Veteran's Day

Washington, D.C. could not have had better weather Saturday. I had ventured down from Philadelphia, with my 26 month old daughter and her future stepmother in tow, to be amongst my guys. It was a day to put politics, both of war and otherwise, behind us; at least for the day. I met two Iwo Jima Marines, one a 95 year old, wheel chair bound, retired Gunnery Sergeant, who nearly ripped my arm from the socket pulling me towards him for a bear hug. I hung out with a crew of 75th Rangers who were united by their time in Vietnam. They delighted in calling me a "baby." I turned those tables by reminding them that they are now the "old guys." I received a feet off the ground bear hug from a Korean War infantryman who was exuberant to see me because I was wearing my 7th ID (Light) t-shirt. He was with the 7th as an infantryman attached to a tank unit. When the Chinese knocked out all the tanks he and his infantry battalion used them as improvised fighting positions against the Chinese wave attacks. When he finally put me back down on the ground he grabbed my shoulder, spun me towards the Vietnam Veteran's tent, which was manned by a dozen guys who were no stranger to recreational violence I am sure, and loudly questioned, "You guys wanna fight with two REAL SOLDIERS?" I knew we were in for a resounding thumping, but I was somehow cheerfully swept along by this bear. I figured if he could handle the Chinese then how bad could this be. It wasn't to be though. One of the 'Nam vets, laughing, approached us and said, "No Top. Nobody wants to mess with you." "Damn right you don't," was his reply. We all exchanged handshakes and hugs, laughing at our shared bond, which makes such remarks commonplace and, somehow, flattering. With a furious back pounding and arm pumping the Forgotten War soldier wandered off.

The most poignant moment came when I stopped at the Vietnam Wall. As is my practice, I stopped before the panel bearing the name Curtis R. Smoot. I deposited a cigarette at the base of the panel and, with arms outstretched, placed my hands on his name. I held them there for 30 seconds, wished Curtis well and moved on. I had only made it a couple of steps away when a hand fell on my shoulder. "Excuse me sir, but did you just touch Curtis Smoot's name?" I replied that, yes, indeed I had. "Did you know Curtis?" he asked. "No sir, I wore his bracelet for 20 years, until it literally broke in half. I visit him whenever I'm in DC." "Why did you wear Curtis' bracelet for so long?" he queried, looking me directly in the eyes. Looking back at this kind soul I said, "Because he's from right outside New Orleans and that's my hometown. When I joined the Army I was originally in the 4th of the 9th Infantry, but we were redesignated the 1st of the 9th. I figured since Curtis was 1st of the 9th Cav that it was some kind of sign. I just knew he was watching over me." "Would you like to hear the story of the day we lost Curtis?" he asked. "Sir, I've been waiting more than 20 years for someone to ask me that question," was all I could say.

Rich then proceeded to tell me the story of how the Loach, that Curtis was the door-gunner on, had been shot down. It fell into a river in Cambodia, and reports had two men making it out. One, WO1 Houser, had escaped and evaded for several days before walking into a firebase. Houser reported that he had not seen Curtis after the chopper hit, but credible reports had the other survivor as being Curtis. Rich told me how they tracked down every story they could for months afterward, hoping to find a POW camp and rescue Curtis, "but we never did," he said, with watery eyes. By this point I was glad my sunglasses were hiding my eyes. "I've been standing here all day hoping to meet someone who knew Curtis, thank you," he finished. "Well, I never knew him, but he's been a part of my life for so long that hearing that story was just what I needed today. Thank you so very much." We parted company then, with hugs and handshakes, and, wiping away tears, I retrieved my girls. They had been standing in the grassy area surrounded by all manner of activity, not really knowing what to do. When I was once again with them my future wife asked with evident concern, "Everything go okay?" "Yeah, if John Wayne had walked up to me it could not have been better."

That was the point of the day for me. There were Cavalry slouch hats (how in the hell are there always so many of those guys?), various berets, baseball caps emblazoned with bright unit logos, and boonie hats everywhere. Young, and a great many not so young, men remembered a time gone by, and we all stood a little taller. We laughed so hard we nearly cried, and then cried a little. I knew all day that there was no place on Earth I'd rather be, nor anyplace I belonged more. All I've ever wanted as a soldier, and now a veteran, was for my country to love me as much as I love it. I heard the Secretary of the Army say recently, "The military is sustained by the attitude and gratitude of our countrymen." I guess that's true 364 days out of the year, but on November 11th all I want is to be with my guys. So, to all those currently in harm's way, and to all those who have ever served I say: Happy Veteran's Day my brothers and sisters, I am grateful for your service, and proud beyond belief to be a member of what is truly, all at once, the most exclusive and inclusive club on Earth.


View My Milblogging.com Profile