The Time: Jan 1990
The Place: The Viet Nam Veterans Memorial, "The Wall",
Wash DC.
The Event: A Visit
The gray, wet sky is disappearing in the gloom of the
oncoming evening. The cold breeze only intensifies the chill I feel as
I top the grassy knoll, turn right and stare down the full length of the
dimly lit Viet Nam Veterans Memorial or as the vets call it, "The Wall
".
The statue of the three Viet Nam combat soldiers appears
to my right. They almost seem to be moving as they shift in and out of
the evening mist. Their skin is slick and wet as if from sweat not rain
and their weapons reflect as in sun light not lamp light. The traffic noise
of the city fades from my mind and is replaced by the steady thumping and
thudding of rotor blades. I'm watching from the cockpit as they calmly
approach my aircraft for yet another lift to yet another LZ. I turn my
head and prepare to take off. The turbine whines, the dust starts to rise!
As my eyes refocus, "The WALL" pulls me back to the present. I walk on
and leave the three warriors to their eternal patrol.
I start down the slate stone walk that parallels "The
WALL" as Section 12 West awaits me. The names of those I flew with and
even ones I grew up with are etched on this section. I've met here often
with them. I touch one of their names and I see his face, hear his voice,
feel the warmth of his smile. We're together at chow or playing cards in
a hootch or he's laughing at one of my bad jokes. It's been twenty years
but he's never gotten any older, nor will he. I move my hand and other
youthful faces appear and accompany me in my journey. The smell of jungle,
the noise of battle, the cold flashes of fear are there again with me,
with us. It grows and intensifies as we continue our days, battle by battle,
trading our youth for experiences. I drop my hand and slowly the world
of now and today returns. They are gone and I feel very tired, worn and
alone.
As I start to walk up the incline to leave, I pass a
man with his young son by his side. His hand is covering a name as he presses
hard against "The WALL". "Is that your best friend's name, daddy ?" the
boy asks. The father can't talk, he just shakes his head. The boy takes
his father hand in his and asks "Why did he die, daddy ?". The man swings
the boy up into his arms and holds him tightly as he says, "Saving me,
son, he was saving me".
Twenty six years in uniform and I was never so proud
of it as I was at that moment! For as long as men remember the legacy of
truly unselfish acts of courage and sacrifice, of lives given willingly
for the sake of others, then our heritage of freedoms shall be preserved.
And for us who have borne this burden, we will have reason to go on.
Up on the grassy knoll, the colors of the well lit flag
seem bold as it floats on the dark night wind. And as I approach them,
the warrior statues emerge from the mist. I stand and report to them that,
for tonight, all is well. And as the mist closes in again, we warriors
slowly fade into it.
Ed Gallagher
(The author is a former US Army helicopter pilot with
over 200 combat mission in Viet N am and Cambodia.)
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