On Veterans Day

There's a bumper sticker on my four-wheel drive that says it plain and simple: If You Love Your Freedom, Thank a Vet.

Every year I try to do just that. Notes go out to my father, who served in the Air Force, and to my baby brother, who drove tank in the Army. Something nice gets picked out for my girl, who worked on the mighty A-10 Warthog.

A litany of names gratefully plays through my mind. Bobby Lanier. Stacey DeGraff. Larry Haffner. Chris Davis. Mark Hartmann. John McMillan. Joe Cusack. Ralph Hill. Al Tolman. In peacetime or otherwise, active or reserves, short hitch or career stint, they all wore the uniform. They all shouldered a rifle. They all laced up their boots and answered a tough call.

To them, I say again, thank you. It's more than a bumper sticker to me.

In Arizona, we're all a little more aware of the veterans in our midst, because so many of them have retired here. The Greatest Generation now spends its time, as it should, puttering around Sun City in golf carts. They paid their dues.

But there's also a dirty little secret about the veterans of Arizona. We have a burgeoning homeless population here. No fewer than one out of four of those who have noplace to go served their country. One out of four.

In return, we serve them at soup kitchens south of the railroad tracks. And we'll throw a parade, just like we do every year.

Happy Veterans Day.

pH 11.11.o9