Mostly Malarkey
Readers of this column know our connection with the 99th Infantry Division and that unit's annual conventions.
This past week we met at Biloxi, Miss., with a reduced number of attendees. There were 200 veterans and 350 "others" which include widows, wives, children, grandchildren, and friends. Years ago there were 1,000 to 1,200 attendees annually.
Experts predict that the number of veteran attendees will drop to 50 within seven years. Then, they plan to disband and give their substantial funds to younger 99'ers who today are wearing the Checkerboard patch in Iraq.
The meeting was at a fabulous hotel/casino, designed so that moving from one place to another required going through the gambling area. But the sleeping rooms were a mere $49 daily, which the Imperial Palace probably balanced with revenue from gambling.
The biggest problem was distance. Most 99'ers are handicapped, many in wheelchairs, on crutches and canes; they joked that if the WWII generation is again called upon to protect America, they'll meet the enemy with drawn canes.
They can hardly walk, get out of a low chair, rise from a toilet seat, eat what they want, or exist without pills; but WWII vets continue to think of themselves as "that young guy just back from the war." Their dauber isn't down as they near the end. They've been there before.
The 99th long ago purchased a ceremonial bottle of expensive cognac for the last 50 to toast their buddies at the final reunion. But they're a bit worried that someone may have broken the seal, consumed the vintage libation, and replaced it with cold tea
— BILL MEYER
