What Does Memorial Day Mean To You?
As another Memorial Day approaches I often wondered what its purpose might be to the average American. It seems to be a day where they will take time out of their work schedule to have a picnic, a party, or maybe take their boats out and enjoy the holiday. Most cities have a small parade and many people will turn out to see the floats and of course the politicians will be riding in the convertibles to try to garner your vote. I wonder what our nations leaders might be doing today. How many of them ever wore our nations uniform let alone went to war. I have noticed they have no problem sending our children to war.
I doubt that many people, especially the younger generation, will actually stop for a moment to ponder what this day really means. It is to honor those men and women who paid the ultimate sacrifice so that the rest of us have the freedom to watch that parade and vote for the politician of our choice.
When I was a child Christmas was the most important holiday for me because I knew I would receive gifts on that day. Christmas has been replaced now. Memorial Day is much more meaningful. Memorial Day is a somber day for me though, for I have memories seared into my heart that will never go away but I try not to look at them as a totally negative thing for each Memorial Day I realize that I have received another 365 days of freedom. That is a gift that few in this world will ever receive and I cherish it.
I have attended some of those parades and I have heard the politicians speak of Liberty, Honor, and Justice but I have also held my brothers in my arms and listen to them scream. I never heard one man scream for liberty, honor, or justice. They scream for their mothers, their girlfriends and God, providing they still had a mouth to scream with. I remember seeing the smiling face of a replacement we took on a raid with us on the evening of 08 Mar 69. His name was Poole. We had to take Poole with us because our engineman was hit with shrapnel the day before. Poole was supposed to be going home. He only had three days left in Nam. Fifteen minuets later he only had half a face and I had to use my shoelace to stop the bleeding from the AK47 round that tore an artery in his leg. As I carried him to a medivac chopper through a rice paddy I remember thinking that this would be the last day of my life and I wondered who would tell my gal back home that the boy she loved had died that night. Would it be a man in a military uniform? Perhaps my father, or maybe a preacher. I could go on but it isn't necessary. The thing I remember most about that day is that 18 American Sailors on three PCF’s took some fast boats in harms way. Eight of us brought the boats back. The gal who loved me that night waited for her “husband to be” to come home. When I did, I could not talk to her and she could not talk to me. Someone other than the young naive boy she kissed goodbye at the airport 3 years earlier came home to her. Sadly, we went our separate ways.
I remember a group of Swift Boats and a SEAL team that went into the Dung Keo Canal April 12, 1969. Not many sailors brought the boats back unscathed that day. Thirty-three were wounded and 3 have their names etched in a black granite wall in Washington D.C. Only twelve boats came back and many under tow. I will be thinking of Tracy Targos Droze on Memorial Day. We never know what life has in store for us. Tracy happened upon my web site in 2001. She saw a picture of a large hunk of scrap metal on a riverbank. It said "Remains Of PCF (Swift Boat) 43". She clicked on it and for the first time in 32 years she found out how father had given his life for his country. The Navy never told her or her mom that a rocket hit the pilot house and killed her dad, and a U.S. Navy Seal, HM1 Worthington. What do you think Memorial Day means to her? You can view her picture if you would like, it's on my web site. It’s a picture of her dad LTJG Donald Droz holding Tracy in his arms. He was on R&R in Hawaii March 1969. Tracy was 1 month old. LTJG Donald Droz, skipper, PCF 43, killed IN Action April 12, 1969. She never knew her dad. Sometime before that fateful day LTJG Droze came to the aid of another young sailor and his crew who were under heavy enemy fire. His name was LTJG John Kerry.
I think of my shipmate from my first tour in Nam. His name is Loyal Doty. I have always found it ironic that his name was Loyal. I looked up Loyal on the Virtual Wall website. It says, "Accidental Homicide". I don't think that is totally accurate, for I was there. Without warning Loyal pulled out his 45, put it to his chest and said "No More" pulled the trigger and blew his heart out through his back. You can find his name on panel 38E, line 48 of that black granite wall I mentioned earlier.
There is another picture of a good-looking blond kid on my web site. His name is Steve Luke, twin 50’s gunner, PCF 36. You can find his name on panel 37W line 52. A Sniper bullet found its mark in Steve's head. Steve was 23 years old.
I think of BM2 Anthony Chandler. We laid him to rest thirty-three years to the day that PCF 19 was blown out of the water. We got back an arm bone and a finger bone. I wrote a eulogy, on behalf of the “Swift Boat Sailors Association” for Tony that was read at his funeral and a ceremony at a Coast Guard Station in Ohio.
I could go on about my brothers but there are 52 of them on that wall out of 58,272 total, including 19 women and I think I have made my point. Each time I visit that wall I wonder what might have been. Is the name of the first man to set foot on Mars on there? Maybe the woman who discovered the cure for AIDS?
Not far from that wall there is an enduring symbol of freedom that I am sure most Americans have seen a photo of. The flag raising on Iwo Jima. Some might even know that there were 6 men that raised that flag on Mount Surabachi. One was named Harlon Block. Harlon died later that day with his intestines in his hands. Another is Rene Gagnon from New Hampshire. If you took Rene's helmet off at the moment that photo was taken, and looked in the webbing of that helmet; you would find a photograph-- a photograph of his girlfriend. Rene put that in there for protection, because he was scared. He was 18 years old. Boys won the battle of Iwo Jima. Boys, not old men. Franklin Sousley was one of those men also. Franklin died on Iwo Jima at the age of 19. When the telegram came to tell his mother that he was dead, it went to the Hilltop General Store. A barefoot boy ran that telegram up to his mother's farm. The neighbors could hear her scream all night and into the morning. The neighbors lived a quarter of a mile away.
Ira Hayes, a Pima Indian from Arizona was one of those men also. Ira Hayes walked off Iwo Jima. He went into the White House and President Truman told him, "You're a hero." He told reporters, "How can I feel like a hero when 250 of my buddies hit the beach with me and only 27 of us walked off alive?" He had images of horror in his mind. Ira Hayes died dead drunk, face down at the age of 32. Ten years after the picture was taken.
I recently had the honor of attending the christening of the U.S.S. Zumwalt at the invitation of the Zumwalt family and Captain James Kirk, commanding officer of the Zumwalt. As I gathered with the crew they all looked so young to me including the senior officers. My thoughts turned to Admiral Zumwalt and his son, Elmo III who commanded PCF 35 in my unit. Elmo III survived the war only to be taken by Agent Orange a few years later. I scanned the faces of the crew and hoped that I would never see their names etched on a memorial.
On this day I will remember those veterans that were dear to me that have already passed on. My father who although his foot was smashed in a coal mine in Pennsylvania had served in the U.S. Army in World War II and did what he could. I remembered my "Uncle Steve" who lost most of the use of one arm to German bullets. I remembered my "Uncle Derby" who landed at Omaha Beach on June 6, 1944. He told me that he tried to walk on the beach on June 7, but he could not. There were so many bodies he had to walk on them.
I was speaking to a group of graduate students in psychology at Cleveland State University in 1991. After listening to my story, a young man asked me the question; “Do you think you can ever love again”? I’m quite sure he thought I wasn’t ready for that question but as it turned out, he wasn’t quite ready for my answer. This was my reply. “I told that young man that he had no idea what love was. I said, “Unlike you son, most Veterans do not put conditions on love”. If there was one thing that war taught me it was the true meaning of love. I can love you for who you are son, not who I might want you to be. One thing in my life I learned from war is that when men go into combat together, they might not like each other but they do love each other.
It doesn’t matter whether you are black or white, northern or southern. You know that when the going gets tough that he will do what is necessary to save your life even if it means he might lose his and you will do the same for him. They love each other out of necessity because they know that if they don’t, none will survive.
If I didn’t learn anything else from war son I truly did learn how to love. I can walk into a forest and sit next to a tree and observe all of nature’s wonders for I have seen Napalm burn the jungle. I can love a child’s laugh because I have heard their screams. I can love the freedom you have today to go out into the world and choose what you want to do because when I was your age I was deprived of my freedom, my youth, and my innocence, while I was supposed to be making this a better world for you to live in. I do feel I have played a small part in making this a better world for you to live in, not because I have fought and killed but because I cried out in anger and told you the horror and reality of warfare. I was asked to fight a war where victory was unattainable and defeat was unacceptable and yet now one could tell us how it happened. My fervent hope is that none of you ever have to rest your head on a pillow at night and try to sleep with the memories that the men carry with them that landed at Omaha beach, Inchon or the Ashau Valley. But I want you to realize that they are why you have the freedom to listen to me.
We currently have about 84,000 soldiers missing in action. 74,000 from World War II, 8,100 from Korea, and about 1,800 from Vietnam, including WO1 Dale Allan Pearce, (Missing In Action May 17, 1971) a graduate of the High School where I made my home in 1970. I hope you think of Dale on Memorial Day. I will.
There is another group of men who will be thinking about their brothers and sisters who did not come home this day also. If you find time in your schedule why don’t you visit them? They are in a VA hospital. How many of you have ever gone there to hold an 90-year-old World War II vet in your arms and tell him "I Value my freedom sir and I appreciate what you did". How about an 80-year-old Korean vet? They are easy to spot. Just look for the ones missing fingers and toes from frostbite. 'Nam vets are easy to pick out in the crowd also. They are around 65 years old now and some are missing a limb or two from the extensive use of booby traps by the Viet Cong. If you are lucky you might even find and Iraq vet. They will be about 20 or 30 depending on which Iraqi war they fought in and may have a traumatic brain injury. With all the attention today on Iraq, let us not forget we still have flag draped coffins coming back from Afghanistan.
I mean no disrespect to the veterans who fought in Somalia, Libya, Grenada, Panama, Lebanon, or anywhere else that our nation’s leaders have chosen to send them. Forgive me if I have overlooked anyone for the list is long and my memory grows short.
On this Memorial Day I will not be attending any parades because I am back in uniform serving my country once again as a Coxswain in command of my own boat for the United States Coast Guard Auxiliary. After 9-1-1 I volunteered my skills that were learned in war to save lives, not take them. The gal who loved me that terrible night of 8 March 1969 will be standing alongside me as a United States Coast Guard Auxiliary crew member. We re-met and fell in love once again 29 years later and on 30 September 1995 I made her my wife.
I would like to conclude by sharing something that was written by Major Michael Davis O’Donnell on January 1, 1970.
"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."
Major O'Donnell was killed in action March 24, 1970.
May he rest in peace.
With Respect On This Memorial Day 2015
Joe Muharsky
RD2, United States Navy Black Berets Vietnam
Forward Machine Gunner, PCF 78, DaNang, 1968
Forward Machine Gunner, PCF 94, An Thoi, 1969
U.S.S. Brister, Destroyer Escort #327, Vietnam, 1967
Operation Market Time, Operation Seal Lords, Operation Phoenix
Recipient: First Admiral Zumwalt Humanitarian Award 2003
Recipient: United States Coast Guard Search and Rescue Team 9 award
United States Coast Guard Auxiliary, 2002-Untill I am no longer able