This weekend pays respect to those who died in the service of our country. However, earlier this week Papa was reminded of a joyous outcome from the Vietnam War. When I was in law school I had a roommate from North Dakota. It was a super state in my eyes. It provided me a good roommate. People from North Dakota were close knit. If Phil Jackson was in town to play basketball, 20 or 30 kids showed up at the game. A few were in college, some had local jobs and others were simply passing through town. Everyone from ND knew everyone else. So, it did not surprise me that around 1966 an Air Force pilot showed up at our apartment doorstep. He was on his way to Vietnam.

To prove that alcohol does not eliminate one’s memory, a statement he made stuck with me. His dream in combat was to find an enemy supply train and attack and destroy it. A laudable ambition in war I suppose. However, in the deep recess of my mind at the time was the sentiment from a popular song. Please General Custer I don’t want to go! It was a time when all honorable young males faced the reality of military service. It wasn’t long after that evening that we received word that he had been shot down. I don’t recall any further news. Time slipped and surged forward. Graduation, marriage and soon it was my time to deploy to Vietnam. Followed by an eventual return home for me. For others their fates lingered in time.

This week’s news included covering a celebration marking the 50th anniversary of the return of the Vietnam POWs. My recall from 1973 was of several return flights, all televised. Spread out over weeks/months depending on the health condiiton of the heros. This week my memory returned to the day in Fort Ord that I witnessed Loren Torkelson of North Dakota step off his Freedom Bird. He was alive and free. I didn’t know he was alive until his name flashed on the TV. Fifty years ago. I am glad for the reminder of that good memory.

This weekend my memory will return to the other two men with whom I had some connection. A high school classmate of my brother and my fraternity brother at Wisconsin. Both were pilots in Vietnam. Both were lost/killed in action. I mourn their loss. And for all of life that they missed. I’ll always remember them as young. Unlike me and the old vet passing out poppies at the grocery store today. It’d be difficult for either of us to raise our arms high enough, quickly enough to give a proper salute much less soldier. During only a few minutes of conversation two old goats had more in common than the fraility of age. Our connection was formed when we were young. It’s mostly unspoken. It is just there. That simple interaction is something I wish Bill and Norm had lived to experience.

I did get a poppy for each of you. I always do. It’s a good symbol. Take some time and think about it. As you go through life I urge you to be a good citizen. It’s the right thing to do. And, it is perhaps a small sign of respect for the sacrifice of men represented by the poppy. This year’s family get together will of course include Papa’s music. A heavy dose of the 1940’s. Humm along.