By Don Buzney
Copyright 1982

Solder, sailor, airman, marine from all across the land they came; every race, every creed. As their fathers and forefathers before them, when their country called, they stepped forward. Albeit at a time when the nation was steeped in bitter controversy at the prime of their young manhood, they did not shirk from the spectre of war. Swept up by a political maelstrom, not of their making, they were hurled onward to a rendezvous with hardship and strife, just everyday, ordinary, American men.

They found a harsh, hostile land, a forbidding climate, a war ravaged people, a fierce and tenacious enemy. But as their fathers and forefathers before them, they held their banner high. They fought in every climate and place where they could take a gun. Scores of thousands made the supreme and final sacrifice. Dying a loney death in a foreign land, agonizing over loved ones, far away, never to be seen again. Hundreds thousands more were wounded, maimed, permanently disabled just everyday, ordinary American, men.

When Johnny came marching home from this war, it was not to the greeting that welcomed his fathers and forefathers from past wars. There were no marching bands and speeches, no proud salutes. he found himself the brunt of a nation's dissent. He was made to feel unwelcome in his own land. He never fully understood the reasons why. He knew only that the emotional trauma of war was made worse by the reception of rejection by too many of his countrymen. All he ever wanted was to be treated like an everyday, ordinary, American man.

Almost a decade has now gone by since the last American saw action in Vietnam. This monument now stands before us, its bold and imposing beauty bespeaks a silent tribute. But no structure, no matter how great, can really pay just tribute to the honored dead, whose names are inscribed here. To the maimed, the disabled, the missing in action, the emotionally scarred, the pain of this war will never be over. To the families left behind, memories of departed loved ones will never fade. To the young lives never lived, to the loves never loved, dear God, let their hallowed memory forever burn bright.

Let there be a purpose to their death, for without purpose, this monument will be nothing more than cold stone and mortar. An empty symbol, without sense or meaning. let us, Americans everywhere, dedicate ourselves to giving it a meaning and purpose. let it mean that never again will this nation shed its young men's blood in a cause without resolve. let it mean that we will devote special care and attention to the war-wounded Veteran. That we will pay whatever price, give whatever it takes, to help him carry his burden.

The "Why" may never be answered, the sacrifice never vindicated, but let no one dare question the fiber of the men, who answered the call of the uncertain trumpet. They risked and lost life and limb to serve their country. They are the mark and caliber by which great nations are measured. Let us never demean those who have carried this country's banner into battle. let us all join hands as united Americans and as one voice, loundly and proudly proclaim: "Welcome Home -- At last, together we will heal the wound!" And in a spirit of love and thanksgiving, embrace these everyday, ordinary, American men. 11/82

Don Buzney served in the U.S. Marine Corps, 1967-1971. Infantry Officer, 3rd Marine Division, Vietnam, 1968-1969. Quang Tri Province, Northern I Corps.
If you would like to have a hardcopy of the above poem, contact Don at brianscott@classic.msn.com, or write him via U.S. Postal at: Don Buzney, 7714 Black Willow, Liverpool, N.Y. 13090.