Through The Looking Glass

 

1. Comrades,

   Everytime I visit that wall I still get sad. There’s a kid I knew whose name is on that wall. He was a couple years older than me, but in a small town, everyone knows everyone. His mom had divorced and didn’t have much time for him. As a result, he was a bit of a loner, and always wore what we then called “hand me downs”. After high school, he lit out and volunteered for the Army.

   One of my friends got a couple notes from him, but he didn’t come back to visit until about 18 months later. He was shipping out for Vietnam, and come home to find his mother had packed up and moved away. No forwarding address. Nothing. Just some other family living in the house he used to call home.

   My folks took him in for a few days until he had to leave. We drove him to the airport and saw him off. He was really taken by that.

   He wrote a few letters, and then nothing. A little while later we got the news that he had been killed in action. The problem the Army had was we were his last known address, and they couldn’t locate the mother. My dad, a Navy veteran of WWII was also the local Legion Post Commander. He got the folks together and the town came up with the costs to take care of the kid’s burial. He has a small plot in a small town cemetary, but he’s surrounded by other veterans, and each memorial day, his name is read with all the others.

   Every couple of years I go back home to visit, and I stop by his grave. I often think how sad it all really is, but as a veteran myself, I know that his remains will be watched over. Whenever I’m in DC I stop by the wall and make a rubbing of his name. I send it back to my hometown with a short note to make sure that someone remembers him, just a polite jog of the memory.

   On monday, I’ll go down to where a small group of us stand and wait for the parade. It’s one of two days that I put my old beret back on, the other being Veteran’s day. Most of us are grey and aging, but when the colors come by you can see the glream in the old fellow’s eyes. The backs stiffen a little more, the head a little higher, and when the colors are 6 paces from us, we salute like we were taught to do.

   There’s always a bunch of folks in shorts and tank tops, sitting in lawn chairs and wondering what the f*ck we old timers are doing. But we remember what the day is about, and old friends and the young ones who came after us. To most folks, it’s beer and barbecue. To us, it’s comrades gone before, and thanks to God we can still find such men and women.

   Sorry for the rant, but this day is special to me in many ways, and sometimes i just need to vent.

   Respects to all,

   Gwedd

   Posted by Gwedd       05/27/2006  at  08:39 PM  



2. Skipper,

   EXCELLENT WORK!!!!

   God bless all those who serve.  And especially their families who sacrifice so much.  I will spend Monday teaching my children WHY we have Memorial Day.

   David

   Posted by itismedavid       05/27/2006  at  09:31 PM  



3. Skipper, you always seem to hit the nail on the head!
   God bless our troops and their families.
   For those that have gone before and those in battle today:
   THANK YOU for your sacrifice!
   THANK YOU for keeping us safe!
   THANK YOU for standing up for what is right, when so many try to tear you down.

   Posted by Melissa in Texas       05/27/2006  at  10:54 PM  



4. Skipper, thoughtful post and pic. Thank you.
   Gwedd, thanks for sharing your touching story.
   About thirty years ago, I searched for and found my grandfather’s grave overgrown with brush. I went home, came back with tools and cleared it, then gave the cemetery office a chewing out.  Been back every year since, and it is immaculate.

   BTW Skipper, the poet Joyce Kilmer that you cited was in my grandfather’s division in WW1, and was KIA at the Ourq River near Chateau-Thierry. Somehow, this thread seems more appropriate, so if you don’t mind, I’ll repost:

   In memory of my grandfather
   Bugler Irvine Carroll
   42nd (Rainbow) Division, WW1
   Campaigns and battles:  Luneville, Baccarat, Champagne-Marne, Chateau-Thierry/Ourq River, St. Mihiel, Essey-Pannes, Meuse-Argonne, Sedan, Rhine Occupation
   died aged 36 from effects of being gassed
   Awards:  Victory Medal w/ 5 bars, Occupation Medal, Croix-de-Guerre

   and my godfather
   Captain Donald L. Gambrill, WW2
   830th Bomber Squadron, 485th Bomber Group, Heavy
   55 missions B-24 pilot
   KIA 10-Apr-45
   Buried at: Plot C Row 15 Grave 39
   Florence American Cemetery, Florence, Italy
   Awards: Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with 2 Oak Leaf Clusters, Purple Heart

   I wish I knew them.

   Posted by dick       05/27/2006  at  11:22 PM  

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