A Moveable Feast
Author: Rocky Rutherford
Every year I attend services at the North Carolina Viet Nam
Veterans Memorial Park out on Highway I85, hoping I'll hear about those GIs
engraved on its memorial wall that stands sentinel over this holy ground. Though
little is said about the over 1600 Tar Heels killed or missing in that
undeclared war, I am humbled, honored, and thankful to be in their spiritual
presence.
I realize a lot of work and commitment go into producing a Memorial Day
service and thank those who do it. However Memorial Day, for me, "is for
Americans to offer tribute and honor to the heroes who laid down their lives to
preserve freedom." Though we have many live veterans, some heroes, I believe
they should be honored and respected on Veterans Day, Independence Day, Flag
Day, or some other appropriate gathering: "Memorial Day commemorates the men and
women who died while serving in the American Military."
Again I came away disappointed. To fight it off and not demean the spirit of
the day, I went to The Wall to silently honor those GIs from North Carolina who
died in what was called a "conflict." I'll always look at it as a war, complete
with its horrors, instant death, and wasted lives. I was spending time with
Chief Warrant Officer Van Dwain Sherrill from Thomasville who was killed in
action "from an incident on 23 October 1965 while performing the duty of
helicopter aircraft commander, at an unknown province near Duc Hoa, South
Vietnam."
"Hey, GI," a slim man in a cowboy hat whispered in my ear, "Like to join us?"
A gaggle of men huddled in front of The Wall. Some wore the familiar Vietnam
Veteran baseball cap, some had beards, some bandanas around bushy heads. Their
faces were GI. I joined them. The cowboy spoke to a few other men along The Wall
then returned to the group, stationing himself out front like a platoon
leader.
"My name is McQueen Hamilton Dillahey," he said, addressing us. "Like ya'll I
came here to hear about those GIs." He pointed to The Wall then turned back to
us. "It would be an honor to lead you in a memorial for them. So I thought I'd
just ask you all to join me." He looked back over his shoulder. "Now, just to
let you know I ain't a threat to you or am trying to hustle you...again...I want
you to know I went in the Army a second lieutenant and came out a second
lieutenant. That aught to tell you I ain't much of a threat to anybody." We
laughed, not loud, just enough to let each other know we were not being hustled
by an officer and gentleman.
"Fall in," McQueen snapped. This brought back boot camp memories on Tank Hill
at Fort Jackson and like a good recruit I fell in with the others.
We giggled like recruits but no one objected, some even tried a dress right
dress. "See there," McQueen joked, "you never forget." The smile from his heart
touched ours. We liked him. He was one of us. Staying a second looie your whole
tour told us he wasn't a ring knocking John Wayne hero hoping some day to make
general at our expense. And was here today, 40 some years later, trying to
hustle us again. We were not "his brave men," we were men doing a job that had
to be done. He was not a "sir," to be respected because of the butter bar on his
shoulder, he was our leader because he was one of us. He was L. T.
"It would be an honor and a privilege to lead you in memorializing them." He
turned toward The Wall, caught his breath, pressing the fingers of his right
hand against his eyes.
A big, bandana wearing Marine Gunny Sergeant stepped from the ranks and
wrapped a big Semper Fi tatooed arm around McQueen's shoulder.
He spoke into the once second looie's ear then pulled his head to his.
Embracing they cried. Then the Gunny, in traditional Marine fashion,
exploded.
"Now, listen up, here's what we gonna do. This man had the balls to come here
and do something we've all wanted for years. We want our fallen honored and
that's just what we're gonna git. This is the North Carolina Vietnam Veterans
Memorial and this day is for them. To do it we gotta speak out...loud and clear.
Each of us in his own way. Do it for yourselves, do it for our country, and do
it for them." He walked to The Wall and searched out a name. With tears tracing
the crevices of his worn face yet in strong voice he told of a fire fight in the
hills near Khe Sanh and how a young Tar Heel Marine saved his platoon by
throwing himself on an explosive device. When he finished he saluted The Wall,
did a quick and militarily perfect about face, saluted Lieutenant Dillahey,
yelled "Next, front and center," then stepped sharply back into formation.
And so it started. One by one without being urged they moved out smartly to
The Wall and related their own personal stories of GIs who died for the United
States of America. Some they knew, some , their buddies, some nameless. Air
Force, Army, Navy, Marines, Coast Guard, National Guard. Blacks, whites, reds,
yellows. All GI's. All bleeding red for our country...the United States of
America.
A little grandfatherly fellow, quiet in speech and manner, an ex-Army Spec 4
from Archdale told of being torn between his love for the Vietnamese people and
his duty as an infantry grunt in the Big Red One. "I didn't want to kill them or
destroy their homes but I followed orders just like most GIs do. I'm not sorry
for my service but I am sorry so many innocent people had to die. But what has
hurt me more is knowing my friends and fellow soldiers gave their lives so I can
be here this day in this holy place." He turned to The Wall and saluted and we
joined him. He stepped to L. T. and said " Sir, I'll never forget what you did
this day. I've come a long way but today, thanks to you, I am free." He saluted
and stepped back into place.
As I listened I tried to put some kind of order to what I was to say when it
came my turn. I am not sophisticated, outgoing, I am country, uneducated in
rhetoric and speechmaking. But I wanted to do this right. After all the years of
denial I wanted and ached for the respect due those GIs. For the first time
since I was a kid at First Baptist Church, Thomasville, I asked God for help.
Then I remembered the poem folded away in my pocket, the one I wanted to
dedicate to all the GIs on The Wall.
"Next," the Gunny snapped, "front and center." I literally double timed it to
The Wall with rousing applause from the vets. My mind and heart went back over
forty years and again that unexplainable bond that holds GIs together soothed
me.: I was one of them then, am now, and will always be.
I went straight to, for I had been there many times before, CWO Vann Dwayne
Sherrill and placed a finger on his brick.
"CWO Van Dwayne Sherrill, born Thomasville, North Carolina, 21 August 1934
died 23 October 1965, Republic of South Vietnam. We grew up in Thomasville. I
didn't know him well but heard a lot about him. He was the first left handed
catcher at Thomasville High School to be All State. He was an outstanding
literary student. He taught me many things about soldiering but what I remember
most is what he said about living. 'Live for what you believe in for life is a
moveable feast." I didn't understand that back then but I've learned its meaning
over the years." I got a little choked up here so I swallowed hard. "I think
what CWO Sherrill meant was if you are going to soldier, do it with all your
heart, give it all you got, and you will be satisfied with a soldier's life. He
was right then, he's right now. And there's no doubt in my mind he lived a
beautiful life and gave it willingly for his country." I fumbled out my
poem.
"I'd like to read this for CWO Sherrill and all GI's on The Wall and their
families. It's by Emily Dickinson:
They perished in the seamless grass,-
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face."
I saluted The Wall and when I turned around that gaggle of vets stood at
attention rendering salutes. Like a good soldier I stopped dead and returned the
salute as a weariness lifted from me and faded way up into the Carolina blue.
And I thought of Doctor King's words free, free at last, God Almighty, free at
last.
After a bunch of GI war stories, handshakes and hugs, we broke up and each
faded into his own world. I looked for Lt Dillahey to thank him for bringing us
together, for making this moveable feast happen. The man in the cowboy hat with
a smile big as his heart was gone. Disappeared. I stayed and talked to CWO
Sherrill a while then remembering what he said about life being a feast I headed
on back to Silver Valley to enjoy the life he gave me by giving his.
Post Script. Please join us again this Memorial Day at The Wall.
End
Idgie Says:
