My husband John, my brother Andy, and I felt honored
to attend the ceremony on September 2nd paying tribute to the WWII MIAs from Indiana,
held on Monument Circle in downtown Indianapolis. This date marked the 81st
anniversary of Japan's surrender, which concluded WWII.
We had no trouble finding the brick dedicated to our cousin Stewart Krauss, who went missing along with his six fellow crew members on March 25, 1942. The Indiana DAR orchestrated this meaningful event beautifully. Volunteers greeted visitors warmly and offered water bottles to help everyone cope with the sweltering 95-degree temperature.
The gathering
drew more than 500 people seated under a tent with cooling fans positioned
throughout. Since reading all 1,500+ names of the missing would have taken an
enormous amount of time, DAR members read each Indiana county's name instead,
and attendees stood when their loved one's home county was announced.
While dignitaries delivered speeches, the most touching moment for me was the "Seating of the Honored Guest" ceremony performed by Rolling Thunder, an advocacy organization. I initially wondered about the table on stage, but learned that this "seating of the honored guest" tradition features a permanently empty chair—a living tribute to U.S. service members who remain missing in action (MIA) or were held as prisoners of war (POW).
A representative from the local Rolling Thunder chapter shared the meaning behind the tableau:
· Empty chairs honor the missing and fallen
from each of the six armed services (Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, Space
Force, and Coast Guard), plus a seventh chair representing civilians lost
during armed conflict.
· A round table reflects the endless care
and concern that survivors hold for those who are missing.
· The white tablecloth stands for the
honorable and sincere intentions of service members who answered their
country's call.
· A single red rose displayed in a vase
represents the sacrifice and bloodshed given to protect our freedom. It also
honors the families and loved ones who remain hopeful and steadfast as they
wait for their service members to return.
· The yellow ribbon expresses patriotic
pride and shows the public's dedication to locating those who are missing.
· A lemon slice placed on the bread plate
symbolizes the sorrowful and difficult circumstances faced by the missing.
· Salt scattered across the bread plate
represents the sorrow and tears shed by families who wait and hope.
· An overturned glass signifies that the
missing and fallen are unable to participate in toasts with us.
· A burning candle represents the hopeful
light that lives within hearts, guiding the missing toward their way home.
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Stewart, a 1st Lt. in the U.S. Army Air Force, was piloting a Martin B-26 Marauder on a strategic route from China to Australia via Fiji when it was lost in severe weather. No trace of the aircraft or crew was ever recovered. Flying alongside Stewart were copilot Lt. Louis J. Fuller, navigator Lt. Daniel J. Burns, bombardier Cpl. Manuel Koff, radio operator Cpl. Eugene S. Bell, air gunner Pvt. George M. Riehl (a fellow Hoosier), and crew chief T/Sgt. Louis Schmidt.
The day before his aircraft crashed, Stewart mailed a letter to his parents sharing how much he was enjoying the island experience and how fulfilled he felt with his work as a bomber pilot. Flying had always captivated him, and he'd quietly completed flying lessons without telling his family about it. At the head of his class at the Butler University summer Civil Aeronautics Authority Pilot Course, he became one of the first applicants accepted into the Civilian Pilot Training Program (CPTP) through the Civil Aeronautics Authority (CAA).
He pursued additional training at the Missouri Institute of
Aeronautics and in March 1941 graduated from Randolph Field, Texas, as part of
one of the largest classes. After completing his coursework at Kelly Field,
Texas, and Langley Field, Virginia, Stewart was assigned to the 33rd Bomber Squadron and sent to Hickam Field at Pearl
Harbor—one of the primary targets of the Japanese attack on December 7.
Stewart was just 24 years old when he vanished. He'd left college behind to pursue his dream of becoming a pilot, a path he'd never get to continue. The opportunities that lay ahead—a career in aviation, involvement in the family business, marriage, building a family of his own, and one day enjoying time with grandchildren—all remained out of reach. He gave up these precious life experiences so that we could have ours.
Here is a link to the DAR page about the event:
https://www.darindiana.org/enduring-promise
John captured this shot of Andy and me at the
event—Andy's sporting the fatigues he wore during his time serving with the
USAF Medical Service in the Philippines.
