The Traveling Wall
 

"Honey, did you see this?"

I looked up from my crossword puzzle to find my wife looking up from the morning paper at me. My breath caught in my throat for a moment. After seventeen years of marriage I still react that way whenever I look up and see the sparkle in those pretty brown eyes.

"See what?" I asked as soon as I was able to do so.

"It says here that the Vietnam Memorial Wall is coming here. I thought that thing was permanent in Washington, D. C."

I tried to keep my voice as even as I could as I answered her. "There’re two replicas of The Wall that travel around the country. They’re called ‘The Traveling Walls’."

I quickly looked back down at my crossword puzzle, but suddenly I couldn’t quite focus on the paper before me and my breathing was seriously constricted. The Wall was coming here, to our little town. A storm of emotions erupted through me. No longer would distance be an excuse for me to avoid the questions about The Wall, questions that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers to. Would I really be able to stand and face that wall? Will I be able to handle seeing the names of men that I knew inscribed on it? How about the names of the two men who struggled to draw their last breaths in my arms?

"Let me see that," I was finally able to say. "When is it supposed to be here?"

"In a couple of months," she told me as I looked over her shoulder at the story that she was reading.

I looked at the dates that the wall was going to be in my hometown. It was almost two months to the day. I read the story slowly to give myself as much time as possible before I had to look up into my wife’s eyes. I didn’t want her to see the storm that was raging behind my eyes. I had told her stories about what I had experienced in Vietnam, but not all of them. Even if she knew all of the things that haunted my mind from that terrible era in my life, there was no way that she, or anyone else, could understand the feelings that went along with those stories.

For the next two months I thought long and hard about how I would approach The Wall for the first time. My thoughts ranged from sick dread to hopeful anticipation. One part of me didn’t want to see such a graphic reminder of what I had been through; another part looked forward to facing the ghosts that haunted my dreams. My rational mind told me that I needed to face those ghosts, but my heart was a totally different story.

Finally the day came for The Traveling Wall to arrive. I was very quiet over breakfast, still not sure whether or not I could go there. There was, of course, a huge ceremony scheduled for that morning to officially recognize The Traveling Wall’s arrival in our little town. There was no doubt in my mind that going to the ceremony was out of the question. I couldn’t sit and watch a bunch of local politicians talk about the memorial knowing that, to them, it was just a bunch of names on a wall. Only one of our city councilmen was a veteran and he had already announced that he would not attend the ceremony. Many people had expressed disappointment that he would not be there, but I understood.

Fortunately the opening ceremony for "The Traveling Wall" was held on Friday afternoon. I planned to go see it late that night. That evening I sat in front of the television not really paying much attention to what was showing. My mind wandered over names and faces long forgotten, but now remembered with amazing clarity. These were men that I had known; now they were ghosts that I had to face.

I watched old movies until far into the night. Finally at 2:00AM I was ready to go. I drove down to the baseball field where the wall was set up, even at this time of night the stadium lights were all on, the field with the wall in it was as bright as day. There was a volunteer on duty and a few people in groups of two or three gathered in front of the wall. I stepped through the gate and onto the field. The stadium lights reflected off the polished surface of the wall, which, from a distance, appeared to be just a long black shiny slab of marble. I took a deep breath and slowly began to approach "The Wall."

As I drew closer I began to see the names engraved on the wall’s surface. A few steps later I could make out the individual names. I stopped and allowed my eyes to focus on one particular name. The name that my eyes picked out at random was not familiar to me. I had not known that person, but he was still a comrade-in-arms. This stranger had experienced many of the same hardships that I had. He had offered his life to defend the ideals that he had held sacred and had lost that life. Slowly I let my eyes roam over more of the unfamiliar names; I felt closer to these people than those who were not over there could possible understand. My roving eye suddenly stopped. The name that I was looking at was not unfamiliar. I had known this man. We had been through boot camp together. I could see his face. I remembered a day on the rifle range. I remember him sitting on a bench behind the firing line working in his range book. I didn’t even know that he had been in country. Tears filled my eyes as I thought about his smiling face, his youthful energy, and his cocky attitude all forever stilled in that distant land.

My teary eyes moved on as I read the list of honor. My heart filled with pride for all of these young men that had given their all. I silently read some of the names. I could only wonder at what these young men looked like and where in that God-forsaken place did they pay the ultimate price for out freedom. Suddenly a name seemed to jump out at me. We had been friends; we were on patrol together when he got hit. He had been alive when we loaded him on the med-evac chopper but we heard later that he had died on the way to the field hospital.

My eyes moved again and there, not far from the one I was just looking at was the name that I was really looking for and was dreading to find. I raised my hand until my fingertips almost touched the marble. Strong emotions fought inside my head. I wanted to reach out and touch his name, but something held my hand steady where it was. With all the effort that I could muster I forced my hand forward until my fingertips, then the palm of my hand touched the wall where his name was engraved. Suddenly my emotional dam broke wide open. All of the pain, the regret, and guilt that I had bottled up for so many years poured forth and streamed down my cheeks in a sudden torrent.

I don’t know how long I had stood there with my hand against the wall with tears streaming down my face when I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder. I slowly turned my head and through my tears I saw the warm loving eyes of my wife.

"I thought this was where you were," she whispered gently. "I will leave if you want me to, but I’m here for you if you want me to stay."

With extreme effort I pulled my hand from the wall and put my arms around the woman who has loved me and comforted me after my nightmares for over seventeen years. I looked back toward the center of the wall where the flags snapped smartly in the breeze. Old Glory floated lazily between the state flag and the black "POW's/MIA's" flag. A sudden gust of wind caused all three to snap straight out from the pole. My eyes drifted back to the wall. The names there looked the same, but the feeling I got from seeing them was now different. No longer did I feel sorry for these fallen heroes; I felt an almost aching pride to have been one of them.

I looked back to my wife and suddenly knew exactly how to express what I was feeling. "The war is over," I whispered to her. "After all these years, it's finally over."

"It’s all right now." She whispered as she put her arms around me. And strangely enough, it was.

~Author John Wilson
John's Little Fireside Reading Page.

For some... even The Wall cannot heal.

Written by American Gold Star Mother, Theresa Davis, in memory of her son.

Read at the 1998 Memorial Day concert on the lawn of the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. Theresa is National President of the American Gold Star Mothers.

Dear Dick,

You were my first born. With your laughing eyes and mischievous grin, you stole my heart. I remember you as a little boy... the forts you built, the adventures you took, the "rescued" critters you brought home... and the friends that surrounded you. I'll never forget, when you were twelve years old, you stood so proudly beside me as they played taps for your Dad, and gave us his flag. My darling son, you were the brave one -- you tried so hard to be a father to your younger brothers and sisters. But you grew up so fast. As soon as you were out of high school, you signed up for the Special Forces... and you were so happy when they accepted you. How proud you looked when you came home on leave wearing your Green Beret. Captured forever in my mind, is the image of your final hug, as you raced for the plane that would take you to Vietnam. You didn't say too much in your letters -- but I knew you were in danger, because you always used to tell me "what you don't know, won't hurt you." I found out later... on June 6, 1968, you were on a team with some South Vietnamese soldiers, and your group went out to help another team that was pinned down under fire. You were hit several times before you died. You were only 19 years old.

There are no words to describe how I felt. I was so empty... but I had to put up a front for your brothers and sisters. Little Kevin was only seven. He kept saying it wasn't fair -- he's already given up his Daddy.

I pretended to be brave. But inside, the empty space just grew larger. It's been a long time my son. I still miss you. I will always miss you. Sometimes I look at your friends that you went to school with, and I wonder what you would be like now; what my grandchildren would have been like. But you will never come back. You're gone forever. They gave you a Silver Star. Now they call me a Gold Star Mother. I spend a lot of time with the other Gold Star Mother's. Every Monday night, a group of us go to the homeless shelter for Vietnam Vets. I know if it was you in that position, I would want someone to do the same for you. I guess that's what moms do. A lot of the guys have family problems. When they came home from Vietnam, they just couldn't talk about it; and they alienated themselves from their parents.

We try to give them support... talk to them like a mother would talk to a son. One of them even came over and asked me if I could sew some buttons on for him. I did, but I also asked him, "Have you called your Mom, have you called your Dad?" They think their family doesn't want to hear from them. But when they do call, the go visit, the healing can begin.

We also go to the Vietnam Memorial whenever we can. We can tell when one of the vets is having a hard time. Even now, so many of them feel guilty because they came home, and our son didn't. We give them a hug, and tell them it's not their fault; we're glad they're home. Dick, I'm sure wherever you are up there, you approve of what I'm doing. You were such a people person: always trying to help someone.

Besides, when I go to the Wall, it's almost like you're there with me. Each time I run my fingers over your name on that cold, granite wall, I can feel the warmth of your laughter as if you are saying, "It's okay, Mom. I'm here." I know I will never hold you in my arms again. But I will forever hold you close to my heart.

MUSIC to "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" FADES OUT

because you will always be my first born... my shining star.

Love, Mom

Moved to tears

Portable reproduction brings Vietnam Memorial to Gloucester

By David Arnold, Globe Staff, 09/17/97

GLOUCESTER - Shortly after 5 a.m. yesterday, the man seemed to appear out of the darkness from nowhere, his solitary figure silhouetted by the texture of so many fluorescent-lit names on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Moving Wall.

For a minute he did not move, his stance and stare frozen - but not on the past, he would explain.

''I'm here, now, feeling the presence of 17 people who died a long ways away. They've come home for a visit,'' said the man. He declined to elaborate or give his name, but slipped back into the darkness.

Gloucester awoke yesterday to the first of six days as host of the half-scale, portable version of the Washington memorial. Created in 1984, the Moving Wall is a 74-panel black aluminum facade about 250 feet long. The panels are inscribed with 58,202 names of the men and women who died some 30 years ago in the Vietnam War.

There are at least three Moving Walls now touring the country, created by Vietnam Combat Veterans Ltd. of San Jose, Calif., which used negatives of the Washington memorial to make three half-scale reproductions.

So yesterday may have begun in Kokomo, Ind., and Ignacio, Colo., much as it did in Gloucester. Perhaps the scene will be similar in Stoneham next week, and Pittsfield the week later as Moving Walls continue criss-crossing the country.

One thing in Gloucester is certain: The 17 young men from Cape Ann communities who died in the Vietnam War have come home. And in its own reverent way, an entire community has turned out to greet them.

David Souza, 50, was a member of a reconnaissance unit with the 101st Airborne Division. In 1967, 36 members of his group walked into an ambush one summer day in Dak To, Kontum Province. Souza was one of only nine who survived.

And he is one of 650 volunteers slated to work this week in shifts around the clock at the Moving Wall, which has come to people who for a myriad of reasons could not go to the original.

''Twenty-seven names on that wall are my friends,'' Souza said as the sky first began to lighten over the Eastern Point Lighthouse. ''Sunday's going to be hardest. On Sunday, they leave.''

Frederick Ritvo of the city's Office of Veterans' Services, and Lucia Amero, a classmate who lost several friends in the war, spent three years getting the Moving Wall to Gloucester. Expenses, all privately raised, may run as high as $50,000, Ritvo said.

''At the end of this week, we're going to get divorced and return to our spouses,'' Ritvo said with a wink.

An opening ceremony was held Monday evening. From midnight to sunrise yesterday, volunteers estimated, a half-dozen visitors had stopped by, almost all of them requesting privacy. By 10 a.m., there had been several hundred.

The war '' was not all glory, but the best way to remember is to keep everyone at heart,'' one visitor explained in a hand-scrawled note left under a rock at one panel.

Another visitor wrote: ''It was so difficult to see my mom, my best friend, my back bone, my family, go from crying silently to sobbing.

''The protesters, were they right for having sit-ins? The boys who went to Canada, were they wrong for fleeing? Do we all have the same answers today that we had 35 years ago? I only know that I was too young to remember and I was too old to forget.''

Gloucester's Moving Wall is on a playing field outside Gloucester High School. The names of 11 graduates are on the wall. By 7:45 a.m., several dozen students had been excused from first classes to tour a memorial to a war more distant to them than World War II was to the Vietnam generation.

The teenagers entered the exhibit full of chit-chat. By the fourth panel, many had fallen silent.

''This is a lot of people,'' Rusty Tucker, a senior, whispered to classmate Jason Orlando.

David Souza's sons are only slightly older than Tucker and Orlando; Souza said he fears for young men who are growing up in an American male culture that discourages displays of such emotions as fear and sadness.

''My sons have been there when I have cried about this war,'' he said. ''They continue to stand by me. This war continues to make me cry.''

This story ran on page B01 of the Boston Globe on 09/17/97.

From The Other Side

At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up that Black Granite Wall. Now, everyday and night, my Brothers and my Sisters wait to see the many people from places afar file in front of this Wall. Many stopping briefly and many for hours and some that come on a regular basis. It was hard at first, not that it's gotten any easier, but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that war that we were involved in have changed. I can only pray that the ones on the other side have learned something and more Walls as this one, needn't be built.

Several members of my unit and many that I did not recognize have called me to the Wall by touching my name that is ingraved upon it. The tears aren't necessary but are hard even for me to hold back. Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my Brothers. This was my destiny as it is yours, to be on that side of the Wall. Touch the Wall, my Brothers, so that we can share in the memories that we had. I have learned to put the bad memories aside and remember only the pleasant times that we had together. Tell our other Brothers out there to come and visit me, not to say Good Bye but to say Hello and be together again, even for a short time and to ease that pain of loss that we all share.

Today, an irresitable and loving call comes from the Wall. As I approach I can see an elderly lady and as I get closer I recognize her.......It's Momma! As much as I have looked forward to this day, I have also regretted it because I didn't know what reaction I would have.

Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard it must of been for her to come to this place and my mind floods with the pleasant memories of 30 years past. There's a young man in a military uniform standing with his arm around her......My God!......It's has to be my son. Look at him trying to be the man without a tear in his eye. I yearn to tell him how proud I am, seeing him standing tall, straight and proud in his uniform.

Momma comes closer and touches the Wall and I feel the soft and gentle touch I had not felt in so many years. Dad has crossed to this side of the Wall and through our touch, I try to convey to her that Dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling pain. I see my wife's courage building as she sees Momma touch the Wall and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand. All the emotions, feelings and memories of three decades past flash between our touch and I tell her that it's alright. Carry on with your life and don't worry about me......I can see as I look into her eyes that she hears and understands me and a big burden has been lifted from her.

I watch as they lay flowers and other memories of my past. My lucky charm that was taken from me and sent to her by my CO, a tattered and worn teddy bear that I can barely remember having as I grew up as a child and several medals that I had earned and were presented to my wife. One of them is the Combat Infantry Badge that I am very proud of and I notice that my son is also wearing this medal. I had earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam and he had probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.

I can tell that they are preparing to leave and I try to take a mental picture of them together, because I don't know when I will see them again. I wouldn't blame them if they were not to return and can only thank them that I was not forgotten. My wife and Momma near the Wall for one final touch and so many years of undecision, fear and sorrow are let go. As they turn to leave I feel my tears that had not flowed for so many years, form as if dew drops on the other side of the Wall.

They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulder. My son suddenly stops and slowly returns. He stand straight and proud in front of me and snaps a salute. Something makes him move to the Wall and he puts his hand upon the Wall and touches my tears that had formed on the face of the Wall and I can tell that he senses my presence there and the pride and the love that I have for him. He falls to his knees and the tears flow from his eyes and I try my best to reassure him that it's alright and the tears do not make him any less of a man. As he moves back wiping the tears from his eyes, he silently mouths, God Bless you, Dad...... God Bless, YOU, Son......We WILL meet someday but in the meanwhile, go on your way......There is no hurry.......There is no hurry at all.

As I see them walk off in the distance, I yell out to THEM and EVERYONE there today, as loud as I can,.........THANKS FOR REMEMBERING and as others on this side of the Wall join in, I notice that the US Flag that so proudly flys in front of us everyday, is flapping and standing proudly straight out in the wind today.
.........................THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING....................

APVNV Pat (Beanie) Camunes
D/4/31 196th Lt Inf Bde
TayNinh 12/66-4/67 TamKy 4/67-12/67

---

Through "them" many are finally experiencing peace.

---

November 1990.

Passing through DC with my wife and mother in the car. I decide to go to The Wall. Have to park down next to the river. It's cold and raining. I tell the ladies, "I won't be long why don't you two wait in the car?" Mom says, "Not on your life!" Sheri says, "Like hell!"

I go to the book, look up a name. Start to walk The Wall. Start crying. When I get to the right panel, I totally break down. Mom and Sheri are holding me when a BIG Force Recon Marine pushes them gently aside and says "I've got him ladies!" Then he says to me, "Let it out Sarge. You've been holding it in way too damn long!"

FINALLY I start to heal!

September 1991.

Sheri and I are at a Lorrie Morgan concert. Suddenly I get up out of my seat and leave. Sheri follows me, and finds me standing at the snack bar scribbling on a napkin. After I finish, we go back into the concert. When we get home, I sit up at the computer till way after bedtime, typing up the attached poem. I *NEVER* write poetry. It's not my metre! (sorry, just couldn't resist it) When I write, I write prose. Nonetheless, that night I wrote a poem. I just call it, "THE WALL".

THE WALL

Just a lonely black Wall
In the heart of a busy town
Covered with names
58,743 names

Sons and daughters
Sisters and brothers
Husbands and wives
Friends and others

Who lived and loved
Laughed and cried
Smiled and frowned
Dreamed and died

Because they lived
Because they loved
Because they cared
Because they tried

Just a lonely black Wall
Mortared with pain
So we go back
Again and again

Some names aren't on the Wall
Their bodies came home alive
But deep inside something had died
Never to live again

So we come to the Wall
Trying to find
Whatever it was
We left behind

It isn't there, it never will be
Still we come, hoping we'll find
The love that we lost
The welcome we missed

The support that wasn't there
Till we got to the Wall

(c) James A. Wilson Sr.
September 1991

---

In 1990 I got online with Prodigy. In August of that year I found the Vietnam Vets Bulletin Board. A place where I saw the caring that only a Family could have. After having been Welcomed to the Board I started to read it and saw that they were going to have a Reunion at The Wall during Veterans Day Week. Living in NY I wanted to go to meet these poeple. I had already been to The Wall once in 1987 and figured I would just go and support others. We were to all meet at the Wall at 4pm on Veterans Day.

Having driven down I was going to drive a few of the Family there. Well we were late as normal, so 6 of us walked the Wall together. There was one person that knew almost 100 guys on the same panel as his FireBase was over run. Another guy had 15 guys he knew on The Wall. Lots of Crying, lots of Group Hugs and lots of Caring.

When they were getting ready to leave I asked them if they wanted to meet my Dad and I had to get some rubbings anyway. I started to make a rubbing, holding the paper with one hand while using the special pencil to make the rubbing. I could start to feel the tears coming. But NO, I cannot cry, because Big Boys don't cry, and neither do Family Members. We were always told Never let them see you Cry. So trying to choke back the tears I continued to finish the rubbings. When a hand held the part of the rubbing paper that was flapping in the wind. Then a voice said, "Chris, Are you all right?" I turned to this Group that had become part of my Family, still trying to choke back the tears and said Yes. "Chris are you really ok?" and that is when the tears started to flow and my first experience with a Group Hug. We must have hugged for what seemed like hours but I am sure it was only about 5 mins.

After that we walked out of the Wall and went back to the hotel, But that memory will never leave me, a special group of Vets, Family members and Friends, we call ourselves The FAMILY.

Another visit:

During a US Government Breifing in DC 1999, several kids along with Gunny (George Fallon), Steve (Steve Golding) and many others shared at The Wall for many hours late one night. But this one night it was just a very speical lady and me. After getting some really good pictures of Kimmy's, Diane's and my dad's bracelets on the statue of the 3 soliders, and almost breaking my elbow, Diane and I went down to The Wall. She wanted to hear my thoughts on my dad. We sat in front of my dad's Panel (20E...back by the chains) for about 3-4 hours. She just asked me questions like what was it like growing up without him around, what did I remember about him, how did I explain him being missing to the other kids in school and many others.

That Night I told Diane more things that I had never ever told anyone else and never thought I could share with anyone. Not even my step dad who is also a Vietnam Vet. I remember that I felt safe though that night. The tears just rolled the entire time as did my true feelings. This will also be another speical night for me one that will live with me for the rest of my life.

Chris Rich

Visit Chris' Dad's page by clicking Here

---

VOICES FROM THE WALL

For a long, long time we had no place to gather,
we roamed aimlessly to old familiar places,
gathering in small numbers or going individually,
to wherever our names were called by friends and family.

But it was really hard on us to be summoned by loved ones
here and there and everywhere...
who then, did not seem to sense our presence
even after having called us to them, with anguish and tears.

We felt so isolated and lost.
Then you, our brothers and sisters, families, acquaintances,
and friends, built that long black shiny WALL,
putting each and every one of our names on it...

the news spread so quickly among us,
and we excitedly gathered there in anxious anticipation
of seeing for ourselves that we finally had a place
where we belonged! We were not disappointed!

Words cannot describe our exhilaration at being summoned now...
knowing that you feel our presence,
that our hands and hearts meet when you lovingly,
reach out and touch our names.

The burdens of pain sorrow and loneliness are instantly lifted,
as we are enveloped within your loving embrace.
In this sacred place, we feel a healing of our spirits...
a sense of having at last, 'come home'.

We did not know there were so many who cared and remembered us,
with ongoing pride and affection.
To that end, we have been truly blessed
with an enduring unbroken bond of love,
that transcends time and space.

Copyright Beverly Haire 1998

---

A must read Poem by a fellow brother 

Another must read Poem - This one will touch you like no other.
Put a box of tissue in front of you before you press the button to visit this page. 

 

---

Grown Men do Cry

At a time of trouble and turmoil
a time when thoughts were left unsaid
times dating back to war
when one saw his friends lay dead

Now many years later
he heads to a place called The Wall
he reads the 58,000 plus names
of the men who gave their all

his heart begins to pound
like thunder in the night
the tears begin to flow
he knows he has lost this fight

Grown men do cry
and one might wonder why
until they see him place his hand
on that cold dark granite wall
touching a name and looking upwards toward the sky

One might wonder of his thoughts
is he talking to God?
or is he looking upward at a friend
who years before his life did end

Few may understand just what he feels
as they watch his big heart wilt
many just don't undertand
for years he's carried so much guilt

They might hear him whisper
why them and not me
they might see him wipe his moistened eyes
for grown men really do cry

But there are also many
who know just what he feels
as he touches a name on this granite wall
this cold dark wall that heals

~Doc 2000

 

---

Back to MIA Page         Back to Military Page