http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl? http://www.eblah.com en http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1274966723/ http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1274966723/#num1
At this time in May, my mind drifts back to the early to mid-60’s and the numerous protest songs that were common then.  Among them, The Cruel War by Peter, Paul and Mary, and The Kingston Trio’s hit Where Have All The Flowers Gone that posed a question to our politicians then that is timely today—“When will they ever learn.”  


A Time to Remember

My heart is heavy as I contemplate another Memorial Day, knowing our men and women are still dying in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Growing up in the 50’s, Memorial Day often meant the beginning of a long summer vacation, major league baseball games, a picnic, or perhaps a parade.  Then, in the late ‘60’s I served in Vietnam and for me, the meaning of Memorial Day changed---forever.

I recently attended my first military reunion and would like to recount an emotional ceremony often used at such occasions.  The event is known as The Missing Man Toast and its purpose is to honor our comrades who didn’t make it home.

          “You are not forgotten, you are here with us tonight.  The table in the center
          of the hall is set just for you.  Had things been different, you might have been
          sitting with us, laughing toasting, telling us just how close you came that time
          and how lucky you were.  God how we miss you.  Why you??

          Your tablecloth is white—symbolic of your willing response to your country’s
          call to arms.  The single rose at your place setting is emblematic of the families
          and loved ones forever left behind.  The red ribbon is what we still wear to bear
          witness to the continuing of POW’s and MIA’s as we unceasingly demand a
          proper accounting for those of you still missing and unaccounted for.  There is a
          slice of lemon at your plate, keeping us mindful of your bitter fate.  There is salt
          too…symbolic of the river of tears shed by families and loved ones.  

          Your glass is inverted because you are not with us tonight.  Your chair is empty
           because you are not here to sit with us tonight.  You were there for us—we are
           still here for you.  In honoring you, each of you, all of you, we stand silently and
           face YOUR table—the table where you should be sitting tonight.  We stand
           silently in your absence, silently except for the saying of your name. We will now
           escort our special guest to the table of honor.”
            
            A uniformed soldier advances slowly in break step towards the table, an
            American flag clutched to his breast.  Upon reaching the table, he ceremoniously
            places the triangular folded flag on the table and departs.  
        
            “Please rise and raise your glasses…a toast to our honored guest.”  

            Whether it’s a toast or some other poignant way to remember, we should
            honor all of the men and women who have died serving our country.  This is their
            day and our obligation.

             Bruce Hill.                                                     .
             Herndon, VA
]]> Thu, 27 May 2010 09:25:23 Bruce Hill (Guest) http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1220832148/ http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1220832148/#num1
Jerry Graff has run into a grunt that remembers getting picked up by a 237th Huey with the words "Got Ya" or "Gotch Ya" or something to that effect on the bottom of the aircraft. IT SEEMS TO ME I HAVE HEARD THIS BEFORE....the "belly art", that is. I believe this was in 1969, which was when I was there, but I don't recall ANY art on the aircraft other that the red crosses....

Can anyone enlighten us????  We've already married up a few ground pounders and our crews, can we do it one more time?

Phil]]> Sun, 7 Sep 2008 20:02:28 Phil Marshall 711 http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1211457164/ http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1211457164/#num1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BM1n2HAlqmo
Bruce Hill]]> Thu, 22 May 2008 07:52:44 bb4849 http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1211124825/ http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1211124825/#num1
To many, Memorial Day means simply the end of a school year, the beginning of summer, or big sales events for cars, carpet, bedding ---you name it.  But to those who served, it means MUCH more, something VERY special.  It is the one day of the year that we as a nation set aside to honor our men and women who died in military service.  They were young and old, black and white, rich and poor.  They were our fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters and our friends.  Some were heros, most were not.  

We've all heard the phrase, "a band of brothers", but it's much more than a cliche.  Some may wonder why veterans attend reunions and ask why they frequent various memorials?  Author Michael Norman offers these words of explanation: "I now know why we who have been to war yearn to reunite...comrades gather because they long to be with men who once acted their best, men who suffered and sacrificed, who were stripped raw, right down to their humanity...  They were willing to guard something more precious than my life.  They would have carried my reputation, the memory of me into the future."  And so, it is our responsibility to carry the memory of our departed friends into the future.  

As you read this, the number of Americans killed in Iraq will be around 4,100.  Please remember them and their families in your own special way.
Bruce Hill]]> Sun, 18 May 2008 11:33:45 bb4849 http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1208974790/ http://www.dmzdustoff.org/cgi-bin/forum/Blah.pl?m-1208974790/#num1

                                                                    THE REUNION

Autumn leaves rustling, together to the appointed place, the old warriors come.
Like Pilgrims drifting across the land they fought to preserve.
Where they meet is not important any more.
Greetings echo across a lobby.
Hands reach out and arms draw buddies close.
Embraces, that as young men they were too uncomfortable to give, too shy to accept so lovingly.
But deep within these Indian Summer days, they have reached a greater understanding of life and love.
The shells holding their souls are weaker now, but hearts and minds grow vigorous, remembering.
On the table someone spreads out photographs, a test of recollection.
And friendly laughter echoes at shocks of hair gone gray or white, or merely gone.
The rugged slender bodies lost forever.
Yet they no longer need to prove their strength.
Some are now sustained by one of "Medicine's miracles," and even in this fact , they manage to find humor.
The women, all those that waited, all those who loved them, have watched the changes take place.
Now, they observe and listen, and smile at each other, as glad to be together as the men.
Talk turns to war, and planes, and foreign lands.
Stories are told and told again, re-weaving the threadbare fabric of the past.
Mending one more time the banner of their youth.
They hear the vibrations, feel the shutter of metal as engines whine and whirl, and planes-tanks-jeeps come to life.
These birds with fractured wings can be seen beyond the mist of clouds, and they are in the air again. chasing the wind, feeling the exhilaration of flight close to the heavens.
Dead comrades, hearing their names spoken, wanting to share in this time, if only in spirit, move silently among them.
Their presence is felt and smiles appear beneath misty eyes.
Each, in his own way may wonder who will be absent in another year.
The room grows quiet for a time.
Suddenly an ember flames to life. Another memory burns.
The talk may turn to other wars, and other men, and of futility.
So, this is how it goes. The past is so much the present.
In their ceremonies, the allegiances, the speeches and the prayers, one cannot help but hear the deep eternal love of country and comrades they will forever share.
Finally, it is time to leave.
Much too soon to set aside this little piece of yesterday, but the past cannot be held too long, for it is fragile.
They say, "Farewell" ..."See you another year, God willing."
Each keeps a little of the others with him forever.
BY RACHEL FIRTH]]> Wed, 23 Apr 2008 14:19:50 Guest (Guest)