is the price of liberty
Monday, May 30, 2023
Memorial Day is a day of remembrance. As I get older I think about that. When I was a kid it was about seeing or marching in the Memorial Day parade down main street. Some kids would ride their bikes at the back of the parade with playing cards clipped on their bike frames so they’d making a clicking sound as the spokes turned. The parade ended at the community center, the old Governor’s mansion. Someone would give a speech on the steps out front. We were all gathered in the back around a flat bed truck piled high with sodas. As soon as the speech was over they’d hand out the cold drinks and it was bedlam. Some kids would chase each other around squirting soda by putting their thumb over the top of the bottle, shaking it and releasing some of its contents by partially lifting their thumb. That was Memorial Day when I was growing up.
One day when I was in the center of town at the only crosswalk that had walk signs I ran into Sam. He was older than me and had married one of the most beautiful women in town. He mentioned that he was going over to Vietnam. I don’t know what else he said. I remember the bright sunlight. Where he stood. Where I was. That was the last time I saw him.
A report came back that his helicopter had crashed and he went back in to rescue others. His lungs got burned. He lingered a few days.
His name is on the Wall. They are listed in the order they died. One time two fellows were standing there one with his hand on the granite. “Yeah, remember him, he was the short stout guy…”
I’ve taken others to the Wall. I drop them off on Constitution Avenue, point to where they need to walk to enter the incline. I’d tell them I’d pick them up by The Lincoln Memorial. When they emerge I don’t say anything. They are quiet. Sometimes they sit on one of the flat cornices of the steps to the Lincoln Memorial. After awhile they look at me and nod.
We leave. there is nothing left to say.
Speechless.
I spent two years at Fort Riley Kansas. They housed the oldest Cavalry horse and I got to see him.
What was really sad was going to the commissary which was right next to the military prison. All those guys were penned up because they didn’t want to go to Viet Nam. What was really sad was getting to know the wives of service men who went off to Viet Nam and seeing them when they received news their husbands wouldn’t be coming back. Those ladies, who lost their husbands, had to leave the base because of course they no longer had anyone in the service.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the draft were still in action today. Maybe we wouldn’t have so many young people without guidelines. I know I was against the draft because my son would have been called up. Now I see young kids without the guidance they would have learned in the military. I am puzzled that I feel that way.