Memorial Day - Lest We Forget - It Matters...

[Selene]

http://www.virtualwall.org/

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/gulf/etc/synopsis.html Gulf War I

http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/war.casualties/ Gulf War II

http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/events/kowar/kowar.htm Korean War Police Action - as Klinger commented, "It makes it sound like we're over here giving out tickets!"

http://www.wwiimemorial.com/default.asp?page=home.asp WWII - "The Big One!" - Archie Bunker...

Early Observances of Memorial Day

The Civil War claimed more lives than any conflict in U.S. history, requiring the establishment of the country’s first national cemeteries. By the late 1860s Americans in various towns and cities had begun holding springtime tributes to these countless fallen soldiers, decorating their graves with flowers and reciting prayers.

It is unclear where exactly this tradition originated; numerous different communities may have independently initiated the memorial gatherings. Nevertheless, in 1966 the federal government declared Waterloo, New York, the official birthplace of Memorial Day. Waterloo—which had first celebrated the day on May 5, 1866—was chosen because it hosted an annual, community-wide event, during which businesses closed and residents decorated the graves of soldiers with flowers and flags.

Decoration Day

On May 5, 1862, General John A. Logan, leader of an organization for Northern Civil War veterans, called for a nationwide day of remembrance later that month. “The 30th of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village and hamlet churchyard in the land,” he proclaimed. The date of Decoration Day, as he called it, was chosen because it wasn’t the anniversary of any particular battle.

On the first Decoration Day, General James Garfield made a speech at Arlington National Cemetery, and 5,000 participants decorated the graves of the 20,000 Union and Confederate soldiers buried there. Many Northern states held similar commemorative events and reprised the tradition in subsequent years; by 1890 each one had made Decoration Day an official state holiday. Many Southern states, on the other hand, continued to honor their dead on separate days until after World War I.

Evolution of Memorial Day

Memorial Day, as Decoration Day gradually came to be known, originally honored only those lost while fighting in the Civil War. But during World War I the United States found itself embroiled in another major conflict, and the holiday evolved to commemorate American military personnel who died in all wars.

For decades, Memorial Day continued to be observed on May 30, the date Logan had selected for the first Decoration Day. But in 1968 Congress passed the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, which established Memorial Day as the last Monday in May in order to create a three-day weekend for federal employees; the change went into effect in 1971. The same law also declared Memorial Day a federal holiday.

Memorial Day Traditions

Cities and towns across the United States host Memorial Day parades each year, often incorporating military personnel and members of veterans’ organizations. Some of the largest parades take place in Chicago, New York and Washington, D.C. Americans also observe Memorial Day by visiting cemeteries and memorials. On a less somber note, many people throw parties and barbecues on the holiday, perhaps because it unofficially marks the beginning of summer.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Adam

[Brant Gaede]

IMO: SGT Robert Johnson, legs blown off, DMZ. SFC Ronald Dexter, MIA then KIA in Laos. SFC David Boyd, bullet between the eyes. Sp4 John Mayo, machined gunned across the chest. All SF. I escorted the last two from the Mekong Delta to the morgue at Ton Son Nhut VNAF in Saigon. Then there was Marine Jedh Barker, who attended my high school in Park Ridge, NJ, whom I knew only slightly. The month I returned from Vietnam he threw himself on a grenade in I Corps: CMH.

--Brant

[BaalChatzaf]

Those who fell did not do so in order to secure my freedom. But the actions they took did secure my freedom. And for that I say: Thank You.

Soldiers who fought did more for me than I ever did for them.

Ba'al Chatzaf

[BaalChatzaf]

Did Norman Rockwell do this?

Ba'al Chatzaf

[merjet]

Did Norman Rockwell do this?

It looks Rockwell-ish, but the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was built about 4 years after Rockwell died.

[Selene]

Folks:

I saw his on the wall of a body shop in Setauket L.I. some fifteen (15) years ago and it has stuck in my mind's emotional hard drive ever since.

Lee Teter’s “Vietnam Reflections” is the authentically detailed, almost photographic-quality, result of his impeccable research and passion for history. His tragic portrayal of deceased soldiers reaching out of the Vietnam Memorial to comfort a grief-stricken man is his attempt to gain perspective on the death of loved ones, and one of his first oil paintings. Proceeds from its sales, which have amounted to millions of dollars, go entirely to veterans’ groups.

http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Vietnam-Reflections-Posters_i386815_.htm

[Selene]

This painting has touched many and will touch more...

Reflections in the Wall,

by: Jerry A.G. Ericsson

From the moment I saw the painting "Reflections in the Wall" I knew that I had to travel to Washington DC and pay tribute to my comrades, lost in battle. The powerful picture, tastefully painted by the artist, Lee Teter depicts a veteran visiting the Vietnam Veterans War Memorial where he finds, deep within The Wall, the reflections of his fallen comrades.

My opportunity to visit The Wall came unexpectedly one day in 1989 when I received a call from a friend and fellow gun aficionado, (and local game warden) Gene Masse. He was being flown to Washington DC to help defeat the proposed semi-automatic ban. There was room for one more peace officer, and he thought of me. We were to fly to Washington, meet with our congressmen and tell them that we were against the ban. I quickly accepted, not only support the NRA, but also to visit The Wall.

The trip was uneventful until the landing at National Airport. As the plane circled the airport, I first saw The Wall. Its size was shocking even from that great distance.

The following day we went hurriedly about Washington, first to a meeting with the press, then to our local congressmen's offices. All the time, in the confines of my mind, the symbol of The Wall was lurking, haunting, distracting me from my mission. That evening, I decided to forego the formal farewell dinner with the NRA, and I boarded the subway for my trip to the Vietnam War Memorial.

As it came into view, the impact of its size struck me so long, so many names, so many lives lost. The shocking tragedy of their deaths in an ill-conceived, poorly-directed, unpopular war overwhelmed me. The other visitors blurred from view as The Wall became the center of my focus. I slowly walked down the entire length, stopping from time to time, reading the names, remembering, trying to make some sense of those times.

At last I came to the portion of The Wall that contained the names so familiar to me, the names of my lost comrades. Like the man in the picture, I reached out, touching the names, feeling the coolness of the stone in stark contrast to the stifling heat of the day. Vivid images of friends, lost so many years ago, came back to me. In my mind's eye I could see them, reaching back from the grave, touching my hand through The Wall, telling me it was over, telling me to go on with my life.

The noisy, rushing sounds of the city disappeared as I heard the quiet of the jungle: the birds calling to each other, telling of our approach; the hushed orders of the sergeant as he directed the patrol the squish of our boots alternately sinking in the muddy floor of the jungle, then freeing themselves for the next step; the rustle of our uniforms with each step; the should of the rain as it dripped from the trees above. Then I heard the sudden CRACK-CRACK-CRACK of the AK-47 rifles, the screams of agony of those hit by automatic fire, the orders shouted by our sergeant, the acrid smell of gunpowder stinging my nose, as we dove for cover, returning fire at the unseen enemy My best friend calling for me to help him as a medic worked feverishly over him, trying stop the blood which gushes from his wounds as each beat of his heart grew progressively weaker.

I again felt the slime of the mud as I crawled to him, grasping his hand, telling him he would be OK, telling him I was there, feeling his grip grow weaker as his body gave up his ghost. I again heard his final gasp as he died.

The sound of the radio crackles in my ears as I called in the artillery strike to kill the enemy to our front. The crashing of the rounds, exploding just yards in front of our position, still rings in my ears.

A lump welled in my throat, and I tasted the bitter tears that ran down my face as I bade farewell to my closest friends who fell in the ambush that day. The anger that I kept safely locked in the vault of my mind slipped from under the heavy door, hitting me like a sledge hammer. I was angry, angry at the people who sent them to a painful death in a war we were never allowed to win. The pain of loss returned gripping my heart like a vise. Slowly, the feelings changed as I realized they had not died in vain. They had died, as most soldiers do, fighting to protect their comrades who fought beside them. I could now think of my friends not as wasted lives in a useless war, but as heroes who gave their lives so the rest of the platoon could live.

The nightmares that had haunted my sleep for so many tears ended that day. The pain, the loss, and the anger disappeared. It was replaced by remembrance of the good times we enjoyed on R & R, the parties in the rear, the tales of home, the stories of fast cars and faster women happily shared over a beer. I could go on now with my life, comforted by the realization that my comrades, the heroes of the Vietnam War, will live on for all time in the hearts and minds of their countrymen, their names lovingly etched in the long, black wall.

http://www.war-stories.com/aspprotect/ericsson-reflections-in-the-wall-2000-2.asp

[Selene]

Lee Teter has an remarkable life story:

Lee Teter

Lee Teter was born in April of 1959, just south of the Mason Dixon Line in the Appalachian Mountains. His forefathers had all been farmers since their arrival in America in 1727. Migrating from Germantown, Pennsylvania, down the Valley of Virginia, they became neighbors to Daniel Boone in North Carolina. They moved again in 1760 to what is now Pendleton County, West Virginia. There, with the Hinkle family, Lee. s forefathers built a fort and stayed for almost two centuries. During the American Revolution the Teters and Hinkles fought for the American side and during the Civil war were found on both sides. Lee's mother's family had their American beginnings when a captured Hessian soldier "deserted" the prison camp he occupied in Virginia. This runaway Hessian moved into the mountains of West Virginia where he married and raised fine upstanding American children. With such a family history it is little wonder that the past interested Lee even as a child.

Lee was fascinated by the history handed down by his grandfather, Jacob S. Teter. A box of faded photographs, now in the possession of the artist, sat between 15 year old Lee and his grandfather as they spent hours discussing the people and mountain life-style that surrounded Jacob during his life. During those quiet talks Lee learned that history was about people. This focus on people and culture, instead of the politics of history, eventually became the foundation of Lee Teter's historical art.

Lee planned to live out his life in the mountains, cherishing and keeping the traditions of his grandfathers. Like them, he intended to be a farmer. The word "farming" no longer communicates the occupation as Lee was familiar with it. In the 1960's and 1970's Appalachian hill country, ancient Farmall tractors still pulled home-made wagons. Loaded with hand stacked bales of hay, these old tractors made their way to log or post and beam barns that were found on nearly every farm. Corn and other grain were stored in wooden cribs until it was fed to the farm animals. Meat was supplied from the hogs and cattle that were grown, slaughtered, and preserved right on the farm. Maple syrup was made the old way, with wooden paddles and cast iron kettles. Fires were kept burning with oak, hickory, and maple logs, slowly evaporating the sap till rich, smoky, amber syrup could be put into cans and jars. In the fall, kettles were hung again and applebutter was made. Hunting was a pleasure on the farm, but was not thought of as sport; beef was a cash crop and was to be replaced with deer meat and other wild game when possible. Hours were spent in the garden and on the porch preparing vegetables for canning and preservation. The cow was milked and the cream skimmed and churned into butter. Strawberries, cherries, peaches and apples were freshly picked. Cottage Cheese was made in the crock on the back porch. Fording Town Creek was part of the trip to school or to Helmick's store or "town". When the ice broke up on Town Creek, burlap bags of ice were gathered and broken with a hammer to fit into the "ice-cream maker" while cousins and uncles and aunts gathered to celebrate the end of another winter.

Such a life was the one Lee wanted from the time he was a small boy and one for which he prepared himself to live. Life in the hills changed before he knew it. Vacationers and disillusioned city dwellers began to buy up land for more money than could be generated by farming, increasing taxes with higher land values. As land was bought up and taken out of production, the old ways disappeared. Other economic and social changes made a traditional Appalachian future impossible for a young man without an inherited "patch of ground" or the means to generate money to buy increasingly valuable land. The family farm Lee grew up on was too small to support everyone, so after graduation Lee was forced to look elsewhere for a living.

There would be no college for Lee. After various jobs working at gas stations and landscaping or painting signs, automobiles, billboards, and just about anything else that could be painted, Lee started producing twenty-dollar portraits. His first big art sale came when Ron Shipway, who owned the gas station where Lee was employed, hired him to make a portrait of the station. Shipway gave him a very unexpected one hundred dollars for the picture. Such generosity was appreciated since times were rough in the hills. Major employers were laying people off and closing down. Money was tight. Making a living with art seemed like too much to hope for and while hardly daring to think it would work, Lee began to try. He opened a studio down the road from Helmick's store where he sold a few paintings. People chuckled at Lee's audacity and knowingly shook their heads when he closed his doors due to lack of business.

When Lee was twenty-one he met, and instantly loved, Miss Barbara Ellen Arnold. Barbara always believed in Lee and his dreams and stood by him from the time she was 16 years old, making hard times seem like fun. They were married when Barbara turned 18 and they tailored their lives to allow for a continued pursuit of art. Lee housed his new family on borrowed land in a 16 by 20 foot cabin that was heated with a fireplace. A new daughter made the cabin a home. Baby Racheal crawled around the drawing table as Lee worked hard to make a living with his art. In subsequent years they moved from place to place around the Pennsylvania-Maryland-West Virginia area as they struggled to gain a foothold in the art world. An undercurrent of restlessness was part of life for Lee as he tried to find a permanent home for his family and studio.

"Scraping by" would have been an improvement during the early years. Even living so plainly and augmenting his income by any type of painting he could find, Lee realized he was failing his little family. Then a picture of an Eastern Native American warrior was sold. The couple who bought the drawing and art dealer Betty Betz became the driving force behind Lee's beginning success in the art world. Betty ran a small shop in Deep Creek Lake Maryland where she introduced Lee's art to vacationers at the resort. Lee gained confidence through his association with Betty and serious art collectors. Other galleries in the region became interested in Lee's art when he reinvented the hand painted print. His initial reason for making hand painted pictures was that he could not afford full color prints. As he studied art and history he became more attached to the idea of art with the "artists touch" rather than copies like the standard limited edition print then in its prime. As the market for Lee's art grew his confidence grew as well. He began to paint with oils.

One of his first oil paintings was a portrait of the Vietnam Memorial called "Reflections". This picture came from the artist's heart as he tried to understand the death of loved ones. Feeling that it would be wrong to make money from this picture he freely gave the rights to make prints to a veterans group and went back to painting history. Though the prints of the painting continue to sell throughout the United States and the world, generating millions of dollars for veterans, Lee did not benefit greatly. He was pleased, however, to receive a letter from the Governor of West Virginia, Gaston Caperton, commending him for his insight and generosity. The veterans later bought the copyright for "Reflections" presenting Lee with enough money to buy a good used car. That car allowed him to travel and research the frontier history that had become the focus of his art.

Lee Teter's frontier art became successful. He studied hard, almost obsessively, to present accurate cultural portrayals of the Indians and frontiersmen who occupied the Eastern American frontier. Lee's art began to appear on national magazine covers and in galleries from New England to North Carolina. When film director Michael Mann began work on the 1991 version of "The Last of the Mohicans" Lee agreed to act as historical, and frontier culture adviser and as visual arts consultant. It was Lee's job to create the look and feel of the 18^th century world that was the backdrop for the story made famous by James Fenimore Cooper. Lee was exposed to New York City, limousines and fine hotels complete with bell boys before he returned to his cabin in the hills.

Lee's situation improved. He was approached by Somerset House Publishing to produce frontier art for limited edition reproductions. After producing successful editions the reclusive artist once again elected to forego the jet planes and hotels in favor of the quiet hills and family at home. Lee and Somerset House Publishing parted with the understanding that the door was always open should he ever change his mind. Lee again took up pencil and brush to create hand painted prints. The demand for Lee Teter art grew with astounding rapidity. Lee had always been convinced that "artist produced" pictures would be more desirable than machine or press produced art. The popularity of his hand painted pictures proved this to him beyond a doubt. The frontier subject was also very popular and the years and miles Lee had put into research were obvious in his pictures. Lee Teter's unrivaled authenticity was appreciated by many collectors who were discovering the history of the land around them; history Lee Teter brought to life with his pencil drawings and scholarly research.

Lee moved into a small home in Pennsylvania, finally giving up on living the life he had fallen in love with as a child. The hills had changes forever and the world of Lee's childhood belonged to the past. Almost.

During a trip to Wyoming Lee found a world very similar to the one that had escaped him. In a few moments of wind blown sunset on the edge of the Beaver Rim east of Lander, Lee decided to move West. With Barbara and Racheal, he moved into the midst of one of the largest Indian Reservations in the nation and into the heart of one of least populated states in America. Lee had grown up around cattle so he adapted readily to Wyoming life. Neighbors began to call Lee when they needed a good cow hand. Branding, doctoring, driving and herding cows took Lee into remote places of Wyoming. Occasionally he still stacked hay by the tractor trailer load with neighbor, John Dewy. The ways of Wyoming were familiar and pleasant for Lee. The best thing about Wyoming was that Lee's restless search for a home was over; now he could concentrate on art.

In spite of his success with oils and watercolor, pencil had always been Lee's favorite medium. Drawings have had a history of being difficult to print while preserving the feel of an original but during his first year in Wyoming Lee discovered Platinum Print Printing. After some initial experiments he knew platinum was the answer to his search for a perfect way to print his pencil drawings. This process had been prized for printing drawings in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries and was a favored printing method for fine art photography. Lee discovered that platinum printing maintained all the subtle detail that was found in one of his highly complex pencil originals. He also found that platinum prints had a permanence unsurpassed in the art world and that he could print on fine art paper that would compliment his use of watercolor in making hand painted pictures. This rare printing method was difficult to learn and experimentation took a tremendous amount of time as he developed a system that worked for his drawings. The amount of art Lee produced took a plunge as he dedicated his time to an intense study of platinum printing. Galleries began to worry that Lee had opted for early retirement in his Wyoming paradise. They soon found that the several years of practice and study in platinum printing had made Lee more productive than ever.

Lee Teter builds art the way great buildings are made. His foundations are solid. Study and devotion are given even to the details most people will never see. His historical research will be valid for generations. Scholars and hobbyists are just now making historical and cultural discoveries about frontier history that Lee had painted and recorded years ago. His style is realistic and traditional, like the art that has been continuously appreciated for centuries. He is a craftsman holding the same values and concerns about archival stability as the masters of bygone eras. His art is dedicated to people who love art; success is measured by the pleasure it gives and the understanding it inspires. Lee Teter has been building for a long time with intentions of building for a long time to come. Each step in his life and art is a foundation stone. Each picture is a feature that is itself a work of art yet still a part of the whole. Lee Teter is building art that will stand soundly and be fitting and pleasing through all the changes the world has yet to make. Attention is given to all details but the most important element of Lee Teter art is heart. He paints the emotion he feels in himself and the emotion he feels in others. Art is Lee Teter's language.

[BaalChatzaf]

I visited the Wall in D.C. some years ago. There are no signs prohibiting loud talk or whistling but there is an air of solemnity that is over the place. It is place where there is Silence and Remembrance. I did not lose any friends or relatives during the Viet Nam war but I picked up the feeling just the same. It is like being in a church.

At the base of the wall people leave cards, small items of tribute and flowers. There are carefully picked up at the end of each day. One can read some of the cards. It is very hard not to feel sad and solemn in that place.

Ba'al Chatzaf

[Mark]

I have mixed feelings about Memorial Day. All U.S. wars since the Revolutionary were at best a waste of bravery. Many of the soldiers were conned or drafted into them and we should not perpetuate the injustice by thanking them. Commiseration perhaps, but not gratitude. See Past Wars on ARI Watch.

From Who’s Who on same:

An ARI op-ed once praised American soldiers who "have fought and died for freedom around the globe" and it explicitly mentioned the Vietnam War, as if dying for Nguyen Van Thieu had been a virtue. The article was an orgy of self-sacrifice promotion, one of the most disgusting things ARI put out during their run-up to the invasion of Iraq. Yaron Brook was proud of the op-ed’s popularity, see "What We Owe Our Soldiers"

[Brant Gaede]

I have mixed feelings about Memorial Day. All U.S. wars since the Revolutionary were at best a waste of bravery. Many of the soldiers were conned or drafted into them and we should not perpetuate the injustice by thanking them. Commiseration perhaps, but not gratitude. See Past Wars on ARI Watch.

From Who’s Who on same:

An ARI op-ed once praised American soldiers who "have fought and died for freedom around the globe" and it explicitly mentioned the Vietnam War, as if dying for Nguyen Van Thieu had been a virtue. The article was an orgy of self-sacrifice promotion, one of the most disgusting things ARI put out during their run-up to the invasion of Iraq. Yaron Brook was proud of the op-ed’s popularity, see "What We Owe Our Soldiers"

Memorial Day is not war remembrance day, certainly not war celebration. If I had had my choice of wars to fight in, it would have been WWII, not Korea and not Vietnam, even if I had known of FDR's perfidy. We were fighting bad guys and fighting to win. No bullshit. As for the United States, it has revealed itself to be a moralistic, hubristic, imperialistic international bully to everybody including its own citizens, all out of a philosophy of freedom that has ineffectively braked tyranny. That philosophy has gone from foundational to gloss and too many fail to understand and note this, something The Civil War should have taught generations afterwards, not what was taught. The "leaders" who steer this contraption are bought and sold political whores, intellectual and moral midgets, lying psychopaths, sociopaths, narcissists--one or more labels apply to any of them, or even more, on the dark side of time and living. The whole developed and developing world is headed for economic and political catastrophe. Everybody else gets to starve; some are already--tens of millions of them. Just wait until the wheat crop fails and rice is more precious than gold.

Now, those dead soldiers. They fought for an ideal they found personified in what they thought their country was all about. That made them noble. That they were cheated out of their lives doesn't make them less so. Not one bit. But they do not need posthumous pity, not from you and not from me. They cannot be robbed of their grace by graceless ignorance. Any commiseration is for us who have lost them, especially friends, family and loved ones.

--Brant

[caroljane]

Nobly said. Forever true.

[Mikee]

Thank you Brant.

[Mark]

Government politicos draft or con a man into dying for nothing. Afterwards the same government politicos pay one company to erect a glass wall and another to engrave his name, one among 58,195 of them, on the wall (the merely maimed or disfigured don't count). And the rubes are supposed to gush over the wall forever.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, noble about this anywhere at any point. If you want to honor the man for doing what he thought was right, in the same breath you should denounce the politicos who fooled him into thinking it was right.

The most eloquent, impassioned denunciation of the Vietnam War I ever heard was from a former Army Sargent. They weren't all stupid.

[Selene]

Now, those dead soldiers. They fought for an ideal they found personified in what they thought their country was all about. That made them noble. That they were cheated out of their lives doesn't make them less so. Not one bit. But they do not need posthumous pity, not from you and not from me. They cannot be robbed of their grace by graceless ignorance. Any commiseration is for us who have lost them, especially friends, family and loved ones.

--Brant

Yes Brant, well said.

In the picture in my "avatar," I was talking to my friend who was killed in action. I avoided going to The Wall for many years because I did not want to feel the pain of his loss all over again, but I was wrong. Allowing it to come out that day was completing saying good bye which needed to be done.

One of my mentor's growing up from the time I was five (5) was Mark Wohlfeld,he was, as one of the survivors explained, "the only Bataan and Corregidor veteran who escaped from prison camp, joined up with the forces coming back to get us and really helped to get some of us out."

As Captain Mark Wohlfeld explained to American Heritage Magazine, this was how the first day of captivity began:

"We dropped all our guns and stuff on the ground. No fear. Relief. Standing in a file. There was a heavy concentration of Jap planes hitting the Filipinos off to the West. Here’s the damned cease-fire and they’re still plastering the poor Filipinos on the other side of the ridge.… We were lined up on a dirt road. The day was beginning like all the others—hot!

Soon we heard a lot of hubbub at the forward end of the line, way ahead of us around the bend in the road, and we saw our first Japanese. The first ones were artillerymen carrying a mountain howitzer. They were cheerful-looking little fellows and they smiled as they walked by. They were all covered in sweat, and we were amazed at the weight they carried. One carried a wheel, another the tube, another the trail, another the packs of the fellows carrying the piece. They all had flies around their heads. Having been in the jungle for a while, they were filthy.

After them came the infantry and they were a lot more vicious. They started to go through our pockets. Some knew a little English and hollered, “Go you to hell! Go you to hell!” One of the Japs went over to Colonel Sewell and showed that he wanted the colonel to take off his wedding ring.

Sewell kept refusing. About then a Jap came up to me and cleaned me out. Then he reached in my back pocket. Suddenly he jumped back and the bayonet came up real fast between my eyes. I reached into my pocket and found a rifle clip I’d forgotten about. Quickly I dropped it on the ground.

The Jap took his rifle and cracked me across the head. I fell. My head was covered in blood. When I looked up I saw Sewell couldn’t get his wedding ring off, and the Jap was about to take his bayonet and cut it off along with the finger. Sewell saw me and he reached over to get some of my blood which he used to wiggle the ring off. Then he was slapped and kicked."

That was the first day. As he told me, he escaped three (3) times. Twice he was captured, brutalized and thrown in a pit in the ground. Somehow, he survived. He finally escaped for good. He provided critical information to the rescue forces when he went back with them.

Mark always had a great smile and sense of life. He was a consistent example of a man who refused to be defeated and looked at life as the joy it is.

God speed to all those men and women who died for their brothers and sisters, who were maimed fighting for their brothers and sisters and those who live every day with the unseen wounds they suffered fighting for their brothers and sisters.

Adam

[Mark]

Those 19 year old and 20 somethings died or were mutilated for the delusions of McNamara, Kissinger, Kennedy, Johnson and their ilk. To say otherwise and leave out what should be emphasized above all else, is to help deliver future youths to the same fate.

"The Wall" is war propaganda. Don't fall for it.

[Brant Gaede]

Those 19 year old and 20 somethings died or were mutilated for the delusions of McNamara, Kissinger, Kennedy, Johnson and their ilk. To say otherwise and leave out what should be emphasized above all else, is to help deliver future youths to the same fate.

"The Wall" is war propaganda. Don't fall for it.

You are right except for Kennedy and a superficial ad hominem analysis--and your last sentence, which is 180 degrees wrong.

--Brant

also, Kissinger and Nixon weren't deluded. Theirs was real politic, evil and lying; McNamara was a stupid coward on the wrong side of everything of any significance throughout his public career

[Brant Gaede]

Government politicos draft or con a man into dying for nothing. Afterwards the same government politicos pay one company to erect a glass wall and another to engrave his name, one among 58,195 of them, on the wall (the merely maimed or disfigured don't count). And the rubes are supposed to gush over the wall forever.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, noble about this anywhere at any point. If you want to honor the man for doing what he thought was right, in the same breath you should denounce the politicos who fooled him into thinking it was right.

The most eloquent, impassioned denunciation of the Vietnam War I ever heard was from a former Army Sargent. They weren't all stupid.

The Vietnam War had a powerful supporting context you seem to know nothing about. Stupidity and inertia out of that context caused that war. Then it was fought to prevent defeat, not to defeat the other side save only in battle. The battles were won and the war was inevitably lost. Consequently about 5 million Vietnamese and Cambodians died.

--Brant

former army sergeant

[Mark]

Actually it is context that I have been advocating. One thing we should not forget is the government's mendacity.

I'm tired of repeating myself so I'll leave it at that except to say that the sarcastic post

"You are right except for ..."

is not worthy of reply even if I weren't tired, and that enlisted men were told they were fighting to protect America, not Cambodians and Vietnamese.