I t’s probably safe to say that few, if any, of the more than 100,000 World War II veterans at the dedication of the impressive memorial in Washington, D.C., over the Memorial Day weekend expected thousands of young Americans to tell them they appreciated what the ‘’Greatest Generation” had done for their country.

My wife, Vi, and I didn’t.

We expected to see the new memorial, as well as the memorials for the veterans of the Vietnam and Korean wars, and visit the capital’s museums and other attractions. No one, we felt, would pay any attention to us.

Instead, hundreds of Americans of all ages stopped us to shake our hands and ask where we served and then thank us for serving in the Great War to end Hitler’s reign of terror. Most other veterans can tell similar stories.

My unit, the 776th antiaircraft battalion, was attached to Vi’s brigade in southwestern England just before D-Day. Vi was a telephonist at the brigade’s headquarters. We met one Sunday morning on a huge grassy slope overlooking a bay full of LSDs. It was love at first sight.

Later, my battalion landed on Omaha Beach in Normandy. In late June, our battalion moved with the Third Army through Paris and into eastern France. Hitler’s army collapsed soon thereafter. In March 1945, I flew to England and married Vi.

We hadn’t intended to go to Washington, D.C., to attend the dedication of the new memorial. Our son John and daughters Pat and Heather offered to pay the major expenses. How could we refuse?

We began to experience the respect that many Americans have for World War II veterans soon after we boarded a United Airlines plane in Spokane. Passengers, pilots and attendants wanted to shake our hands and ask where we served.

In Chicago, where we changed planes, an attractive woman at a United desk tried to get us into the first class compartment, but the last two seats there were sold just before the plane was scheduled to leave. One young woman offered us her first class seat, but we thanked her and turned her down. As the passengers were boarding, a United official asked us to go to the head of the line. We declined.

When we checked into the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel in Washington, we thought we’d no longer be approached by appreciative Americans. We were wrong. Everyone, including the hotel’s staff, wanted to hear where we served and thank us.

When we wanted to know how to get to the national zoo, Smithsonian or any other place in Washington, Ruth Asmerom, consierge at the hotel, was ready with detailed instructions. Ruth, formerly from Eritrea, Africa, and Vi became good friends.

When we wanted to travel on the Metro subway trains, Alexandra MacMaster, an official of the D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities, canceled her schedule for the rest of the day and showed us how to get from one place to another. Formerly from Britain, the 39-year-old official is in charge of the upkeep of the numerous panda replicas scattered throughout Washington.

We meant to visit all of the memorials, the zoo and some of the museums. However, because so many young men and women stopped us to express their gratitude and learn where we had served during World War II, we ran out of time.

We didn’t get around to seeing the new memorial until Memorial Day, a day that we’ll always remember.

Although it was raining, thousands of veterans and their families were at the memorial. Sons and daughters pushed the wheelchairs of their disabled fathers around the concrete. Other sons and daughters accompanied fathers. And, of course, most veterans were there by themselves or with other veterans.

Vi and I thought we could see the memorial in an hour. Because so many people stopped us to shake our hands, though, we spent more than two hours at the memorial. Every veteran seemed to be getting the same treatment.

Hundreds of relatives of veterans who lost their lives during World War II had left pictures and other memorabilia of their loved ones, as well as flowers, at the bases of impressive columns for each state. The rain soaked everything.

We visited the Vietnam and Korean War memorials during the next few hours. While photographing the haunting statues of Korean War soldiers, we were approached by more people who wanted to say they were grateful for our World War II service. Finally, we had to cancel plans to visit other memorials and make our way back to the Metro station and our hotel.

Most of the World War II veterans who visited Washington, D.C., during the dedication of the new memorial undoubtedly will remember for the rest of their lives the way they were welcomed and thanked. There’s a remarkable reservoir of good feeling for veterans, especially those who served in the armed forces from 1942 through 1945.