Retired Senior Master Sergeant Harry F. Miller stands during the playing of the Air Force Song during a Victory in Europe Day ceremony at the World War II Memorial in Washington D.C., May 8, 2024. Miller is a veteran of both the U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force, serving from 1944 – 1966. (Erica Webster/U.S. Air Force)
Eighty years ago, on May 8, 1945, the guns across Europe finally fell silent. For those of us who wore the uniform and walked through the mud and blood of that war, it was a day etched in memory — not just for what it meant, but for what it cost. This May, I’ll stand at the National World War II Memorial in Washington not as a hero, but as a witness.
I was born in the shadow of the Great Depression. Like many, I grew up learning the value of hard work, sacrifice and community. Those early years taught us how to survive — and later, how to endure the unimaginable. When war came, we didn’t hesitate. We knew what was at stake.
The Battle of the Bulge was the coldest winter I ever knew — in every sense of the word. Snow covered everything. Ammunition and food ran low. We were young, but we had already seen too much. The faces of those who didn’t make it home stay with me, even now. The ones who never saw the victory they helped bring about. We carry their memory forward.
When the surrender came, it didn’t feel like a celebration. It felt like a breath we’d been holding for too long. We were worn down, and scarred in ways we didn’t yet understand. And yet, we knew something had changed. The war in Europe was over. Freedom had pushed back against tyranny.
This anniversary is not just a milestone — it’s a reminder. It reminds us that the peace we enjoy today was paid for dearly, that democracy doesn’t defend itself, and that silence, in the face of evil, is never an option.
When I stand at the Memorial this month, I’ll think of the millions who served and the millions more who supported from home. I’ll think of the ones who came back changed and the ones who didn’t come back at all. I’ll think of the quiet bravery it took to do what had to be done.
To the generations that follow us, I ask you not only to remember our victory — but to protect what we won. Democracy, once again, needs its defenders. Justice still requires courage. And peace is never guaranteed — it must be tended, like a flame.
For those of us who are still here, we will keep the memory alive. For those who come after, may you never forget why we stood, and what we stood for.
Eighty years have passed since V-E Day, but the duty of memory never ends. We are fewer with each passing year, but the story is still yours to carry. And as long as someone remembers, we are never truly gone.
Harry F. Miller is a veteran of World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War. He served in the U.S. Army and Air Force.
