Several years ago I was in Washington and because I had some free time I went to see the Viet Nam Memorial. I wanted to see if it was as impressive and moving as I had heard. Since I had several friends, acquaintances and comrades whose names were there I thought I ought to at least go to pay such respects as I could.
As I stood at the Wall, a movement off to the side caught my eye. A middle-aged man, balding, a little thick around the waist, was walking along the wall, apparently looking for a particular name. As he approached me he stopped faced toward the wall, came to attention and saluted. He said, just loud enough to be heard, “Good morning, Sir.” With that he dropped his salute, turned and walked off. I don’t know who the man was, or the name he found. I do know that for him, and for that moment, the monument was just about the most important thing there was.
You can’t help but wonder what will happen to the monument when all of those names are the names of strangers, like the names on the great memorial gate at Ypres. In time those names on our monument, like those on the Menin Gate at Ypres, will cease to be friends and comrads. The little county I live in sent nearly one thousand men and boys off to the Civil War. About 350 of them did not return. While those veterans served the in a war that has shaped the course of the country’s history, their names are largely forgotten. In time the men who served in Viet Nam will likewise be forgotten. Those who died, however, will be remembered for as long as granite lasts. For those of us of a certain age the names are close to being the whole meaning of the monument.