Harry O. Green, Clarence Brooks Powell, Wallace Chambers; Spc. Jack W. Osborn, Cpl. Kenneth Wayne Wheeler; Cpl. Mario Castillo, Cpl. Michael Craig Ledsome, Cpl. Tevan Nguyen – they were young men who went off to war, men who never got to grow old, men who died fighting for their country.
All became what the military refers to as “casualties,” a term I don’t understand but the military seems to prefer. Their deaths were far from casual. Would a stronger more fitting word make us more cognizant of war’s toll?
Each of the eight men are on my personal roll call of remembrance. I never knew any of the soldiers or Marines in life, but I have come to know their stories. For me their names underline the human sacrifice that war demands.
Green, Powell and Chambers, either distant or almost relatives, were killed in World War II. Osborn and Wheeler died in Vietnam, and their stories were told to me by their relatives almost 50 years after their bodies were brought home in flag-draped caskets. I attended the funerals of Castillo and Ledsome, both IED victims in Iraq, and Nguyen, killed, also in an IED explosion, in Afghanistan.
They were young men, from small all-American communities – Zephyr and May, Texas; Amarillo; Brownwood and Hutto. Remembered now for their bravery, they were known to be their hometowns’ best and brightest, happiest, most dedicated…I have to say, I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose a loved one to war, or maybe I can – almost – and it’s a feeling unbearable.
In 2006, my youngest son joined the Marines. After the ceremony where he and other recruits were awarded their Eagle, Globe and Anchor pins, he explained to his brother the reason for two dog tags.
One is attached to a fallen Marine’s (another soft phrase from the military) toe. The second dog tag goes into the casualty’s mouth and his jaws are clamped shut around it so identification is never confused.
“They know this, and accept it,” I shuddered.
As a little girl, I remember the vigilance of the Brooks Powell, who, in his Army Air Corps uniform seemed to be watching us from his constant post in the 8×10 frame on a small side table in the living room at my cousin’s maternal grandmother’s house in Zephyr.
“It’s my Uncle Brooks,” Rebecca whispered when I asked. “He died in the War. No one talks about him because it makes them sad.”
Rebecca’s and my mothers were best friends, who married brothers, and, a couple of years ago, after Rebecca’s mother had died, we were going through some family photographs. My mother had saved a little poem Brooks had written – it was pretty cute – and Rebecca commented, “I don’t know if there is anyone left on earth who ever knew my Uncle Brooks.
“It’s so sad. It always will be. We never talked about him and I wish we had.”
What we’ve come to accept, is that each generation has its wars. At my son’s boot camp graduation seven years ago, the speaker said the current “conflicts” of Iraq and Afghanistan were the longest “engagements” of war in American history to have an all-volunteer military force.
The questions are becoming more frequent. Is it a necessary war? That’s a discussion for another day, I think. I know the casualties of these wars are no less grieved for than any wars previous. I know the men’s courage is no less significant, their sacrifice as patriotic and selfless as any other who lost their lives in war.
My career this last decade has made it necessary to attend Memorial Day services. I do so gladly. This year, my first spring to live in San Angelo after a 10-year hiatus, I am making plans to be at the ceremony at 6 p.m. Memorial Day Monday at the Tom Green County Courthouse steps.
But I am confident there will be, and I will miss attending, the Memorial Day Service at 9 a.m. Monday at Eastlawn Memorial Gardens in Brown County.
I always wish there were a way for people to understand and act on the significance of Memorial Day; that it is important for us as citizens to pause, count our blessings and acknowledge our great losses.
How appropriate it is we stand together for a bittersweet moment, hear the trumpet sounds of “Taps” and watch a guard of men and women in uniform raise our nation’s flag, then lower it to half staff.
As proud Americans, I don’t know if there is much more we can do. I don’t know that those we are pausing to remember would have had expectations of anything more. Those on my roll call would have loved a good barbecue or dish of homemade ice cream, maybe a first swim of the season. They would have been proud to know the privileges and freedoms of the country they died fighting for have remained intact.
They wouldn’t mind a little celebration one bit. But they deserve a dignified and reverent remembrance.
EDITOR’S NOTE: The original version of this column was printed in the San Angelo Standard-Times May 23, 2013, print and online edition (www.gosanangelo.com). Candace Cooksey Fulton is a former Brownwood resident and now lives in San Angelo, Texas. She may be reached by email at ccfulton2002@yahoo.com.
