Memorial Day, the fallen, and Rod McKuen

Memorial Day, the fallen, and Rod McKuen

I’ve listened to so many veterans – countless veterans – share their stories. I’ve sat as active duty military members gave accounts of situations I wouldn’t dare to imagine. War is unthinkable. It wounds the heart and tramples the soul. It leaves images that haunt those who serve our country for years. It is sacrifice. It is the cost of freedom.

In its wake, it has left countless fallen men and women and still more who returned home plagued by fear, guilt and questions. It is those men and women who stand up and who refuse to let those who have offered the ultimate sacrifice in the name of freedom be forgotten.

The Wall that Heals made a stop in my county this Memorial Day weekend.  I have come to know many a name upon that Wall. I have researched several men from our county, thanks to a dear friend. I recently researched and wrote about one of those men from my town. These men all gave their lives … and left sorrow and inconsolable grief on the hearts of families, friends and fellow brothers and sisters.

One man, who isn't from our county, but whose name appears on The Wall, is Stephen Gari. He was a friend of my friend. I wouldn’t have known him from any newspaper clipping. He wasn’t from around here. I wouldn’t have read about him in a history book. There is no movie on his life.

But my friend is a man who won’t let Gari's memory fade. And so it was that I went with my tattered, pen-and-pencil scribbled list of well-researched numbers and dates on a worn and slightly crumpled piece of ledger paper – the list I had compiled of men whose names I wanted to find on the Wall – men whose sacrifice was life itself.

As I looked at the list, I approached panel 2, line 4. There, at the highest point of the wall was the name of a man that I would never know -- but whose name forever will be in my memory -- etched in metal. He was a member of the Military Police, an Army Specialist 4^th class. I’ve read that he enjoyed a cold beer, a good game of poker and poetry of the Rod McKuen variety.

“It’s nice sometimes

to open up the heart a little

and let some hurt come in.

It proves you’re still alive.”

~ Rod McKuen, Listen to the Warm

I’ll admit, I had to research Mr. McKuen; my pop-music acumen isn’t fabulous. However, I read this poem and felt it quite fitting… as Vietnam Veterans approach The Wall, how carefully and, often, how timidly they open up their heart to let in a little of that hurt.

Oh, the hurt is great – but the release of some of that hurt, the strength to mourn and the courage to heal is even greater. 

So I stood there at that Wall. I saw Mr. Gari’s name up at the highest point. I wanted to make an etching of his name for my friend, but I didn’t know how I could reach it. I asked one of the volunteers who actually helped me round up a tall-ish gentleman and his young son, and we asked if they might be willing to help me get this rubbing. The boy – who must have been around 8 to10, willingly climbed up onto his father’s shoulders, and did an incredible job on the first try. It felt right – teamwork had played a role in bringing this rubbing to my friend just as teamwork had created such a strong bond between these two men, living hundreds of miles apart, who served together in the U.S. Army, in a land so foreign to both of them.

As I walked back to the parking lot, I ran into a few more Vietnam Veterans, two of whom spent about a half-hour sharing stories of their lives with me, reminiscing about friends made, talking about aircraft carriers and mess halls, sharing stories about the children they raised, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and referencing friends on the Wall. One gentleman said it had been fifty years ... and he finally felt like he was home...

Honor often yields healing. When these men and women serve as volunteers at the Wall or come to spend moments of quiet in front of the Wall, there is healing. There is a sense of honor that fills that space.

To those who gave their lives … "thank you" never will be enough.

To those veterans who honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice … thank you for wrestling with both the visible and invisible wounds of war. Thank you for having the strength to do what you do. Thank you, of course, never will be enough.

In honor of my dear friend’s friend, Stephen L. Gari, and those men who died from our town:

Donald Eugene Dermont Jr., April 11, 1966, Army SP4

Dennis Earl Jahn, April 10, 1971, Army, SP4

Gordon Manson Gaylord, April 6, 1970, Air Force TSGT

Toby Edward Jaeckels, September 21, 1969, Army, SGT

Sidney John Elyea, February 2, 1966, Army SP4

Thank you…

Stephen L. Gari, Army

Donald Dermont

Dennis Jahn

Gordon Gaylord

Toby Jaeckesl

Sidney Elyea

The most poignant time to visit the Wall ...

The Gold Star motorcycle with The Healing Wall in the Background

Part of the poignant display that travels with The Wall that Heals.

Etching for my friend

Determination

Determination.

Do you ever wonder what drives people?  What keeps them going despite defeat, despite despair, despite an intensely difficult life?

Two weeks ago, we had an ice storm. In April.

I think most of my family (and most of my friends) were none too happy with the weather situation. I mean, really, we had a mourning dove nest right outside of our front door window … with eggs.

Now, last year, we had a robin there, and she laid these beautiful eggs and abandoned them. It was hard to explain that to the children. (Also, a hawk tried to eat them later on in the summer.) So, it was difficult to think about what might happen to the eggs and the mother during these ice storms and frigid weather.

But that mourning dove … she was persistent. She had determination. She is tough.

We watched her steadfastly taking care of those eggs, keeping them warm. She never moved; she merely surrounded those eggs with all the warmth she could muster.

Recently, I spent a couple of months co-writing a series on homelessness for our local paper. It was daunting, at first. There were so many questions and so many avenues to pursue. But as we dove in – as we began to put a face to the idea of homelessness, as we listened to the stories of those who were willing to tell them, as we humanized the nomadic life of the homeless in our community – I felt the desire for survival amongst those who were courageous enough to share their stories.

I saw true determination.

Just like the mourning dove who stayed by her eggs, these men and women have battled through the things that most of us cannot imagine surviving. These men and women have withstood the demeaning glances of those who do not understand. These men and women have longed for the comfort of a place to call, “home,” and they have wept for families who no longer look for them. They have fought demons, and, in most cases, continue to wage war against them, winning some days and losing others. They are not without fault, but when the difficult times came, it was enough to cost them dearly. It could be any one of us who finds himself in a dire situation.

But they persevere. Those who chose to speak with me have formed a community – a family amongst those who know what they are going through. They say hello to me on the street now. They hug me at Starbucks. They tell me what has happened since we last spoke – and I’m equally interested in their lives ~ and, particularly, what their determination has rendered.

Like the mourning dove, one of those whom we interviewed is fiercely determined. This individual is diligent. This individual clutches every opportunity. This person desires to change this life she lives – and, she will. Because she is determined.

I’ve learned a lot over these months. I’ve learned how easy it could be to find oneself in a dire situation. I’ve learned that every person has a story. I’ve seen with my own eyes that everyone brings something to the table about which we are blissfully unaware. I’ve learned that a smile, a handshake, a willingness to care, and a gentle heart can mean the world to a person who has nothing.

Mostly, though, I’ve been inspired by the people who carry on when the world appears to be against them.

Be the warmth in the ice storm, be the smile in someone’s day, be the person who sits with another human being and treats them with value and respect. Be kind. Be the one who encourages and reinforces determination. You see, even though that mourning dove hatched those babies and brought them into this world, her job isn't done yet. She still has work to do. She must remain determined ...

To read all three installments of our Homelessness series, visit:

Week one: the beginning

Week Two: the people -- the stories behind the people who live this difficult life

Week Three: the plan -- what our community is doing and what the future of homelessness might look like. 

Guests of the Old Firehouse Assistance Center enjoy some sunshine outside.

Volunteers throughout the community take time to make and serve meals.

Area churches offer a place to stay during cold-weather months.