This was sent from a very good friend of ours: likewise a military officer. This isnt a news item, but it deserves to be read. Those of you who were on active duty during the SEA war know what he is saying. I had the honor to be with the group that chose Mayas design for the Vietnam Memorial. We thought it would look good and would be an uplifting experience. For years afterward, we had to keep our mouths shut, thinking that in someway, we had not done our best in choosing. Interestingly enough, soon the wall was re-discovered and people were making pilgrimages to it, some annually. You know the rest of the story. And Im proud of what we were able to do and of the young college-aged girl named Maya who sent in her design. Subject: Fwd: USN F4J Pilot, Vietnam ... If youre not a Vietnam Vet and you received this from me, you should know that I consider you a good friend and unique in that you would understand this message. As we face a new year, I recall visiting with three old friends, a few years back, at a park in the nations capital. It seems like only yesterday that we were all together, but actually it has been 42 years. There was a crowd at the park that day, and it took us a while to connect, but with the aid of a book we made it. I found Harry, Bruce and Paul. In 1970-72 we were gung-ho young fighter pilots on America and Constellation off Vietnam, the cream of the crop of the U.S. Navy, flying F-4J Phantoms. Now their names are on that 500-foot-long Vietnam War Memorial. I am hesitant to visit the wall when Im in Washington DC because I dont trust myself to keep my composure. Standing in front of that somber wall, I tried to keep it light, reminiscing about how things were back then. We used to joke about our passionate love affair with an inanimate flying object-we flew. We marveled at the thought that we actually got paid to do it. We were not draftees but college graduates in Vietnam by choice, opting for the cramped confines of a jet fighter cockpit over the comfort of corporate America. In all my life Ive not been so passionate about any other work. If that sounds like an exaggeration, then youve never danced the wild blue with a supersonic angel. To fight for your country is an honor. I vividly remember leaving my family and friends in San Diego headed for Vietnam. I wondered if I would live to see them again. For reasons I still dont understand, I was fortunate to return while others did not. Once in Vietnam, we passed the long, lonely hours in Alert 5, the ready room, our staterooms or the Cubi OClub. The complaint heard most often, in the standard gallows humor of a combat squadron, was, Its a lousy war, but its the only one we have. (Ive cleaned up the language a bit.) We sang mostly raunchy songs that never seemed to end-someone was always writing new verses-and, as an antidote to loneliness, fear in the night and the sadness over dead friends, we often drank too much. At the wall, I told the guys only about the good parts of the years since we’ve been apart. I talked of those who went on to command squadrons. Those who made Captain and flag rank. I asked them if theyve seen some other squadronmates who have joined them. I didnt tell them about how ostracized Vietnam vets still are. I didnt relate how the media had implied we Vietnam vets were, to quote one syndicated columnist, either suckers or psychos, victims or monsters. I didnt tell them that Hanoi Jane, who shot at us and helped torture our POWs, had married one of the richest guys in the United States. I didnt tell them that the secretary of defense they fought for back then has now declared that he was not a believer in the cause for which he assigned them all to their destiny. I didnt tell them that our commander-in-chief avoided serving while they were fighting and dying. And I didnt tell them we lost that lousy war. I gave them the same story Ive used for years: We were winning when I left. I relived that final day as I stared at the black onyx wall. After 297 combat missions, we were leaving the South China Sea … heading east. The excitement of that day was only exceeded by coming into the break at Miramar, knowing that my wife, my two boys, my parents and other friends and family were waiting to welcome me home. I was not the only one talking to the wall through tears. Folks in fatigues, leather vests, motorcycle jackets, flight jackets lined the wall talking to friends. I backed about 25 yards away from the wall and sat down on the grass under a clear blue sky and midday sun that perfectly matched the tropical weather of the war zone. The wall, with all 58,200 names, consumed my field of vision. I tried to wrap my mind around the violence, carnage and ruined lives that it represented. Then I thought of how Vietnam was only one small war in the history of the human race. I was overwhelmed with a sense of mankinds wickedness balanced against some men and womens willingness to serve. Before becoming a spectacle in the park, I got up and walked back up to the wall to say goodbye and ran my fingers over the engraved names of my friends as if I could communicate with them through some kind of spiritual touch. I wanted them to know that God, duty, honor and country will always remain the noblest calling. Revisionist history from elite draft dodgers trying to justify and rationalize their own actions will never change that. I believe I have been a productive member of society since the day I left Vietnam. I am honored to have served there, and I am especially proud of my friends-heroes who voluntarily, enthusiastically gave their all. They demonstrated no greater love to a nation whose highbrow opinion makers are still trying to disavow them. May their names, indelibly engraved on that memorial wall, likewise be found in the Book of Life. Remember that throughout the new year. As an afterthought, I find it funny how simple it is for people to trash different ways of living and believing and then wonder why the world is going to hell. Funny how you can send a thousand jokes through e-mail and they spread like wildfire, but when you start sending messages regarding life choices, people think twice about sharing. Funny how the lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but the public discussion of morality is suppressed in the school and workplace. Funny isnt it? Funny how when you go to forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because youre not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it to them. Funny how I can be more worried about what other people think of me than what I think of me. I wish you a happy, healthy and prosperous 2014, Any man who thinks he can be happy and prosperous by letting the government take care of him, better take a closer look at the American Indian. - Henry Ford
Posted on: Tue, 04 Mar 2014 00:04:32 +0000
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