The Wall that Heals

The Wall that Heals. Does it?

The traveling Vietnam Memorial Wall arrived a few days ago in Milan, Indiana. On Thursday, we visited the wall. In The Other UC and Me: Editing the Sixties, I discussed the Ia Drang battle in November 1965. This was the incident that was memorialized in the book, We Were Soldiers Once and Young, as well as the Mel Gibson film.

I knew three Cincinnati area men had died in that battle. If there is a chance for my book to be re-published, I want to include Wall rubbings or photos of these men’s inscriptions. I had not mentioned names in my book, but I thought I had the men’s names listed in my copious notes. Unfortunately, I did not. I could not find an index to Ohio or Cincinnati men killed at Ia Drang. I could not find any newspaper articles relevant to the specific men. Where had I seen that information four years ago?

Before leaving for Milan, I began the hunt. I went to the Memorial Wall website and found the city and state index. Over 200 names showed up for Cincinnati. I had to check each name to discover which Cincinnatians died on one of those three days in November of `65. I found two: Tommy Doak and Matthews Shelton. The third man is still a mystery. Perhaps he was from a city or village near Cincinnati. If anyone knows his identity, please let me know.

As I clicked on the 200 plus names, I saw photos of each young man, handsome, and so full of life. One showed a husband and wife, one with children. Each click made me sadder. Each click brought back memories. To me, this was not a healing experience.

My husband took over after I finished looking for someone who had died around November 17, 1965. He discovered the Wall location for a childhood friend who was killed by a land mine in 1968.

We went off to Milan with the three names and locations.

The Memorial Wall takes one’s breath away. It is too long to photograph in one shot, even with a wide lens. A kind gentlemen in charge helped us when we arrived. Even though I did not know the two Ia Drang casualties personally, I could hardly ask the man for help. My voice was nearly gone. The man pointed to the center of the wall, its highest point. “Your 1965 casualties should be there,” he said.

We walked through a large field to the Wall. A cornfield was behind it. I found all three men listed on the East Wall, about half way through the Wall’s length. We made our rubbings and took our photographs.

What struck me about the Wall was not just its largeness or the number of names. What touched me was

the deafening silence. People were milling around, pointing to names and taking rubbings. Nobody talked. Behind our backs was the property of a trucking company, yet we never heard traffic noises.

Did it heal? It brought some closure, but I still hear the sound of silence, and I still see those handsome faces. I still grieve for lives unfinished.