Memorial Day Thoughts - 2011

Across the Fence #341

As I write this column, Memorial Day is a week away. This year I’ve been invited to be the speaker at the Coon Valley Memorial Day service. We’ll be remembering the sacrifices of our fallen comrades, while the vast majority of Americans will be enjoying a three-day weekend with little or no thought or participation in the activities connected with what the day means.

They’ll be enjoying a three-day weekend because of the lives lost that some of us will be remembering on Memorial Day. That includes my friends who lost their lives during a battle in May, 44 years ago. One of those killed was my training partner at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, where 20 of us from the 4th Infantry underwent medical training together.

It’s hard to believe it’s been 44 years since those terrible days in May of 1967 during the Vietnam War, when we lost 76 killed and over 200 wounded. It’s a lifetime ago, yet it seems like only yesterday. This is still a tough time of year for me to deal with. It’s the universal problem that most survivors of war feel – guilt because we’re still alive and many of our friends are not. For some reason, we were the lucky ones and made it home alive.

I’d like to mention some of those fellow medics I trained and worked with.
Bob Sherman is my cousin, and we were drafted together from Vernon County. We went through basic training together with the 4th Infantry in Fort Lewis, Washington. During medical training we shared a bunk, he was on top and I was on the bottom.

Wesley and I were training partners and practiced on each other during classes, learning to give shots, draw blood, and give IV’s. Not the most fun time I’ve ever had. It was pretty brutal when we were first learning how to hit veins on each other!

Nagl, Lebitz, Alesick and I often studied our class notes together at night while having a few beers. Nagl, Lebitz, Steele, and I also enjoyed playing chess during free time in the evenings.

Those training days and chess matches seemed like a distant memory as we sat around the aid tent near Ban Me Thout in May, 1967. We were all involved in an operation to find a couple of NVA regiments who were in the area.

Nagl, Lebitz, Steele, and I didn’t play any chess on that operation. We did play some cards though. Steele was a writer and hoped to write the great American war novel. I remember his wonderful poetry. One night while we were on the operation that lead up to the Nine Days In May Battle, a bunch of us medics were sitting around in the aid tent and Steele read some of the war poems he had written since being in Vietnam. They were very moving.

What happened to those medics who were enjoying being together and listening to John read his poetry that night: Wesley - killed, Lebitz- killed, Mason - wounded, Jacobs - wounded, Prince - wounded, Marcos - wounded, Bob Sherman - wounded. Alesick and Culpepper came out with no physical wounds. Steele was assigned to the aid station. Nagl was on R&R in Japan when the battle took place and has been filled with survivor guilt ever since. I was needed by the Battalion Surgeon in the aid station during the battle, and worked on wounded that had been evaced.

How can a battle I wasn’t in have such a lasting impact on a person? It seems to me that after 44 years I could put all this to rest and let it die. I’ve tried to analyze the situation over the years. I think it’s safe to say I carry a lot of survivor guilt also. Nagl and I feel like we deserted our friends because we weren’t with them when we all needed each other the most.

I know I was just following orders when I was assigned to the aid station, but that doesn’t do much to lessen the feeling. I know that if I had been there, it wouldn’t have changed anything as far as the battle is concerned. My friends who were killed and wounded would still have been casualties. One reason so many medics went down that day was because the snipers in the trees picked them off as they tried to get to the wounded to help. The chances are good that if I’d been there, I’d also have been a casualty. Once that happened, I’d have been of no use to anyone either. As we were told in medical training... “Don’t try to be a hero, a dead medic is of no use to anyone!”

So, I wasn’t a hero and I’m still alive. Those of us who are still alive on this Memorial Day will remember those who weren’t as lucky. These extra years have been a gift and I don’t want to waste a single day.

I think author Ben Logan said it best. He was the only one in his crew to survive World War II. He said, “I still think of those men. The incident changed my life and made life increasingly precious. I pledged then that I would never waste a moment. I dedicated myself to live for them too.”

Amen to that brother, from all of us survivors.