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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