupied France, the largest attack in history. Which brings us to June 6, 1944. The Army Engineers, who still do huge projects like clearing and demoing burnt structures in burned out Pacific Palisades, were the first line of the assault, there to clear barbed wire, and other structures on the beach that would block the infantry, tanks, jeeps and trucks. My father hardly ever spoke of that day or any other day in his service in WWII. But on the 40th anniversary of D-Day in 1984 he spoke to a local newspaper reporter. He was awarded the Purple Heart for being wounded in combat and the Silver Star. Here is the citation attached. My father rejoined his 121st Engr Bn to rebuild bridges in Germany, liberate towns and I believe a concentration camp. He returned to his beloved, they married in May , 1946 and I came along in 1948, with two brothers to follow. My father bore within the scars of what had happened to him, the suffering and death he’d seen. We only realized this much later in his life. He was in family life as he was in the service: quiet, humble, hard working. He and my Mom said our evening prayers with us. We were in church every Sunday, why I have been a priest for over 40 years. Today we give thanks for his service and that of so many other courageous women and men. In Ukraine, during the struggle now against Russian invasion and oppression, there is a cry that is also a prayer and it is most appropriate for Veterans Day: Slava Hero’iim. Glory to the heroes, those who suffered and died to keep us free. May they inspire us to continue the struggle for our democracy and freedom in this Land. Amen.