Vernon Baker

"I, too, want to close wounds and answer the questions of World War II. Some wounds will not heal, some questions will not find answers. Even with a Medal of Honor, I remain haunted."

"Despite my passion for my men, I cannot better explain why I cannot honor them- the heroes who didnt retreat- by remembering their names. I know it painst me harsh and distant. It has its price. It is a regret that I cannot resolve but will wander the ghostly battlefields of Italy, in my mind, and will always visit me. I do not welcome these memories, but I do not shun the responsibility of carrying them. We did the best we could- and a hell of a lot better than anyone believed we could. We fought fiercely and proudly for a country that shunned us, and we kept fighting because we knew the price of allowing Nazi fascism to rule was far greater than even what we endured. Every time I see a child smile, get to listen to a symphony play, or freely choose a book to read I know we made the right decision. War, however, is the most regrettable proving ground. For the sake of my nineteen comrades, I hope no man, black, white, or any color, ever again has the opportunity to earn the Medal of Honor. War is not honor. Those who rush to launch conflict, and those who seek to create heroes from it, should remember wars legacy. You have to be there to appreciate its horrors. And die to forget them."

"I received the Medal the thirteenth of January, nineteen-ninety-seven, from President Clinton. Seven were awarded, but I was the only one still walking around. I was thinking about nineteen men left on a hillside."

"Dedicated to my grandfather, Samuel Joseph Baker, and the brave soldiers of the 92nd Infantry "Buffalo" Division who fought valiantly in Italy during World War II- especially the men I left behind. Well done, fellows. We did it."

"Thousands of people embraced me- the towns of Montignoso, Massa, and Cararra, the cities of Pietrasanta and Florence, even the president of Italy. It was a homecoming more incredible than any lost soldier could long for. Yet, I came to Italy imagining one last important march. I planned to retrace my steps to the castle, search for the place where each of my nineteen men took his last breath- those places are indelible in my memory. I planned to pay homage to each mans soul, apologize, thank him, and make our peace. Perhaps I owed a similar apology to the two young German lads in the tank, I reasoned. I was not prepared to meet my ghosts."

"[Regarding a 1937 summarization on black soldiers published by the U.S. Army War College] Reading this, I could begin to hate again, but now, I feel its just from somebody who doesnt know and has his own idea about people that are of a different color or a different ethnic group, or a different religion. I think its something that came from way back in prehistoric days, and its been carried on up to now. I had problems with some of the white fellas after the Army was integrated in forty-eight, and I told many of em, I said, You look at me, and look at my color on the outside, but Ill tell you one damn thing: We get out there and something happens, your blood is just as red as mine, and my blood is just as red as yours. We all bleed the same color."

"Having grown up in a small northern town, Baker didnt understand why they asked him and another black passenger to move to the front car, closer to the noise and exhaust of the locomotive, shortly after the train crossed into Texas. Boarding the empty bus for Camp Wolters, he tossed his bag down and moved into the first seat behind the driver- his first mistake in the segregated South. The driver spun around with words uglier than Baker had ever heard: "Hey, nigger, get up and get to the back of the bus where you belong." Bakers fists clenched as a friendly hand touched him on his arm and led him to the back of the bus. The old man whod intervened, and possibly saved Bakers life, gave him a quick education in Jim Crow. Hed been close. Stronger men had been lynched for less."

"Heidy usually answers the phone. But I picked it up and said, Good morning. The voice on the other end said, Mr. Baker, Vernon Baker? I said, Yeah. He said, What do you know a bout the Medal of Honor? And I thought, Who in the hell is this nut? and I started to hang up the phone. He said, Dont hang up! Im Professor Gibran and Im a professor at the Shaw University in North Carolina, and the Army has given us a $350,000 grant to investigate why no black Americans received the Medal of Honor during World War II. And I said, Um, yeah, this is another one of those committees they dream up to investigate, and then all of a sudden theyre gone. Well, he said hed like to come and talk to me, him and a Colonel Cash. Hes deceased now. So I said, Okay. We met them over at a hotel in Spokane for a couple of days, spent the time talking. All of a sudden, reporters started calling, and then people started showing up at the door, wanting interviews."