As he awaited capture, Sydney “Skip” Friedman saw Jewish GIs switch their dog tags for those of dead comrades.

The 20-year old from Shaker Heights kept his tags stamped with “H” for “Hebrew.” If he died, he wanted his body to be identified for his parents.

The only correction I’d make is that my dad grew up in Cleveland, not in Shaker Heights, and it was a world of difference back then.

It’s too trite and small to view Cleveland as some bottomed-out, post-industrial postcard to the past. These aren’t all people trapped in awful times or terrible circumstances or living small lives in jealousy of LeBron’s big one.

There’s money here. There is success in Cleveland. There is contentment. As sure as there are poor in Miami, as sure as the VIP area of the Mansion Nightclub isn’t the full reality of South Florida, neither is some boarded-up East Cleveland warehouse the story here.

There are doctors and lawyers and entrepreneurs and financial planners and artists and teachers and dreamers and, yes, insulation installers. (“In the column can you mention the company, Pure Seal Inc.?”)

There are happy families and neighborhoods and the American Dream in full view. There are plenty of people who don’t have any personal problems who are quite content to keep their talents in Cleveland, a place they love just the way it is.

“We get a bad rep,” said Pawel Wencel, who happily moved back from Washington, D.C., and watched the game at Flannery’s. “It’s not New York. It’s not L.A. And we don’t want it to be.”

Why New York or L.A. can never seem to get that is anyone’s guess.

The distaste for James didn’t come solely from the desperate and the depressed, and to suggest as much is to miss the entire point, to insult the entire region all over again.

The “bitter” storyline has been told so many times that fans here are as sick of it as they are LeBron. There’s been an overcorrection of late, a trend to say they are over LeBron, that they are better than to bother with him.

That’s not honest either, though. This mattered. No one should have to apologize for it.

It’s not just how LeBron left but how he operated when he was still here. He talked such a big game. He promised to end the title drought. He gave them all those endless playoff runs, all those spring nights of entertainment. He was good to them. Then he wasn’t, bailing before the proper Hollywood ending.

And for what? . . .

With LeBron, a championship felt inevitable.

That was the destination. What was also lost was the journey.

The Cavs drew people together, city and suburb, white and black, rich and poor. They also connected family and friends. They gave reason to send a text message to someone you had drifted away from. They provided a reason to share an experience with your parents or your children or both. They offered an excuse to catch a game with a high school buddy.

And it gave all those ex-Clevelanders who had to chase their professional and personal dreams elsewhere feel that pull to these old neighborhoods, those old sunsets over the lake, those old memories of days and people back home.

At its best, that’s what professional sports can do for a place. It makes a city come together in the shared pursuit of something simple and tangible, even if, in the end, it’s not all that important. It just feels that way in the moment.

And that’s what many here feel James stole when he left. In one swift Decision, it was gone.

Downtown was marked by desolate streets, empty parking garages and half-filled bars on Sunday. The place should’ve been popping. That game in Miami should’ve been that game right here at the Q. Those fans screaming in Florida should’ve been right here in Ohio.

LeBron left, and that’s what he took with him to South Beach.

The 106th Division’s experience was extreme even in a time of extremes. As one concise summary puts it, when the division “caught the brunt of the German Offensive on 16 December 1944,” its members:

• had been on the Continent only 15 days,

• had been in place in a “quiet” sector for orientation,

• had the youngest troops (average age – 22) of any American Division on line,

• had been in their new positions only five days,

• had no prior warning that the Germans were going to attack, and

• occupied a front line that covered over three times the normal distance.

My dad, a member of the HQ Company of the 422nd Regiment of the 106 (pictured at left at Camp Atterbury, Indiana; my dad is the 2nd from the left in the top row), has told me that on the night of December 15, 1944, he was on sentry duty in the snowbound forest, believing there wasn’t another soul within hundreds of miles off to the east. In fact, there were over 500,000 German troops readying the last Nazi counteroffensive of the war.

The “After Action Report” submitted prepared by the Army one month laterlays out the devastation suffered by the 106th Division in bureaucratic terms that cannot hide the reality:

It is presumed that the 422nd Infantry Regiment, 423rd Infantry Regiment, 589th FA Bn, 590th FA Bn and the 106th Reconnaissance Troop were eventually overpowered by the German forces east of ST VITH and the bulk of the personnel captured about 19 or 20 December. The strength of the German attack in the division sector and the forces available to the division at the time prevented their being relieved. Attempts to supply the units by air failed because of the weather, although, as learned later, two drops were made but not within their reach. It is known that they were still in the fight early 19 December. It is also known that prisoners were taken by the Germans. However, the final chapter in the defense of the SCHNEE EIFFEL penetration of the SEIGFRIED LINE held by these units is not now known.

The estimated losses sustained during this period were 8490, including 415 killed in action, 1254 wounded in action and 6821 missing in action. A large part of the organizational equipment and most of the individual clothing and equipment of CT 422, CT 423 and the 106th Reconnaissance Troop were lost when these units were cut off in the SCHNEE EIFFEL region.

What followed for my father were months during which he was solaced by only 2 thoughts. Each day he realized he still was alive. He has also confessed to me that throughout he was regularly struck by the astounding nature of the events he was living through.

But it was hell. You can go here to read several accounts that overlap with his to a considerable degree. He was marched hundreds of miles through a frozen winter. He was transported in suffocating boxcars that were strafed and bombed by Allied planes. He and his fellow Jewish-Americans were segregated from the other American GI’s; it is only because the Nazi bureaucracy required that he, a non-commissioned officer, be removed from a camp reserved for privates that he escaped being shipped to Berga, about which his army buddy Charles Guggenheim made a film many years later. Finally, he ended up in Stalag IX-A in Ziegenhain, Germany. He has told me that one of the most horrifying sights while in Stalag IX-A was not within the camp itself but nearby — a hospital for German Army amputees, with its countless number of men with missing limbs.

Richard Peterson, a fellow POW in Stalag IX-A, describes their liberation:

The tanks of the 6th Armored Division arrived almost too late to use what remained of the daylight. But before darkness came on Good Friday in 1945 they roared down the main street of Stammlager IXA, Ziegenhain, Germany, liberating over 6,000 Allied prisoners of war, including me. We cheered them until we were hoarse, and begged for cigarettes and food. The tankers did not know they would find Americans in the camp, and had made no preparations for the starvation they discovered. They gave us all their own rations, promising to send more food and medicine to us the next day.

As I wrote above, my dad rarely speaks of those he lost along the way to liberation. But I know he thinks of them all the time.

“We have a responsibility, as artists, to fight for better conditions. I see freedom and justice as basic, fundamental rights for everyone. I’m just in this position to make my voice heard.” He acknowledges that his fame, and friends around the world, afford him that ability. “But there are a million people like me in China. I don’t think they can stop us all.”

America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing, except a tragic death wish, to prevent us from reordering our priorities, so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

This kind of positive revolution of values is our best defense against communism. War is not the answer. Communism will never be defeated by the use of atomic bombs or nuclear weapons. Let us not join those who shout war and through their misguided passions urge the United States to relinquish its participation in the United Nations. These are days which demand wise restraint and calm reasonableness. We must not call everyone a Communist or an appeaser who advocates the seating of Red China in the United Nations and who recognizes that hate and hysteria are not the final answers to the problem of these turbulent days. We must not engage in a negative anti-communism, but rather in a positive thrust for democracy, realizing that our greatest defense against communism is to take offensive action in behalf of justice. We must with positive action seek to remove thosse conditions of poverty, insecurity and injustice which are the fertile soil in which the seed of communism grows and develops.

The People Are Important

These are revolutionary times. All over the globe men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and oppression and out of the wombs of a frail world new systems of justice and equality are being born. The shirtless and barefoot people of the land are rising up as never before. “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.” We in the West must support these revolutions. It is a sad fact that, because of comfort, complacency, a morbid fear of communism, and our proneness to adjust to injustice, the Western nations that initiated so much of the revolutionary spirit of the modern world have now become the arch anti-revolutionaries. This has driven many to feel that only Marxism has the revolutionary spirit. Therefore, communism is a judgement against our failure to make democracy real and follow through on the revolutions we initiated. Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world declaring eternal hostility to poverty, racism, and militarism. With this powerful commitment we shall boldly challenge the status quo and unjust mores and thereby speed the day when “every valley shall be exalted, and every moutain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough places plain.”

A genuine revolution of values means in the final analysis that our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Every nation must now develop an overriding loyalty to mankind as a whole in order to preserve the best in their individual societies.

This call for a world-wide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one’s tribe, race, class and nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing and unconditional love for all men. This oft misunderstood and misinterpreted concept — so readily dismissed by the Nietzsches of the world as a weak and cowardly force — has now become an absolute necessity for the survival of man. When I speak of love I am not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am speaking of that force which all of the great religions have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life. Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door which leads to ultimate reality. This Hindu-Moslem-Christian-Jewish-Buddhist belief about ultimate reality is beautifully summed up in the first epistle of Saint John:

Let us love one another; for love is God and everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. If we love one another God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.

Let us hope that this spirit will become the order of the day. We can no longer afford to worship the god of hate or bow before the altar of retaliation. The oceans of history are made turbulent by the ever-rising tides of hate. History is cluttered with the wreckage of nations and individuals that pursued this self-defeating path of hate. As Arnold Toynbee says : “Love is the ultimate force that makes for the saving choice of life and good against the damning choice of death and evil. Therefore the first hope in our inventory must be the hope that love is going to have the last word.”

We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked and dejected with a lost opportunity. The “tide in the affairs of men” does not remain at the flood; it ebbs. We may cry out deperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: “Too late.” There is an invisible book of life that faithfully records our vigilance or our neglect. “The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on…” We still have a choice today; nonviolent coexistence or violent co-annihilation.

We must move past indecision to action. We must find new ways to speak for peace in Vietnam and justice throughout the developing world — a world that borders on our doors. If we do not act we shall surely be dragged down the long dark and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter — but beautiful — struggle for a new world. This is the callling of the sons of God, and our brothers wait eagerly for our response. Shall we say the odds are too great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard? Will our message be that the forces of American life militate against their arrival as full men, and we send our deepest regrets? Or will there be another message, of longing, of hope, of solidarity with their yearnings, of commitment to their cause, whatever the cost? The choice is ours, and though we might prefer it otherwise we must choose in this crucial moment of human history.

As that noble bard of yesterday, James Russell Lowell, eloquently stated:

Once to every man and nation
Comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth and falsehood,
For the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God’s new Messiah,
Off’ring each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever
Twixt that darkness and that light.

Though the cause of evil prosper,
Yet ’tis truth alone is strong;
Though her portion be the scaffold,
And upon the throne be wrong:
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
And behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow
Keeping watch above his own.