Memorial Day 2008
I remember...

I remember my Uncle Eddy who was in the Navy during world war II. He made it home and smoked himself to death. I remember my Uncle Jack who was a medic in WWII. It wasn't until he died a few years ago that I learned he was a decorated hero. But mostly, I remember the guys and women who were in "my war." It seems as if each generation has one.

Although I was alive during WWII and Korea, the one we call 'Nam was mine. A fruitless effort criminally (this is data, not political opinion, which I don't do) managed, we fought our war with both hands tied behind our backs. Thankfully, I served as a flight surgeon and never had to point a gun at a human being.

I remember the roaring engine of the F-105 as it shot down the runway slamming me back into my ejection seat. I remember flying into North Vietnam in a KC-135 re fueler in an attempt to save a shot-up F4, then watching the fighter glide off and it's two man crew eject. I remember the old man taking that huge gas station down in a wide spiral so we could watch an incredible rescue operation as both F-4 crew members were snatched off the Ho Chi Mihn trail.

I remembered how several of my pilots were shot down over North Vietnam, rescued and (according to regs) brought to me for interview. I kept a bottle of whiskey in a drawer to help them stop shaking.

I remember myself getting drunk in celebration of a pilot (make that several pilots) finishing 1oo counters before going home alive to their families. I also remember scraping the remains of 4 college age kids off the runway because someone had screwed up.

I remember, painfully, the heart break of a man who was scheduled to have leave to see his baby born (it was a high risk pregnancy, and he didn't have to have come to the war until after...but I digress). Instead of standing down his last day, he flew downtown (Hanoi) where he was shot down and captured. I never heard another thing about him.

I also have a bitter memory of being transfered to a California base and thinking the war was over for me...until I had to join a team that was going to a local family to tell them that their son had died in the war. I was asked to go along because of the father's heart condition. I can still hear the bell ringing, a small girl answering and seeing our uniforms before turning back into the house and yelling, "It's Johnny!" She had known immediately what we were there to do.

I remember. A part of me insists on remembering. A part of me wishes to hell it could forget.

Paddle safe...
DS