SALUTE II
VETERAN’S DAY WEEKEND — 1984
Washington, DC
A Personal Account — Roger Hayes
They came by the thousands, drawn by the black granite slab inscribed with the names of 58,007 of their fellow soldiers who did not survive America’s longest war to date. Nearby stands three bronze soldiers that would be dedicated this weekend. Having just emerged from a small grove of trees they gaze toward the memorial to ensure that their names are engraved thereon so they can discontinue their patrol.
I was one of the 300,000 to 500,000 veterans and others that took part in the emotion-filled weekend. Six of us traveled from Southern Illinois in a motorhome, taking turns driving with someone always in the passenger seat to help the driver stay alert. The trip lasted approximately 20-hours, and by its end the six of us, already sharing common bonds, were almost as close as if we had served together.
We arrived in Washington, DC at 4:00 a.m. on 10 November 1984. After very little sleep we donned old fatigues and field jackets or simply a baseball cap with pins or slogans identifying the wearer as a Nam vet. Out on the street other veterans were emerging from their rooms and making their way toward Constitution Garden to the south where the Vietnam Veterans Memorial is located. They were dressed as we were and as we walked greetings were shouted across streets, fists were waved in the air, handshakes were exchanged, and backs were slapped. We began hearing two questions that would be repeated countless times in the next two days: “Who were you with,” and “When were you there?” This feeling of comradeship is part of what had drawn us travelers 800-miles to this almost magical city. Our Veterans Day Weekend had begun.
None of us knew the exact location of the memorial, only the general vicinity, but as we approached there was no question. Streams of veterans were heading the same direction, and as we drew closer the streams joined into rivers ultimately forming a sea of olive drab or camouflage uniforms filling the area around the “wall,” as the veterans call it.
A sidewalk leads from Constitution Avenue to the memorial and takes visitors past the wall and back out again. The memorial is actually two walls set at an angle of 125-degrees, with the east wall pointing to the northeast corner of the Washington Monument and the west wall to the same corner of the Lincoln Memorial, thereby tying it in to existing memorials and monuments, a design criteria. At each end the walls are almost ground level. The area in front of the memorial slopes downward so that the height of the walls at the vertex is 10.1-feet.
And then there are the names. . . .
As I was looking through the names of men who had died while I was there, hoping to see names that would jog my memory (I’m sorry to report that of all the men in my company who had died I remember very few names) a small, elderly woman approached me and asked how many men I knew fairly well from my company. We talked for several minutes, then she thanked me and left. I would meet her again.
I spent three-hours at the wall finding names of men that I knew, and reminiscing. Many other people were doing the same, and some of them took pictures of names of relatives or loved ones. Some were making etchings buy placing a sheet of paper over a name, then shading over the area with a pencil.
At noon ten Huey helicopters in formation, four F-4 Phantoms, and four A-6s conducted a flyover to the cheers of the crowd. The thunder from overhead brought back memories, and it was good to see them again.
I missed the ultimate experience of finding a friend with whom I served, but I came close. At every turn I was approached by fellow veterans from my division who were drawn to the Tropic Lightning patch on my shoulder and bush hat, representing the 25th Infantry Division. Some of them were in my battalion, others were “in-country” during my tour, and several were both. A few were from my company but not during my tour. For the first time I learned a little of what happened to my company after I left.
Later I joined another festivity in progress, a show on the mall featuring music from the war era and songs of special significance to Vietnam veterans. The US Capital formed the background for the show, featuring artists including Chris Noel, a disc jockey from an Armed Forces Radio station in Vietnam, and Frankie Valli. Introduced special guests included “Doughnut Dollies” (Red Cross women who served in Vietnam) and Gold-Star mothers (whose sons died in the war). One of them was the woman I had spoken with at the wall. A Medal of Honor recipient hugged each of them in turn, and one of them took the microphone and announced that they would love to give each of us in the audience a big hug also. After they left the stage I found my lady from the wall and complied. After learning where I was from she introduced me to Gold Star mothers from Illinois and St. Louis.
That evening I attended a hospitality suite hosted by the 25th Infantry Division Association. Veterans from World war II and Korea intermingled with those of us from Vietnam. I later read in the Washington Post that this weekend differed from the similar one in 1982, during which the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was dedicated, in that the mood of the veterans was more positive and that Vietnam Veterans and those from previous wars were mending the rifts between them. I talked to many of the vets that I had met earlier in the day, and met many others. It was a pleasant evening with memorabilia from both the Vietnam War and the Division’s history. Posters on a wall identified the various battalions within the division with with space for signatures and addresses to aid in identifying and locating buddies or at least those from the same units. I signed under the name of my old unit: the First of the Fifth (Mechanized), commonly referred to as First of the Fifth Mech. During the evening eleven names appeared on the sheet.
I was excited to learn that my brigade commander was there—Duquesne (Duke) Wolf. I introduced myself and when he learned that I was with the First of the Fifth he said, “That was a scrappy unit.” We compared notes of the Summer Offensive of 1968 following the Tet Offensive of that year. He has written a book of this series of battles entitled The Infantry Brigade in Combat, highlighting a series of battles in which my company was ambushed killing 29 of us, and during which I was wounded.
This had turned out to be a memorable evening, but another event would take place at this reunion that no-one present would forget. We were astounded when a figure wearing a civilian suit of clothes but instantly recognizable strolled nonchalantly into the room. It was retired General William C. Westmoreland, Commander of American Forces in Vietnam for the majority of the war. He was greeted by cheers and immediately surrounded by a crowd. He shook hands with every man in the room—more than 200—then raised his hands for silence an said, “Keep the faith.” This set off cheers once more. This scene would be repeated, I later heard, at numerous other reunions that evening.
Two of my new friends were especially touched by his visit. A pin fell from the general’s coat, and Chip Hayes, a fellow “Bobcat” (nickname for my old battalion) picked it up to hand back to him. The general told him to keep it. It read “West’s Warriors,” a fitting souvenir. Another friend cried when the general signed “Westy” as an autograph for him.
It was raining when I awoke the next morning. I actually enjoyed walking to breakfast in the rain. My bush hat kept my head dry just as it did during the monsoon season 16 years ago in another land. I commented to my companion this morning, Larry Friedrich, one of the motorhome travelers I came with, that this was not the first time we had walked to the mess hall in the rain.
Shortly after breakfast it stopped raining, and Chuck Sisson, another of the motorhome travelers, and I went out for coffee, then strolled south again, heading eventually to the wall for the closing ceremonies. We stopped at the Hotel Washington, headquarters for Salute II (National Salute to Vietnam Veterans and their fallen or missing comrades). A wide variety of souvenirs were on sale including pins, posters, stickers, books, jackets, and t-shirts. One booth was selling miniatures of the statue of the three soldiers. The merchant explained that the base was black granite like the wall, and the top was brass. As I reached out to turn the replica for a better view he mentioned the the piece sold for over $250,00. I withdrew my hand and asked if he had one in plastic.
On Constitution Avenue I stopped to purchase a hot dog from Vietnamese merchants who operated mobile stands in the area. Meanwhile Chuck was approached by a young woman who asked where she might buy a POW/MIA armband like the one he was wearing. He answered, and she said she didn’t know where that was, then began weeping and walked away. As she turned away Chuck noticed a piece of paper pinned to the back of her sweater that identified her husband as a sergeant reported missing in Vietnam, an MIA. Chuck called and ran after her, removed the black arm band from his arm, and pinned it on hers. We both hugged her then, and she thanked us, especially Chuck. As she walked away we couldn’t help thinking that the war is still not over for many of us. But with love like Chuck demonstrated, and as is so evident among Vietnam veterans, we’ll make it.
The President was scheduled to speak at the weekend’s closing ceremonies at the memorial. Accordingly fences had been erected for crowd control purposes. We passed through metal detectors to gain access to the memorial area. Several hours remained before the scheduled events were to begin but it was an enjoyable time of fellowship with other veterans. As each hour passed the crowd grew successively larger until it became difficult to move. We witnessed the reunion of two war buddies as they embraced with joy. Again there were hundreds of 25th Infantry Division patches moving through the crowd. Two of us approached each other and I said, “I was about to ask you who you were with and when you were there, but you know what? It doesn’t matter.” He agreed and embraced me.
Speakers included John P. Wheeler III, Chairman of the Board of Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund, the organization that conceived and raised funds for the memorial; Brigadier General George Price, USA, retired; Commander Billy Ray Cameron, VFW; Vice Commander Robert Turner, American Legion; Congressman David Bonior, D-Michigan; Francis Whitebird, Inter-Tribal Association; and Everett Alvarez Jr., America’s first prisoner-of-war in Vietnam. Music was provided by the US Marine Corps Band.
The statue that was dedicated on this day, 11 November 1984 is described by the sculptor Frederick E. Hart as follows:
“The portrayal of the figures is consistent with history. They wear the uniform and carry the equipment of war; they are young. The contrast between the innocence of their youth and the weapons of war underscores the poignancy of their sacrifice. There is about them the physical contact and sense of unity that bespeaks the bonds of love and sacrifice that is the nature of men at war. And yet they are alone. Their strength and their vulnerability are both evident. Their true heroism lies in these bonds of loyalty in the face of their aloneness and their vulnerability.”
The statue features small details that are indigenous to Vietnam warriors. The soldier on the right has an olive drab towel draped over his shoulders, like some GIs carried. The soldier on the left has a rag tied around one leg, used in Vietnam by some to prevent leeches from going up pant legs. The middle soldier wears one dog tag tied in the laces of a boot to aid in body identification in the event of dismemberment.
Speeches continued for an hour or so. I can remember only highlights because I was still greeting fellow veterans. But I remember one person saying,
“The veterans created this memorial and presented it to the Government, though it would have been more fitting for the Government to create a memorial and present it to the veterans.”
Flashing lights on motorcycles escorting a black limousine caught the crowd’s eye, and we knew then that “he” was present. When the speech in progress had been completed the Marine Band performed the familiar fanfare followed by “Hail to the Chief,” and then President Ronald Reagan was introduced.
His remarks were general in nature. He commended Vietnam Veterans for their patience in awaiting recognition from the Government and citizens of the country. He ended by signing documents transferring the responsibility for the memorial to the Government, then added, “Now it belongs to all of us.”
He wore a tan trench coat, presumably bullet proof, and I had to stand on my toes to see him over the crowd. A branch from a tree obscured my view for the majority of his talk, but still I was in awe to be in the presence of a President.
At the close of the ceremony a spontaneous, emotional even took place that would form my fondest memory of the trip. Between 30 and 40 of us veterans of the 25th Infantry Division gathered near the division’s colors, which had been brought to the ceremony by the past president of the 25th Infantry Division Association and host of the hospitality suite that had continued through the weekend. We took photos of each other holding the Tropic Lightning flag with banners from places with names that resound with US military history: Pearl Harbor, Guadalcanal, New Georgia, Luzon, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam—all places where the 25th served. Someone suggested that we march the colors past the wall to which all of us enthusiastically agreed, not yet ready to draw a close to this weekend. A veteran who had served as a lieutenant in my battalion two or three years after my tour carried the flag while the rest of us formed a line behind him, each with a hand on the shoulder of the man ahead in a show of unity.
Because of the heavy crowd it took quite a while to approach the wall. Our march constituted the only organized activity taking place at the time, and photographers maneuvered into position to capture us on film. We stopped several times to wait for the mass of people ahead of us to move, and during one of those stops I found myself next to a veteran with war-damaged legs, walking with difficulty on crutches. A patch on his shoulder read, “Airborne Ranger.” Countless trainees, myself included, had sung as we double-timed in formation from one training site to another, “I wanna be an airborne ranger! I wanna go to Vietnam!” This man had done both, and is still paying the price. I placed an arm around his shoulders and sang the refrain to him, then embraced him. With tears in his eyes he said, “I love you, brother.”
We formed up in formation facing the vertex of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Someone called “Attention” and then “Present Arms!” We saluted the wall. Then we formed a circle with the lieutenant and the colors in the center. We held a moment of silence for our fallen comrades, then the lieutenant slowly lowered the division flag bearing the Tropic Lightning insignia in its center and with gold fringe along the edges to head level. He rotated in a circle while we each touched the flag and paid our respects. It was a solemn, emotional moment.
Everett Alvarez Jr., America’s first prisoner of war in Southeast Asia summed up the mood and feelings that this hallowed spot invokes. He said:
“There was a time, long past, when words would have mattered more. But at this place, for all time, it is our hearts that speak.”
