Memorial Day is observed on the last Monday in May, although my generation remembers when it was May 30th regardless of the day of the week unless, of course, it fell on a Sunday. The shift to the last Monday in May went into effect exactly 50 years ago in 1971, but I have no memory of the change. While that could be put down to old age, the reality is that 50 years ago I had other things on my mind. May 30, 1971 was the only one of my 75 Memorial Days spent outside the United States, specifically in Camh Ranh Bay, Vietnam. I had been there less than a week and was more concerned about figuring out what was going on than holidays which weren't observed in a combat zone. It was just one more 12 hour day, a pattern that felt like it would never end. While I don't remember Memorial Day 1971, the prior Sunday, May 23rd is seared in my mind, it was the worst day of my life - the day I left home for Vietnam.
Joe "Mick" Murray forces out a Strake runner at third while Dan "Sledge" Hammer looks on.
When I was in college during the mid-1960s there were basically two choices, enroll in ROTC thereby committing to military service as an officer or take one's chance with the draft. I chose the former option and have never regretted it, but I certainly wasn't looking forward to going to Vietnam. The journey began with a friend driving me from my parents house to Newark Airport. After picking me up, he turned around, passing the house I grew up while I wondered if this was the last time I would ever see my parents and sister. Naturally it was a pristine morning and it was pretty obvious most people were getting ready to enjoy a beautiful spring day, a preview of the upcoming Memorial Day weekend. None of this did anything for my morale and it got worse when I boarded a regular commercial flight to San Francisco and met someone I had known when I was in graduate school. He was an undergraduate at the time, fully committed to dodging the draft and had been successful in that effort. He was pleasant enough, but once he heard where I was going, the look in his eyes showed he never expected to see me again.
After all of that it was almost a relief when we landed in San Francisco and I could reenter the military without the constant reminders of the contrast between what I was doing and how the rest of the country seemed to be living. What I was doing was due to my personal choice, but that didn't make the difference any less difficult to accept. Fortunately, for me, everything worked out in the end. I received a relatively safe assignment and due to the United States withdrawal, I only spent about eight months "in country." Even so the 50th anniversary of that miserable day reminds me more than ever of the over 58,000 of my peers who shared those same feelings, but never experienced the joy, if not relief, of returning home safely. Tragically most of them died before they ever had a chance to live - in many cases without marrying, becoming a father, experiencing the rewards of a vocation, the satisfaction of outside interests and finally enjoying a well earned retirement with grandchildren.
Sadly there is nothing that can be done to give them back their lives, not even God can change the past. There is, however, at least one thing we can do - simple, but profound. We can remember them. In her book, Adam Bede, the British author Mary Ann Evans (penname George Eliot) wrote "Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them." Obviously it's harder to do that with people we never knew, but that doesn't make it any less important or meaningful. Doing so on Memorial Day is important, but it can and should be done more than once a year. For example, the next time you see one of us wearing a Vietnam Veterans hat, consider that we might be doing so more for "a memorable honor" for those who never returned than any personal recognition.
Although written for a different nation in a different war, the words of British poet Laurence Binyon still apply:
"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."
May it always be so!
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