At first I thought that Private Francis must have died from wounds he received during World War I, but later I learned that he died in New York after contracting the Spanish Flu while aboard a ship that was bringing him back from France.

But look at him looking back at us though the generations! See how proud he is in his uniform and his gloves and his boots. A handsome young man, indeed. And I always think that it must have been hard for him to be in the service of a country that most likely treated him as a second class citizen. After all, being a general is relatively easy: generals get a nice bed and good food. But to be a black man on the lowest rung of the ladder and going to war and doing so with dignity all the while knowing that you'll be returning to a segregated Jim Crow society .... that takes courage.

So now to be remembered this day, the day that celebrates the sacrifices that he and so many others made so that we might live in freedom. Anybody who knew Private Francis is long gone and he is now just a forgotten man in a remote cemetery, a wisp of smoke through a keyhole, dust blowing around a corner.

But I have not forgotten you, Private Francis. Every Veteran's day, I remember. And I raise my glass to you and to the uncountable others and offer only the hope that we not let our memories of you die.