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The Sullivan brothers.

Time was, a long time ago now, just about everybody in the U.S., with the exception of the very young, had heard of the Sullivan brothers. Most knew the story.

In 1943, the light cruiser Juneau, operating off the coast of Guadalcanal, was sunk. There were many casualties, each a tragic and sad story. Such inexplicable sorrow has no complete “closure.”

When Lieutenant Commander Truman Jones was directed to notify the Sullivan boys’ parents, he was reminded of the iconic letter that Abraham Lincoln wrote in similar circumstances during the Civil War, which was to become a philosophical template for those involved in bearing such messages to loved ones.

When Jones and two other officers approached the home of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas F. Sullivan, 98 Adams Street, Waterloo, Iowa, the boys’ father greeted them.

“I have some news about your boys, sir,” Jones had said.

“Which one?” Thomas asked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jones replied. All five.

For me to add anything more to this isn’t appropriate, to say the very least.

Perhaps some of you also are familiar with the story of the four chaplains, who gave up their places on the inexcusable too few lifeboats when the Dorchester was sinking. These chaplains, one a Rabbi, one a Catholic priest, and two Protestant ministers, are remembered at the chapel of the Four Chaplains in New York City.

Such recounting of these experiences produces palpable pathos. In some of us, at least.

Note – Belatedly, the Navy forbade siblings serving on the same ship. A tragically hard earned lesson.