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 4th
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 |