Mr. Gorke's Tattoo

The custodian at our junior high school, Mr. Gorke, had a small tattoo on his forearm. Being a 13 year old idiot, I asked him where he got it. He said he was too busy to explain, but he would tell me later. An older student overheard our exchange, took me aside and gave me a terse yet accurate description of the Holocaust. I'd never heard a word about it until that moment, and I found the entire concept impossible to imagine.

That evening after supper, my Dad filled in a few more blanks for me. As a WWII veteran, he felt he had an obligation to tell me all he knew.

A few days later Mr. Gorke asked me to help him set things up for an assembly. I arrived at the gym to find everything already set up and Mr. Gorke sitting alone in the front row.

Over the next half hour he gently but explicitly led me through his horrific story. Sensing my shock he said, "I know this is difficult Brian, but you need to know what happened." I don't think I responded but I recall a huge wave of sadness washing over me as I left the gym.

Over time Mr. Gorke and I developed a friendship and I was honored to attend his funeral in 1997. We only discussed his ordeal that one time.
I can only wish for the eloquence required to properly express my horror at the monstrous acts of which we're capable as "human beings", particularly as they compare to the bravery and steadfastness of the human spirit.