Do you know I exist?
. . Contributed By Erika On Thursday, December 08, 2005
For many of us Vietnam babies we wonder did our father's make it? Did he even know he was going to be a father? I know for myself, I have wondered if my father even made it through the war and if I would have been daddy's little girl.We can't change the past but if I had one wish .I would like to meet my father. He was one of thousands of hero's I am sure.but for sure.he is a part of me and I would love to meet him. If you were stationed in Ft. Wolters TX around Christmas of 67-68 and knew a Mike Kulisek? that dated a Sandy Reed please email me. I am not asking for anything but to fill the void. In the subject matter please use reference Kulisek-Ft Wolters. Happy Holidays to you all! God Bless

BARADA BARETTA USMC 1966
. . Contributed By JESUS GALLEGOS USMC On Saturday, December 10, 2005
DIED IN MY ARMS.NO RECORD OF HIM ANY WERE?CAN ANYONE HELP? HE WAS FROM QEBECK CANADA.

JAMES D BEAVERS
. . Contributed By Cynthia Beavers Cheramie On Sunday, December 11, 2005
DAD, I LOVE AND MISS YOU. I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR FROM ANYONE THAT KNOWS WHAT REALLY HAPPENED WHEN MY FATHER GOT HURT.

Wall visit
. . Contributed By Robert Flournoy On Sunday, December 11, 2005
The Wall The second time I went to the Vietnam Memorial was more meaningful than the first. That initial time in 1982 was a circus. Absolute carnival atmosphere that agitated, angered me. Balloons, snacks, crowded, an absolute lack of the sober subdued holy atmosphere that I expected, and that in my mind the shrine demanded. The place was still relatively new, and it was a summer Saturday with the sun shining which encouraged the throngs to turn out, including, unfortunately, a couple hundred guys who thought that they needed to dress up like bikers in old fatigues which were plastered with ribbons and patches, boonie hats and the obligatory granny shades. And head bands. And drooping mustaches. All carrying on with one another, hugging, power hand shaking, crocodile tears, milling around on the path directly in front of the black depths of that wall, here I am check me out. Dude. Total bull shit. I have found that for every ten guys who tell you they were in 'Nam, many of them are probably lying, and when it comes to who did what, most of them were airborne ranger CIB gunslinging bad asses who stalked the jungle with cold steel resolve and by God I've earned my booze but don't talk to me too much about it because once established that I am the real deal then we just don't go there, you know, man? Total bull shit. Second trip was also a Saturday, many years later, in the fall, nippy with some bluster in the wind, fading color in the hardwoods. A couple of dozen older people pausing reflectively in front of the mirrored, shining sea of names, some hesitantly rubbing the inscriptions off onto various flimsies and fabrics, almost apologetically, standing silently looking down at their work to see if some magic would appear, some who looked at the name they had sought out with a sense of bewilderment, trying to comprehend after 30 years or more. A few guys my age, jeans, sweatshirts, light jackets, graying, thinning hair, standing off a little with arms crossed, unmoving, looking for something that they were not having any luck finding; quiet, pensive, detached. I stood awhile, apart, eyes glazing off into the distant depths of the marble, wandered off, found a to go coffee and drifted back onto the grass to resume watch for awhile longer. I didn't seek out the names this time. I knew where they were. And I left.Bob Flournoy Arty FO, 2/8th Inf 1st Cav rwflournoy@aol.com

hotel 2/1
. . Contributed By tom nolan On Sunday, December 11, 2005
looking for joe capp dave miller or ken rogers from h2/1

cap 3-4-4

http://capmarine.com/cap/rosters/roster1.htm

Heroes Carved In Stone
. . Contributed By Bryan Stidham On Sunday, December 11, 2005
My daughter wrote this last year and has dedicated it to all who served in Vietnam and the families of POW/MIA's. She'll see the wall for the first time this February. "Heroes Carved in Stone" By Sabrina Stidham I stood staring in awe as my gaze settled upon a black granite wall of memories. As I stood there not a muscle in my body twitched, except for the rhythmic beating of my weary heart. Before me, a great wall, with the names of Fathers, Sons, Bothers, Daughters; Soldiers; Heroes.carved in stone. As I looked at the granite I saw behind it. A scene of tangled jungles, mud covered boots, people crying, as their lives came to an unwritten end. On the ground I saw the bodies of fallen soldiers, bloody and cold from death. In my heart I felt their pain and fear, which lingered in their unforgotten souls. In my mind I could see them standing around me, in what was left of their tiger-striped tattered camouflage. Blood covered, dirty calluses had formed on their hands, and memories of home were lost in the emptiness of their stares. I saw beside me the American Flag, still and unmoving in the bustling air. I shivered at the eerie sight. Suddenly, I felt that I wasn't alone, as though I were in the presence of a soldier; I paused, not believing in my feelings. A chill went down my spine as I felt a touch on my shoulder. I turned to see a woman; a mother, with tears in her eyes, reading the name of her son. At that moment I realized that the soldiers have not been forgotten. They live on in our hearts; then, now, and forever. As I turned to leave, I hesitated; looked back at the wall and said aloud, "Thank You", and I swear I heard a voice carried on the wind whisper."Never Forget".

To find Bob Mac Culloch(or Mc Cullough)
. . Contributed By Claudine Auger On Monday, December 12, 2005
If you have known this man when you were in Vietnam ,give me information and read my correspondence on the 20th of november.Thanks so much.

MISS ME

Here is something that has been of great help and comfort to me when the memories start to get to be too much. I hope this helps many of you also. When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set for me, I want no rites in a gloom-filled room, why cry for a soul set free? Miss me a little-but not too long, and not with your head bowed low. Remember the love that we once shared. Miss me-but let me go. For this is a journey that we all must take, and each must go alone. It's all a part of the Master's Plan, a step on the road to home. When you are lonely and sick of heart, go to the friends we know. And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds. Yes, miss me-but let me go.

Thank you

To all the mothers, fathers, wifes, sons and daughters, for bearing the unbearable. To those who fell, the debt we owe you is beyond our ability to repay you, you have given that which is priceless.