To the Editor:

The World War II veterans in my family — my father and my uncles — all left this life too soon. They never heard the phrases, “Greatest Generation,” or “Thank you for your service.”

Sadly, their stories were never shared, and went to the grave with them. My uncle had been a prisoner of war for more than two years, held in German Stalag 2B. Despite outward appearances, the scars from this experience ran deep, and he suffered badly with what we now know as posttraumatic stress disorder.

As a result, I was born into a family where discussion of World War II was taboo. That was fine when I was a child but, as I got older, I yearned to hear about their experiences. That yearning eventually, when it was too late, turned to regret.

In 2009, a friend called and asked if I wanted to participate in a motorcycle escort for a group of World War II veterans who were going on a trip to Washington, D.C. to visit the World War II Memorial. I jumped at the chance, and this became the first of many Honor Flight escorts I would take part in.

In 2013, I had the pleasure of having breakfast at the Home Front Café with small groups of World War II veterans and in 2014 I was twice able to fully experience Honor Flights and document the veterans’ special day through video and photos.

Throughout the day, I saw a transformation in all the veterans as they shared their memories with each other and those around them. Friendships were forged during those 15-plus hour days, and not just among the veterans. I began to think what a shame it was for this to be the end of it, instead of the beginning of a new chapter.

Thus began the World War II Veterans and Friends Breakfast Club — not through any grand design on my part. It began small, just two of us. Then three, then five. Bigger and bigger.

I enlisted a handful of friends to come and spend time with our “old warriors.” This wasn’t easy in the beginning, but I finally got some people involved. I had already come to know Jack and Cindy Pollard, and to appreciate the magic of the Home Front Café.

Without the Home Front’s ambiance, and Cindy’s graciousness, I’m not sure the Breakfast Club would have ever gained traction [“The Home Front Café will never die, it will just fade away,” The Altamont enterprise, Dec. 9, 2020].

The big table in the main dining area of the café had 14 seats and it was so exciting the first time we were able to fill eight of those seats. Over the next few years, the group would continue to grow, and at one point we had an active roster of over 30 World War II and Korea veterans.

Breakfast was at 10 a.m. on random Saturdays each month, but many of the vets started arriving by 9 a.m. It became necessary to stay under the radar, because the growing popularity of the get-togethers inevitably led to a growing number of people who wanted to attend.

This was proven one morning when over 60 people showed up, leaving some World War II veterans unable to get a seat, and the rest barely able to hear anything over the din. Changes had to be made, and we needed to remember this was supposed to be for the vets, about the vets, and by the vets.

There’s no need to go into details, but, as with many successful ventures, the success of the Breakfast Club, and our inability to accommodate unlimited numbers of “guests,” led to a lot of noses out of joint, lost “friends” and many, many critics.

When word got out about the breakfasts, dozens of people, including several who were invited when the group was first getting started, but never came, suddenly wanted to be a part of it. Some even claimed an “entitlement” to attend!  But, it’s a known fact that you can often measure your success by the number of detractors you have.

The Breakfast Club was a wonderful, successful opportunity for veterans in their late eighties to late nineties to gather in such a welcoming environment. We had veterans from every branch of service, and mutual respect and admiration was a natural sentiment. Everyone knew everyone else and their story.

Each month, we would go around the room and introduce each veteran, and talk about their background. Newcomers were often inspired to stand and address the group after the warm welcome they received.

Cindy and Jack have told me many times that this was what they always wanted the Home Front Café to be — a place where veterans could get together and enjoy this type of camaraderie. It was also what I had dreamed of but never thought possible.

The last time the Iwo Jima survivors of New York’s Capital Region gathered at the café was Feb. 19, 2020. That was the 75th anniversary of the beginning of the Battle of Iwo Jima.

Of the six survivors who attended, in the past 10 months we have had to say goodbye to three. Our last Breakfast Club meeting was on March 7.

Several of the Iwo survivors also attended the monthly Breakfast Club. Combined, we have lost 11 of our beloved friends this year. To make it sadder still, we were not able to see most of them due to the pandemic.

Late last year, breakfast fell on a Saturday morning, after a winter storm during the night. I was surprised by the number of vets who showed up, but the number was less than normal. I was talking to 98-year-old Frank Luksa about what was going to happen to the group if the numbers kept declining.

I remember telling him, “We started out small and we’ll end small, but as long as just one of you keeps coming, we’ll keep it going.” Then I told him, “If we’re the last men standing, we’ll still get together.”

Frank held up his orange juice and said, “And we’ll salute the ones who aren’t here anymore.”

Then we shook on it.

Frank passed away on Jan. 6, followed by Phil B., Walt “The Salt,” Bud M., Ed T., Roy M., Francis “Dick” V., Vincent P., Thomas “Hollywood Tom” L., Porter “Top Shelf” B., and Gene G.

The permanent closing of the Home Front Café, and the loss of so many of our veterans, leaves us few options. We still have a good-sized group of vets, and we’ll still get together sometime, somewhere, some way. But it will never be the same.

We’re so grateful to Cindy and Jack, and everyone who worked at the Home Front and went out of their way for us every time we were there. We also want to thank the many café patrons who came over to shake the vets’ hands and thank them, and to the many who either picked up the whole breakfast bill, or contributed to future breakfasts.

Most chose to remain anonymous, but I want you to know the veterans were deeply moved and very appreciative of these acts of kindness. So many other people came through the door and into the veterans' lives that I hate to name any for fear of omitting some. I trust they know who they are, and I sincerely thank every one of them for what they brought to the table.

Don’t forget: Thank a vet! It might just be the first thanks they ever got.

Mark Yingling

Clifton Park