Monuments not necessarily for those who served

Deployments to Vietnam from Fairchild normally included an overnight stop in Pearl Harbor. Some of our crew had been there before and suggested we go out to the USS Arizona. We went to the pier and rode to the site in a small open boat operated by two U.S. Navy sailors. There was nothing to see except the tops of the gun turrets, but it was our chance as American fighting men to pay homage to those who had gone before us.

I made the pilgrimage each time I deployed to or from Southeast Asia. The now familiar iconic monument had just been completed when I made my last visit. I rode out with a tour boat full of visitors.

A guide with a bull horn pointed out where each bomb hit and discussed the accuracy of the movie “Tora, Tora, Tora.” It was no longer a sacred place for me. I never went back. Upon reflection, I concluded that war monuments are not for the veterans to whom they are dedicated, but for others to honor the memory of those who fought.

The names on the Vietnam Wall are listed in the order in which they died. There is a fairly large block of gunship crew members who earned their place among the honorees within a few weeks of Christmas 1970. I finished my tour as we were trying to find a way to survive and do our job in an environment including small heat-seeking missiles. We never figured it out.

I was close to those in my unit, but not as close as I was to my military academy classmates. Graduates of the West Point class of 1964 were fighting for our country before the ink dried on our diplomas.

The first in our class to give his life for our country isn’t listed on the Wall. Chuck was killed in Santo Domingo a few short months after graduation. He was a tall basketball player and fun to be around.

Boys turn into men between the ages of 18 and 22 and are bonded in ways only they can understand. I shared that bond with many who are listed on the Wall. Two were my roommates.

Billy was a gangly, deep-voiced kid from Tennessee. We debated the meaning of life and shared personal experiences that I still treasure.

Bob was a fifth-generation West Pointer. He gave me a St. Christopher medal his grandfather had worn in a Japanese prison camp after the fall of in Bataan in 1942. I wore it on my dog tag chain the duration of the war.

Some of the names on the Wall were my teammates. I wanted to play linebacker, but Burt was better than I was, so they moved me to offensive guard where I probably should have been anyway. Burt was as good a soldier as he was a linebacker.

I was on the track team with Ron. He was a walker and would have qualified for the Olympics had he lived through Vietnam.

Dave was a middle distance runner. He and I both elected to be commissioned in the Air Force. After pilot school, Dave was selected to become an instructor and train other pilots. He spent the night at our house the day before he deployed. My four-year-old thought he was cool. He was to be the first African American to fly with the Air Force Thunderbirds.

I had several opportunities to visit the Wall in Washington D.C., but somehow wasn’t ready. I wasn’t acquainted with the term “survivor’s remorse,” but I have known what it felt like for a long time.

I finally visited the Wall enroute to our 50th class reunion. Those looking for specific names must use the directory to find the appropriate panel and line. I had a fairly lengthy list and was going from name to name crying when a guide with a group of school kids came by. I’m grateful they didn’t take my picture. I didn’t intend for my emotions to be part of the display.

Please forgive me for not visiting the Wall as it came through Eastern Washington. I just couldn’t do it. I thank all of you, however, who came to honor my friends.

Frank Watson is a retired Air Force Colonel and long-time resident of Eastern Washington. He has been a free-lance columnist for over 19 years.