My brown leather shoes got wet on that July morning -- soaked by the heavy dew that coated the grass. I was walking across what was designed as youth soccer fields in Allison Park. Yet for the six days that portion of the Hampton Community Park was transformed into a place for tributes, memories and remembrances. It was the temporary home of the traveling Vietnam Memorial Wall.
It was shortly after 3 AM I felt the soft wet ground under my feet. I was the only person there to see the Wall, but it turns out I wasn't alone. I spent about ten minutes contemplating our nation's history and the vision of our founding fathers. After a few minutes, I could feel the moisture starting to seep through a small hole in the leather soles of my left shoe. I noticed the small flags and flowers left to honor the fallen all along the granite panels. I spotted a small red, white and blue pinwheel slowly spinning in the breeze. Overhead, I heard the soft fluttering of about a dozen flags. It was a somber and powerful of the selfless sacrifice made by so many brave men and women. I pulled my phone from my pocket to take some photos – wanting these memories to stay fresh in my mind and my heart.
As I was getting ready to leave to make the 25 minute drive downtown, I heard a voice come from the shadows outside a large white tent. His name was Ken. He was wearing a white polo shirt and a black Vietnam Veteran baseball hat. He asked if I had any questions about the monument. I only said I wanted to thank him for his service. Ken served in Vietnam. He was a dentist who worked a two-man post seeing the soldiers who were in country, fighting for our nation. When I told him why I had come so early in the morning on my way to work, his voice caught. He paused. The burly man nearly cried. He told me volunteered for the overnight shift -- and made a wide sweeping gesture with his right arm toward the wall. He softly said, "These guys had my back. Tonight, I want to make sure I have theirs."
During that poignant moment in the middle of the Pittsburgh night, another man in an identical white polo appeared. His hat was different, but he was also a volunteer. His name was Pete. Pete was a Navy man. While in college in western PA during the early 60's, Pete was a reservist -- a weekend warrior who hopped on a military transport at the Allegheny County Airport and fly to Norfolk, Virginia on Friday after class. The Navy flew him home on Sunday night so he could get back to class. During college, Pete was drafted. While he received a deferment, he chose to serve. His home was USS Ranger aircraft carrier, and he lifted his white polo shirt to show me a t-shirt with an aerial photo of his beloved home in the Pacific. Like Ken, Pete thanked me for coming to honor the fallen.
We talked for a while about their memories of the war -- about how friends flew home with the bodies of loved ones who were killed. Ken admitted he didn't know any of the men whose names etched on the Vietnam wall -- but acknowledged he may have unknowing had a beer with some of them in an officer's club somewhere, but never learned their name.
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Time melted away. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave Ken and Pete. I didn't want to walk away from the wall. I wanted to stay and read every name. I wanted to run my fingers over the engraved stone as the tiniest of tributes to each fallen person. But I knew I had to go. I thanked Ken and Pete again, shook their hands and walked through the soggy turf toward my car.
My brown leather shoes got wet that morning. There was mud on them, and I must say I can’t ever remember being so glad to have wet feet.
That morning was July 4, 2017 – but each Memorial Day, I think of Ken and Pete and all the men and women who chose to serve our nation – even when no one is watching.
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