Some time ago [this was written in 2007], I wrote something mildly critical of a young driver. “He thinks you don’t appreciate how hard it is to be a sports car driver,” I was told. I assume what was meant was “race car driver.” An old Porsche in the garage makes one a sports car driver.
Mostly, I like race car drivers and appreciate their skills. There are those who have earned that as drivers, and more importantly, as people. Like other athletes, some are very good. Some are not. Sometimes they do badly. Sometimes they rise to excellence. They are not beyond commentary on their worst – or best – days.
I was bothered by that response, though. It seemed somehow…wrong. It became a question: What is hard? What is to be appreciated?
I’ve stood on hallowed ground, at Gettysburg, Shiloh, Chickamauga, Antietam. At the Bloody Lane, on Little Round Top, in the Hornet’s Nest. What boys and young men did there is beyond words. In three days at Gettysburg, the two armies suffered nearly 8,000 killed and over 27,000 wounded. Shiloh, where 3,500 died over two days, was by the end of the war only the ninth most bloody battle. The night of the first day at Shiloh, "You could hear the screams of the injured. They screamed for water, God heard them, for the heavens opened and the rain fell."
From those places and others an unbroken road of gallantry and of tears has run through France (twice), the Pacific and Asia, to Korea (still), Vietnam, Iraq. My time on that road was nearly forty years ago. Some memories are – always will be – vivid.
Brian joined the platoon in December, and later he carried our radio. We shared a hooch of two ponchos, and wrapped up against the chill of the Southeast Asian nights in damp poncho li
ners. We waded through paddies and hacked through jungle. We were in Quang Tri for Tet, then the relief of Khe Sanh and into the A Shau Valley. Brian died in Quang Tri Province in May, thirty-nine years ago (2). He is memorialized on Panel 65E, Line 2, one of 58,256. He never saw his twentieth birthday.Brian’s mother wrote, “Brian has been buried on a small hill top overlooking a peaceful valley. It is a secluded and restful place, and we are able to go up each evening and pray for his eternal rest.” (1)
Men and women, including some dear to me, continue along that unbroken road, in Korea, in Afghanistan, in Iraq and elsewhere on land, sea, and in the air around the globe. Unfortunately, gallantry and tears never leave us.
It was right – that thing I was told. I don’t much appreciate how hard it is to be a sports car – race car – driver. Nor any other athlete, football player or snowboarder. Especially on this Memorial Day. Today, I’ll take to heart, for my lost friend Brian and for others, these words penned at Dak To, Republic of Vietnam, January 1, 1970, by a young man soon to become one of “those gentle heroes.”
If you are able, save for them a place inside of you
and save one backward glance when you are leaving
for the places they can no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say you loved them,
though you may or may not have always.
Take what they have taught you with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane, take one moment
to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind.
Michael Davis O'Donnell
Panel 12W Line 40
KIA March 24, 1970
Notes: Memorial Day 2011
(1) I've since visited that "restful place."
(2) Now forty-three years.G
