In Memorium

In this Memorial Day blog is one of the most profound writings from America's history and also included is probably one of the poorest attempts at poetry in American history, in between is a short vignette on an American hero. One hundred years and three days prior to John F. Kennedy's assassination, Abraham Lincoln gave America's most famous speech that had been written in the days prior to his visit to Gettysburg and probably finished off at the battlefield site. I started typing the Gettysburg Address from the display on my iPhone but found that memory had me typing and only checking the original for errors, this the result of Catholic grade school education, circa 1963.


Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicated a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that this nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world  will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion-that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain-that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom-and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth.

The vignette is about Robert Dean Stethem. Does that name sound familiar to you? I visit his grave in Arlington National Cemetery when I go there to visit that of my own father.  After being beaten, tortured and shot by Hezbollah terrorists who had hijacked TWA flight 847, Petty Officer Stethem's body was dumped on the tarmac in Beirut. Today the U.S.S. Stethem patrols the oceans in defense of our liberties. It is now almost 26 years since this young man displayed the courage that severely humbles me as I even try to write about it. So many have died as he in defending our nation against terrorism. So many suffer today from wounds in that defense. So many are in harm's way as I touch these keys. So many at home suffer with the loss of their loved ones.  Every time that our flag ripples in the wind the snap of the cloth should be a call to attention.

Three million Americans showed up at that point of embarkation to Vietnam from California. Over 58,000, capacity attendance in many professional sports stadiums, died there. This poem (?), originally from my May 25th, 2009 blog, is about one of those Americans:

B. D.

Good-byes outside the Federal Building, hearts bursting with pride,
new fiends, for a day or two anyway.
Where you from?
Meal tickets, cough, sign here, raise your hand, get on the bus,
a few hours to digest what just happened.
Here's your bunk, here's you hat. It won't be too small tomorrow.
Lights out...lights on, get up.
Raise you left hand. The foot below that is your left foot.
Milk never tasted so good, nor liver.
Smoke'm if you got'em.
Lights out, shut up. Lights on, get up.
"Hey new guy!" Eight weeks is a lot of seniority here.
March, run, push, carry, salute, stomach in, chest out.
Congratulations, pride, get on the bus.
Seven to three and turn the lights out when you want.
Boston ain't bad but a bald head would be normal today.
Home for the weekend, cab driver not impressed.
Here's your test, here's your test, here's your test.
Congratulations, another stripe, get on the bus.
Farewell party, pack light, good-bye.
White building, no windows, no news, no TV,  just wait for your name, it could be a couple days.
Get on the plane.
Heat, aroma, concertina wire, dust, sun, water buffalo, silk, Pabst Blue Ribbon,
real-to-real, abacus, burn detail, pretty Asian girls, 12 hour days...forever,
pills, mail call, piasters, conical hats, nuoc mam, Mama San, number 10, dinky dow, tuk tuks,
packages from home, good friends. Where's Lubbock, Where's Petaluma?
Maps, files, briefings, frequencies, "they're on the move," sleep, maps, files.
Whistle, incoming!
Bunkers, jokes, heat, siren.
Sand bags, guard duty, Asian Elvis, Buddha, kids, chocolate, Budweiser.
Whistle,
bunkers, no jokes, heat, siren.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July.
Sydney, Kings Cross, money's gone, get on the plane.
Monsoons,
maps, files, briefings, frequencies.
Whistle,
bunkers, slop, siren.
Short time calender, "I  hear they don't like us?" Protests, daydreams, maybe college.
Whistle
I remember you.