
Patrick C. Palmer,
32°, K.C.C.H. Elect
248 Navajo Street, Miami Springs, Florida 331665121
fiuprof@hotmail.com
The Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., represents the
tremendous price this nation has paid to maintain its position
as world leader in the pursuit of freedom.
Photo courtesy the Vietnam Veterans Home Page at http://www.vietvet.org
Many
years have come and gone since the day I visited the Vietnam Memorial
in Washington, D.C., yet the memory of that visit is still very
vivid in my mind. I will never forget the flood of emotion I felt
as I viewed the seemingly never-ending list of names of the American
men and women who laid down their lives sacrificially upon the
altar of freedom. It was a cold December morning, but the chill
that swept over me and the tears that swelled in my eyes were
not caused by the weather. As I stood quietly and reverently in
the presence of that ominous granite structure, I became acutely
aware of the tremendous price this nation has paid to maintain
its position as world leader in the pursuit of freedom.
I paused in quiet reflection, purposely delaying my search for one of the thousands of names etched in that wall. I watched as others, some weeping, some moving as if in a daze, discovered the names that they had traveled to this wall to find. Often, the discovery brought a flood of tears. Other times it induced silent contemplation as reflections of the memories of loved ones flashed through their minds like a video of remembrance. Initially, each person reacted differently, but as I watched, one reaction became constant; eventually, at some point in their grieving, each mourner slowly reached out and touched the wall and lovingly caressed the name they had come to find. It was an expression of love, an endeavor to heal the hurting, or perhaps an attempt to reach out once again and touch that loved one and, in so doing, to express their gratitude and the gratitude of a nation, for the way of life they died to preserve.
Eventually, I headed for the section of the wall that contained the name I had come to find. My eyes started darting eagerly over the multitude of names, anxiously seeking, yet inwardly dreading, to find his name. Suddenly it was there, and the emotion, experienced by so many mourners before me, encompassed me as I stood in silent reflection, recalling memories of a friend taken from this world much too soon. Like the others, I reached out, touched the wall, and ran my fingers over the grooved lettering that symbolized his memory. In touching the wall, I felt an affinity with him and was letting him know that I appreciated the price he had paid. By touching the wall, he and I became spiritually connected, and a feeling of peace swept over me. After a while, I turned into the cold December wind and headed toward my hotel room.
If you have visited the Vietnam Memorial, you understand what it means to have your emotions stirred by that inanimate object. Perhaps, you also reached out and touched that granite wall and felt the emotion that accompanies a connection with the noble souls honored there. Or if you have ever visited one of the many national cemeteries and viewed row upon row of identical white markers, you understand what it means to feel the mixed emotions of grief and gratitude. Maybe you knelt and read one of the thousands of names and realized what a tremendous price each of them paid. You, too, were touching the wall.
I wish that every Mason could visit the Vietnam Memorial. I know that it is not possible for each of us to make the journey to our nation's capital, but we are afforded the marvelous opportunity of reaching out and touching the wall every day. We can touch the wall by recognizing the fact that those who did return deserve the very best this nation has to offer. We can touch the wall by reaching out toward veterans with a kind word or a supportive gesture, with a smile or a pat on the back that says "I appreciate what you have done." Who knows, the Brother sitting next to you in Lodge may be a veteran of the invasion on the beach at Normandy, of the war in the Islands of the Pacific, the rice paddies of Korea, the jungles of Vietnam, or the desert sands of Saudi Arabia.
Our prayer should be for a world at peace so that we can use
our granite resources not for monuments to young men and women
who have had their lives so unjustly and prematurely taken from
them, but for headstones to denote the burial place of world citizens
who have lived long, normal, and peaceful lives. Until that day,
let's keep touching the wall.
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Patrick C. Palmer is a computer programmer for the Veterans Administration Hospital in Miami, Florida, and an Adjunct Professor in the Decision Sciences Department of Florida International University. He is Past Master of Oleeta Lodge No. 145, Miami Springs, Florida, and a member of the Miami Scottish Rite Bodies. He has been elected to receive the Knights Commander Court of Honour at the Bicentennial/Biennial Session. He is also a Vietnam era veteran of the United States Navy. |