COSTA MESA UNPLUGGED:Memorial for lost armed forces personnel

A few Sundays ago, honor and reverence hung heavy in the air at Harbor Lawn-Mt. Olive Memorial Park.

That morning, a collection of notable Costa Mesans, politicians and several crisply attired representatives of the nation’s armed forces gathered to dedicate the Costa Mesa Veterans Memorial.

The memorial is a reality because of the vision of Costa Mesan Bud Hohl, the support of the Costa Mesa Community Foundation led by the tireless Cindy Brenneman, and the selfless hours of investment by guys like the Costa Mesa Police Department’s Victor Bakkila.

The gathering sat sheltered beneath a tent of camouflage netting.

The horns of the 300th Army band pealed patriotic marches.

Fallen veterans and those still with us were celebrated and saluted — by word and by ceremony — for their supreme sacrifices in defense of our 50 united states.

Yet my attention kept swerving back to the memorial’s concrete pergola.

On its colonnades flew the five flags of the 5 branches of the armed forces -- Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard. Perched center within it was a haunting bronze sculpture of the Soldier’s Cross, a pair of empty boots with an infantryman’s rifle grounded muzzle down by bayonet and topped by a fallen soldier’s helmet.

And I thought of my father-in-law, Edmund A. Jachacz, a decorated World War II hero, in the final days of his long battle with cancer.

Eddie served as a Flight Officer in the Air Force from 1942 to 1946.

From the remote Pacific Island of Tinian, he flew 14 bombing raids over Japan in the vaunted B-29 Super Fortress.

“Sentimental Journey” and “Miss Patches” were his aircraft. As he prepared for what would be his final mission, a B-29 named the “Enola Gay” arrived on Tinian and was immediately squired into a secluded hangar. He knew not what for.

Hours later and thousands of feet over Japan, chaff tore through the fuselage of Eddie’s plane, ripping through his shoulder and throat. His service was over. So was the war, soon after.

Eddie was later decorated with the Air Medal and the Purple Heart.

I thought of my dad, Zane de Arakal. Just a few months too young to enlist in the service during World War II — his parents refused to sign for his enlistment. Pop would later serve in the U.S. Coast Guard as a quartermaster aboard the cutter Diligence, which serviced buoys and U.S. military facilities on the Channel Islands during the Korean War. He also served a stint in air-sea rescue in New Jersey. He learned to love the sea as he served the country he loved. And he still cherishes both.

I’m proud of both men. I’m blessed — as is my family — that their service did not cost them their lives.

But for many families — too many — the same can’t be said. Their dads and granddads, mothers, grandmothers and sisters, brothers, husbands and wives went to protect our freedom and didn’t return.

They died in Europe, in the Pacific, in Korea and Vietnam. They perished — bravely — in Afghanistan and Iraq and every other far-from-home territory on the face of the planet where America has dispatched its sons and daughters to defend freedom.

More than anyone, the Costa Mesa Veterans Memorial is for them. And their souls live within that haunting Soldier’s Cross.

Snapped from reflecting on Pop and Eddie, my attention was drawn to seven smartly clad servicemen.

Rifles raised angled to the sky, they each — simultaneously — fired three shots. The crisp reports of the rifles were followed by the ringing of their brass shell casings striking the pavement.

A pair of buglers played echoing taps. It was a moving final salute.

I took a moment to stroll the walkway linking the memorial’s pergola and the flagpole at its opposite end.

On each side of the walkway, bricks inscribed with the names of America’s veterans rest as a permanent remembrance of their service.

Soon, two more will be added. The names upon them will be Edmund A. Jachacz and Zane W. de Arakal. Two American heroes. My heroes.