Memorial Day

[August]

This is the day when we commemorate, not those who are serving or those who have served. There are other days for that. Today we commemorate those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for our country and our freedom. But those who knew them need no government sanctioned day for that. It is in their hearts.

I share with permission a letter a friend of mine had written about Memorial day:

Why Memorial Day Is Not Special For Me.

That sounds sort of irreverent and anti-American does it not? But let me explain.

Don Cornet and I went to McNeese State College together. Although in rival fraternities we were good friends and served on the intra fraternity council together. During the school year I usually saw Don every day. He was special, a natural born leader. He normally got elected president of any organization to which he belonged. He was the ROTC Corps Commander, graduated and was commissioned a year ahead of me. He was one of the truly good guys. He died in the Ia Drang Valley near LZ Albany when the NVA overran his company.

Walt Bernreuther, Joe Holland, and I were in Korea together. We were all green as grass Infantry 2d Lts. assigned to the 2d Infantry Division up on the Imjin river. Walt was from somewhere in California and was my hoochmate. He usually had a chipmunk style grin on his face and could always find the humor in any situation, even when we were freezing off our collective asses. Many evenings Joe, Walt and I would adjourn to the hooch and contemplate the nature of the army and the universe over a bottle of scotch. Joe was from Connecticut and was probably one of the first “Yankees” I truly called friend. I lost track of them when we left Korea, but, as the song goes, “I always thought I would see you again”. I heard somewhat later they both had been killed in action. For years I refused to look for their names among those on the Wall. I finally did. They were there.

Doug Fournet was another McNeese Cowboy. We shared the same beer (sometimes cheap wine), chased the same girls and hunted the same ducks. In intramural flag football we played on rival teams. He split my lip…I bloodied his nose. For reasons unknown to most of us, Doug left school and eventually ended up in the Ft. Benning School for Boys. He received his commission and shortly after joined the 1st Cav in Vietnam. Doug won the Medal of Honor by throwing himself on a chicom claymore in the Ah Shau Valley. His wife was living in the same apartment complex in Lake Charles where I had placed my wife and 3 month old son. I was on leave there en route to the 1st Cav when the notification of his death came.

Bill LaPlant was a blond headed guy from Minneapolis. He was in my mortar platoon and usually carried a base plate. As the mortars almost always set up next to the company command post, I saw Bill a lot. When he found out that I was a Dallas Cowboys fan it brightened his existence. He was a rabid Vikings fan. In the evenings, after the mortar pit was dug and the perimeter secured, we had many good natured, though usually profane, exchanges on the subject of pro football. Bill stepped on an 82 mm booby trap. The blast knocked me down. It shredded Bill. I helped load his body into the chopper.

Benny Guy was from Alabama. A graduate of Infantry OCS he was, for a short while, one of my platoon leaders. He was a good platoon leader. His men became fiercely loyal to him and he took care of them. The last time I talked to him we were fighting our way through a bunker complex with his platoon in the lead. I told him, “Benny, I can hear you hollering orders and so can the bad guys. Be careful or they will single you out”. He headed back to his platoon and, in the heat of the fight, once again began to shout orders. The bad guys did hear him. They singled him out and they killed him with two shots from an SKS.

Henry Szorr was out of place and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Henry was a Polish national who got caught in the draft when his student visa ran out. I always thought that was a bit of a nasty trick on the part of our government. Henry was Jewish and if there was ever someone who personified “go figure” it was he. He acted as if being in Vietnam was a great practical joke played on him. Never bitter, he accepted the service thrust on him and just tried to get along. Henry’s tour ended when he stepped into a fire tunnel and was cut down by an RPD machine gun. It wasn’t a particularly heroic death and he didn’t die alone. I have always felt bad about Henry.

Marion Hughes was a Marylander. He was one of the almost faceless grunts in the company. An average soldier, he was never in trouble, always doing what was expected of him and blending in with the rest of the guys. That was up until the day when we were pinned down and he deliberately exposed himself to draw enemy fire away from his wounded buddies. By his unselfish gesture that day he saved three lives but at the cost of his own. It would seem that he was much more than an average soldier.

There are others, sadly many others, but this is running a little long, so to the point. Why isn’t Memorial Day special to me? It is because these people accompany me every day of my life, tugging at the edges of my memory. Sometimes things like the smell of diesel exhaust on a hot day, the sound of a Huey passing overhead or the sight of a tree line shimmering in the heat across a grassy field can bring them back vividly. But whether they are in the forefront of my consciousness or on the misty edge, they are always there and will always be there. That is why Memorial Day is not special to me. I don’t need a special day set aside to remember them. I do it every day.

[fireftr18]

There are not enough "Thank you's," for those who sacrificed themselves for our freedom and safety.

[Red October1984]

Love him or hate him, but Mat Best hits the nail on the head for me.





He has a hand in Black Rifle Coffee Company, which continues to get my business month after month because of their support of the US Military and our veterans.






Taking up the profession of arms isn't for everybody, but to those who have done it, regardless of nationality or creed, brothers and sisters in arms, thank you.

Those that have paid the price, we remember.

[Kptlt. Neuerburg]

[HW3]

[Jimbuna]

~SALUTE~