Reunion - penned a few weeks back

Today, in the waning days of September 2010, I received a postcard from myself. Sending yourself a postcard is a fun thing to do when you travel. I send one back to my home in North Wales, PA, on the day I leave the town I’m visiting and race it home. Come Wednesday, I get a nice reminder that I just had a break. This break was in Kansas City, Missouri.

I grew up in Paw Paw, just a few miles down I-94 from the exit for Decatur, where my father grew up. He has lived almost all of his live within that stretch of Eisenhower’s interstate, save just a couple of years. Those were spent training for and fighting in the Vietnam War.

Let me state something very clearly: all public-schooled American children are taught, rightfully, that the Constitution of the United States give the power to declare war to the Legislative Branch of our Government. Though that never happened during the Vietnam Conflict, it was most certainly a War. We can call it Just or Unjust as we see fit, but I was in Kansas City last weekend with a lot of folks that fought it, just the same.

I remember the Fourth of July parades is Decatur, on the corner of Phelps Street, when (I was very young, mind you) veterans of the Great War rode down the parade route in convertibles - waving. They weren’t able to march anymore. Now, almost 30 years later, the World War II vets are becoming as rare as those of the Great War were in my childhood. Someday, the same will be true for the Veterans of Vietnam. But that time is not here yet! Over the weekend, those spunky Vietnam Vets marched all over KC having one hell of a time.

Reunions are not new. As I’m not versed in the terminology of the military, I wouldn’t have thought that this reunion (actually, a series of reunions) was anything special. But this reunion was special. The U.S. Army is divided and subdivided into groups where men and women from all over the country end up shoulder to shoulder with each other all over the world. In the late 1960’s, that place was Vietnam. The reunion I just attended was for the United States Army, Americal Division, 198^th Light Infantry Brigade, 1^st of the 52^nd Battalion (written as 1/52), Delta Company. If the U.S. army was this newspaper page, a Company would be just a couple of letters. At the most - on the day when the most Americans were fighting in Vietnam - there was a half a million Americans there. Maybe one hundred were in the Delta Company on that day.

I’m not attempting to say that Delta Company was in any way special. What I am going to say is this: more than forty years later, this Company has closed ranks and meet year after year as if, from my experience, no time has passed at all.

There’s a man from Missouri that raises around 100 head of beef cattle a year as a living. Another is a Louisiana native that is one heck of a good time, but is almost impossible for this Northerner to understand come midnight. Then there is my father, from Decatur. A man that lost both of his legs in Vietnam walks on prosthetic legs and is the last one to complain about walking someplace new. One man lives today in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn in which he grew up (he owns a restaurant there now). Some folks from Pittsburgh, Savannah, all over the Midwest also attended. And me. I was able to witness this happen now for the second time.

Mornings of these reunions start with breakfast, of course, and then some sightseeing. All this time past, but when the commanding officer starts walking for the next destination, everyone falls in line and follows. I’d be at the front of the pack, whenever possible, as these COs command a respect that is infectious; one wants to follow a real leader. Same with the Lieutenants and the Sergeants within the ranks. Though I’m sure they earned the right of their ranks, the reality is that they simply were those ranks. Somehow in that war and in that time, water found it’s level.

Whether the rest of the day is visiting local museums, memorials, or the cityscapes themselves, the old soldiers fill the entire day talking. Today, these families have forty more years of a story to tell. Kids are in their 30s. The majority of their lives (for the most part) were spent raising those families, working jobs outside of the military and through it all, the friendships forged on the other side of the world over many long months are as strong as ever. And they’re getting stronger. Every year, more Delta Company veterans are found and more come to the reunion. I, for one, cannot wait until next year.