There’s a book with the names of the dead in it on a counter in the small information building.
The white gravestones stretch in all directions.
Fort McPherson, outside of Maxwell, Nebraska, and easily reached from Highway I-80 caught me entirely by surprise. Dale and I were laughing about going back to Grand Island to try to locate the confluence of the North and South Platte rivers, but on a lark, we decided to go to Fort McPherson first, not realizing what we’d find there.
Then we came over a small hill and saw what we’d find there.
We hear war news on television We see articles in the newspaper. The true cost of war though doesn’t truly register until you see the aftermath, the white markers, row upon row upon row of them.
It doesn’t register until you see a man and his wife thumbing through that book of names of the dead, praying they’ll find their loved one, praying they won’t.
