VietNow National Magazine

I mumbled a name to the uniformed Army Reserve guy sitting behind the table and a minute later I had a piece of paper in my hand. On that paper was tangible proof that my friend, James Howard Owens, Jr. really and truly was never coming home. Of course I already knew that, but this piece of paper had the details I’d forgotten, showed his location on The Wall, and told the sad story in terse, military terms. It was for real, and it was final.

First Trip to The Wall

It was a beautiful spring day in Patton Park, a beautiful green spot near the Mississippi River in Lake City, Minnesota, and as I walked slowly along the low, black metal panels of “The Wall That Heals,” I thought back to a day in the spring or summer of 1966 when I gave James Howard Owens, Jr. an unofficial flying lesson in a Cessna 150. I was a few hours short of my instructor rating at the time, but that didn’t matter. We had some fun times out at the little grass runway, and even though he later became an Army helicopter pilot, I don’t think either of us had any serious thoughts of Vietnam in those days.

Patton Park in Lake City, Minnesota provided the perfect setting for this beautiful memorial.

Still lost in thought, heading for “Panel 20W, Line 096” on that low, black wall, another memory came back to me. This time it was a headline in a newspaper probably sent to me by my brother. It was 1969 and I was in Vietnam, and there was the front page headline in my hometown newspaper telling the story of a hero’s death, and the hero’s name was James Howard Owens, Jr. The story described a hilltop where infantry soldiers needed to get out quick, and a daring pilot who made one trip too many on that foggy and bullet-filled afternoon. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t really surprised. Sad beyond words, but not surprised to know he was dead. Sad. And guilty. There he was, dead in Vietnam. There I was alive in Vietnam.

Clear Memories and Faded Names

James Howard Owens, Jr. wasn’t the only friend I lost in Vietnam, but the weird thing is that for the first hour or so that I was at the “Traveling Wall” his name was the only name I could remember. Eventually, a few other names rose through the quagmire of my memory, but a couple of the names that I’ve had in my mind for thirty years just refused to show up.

Cathy Johnson of Rochester, Minnesota, makes a rubbing of a name of The Wall.

It’s not as if I have PTSD. I don’t. It’s not as if my very best friend of all time died in Vietnam. He didn’t. But there were guys whose names I knew were on that black wall, and the harder I tried, the less I remembered. And some of those names just wouldn’t come until I was safely back in the car heading for home.

Small-Town USA Does the Job

But even with that, it was a beautiful afternoon, it was the first time I’d ever been to any version of “The Wall,” and the town of Lake City and the Lake City VFW had done a fabulous job of setting up a parade, some great speakers, and the perfect setting for “The Wall.”

Sooner or later, everyone has to reach out and touch a name.

The feeling in this small town reminded me of the way these things felt in the 1950s before everyone became cynical and questioned everything about the military. Hundreds of people turned out. There was a colorful parade. A high school band was set up in front of the speaker stand. A former POW told some amazing stories. The local postmaster talked about what it all meant. And when it was time to be quiet, everyone was quiet.

Bringing The Wall Home

I had waited a long time for my first trip to “The Wall” and now that I’d seen this beautiful and powerful memorial, I knew that this little park nestled here in small-town Minnesota was where I was supposed to have my first encounter with that engimatic black mirror. I gazed for long minutes at the reflections in the shiny black surface. I watched, unable to speak, as my friend made rubbings of the names I had managed to remember. I talked with some really nice guys. And I thought back to memories of some guys who went away and never came back.

The Lake City VFW provided the honor guard for the afternoon's proceedings.

And even though I couldn’t remember some of the names until later, I think I remembered everything I was supposed to remember. And I saw that other people remembered too. There were Vietnam veterans like me. There were older people who might have been our parents, and lots of very young people who might have been our children. They remembered. They cared. They felt something like what I was feeling. And that meant everything to me. And I won’t forget it.

Click to read Bright Lights- Lake City, MInnesota
(More about a visit to the Traveling Wall).

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