WANT TO KNOW ABOUT MY BROTHER.EDWARD J BAKER
. . Contributed By RUTH CRANE On Monday, November 07, 2005
MY NAME IS RUTH. I AM LOOKING FOR ANY KIND OF INFORMATION ABOUT MY BROTHER. HE WAS KILLED IN VIETNAM ON APRIL 3 1970. HE WAS 21. I WAS 9. HE WAS IN THE NAVY, I BELIEVE A BLACK BERET OR SEAL OR SOME KIND OF SPECIAL FORCES. IF YOU KNEW HIM OR KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM PLEASE LET ME KNOW. THANKS FOR YOUR HELP.LONELY LITTLE SISTER.

Marine Normand R Martel
. . Contributed By Laurie A Watts On Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I am looking for anyone who knew Pvt. Normand R Martel Marine. If you had any contact with him please contact me.He perished on May 3rd 1967.

LCDR Marvin Wiles
. . Contributed By amanda cianes On Thursday, November 10, 2005
i was wondering if anybody knew marvin wiles. he was part of the attack squadron 22, USS CORAL SEA. he was shot down in north vietnam and was named P.O.W. on may 6, 1972. just wondering if anyone knew him because i recieved his bracelet in washington d.c. and would like to find his family or anyone who knew him, thanks

The Wall
. . Contributed By Bob Flournoy On Friday, November 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.

My name is not there.
. . Contributed By Stephen Callahan On Friday, November 11, 2005
It struck me the first time I visited The Wall. My name could have been there. Like many, I was coming of age in the mid 60's. For those reading these words and were not yet born during this period, let me say your immediate future after high school was pre-determined. You went to higher education or you went into the military. I chose not to go to university right away, so I knew what was going to happen. I felt an obligation to serve my country, but I did want some control over my future. I opted to enlist in the Navy, to serve two years more than those who chose to take their chances with the draft, in exchange for a little control of what was to happen to me. I saw the name of a boyhood friend listed with all the others. Bill decided to take his chances. He did not get to come back. The realization suddenly hit me like a hammer. My name could have been there. I am not what you might call a flag waver, but I am proud to have served my country. I wish Bill and all the others could have come back.

Life as a Teen in the 60s

Actually , I knew thoughout high school I would be drafted and sent to Vietnam. As it turned out that's exactly what happened.I did have a few choices to do otherwise but I decided not to. One was an offer in AIT to go to West Point, When I found out I would have to become an enlisted man an add years to my tour I told the Major , no.Later in Vietnam when we were first being assigned, a young man had looked at our 201 files and asked if I would be the Company clerk. I told the manno thanks.Believe it or not a bond had already formed with my fellow soul mates of the Infantry. I had decided I was going to be with them to the end. A teen in the sixties.

Sgt. Floyd Andrew Deal
. . Contributed By Doug Deal On Saturday, November 12, 2005
Flagstaff, Arizona, USA this is always a tough time for me will never forget that morning, I had my baseball uniform on walking out the front door going to play a double header. Up the walk came the General and the Chaplain. They asked me to go back inside, I refused, I knew then that the one person who loved me unconditionally was no longer in my life. Floyd was KIA. You see, I had to play ball that day, that's where Floyd would want me. When we were small and my dad would call and say he was coming to see us. I would wait all day but he would never show. I would cry and say dad doesn't love us. Floyd would take me by the hand and say, I love you. Lets go throw the ball around. Then there I was, in center field playing ball the way he taught me. The loneliest center fielder in the world, with tears in my eyes. When Margie Kaizawa and I went to Drake Hospital to talk to some of his platoon that were wounded, they told us a story, How they got caught in an ambush, some of Floyd's fellow soldiers were wounded. Floyd, being the corpsman, couldn't leave them there so he went back in. He didn't make it out. Floyd was selfless that way. There are many stories where I would get into trouble and Floyd was always there, always taking care of his little brother. He taught me so much about life. About defending myself. Most of all he taught me about courage and strength. For 30 years I carried with me a lot of anger, and resentment. I ended up in places where few would even read about. In those places I ran across many Viet Nam vets. They to had a void in them, an anger and fear they couldn't control. It was the dark side of life where we existed. The under belly. Those vets, like myself, had their innocence taken from them. Something we couldn't get back. The pain was very great. We shared that pain. Me talking about Floyd, them talking about their loved ones. Then something amazing happened on this journey. I was traveling down the East coast and I called my medicine woman and explained I had to go to the wall. She said "yes, its time". She came picked me up, along with her husband who was a vet himself. You see, I had put off going to the wall for along time. I used Floyd's death to act out in very selfish ways. It was time for me to ask for forgiveness. I will never forget that day. It was much like that day in center field. When I saw Floyd's name, the tears came, the pain came. and the healing came. While asking for forgiveness a calm came over me, like Floyd was smiling at me, like he touched me and said, "I love you little brother". It's been along hard journey. It's time to let it go. On the walk away from the Wall, I turned and looked back. I could see the whole Wall. All the names. In my selfishness I could now see that those names too, had brothers, sisters, children, mothers and fathers. I wasn't alone anymore. Floyd was a true warrior. He received the Silver Star. While thinking back on all those years of darkness, I couldn't get myself to admit that ------------ I love Floyd, and I miss him. Yet there is another part of this journey. Today Floyd has a nephew named after him. He is my son. Another warrior. A peace warrior. I will raise him the same way Floyd taught me. To stand for something or fall for everything. When you see those vets out there, who are homeless, or addicted to drugs. Remember. that they are human too need love also. Don't be to quick to turn away, for you see, one of them might have been Floyd. So because of Floyd, I am a better person today, this doesn't come from anger or hate, this tribute comes from sadness, and a place in my heart, called love. I love you Floyd, I miss you Floyd, thanx for being my big brother. Doug Deal

40 YEARS WITHOUT A DAD!
. . Contributed By Susan Smith Eudy On Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Hello, In just a few more minutes it will be 40 years since my father was killed in Vietnam. I NEVER saw or knew my father. I was born on 9-21-65, and he NEVER saw me. I was wondering if there is anyone out there that knew my dad SGT. Henry F. Smith ARMY KIA 11-17-65 Ia Drang his Captain was George Forrest and he was with the 1/5 cav. I know that there has to be someone with pictures or stories that they can share with me, PLEASE do so, it has been TOO long not knowing anything about him and not having a THING of his either. Please contact me by email at eudy2@hotmail.com or phone 704-322-5533. Thank You and GOD BLESS YOU ALL FOR SERVING.

HAROLD "HAL" THOMAS HENESY
. . Contributed By Donald Henesy Poore On Thursday, November 17, 2005
I'm looking for anyone who knew or served in C company, 43rd signal bn, 1st signal brigade in Vietnam with my older brother Hal. We were raised seperately by our parents and didn't get to know each other. The only memories I would have of him would be through your connection to him. I'd love to hear what you have to share. I miss my brother.

Vernon
. . Contributed By Jamie Edgecombe On Friday, November 18, 2005
For Vernon Lance corporal, machine gunner, USMC; Vietnam Man, I don't where to start; if I should? Speaking into the silence that is in the inner of your friend. The silence of years, of a paddy, a hill, which are there, will always be, as long as the men who died there remain dead. It feels cheap to write, to shame you with tears from a distant land, twice removed from the soil that holds you; the family who still remember you. A long time ago? But you just died. In words, you were there, in the love that shaped them onto paper without unneeded eloquence. Is it weak to feel for those we never knew? Shameful to their memory; the actuality of their breath upon mother's skin, to put into words that someone you never met is hurting, as superficial as it may appear, for the loss of a man, washing out that hollow black-curiosity for ignorance? If only we care for even one, you Vernon, when there should be room for so many more, then at least one man has come home again -if only to the heart of another human being, who can't help but live on with revenant acknowledgement and care; you smile in his thoughts. It seems villainous to attach a meaningless scrap of words to such seemingly clichTd sentiment, but it's a song, a prayer, a smile, nod or anything that has meaning, where feeling cannot be justly communicated. It's hope. You are not forgotten.