My high school years were a time of great turmoil. The war in Viet Nam was raging. We underclassmen watched as, one by one, the older boys who graduated went away to do their military training and then ship out to Viet Nam. When I was a junior and senior I belonged to a fraternity/sorority circle that partied together every weekend. The parties ended as, one-by-one, the boys went away. Most waited to graduate. A few were eager to serve their country and dropped out of school so they could enlist as soon as they were eligible. We were so very fortunate in that all of our particular group returned relatively intact. Still, the losses were high as several of my friends lost fathers, brothers and cousins.

I was pregnant when I graduated. I had met a wonderful man with the bluest eyes and a mysterious charisma about him. When I told him I was pregnant, he disappeared from my life. He came back a few months later, apologizing, saying that he had been overcome by panic at the thought of having a baby. He loved me, wanted to spend his life with me and our child. We happily set about the business of arranging to be married. A few days before the big event, he vanished again. We did eventually marry, but the same pattern repeated yet again. I was incredibly naive at such a young age. I know now that his problems are all too common among Viet Nam Vets. He enlisted and went over prouldly to do his duty. That terrible war left him and so many others with deep emotional scars that made it impossible to live a "normal" civilian life.

My entire generation was devastated by the Viet Nam War. We will never forget. So many fallen, so many maimed, so many still missing to this day. That is why I've chosen a name from Memorial Bracelets and ordered my own bracelet to wear as reminder that so many were lost and so many are still unaccounted for. The name I have chosen is SGT JOHN H. BAILEY, USMC, from Alabama, who died in Viet Nam on May 1, 1967. His body was never recovered to be returned to his loved ones. After I get my bracelet I will update you on whether I've been able to learn anything else about Sgt. Bailey, on why I chose him, and on the reaction people (including myself) have to the bracelet and his memory. I hope you'll go to MemorialBracelets.com and consider choosing one for yourself. I thank them for sponsoring this post and making this opportunity availabe to all who know that we must never forget those who have served so honorably. You can make your own selection based on whatever criteria are foremost in your mind.



The bracelets memorialize victims of the wars that have affected you, including the current War on Terrorism. You may choose a victim of the attacks of 9/11 if that is the event that resonates most deeply for you. Let the person you select be a symbol to you, and to all who see your bracelet, that we all are indebted to so many who have paid the ultimate price for us.

Do check back with me in a few weeks to see my update.

Update - 2/20/07: I've only had my bracelet for about a week. I've had two reactions. A young woman who was checking my groceries asked if it was one of those "bracelets for a cause," because she'd never seen one like it. I explained to her that the cause was to honor the memory of a young man who gave his life for all of us in Viet Nam. Her eyes glazed over. I guess the younger generation considers that ancient history, best forgotten once final history exams are over.

The other reaction was more intriguing. My dearest friend waxed eloqent about what "Our War" did to our generation. Her experience was much like mine, watching all of the young men go away, fearful for each of them, watching in horror the reception they received when they returned, more horrified still at the emotional anguish that ovewhelmed so many of them. She also gave me her perspective on the role that fate played. One of her dearest friends in those days was a young man who went over as a med-evac copter pilot when he was nineteen. He would have seen the full horror of that war as he hauled out mangled bodies, listened to the screams, tired his best to comfort and save each one ... and watched so many die, despite his best efforts. Yet he returned, not only uninjured, but apparently emotionally intact. He is now a professional med-evac copter pilot for a private company, thoughtful, intelligent, compassionate, living a full life with a family he loves. His story continues.

My Marine, Sgt. John H. Bailey, died at nineteen when the helicopter that was evacuating him crashed. His life story ends there. Fate had played her hand in his life. Click that last link on his name to learn more.

Labels: payperpost, The Seventies, USS Arizona Memorial, Viet Nam War

I went to the Arizona Memorial shortly after I first came to this island. I'm not into military history, but I thought it was one of the things I should do. I have the utmost respect for all of the military folks who serve or have served our country, and a deep sense of gratitude most especially to those who paid the ultimate price. So I went, not to do something touristy, but to acknowledge their sacrifice. I got my ticket for the boat out to the memorial, then strolled around the museum and the grounds. In the gift shop I purchased a few post cards and a book for my father, who served in the South Pacific during World War II.

The view from the boat which took us out to the memorial was breathtaking. The path of the first invading planes was pointed out to us, our guide's pointing finger sweeping in an arc, over the mountains and a heavily populated urban landscape, to our own location. His words were eloquent and I suddenly felt vulnerable and more than a little exposed. A small taste of what the first witnesses must have felt on that Sunday morning so long ago.

I didn't see much of the first section of the momorial, as we fellow travelers were bunched together to allow a previous group to board our boat back to the landing. As we moved into the central observation area, we spread out, each of us drawn to one of the arches along the sides. I found myself looking directly into the mounting for a gun turret, visible above the water. The walls of the mounting were draped with flower leis tossed by previous visitors. Following it's rusted lines into the water, I saw small, brilliant yellow fish nibbling at algae on its sides. The day itself was brilliant and the reflection of sky on the water required an adjustment of my vision. With focus came the realization that I could see the ship just below the surface. It was massive and looked almost close enough to touch. Despite our large numbers, there was little sound around me. An occasional whisper or the scrape of a shoe. I think it was then that the reality penetrated: I was standing on a grave.

I moved on to the final room, the shrine room, at the end of the memorial closest to Ford Island. The entire end wall is made up of polished slabs of marble inscribed with the names of those who died on the Arizona that terrible day. I began to read. I saw the name of a boy I went to school with and wondered if this was his father or grandfather, half a world away from where we had known each other. I saw my own family name and my mother's maiden name, and wondered if the kinship was coincidental or if I had distant relatives entombed below. I had read only a small portion of that massive wall. I took a few steps back to try to take in the magnitude of what was before me, but my knees felt watery and I stepped forward again quickly to reassert my balance by grabbing a stanchion supporting velvet ropes. I had not anticipated the emotional impact this place would have on me. I felt small and empty and as sad as I've ever felt in my life. I'm not sure how long I had been crying, but I realized then that my face was wet and my glasses were spattered with tears. I was not alone. Others to my right and my left were wiping their faces with tissue, or unashamedly allowing tears to wash over their faces. One in particular caught my eye. An elderly man, head bowed and shoulders hunched, was visibly shaking as he sobbed. His hands came up to his chest, palms together, and he bowed more deeply, from the waist this time. A younger man joined him, handed him a handkerchief without comment, an gently led him away. I learned later that many Japanese, especially of that generation, make the trip to Hawaii as a pilgrimage of contrition. They feel a very personal responsibility and deep sorrow for the day that still lives in infamy.

One more memory. As I left the shrine room I paused at the arches opposite my previous viewpoint. My eyes scanned over the busy, working military harbor and turned towards Ford Island. I think I must have gasped audibly at what I was seeing.You may be able to get a sense of it in the picture below. The realization was startling. From where I stood, over the drowned ship, I could easily have swum and then waded ashore. So very close. If they had not been trapped below, if the water hadn't been on fire, if they hadn't been injured by the blasts, they could almost have reached out and touched the land.

The photos are from the USS Arizona Memorial page of the National Park Service website. Go.

Labels: military history, USS Arizona Memorial, WWII