I read about the man who took exception to the presence of the Nazi flag at CanalPlace and have to admit that I had a similar — but far less spectacular — reaction when I saw it.

My thought was, “They killed my cousin, and they tried to kill my uncle, and their disciples are still around. I hope the (expletive deleted)s aren’t coming here.”

Before saying anything out loud, I asked some people who told me it was part of the Cumberland Goes to War! encampment.

That made it more acceptable. Before you can judge something, it helps to know the reason for it.

We cannot be selective about history. We have to remember the bad as well as the good, because without understanding what is bad, there is no way we can understand or fully appreciate what is good. I have considerable familiarity with both.

Last weekend, I had another reminder of something that is good. A fellow at my table asked how I got ideas for the things I write, and I said it was from people I meet and the experiences we share.

“Things like this, today?” he asked. Yes, I said, things like this, and people like him.

A while later, I visited what remained of the Cumberland Goes To War! encampment and talked to some of the folks who help us to remember our history.

I told the men in American uniforms about my uncle, the medic who barely made it through that war, and my cousin, the B-17 bomber crewman who didn’t. I told the men in the field gray of Wehrmacht troops that I had other relatives who wore uniforms like theirs, but knew nothing about them.

When I met the gentleman who portrays Gen. George S. Patton, I passed on a story I’d heard earlier that day about another general.

Retired Marine Gunnery Sgt. Gene Arbogast talked about the Oct. 23, 1983, bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut. It was an emotional thing for him, because he could very well have been one of its victims, and it rubbed off on those who heard it. I told Arbogast it was a difficult job well done.

He said Marine Corps Commandant P.X. Kelley visited the wounded, one of whom was Lance Cpl. Jeffrey Nashton. Nashton had numerous broken bones, couldn’t speak, was unable to hear much and was temporarily blinded. Kelley later said he’d never seen so many tubes coming out of one man.

When told who was at his bedside, Nashton reached up, counted the four general’s stars on Kelley’s collar to be sure he was hearing the truth, and motioned for something to write with.

He wrote “Semper Fi,” the commonly used short version of the Marine Corps motto, “Semper Fidelis” (“Always Faithful”) and gave it to the general.

Kelley later had his stars mounted on a plaque that read “Semper Fi” and gave them to Ashton, saying, “You deserve them more than I do.”

Another man who heard that story was Bill Menges, my friend from a bowling league years ago. I didn’t know back then that Bill had served for decades as a Marine and was part of the Iwo Jima invasion.

Bill recently gave me a copy of his memoirs from that battle in the hopes I would find it interesting and maybe have use for it — which I have, on both counts. One of the points he made was that, “War never proves who is right or who is wrong, only who is left ... Amen.”

He also wrote about Adolph Fang, one of his buddies who had been wounded, but survived and suffered from his injuries for the remaining 41 years of his life:

“As I approached him, I could see he was covered with blood, ashen grey and starry-eyed, he looked at Mike Ladich and said, ‘Mike, do you think I will get a Purple Heart for this?’ I almost broke down. Here was a man with five machine gun bullets in his chest, in obvious shock and extreme pain, not knowing if he was going to live or die, and still had a sense of humor.”

During the Clinton administration, an under-under-undersecretary of something stated in rather snotty fashion that she didn’t have much use for the Marines because “They’re fanatics.”

As my beloved old friend Mary Calemine used to say about such people, she didn’t know that she didn’t know ... or maybe she didn’t understand that she didn’t understand.

I’m not sure that fanatics is the right word, but if I’m going to have people standing between me and the evil that keeps hanging around America’s doorstep, I want their devotion to that duty, and their proficiency, to be at the absolutely highest level.

It was an honor to have been invited to the Mountainside Marine Corps League’s annual celebration of the Corps’ 233rd birthday (Nov. 10, 1775), particularly because of who else was there: the relatives of Navy Chief Hospital Corpsman George William Piercy of Mount Savage. Piercy was among the 241 American service members killed in the Beirut bombing; another 60 were wounded.

My thanks to Mountainside Marines’ Commandant Don Schneider Jr., Master of Ceremonies Vic Ryan, Gunny Arbogast, National MCL Commandant James Laskey (a Vietnam veteran who gave one of the best talks I’ve heard; I didn’t know that the Marine Corps was conceived in a Philadelphia tavern that Ben Franklin frequented) and the others, many of whom I am proud to call friends.

God bless you for all that you’ve done. Thank you for my freedom. Semper Fi. Welcome Home.

P.S.: To those of you who are responsible for the brick with my name on it — you know who you are, and what I’m referring to — thanks so much. It means more than I can ever say.