I look for Woody every day I go on the Riverwalk. He's a short, thin man who walks with a slight list to the left and he's there every day. It doesn't make any difference whether it's raining or snowing, bitter cold or blistering hot. You can count on Woody.

Today is Memorial Day and while I was on my walk, I called my friend Joe Evans to thank him for serving our country. Joe was in the Navy during the second World War. Not surprisingly, Joe wasn't home. Even though he'll turn 85 the day after tomorrow, you can't keep him down. He's probably driving someone to the airport.

When I saw Woody coming toward me motoring along the Riverwalk, I called out a greeting to him. "Hey, Woody! How you doin' today?" "I'm doing fine," he said. Woody is always doing fine. "Hey Woody, were you in the service?" "Yes I was. I was in Korea," he responded. "I'm thanking everyone who has served our country, I said. "I just want people to know that I appreciate what they did." And the floodgates opened.

Woody is usually a man of few words. While we've come to know each other a little when we meet on our morning walk, the conversations are always brief and sunny. This morning it wasn't just the dark clouds overhead that dampened the spirits of the day. It was old memories, restoked.

"I was in Korea for 12 months." Woody said. "Most of the other guys were sent home after ten months, but I never complained so they kept me there a couple extra months. I was pissed off, but I never said anything." Woody is still pissed off. As he talked he became very agitated. "It was hard staying alive, just because of the weather," He said. "It was winter and it was freezing cold. We like to froze to death." I told him about my friend, Jerry Rau, who served in Korea and brought it home with him. I met Jerry many years after the war, and he was still fighting it. He wrote a powerful song, and a book of the same title: "Knocking on the Devil's Door." When I told Woody, he understood what Jerry was talking about. Jerry was a young, idealistic kid, probably much like Woody was back in those days. The war knocked the stuffings out of Jerry, along with most of his idealism.

"I watch on the news how stressed out the soldiers are in Iraq and Afghanistan," I said. And Woody got angrier. "They never should send those guys back for a second tour of duty, he said," his voice rising. "Do they have any idea what they've gone through?" I had clearly touched an old wound, and Woody was back remembering how he felt after he came home from Korea.

As I told Woody, My father was too young for the First World War and too old for the Second. I was too young for the Korean War and too old for the Vietnam War. My sons were too old for the Middle East War, and even though my oldest son Gideon was in the Air Force for two years, he never left the country. We've been pacifists by coincidence. We don't know the pain that people carry deep in their hearts from their action in past wars, but for me, I am thankful for the sacrifice they've made. You don't have to understand something to appreciate it.