NAMES ON A WALL ARE A POWERFUL REMINDER
Written: Apr 22 '01 (Updated Apr 22 '01)
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Product Rating:
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Pros: Touching reminder of lost heroes that will bring tears to the hardest person
Cons: None
The Bottom Line: Names etched in a black rock prove to be the most touching Memorial of all.
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| mike.holmes's Full Review: Vietnam Veterans Memorial |
I stand in front of this black wall with names etched into it. I reach up and touch the name Robert and tears run down my cheeks. My friend Ed Williamson has written a beautiful review of the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial. His words made me want to add mine from a slightly different perspective.
"Robert" was not how we knew this once young man, forever young in our minds as we age. "Bobby" was our friend in high school, having moved from a small town near Odessa, Texas in his sophomore year. Bobby was not big. In fact, he was slight but he had a big heart and a great brain. Our senior year Bobby won district in Extemporaneous Speech. His potential was unlimited.
Except now I gaze at one name among over 50,000 on this black wall that stretches too far in each direction from me. There are flowers, letters, photos and other people touching the wall while I am there. And all I can think of is "Why?"
1965. A different time. A seemingly more innocent time. Three presidents had gradually escalated our presence in this country none of us had heard of: Vietnam. From mere advisors we became active participants in another country's Civil War. Why? We didn't ask that question back then. Our fathers had fought to save democracy in WWII and Korea and now our boys were spilling their blood in order to stem the rising tide of Communism.
Bobby came up to me the day of graduation with his typical big smile. He wanted to tell me something momentous. He had joined the U.S. Marines. All 5 foot 8 inches and 130 pounds of him. I was dumbfounded. I thought that he would go to college with Ed and me and be on the speech team. Not Bobby. His Marine recruiter had assured him that he would be placed in Electronics. We didn't know that recruiter promises were the equivalent of "The check's in the mail."
My son and daughter are standing next to me while I look at Bobby's name. They are sensitive children but they're confused by my behavior. I try to explain but words don't come easily even after all of the years. The wall is the most moving Memorial that I have ever seen. Simplistic in design, it reaches your heart by the realization that you are looking at only one of the thousands of young people who died so far away, so long ago.
To use Ed's device, fast forward. I'm a freshman in college when Bobby comes home after Boot Camp. He looks different. He talks different. He tells me that the Marines could take over the United States if they wanted to. When I laugh and point out the Air Force, Army
and Navy might disagree, he frowns and says that wouldn't be a problem. He's serious. He's also a Grunt. Infantry. Electronics? Forgotten promises for this now gung-ho marine who wants to go kill Viet Cong. He leaves for some more training but promises to see me around
Christmas.
I look for more names of fallen comrades. My high school class lost seven young men in Viet Nam. One won the Congressional Medal of Honor. I feel numb as I visit these other names. I was not as close to the others but I knew each of them. We move back and look at the Wall and I still have that question in my heart. Why?
Bobby keeps his promise and calls me just before Christmas. He wants to get together for a Coke about 8 p.m. First he has to eat dinner at the house of one of our teachers. He sounds upbeat and full of optimism.
At 8, Bobby drives up to my house looking as though he'd seen a ghost. I get in the car and we drive to a local drive-in but Bobby doesn't want to talk about what's bothering him. He tells me that he has received his orders to go to Viet Nam in a few weeks. But that's not why he's down. At the dinner with his teacher the teacher's four year old child looks at Bobby and says "We'll never see you again." A four year old. Bobby's optimism has disappeared. I try to give him a pep talk because I don't want him going to war thinking he's going to die.
Looking at the Wall, I am looking at an unchangeable past. Memories come like ghosts searching for what might have been. But names never leave this place. Eternal truth is
etched into its dark surface.
Fast forward. Bobby and I correspond for months. His first letters are positive about how the Marines are kicking a** bigtime and its just a matter of time before the other side gives up. As the months pass, the tenor of his letters change. He begins to question what the hell
he's doing in this godforsaken jungle. For months, his company has been promised relief and for months, he slogs through the jungle and sees comrades die. He is angry.
In the summer of 1966, I receive a phonecall from Bobby's mother. Something is wrong. She manages through choked tears to tell me that Bobby has been killed in Viet Nam. The first from Odessa to die there. She is calling because Bobby always mentioned that I wrote him regularly. She asks me to be a pallbearer at his funeral. I'm in near shock but I agree to be a pallbearer for a nineteen year old young man that had the world awaiting him and now was
gone.
After I hang up, my Mother says I have some mail. One letter. From Viet Nam. From Bobby. I haven't told my Mom yet but I go to my bedroom and read Bobby's final letter to
me. It makes me sad and it makes me mad. Bobby had three hours sleep in the last three days when he took the time to write me. The Cong were giving his company hell and he was
so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open. But he wanted to thank me. Me?
This boy turned man wanted to thank me for writing him. His life was hell but he closed with the hopes of all young men that he would soon be out of that damn jungle and into
college.
The day after he wrote this letter, still dog tired from lack of sleep and support from Washington, Bobby tripped a wire to a Bouncing Betty and was instantly killed. His casket could not remain open. He was dead at 19.
The Wall stands in the same city whose leaders let Bobby and the thousands of others down in the 1960's and 70's. We, from those fatcat politicians and the military industrialists who profited from the war, to the everyday citizen who ignored the war or spat on our returning
soldiers, let Bobby down just as much. The Memorial will not bring these young people back but it stands as a strong reminder that, at times, we should all ask a resounding "WHY?"
Recommended:
Yes
Best Suited For: Families
Best Time to Travel Here: Mar - May
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Member: Mike Holmes
Location: Odessa, Texas
Reviews written: 1176
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RACIST RUSH HAS NO BUSINESS CALLING ANYONE ELSE A RACIST
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